#& sentenced to his last days in the underground cells.
Text
This isn’t a bodega
based off this prompt
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Tim stared at the glowing boy that had just entered the cave. the boy seemed unreal, with pale skin, white hair, and a vacant expression. they glowed with a faint white light and were floating a few inches off the ground. the blinked a few times looking around the cave as though they were lost.
“are you guys seeing this?” Tim asked, making eye contact with the boy. his eyes were glowing a familiar Lazarus green. Tim would normally take that as a sign that they were here as a threat except the being was raising it’s eyebrows and looking confused as hell.
“hmm?” Dick hummed, not looking up from his spot at the bat computer.
“the glowing dead kid,” Tim clarified.
Dick yawned, “i think you need some sleep, Timmy.” he still hadn’t looked up.
Tim frowned. he was tired. he didn’t think he was hallucination tired yet though, that usually hit around the three day mark. Tim was solidly at two and a half. but no one else seemed to be acknowledging the being so Tim did the only logical thing.
he approached the boy to get more information. normally that would be considered dumb and reckless, but hey, it wasn’t like he was alone. if the being started attacking him, the others would at least notice that.
“are you real?” was the first thing he asked the glowing boy. it seemed best to rule that out first.
the boy blinked a few times. “i think so. i mean probably.”
Tim nodded, more to himself than as an answer.
the boy gazed at Tim, “this isn’t a bodega.”
Tim nodded again, this time in agreement. he was right about the boy seeming lost.
they stared at each other for what most would consider an awkward amount of Tim.
“can you point me to the nearest source of coffee?” the boy asked.
coffee, mmmm...
Tim took a moment to process the rest of the sentence. “oh, uh... Alfred cuts me off after midnight now.” he pouted. he wasn’t allowed to drink the coffee that was upstairs.
“okay.” the boy said.
the stood silently again. Tim thought some more.
“there’s a gas station on the edge of the city limits that’s not far. probably only 7 miles or so.”
the boy lit up. literally, his glow brightened. “can you show me?”
“oh yeah, for sure, the coffee is crap but it’ll do the job. can I come? I need to get my bike.”
“Dude, of course you can come, i have no idea where you’re talking about and I somehow ended up underground. I need you, bro.” the boy said reaching out a gloved hand. Tim noticed that he was wearing a hazmat suit for some reason. he didn’t recognize the company logo on the front. “and don’t worry about the bike, I can just fly us there.”
oh so he was a superhero. that made sense and probably explained why he was glowing and floating and could access the cave despite the security.
Tim took the heroes hand, smiling happily. he was gonna get him some coffee
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Dick went to bed, under the impression the Tim had already went up. Bruce, who had a meeting in the morning, had already headed to bed and left his kids to finish the case files for the night. Damian had gone to bed the moment they returned from patrol because he had school in the morning.
it would be many hours before anyone noticed Tim wasn’t in his bed or at his job. Bruce and Damian went off to where they needed in the morning. Alfred had knocked lightly on Tim’s door but decided to let the boy sleep in. dick had slept in and spent the morning lazing around the manor because he had another day before he had to return to Bludhaven.
it was around noon when Alfred decided to properly wake Tim up and found his bed empty. he asked dick if he’d seen him. dick answered in the negative. he called Tam at Wayne Enterprise and received a negative answer. he texted and called Tim’s cell phone and received no answer, only later finding the phone in the batcave charging on an outlet. Alfred was starting to feel concerned so he contacted Barbara.
it turned out the last anyone had seen Tim had been last night when dick told him to go to bed. Barbara checked the batcave camera’s and found something quite bizarre. a spot of static appeared on the cameras from multiple angles. it was like the static was in reality rather than a glitching of the screens.
Tim stared at it. Dick didn’t notice it. Tim walked up to it. Tim seemed to talk to the static for a long moment. Tim touched the static, Tim's form became static. the static disappeared soon after. all this happened unnoticed behind Dick’s back.
Barbara set out a red alert and started searching her cameras for any other instances of static since Tim had gone missing at 1:34am. it had been almost 12 hours.
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the trip to the gas station had been uneventful by Tim's standards. they flew over, entered the shop portion and ordered coffee. the worker barely blinked at the glowing boy, and he was well used to seeing Tim at ant hour. the hero paid for both their drinks and Tim held and sipped at his paper cup.
ahhh, this was shit. but it was warm and caffeinated and that had to be enough for now.
slowly some of his finer brain functions came back to him and he found himself staring at the glowing boy and realizing he had no idea who the guy was or even if he was registered with the league. he’d bought Tim coffee so he doubted the boy was evil, but hallucinations didn’t generally buy him coffee so this might well be a person he was interacting with.
“what’s your name?” he asked belatedly
the boy sipped his own coffee. “Danny.” he said as though he too were confused at how they had both wound up there but was too content to drink shitty gas station coffee to act overly concerned. “you?”
Tim glanced down at his clothes to see if he was still wearing his costume. he wasn’t he was wearing bike shorts and a large pink t-shirt that said “snexy (snail sexy)” in bold letterers. his guess was that it used to belong to either Dick or Steph. it was his now. “Tim,” he finally answered.
Danny nodded. “so want me drop you off back home?”
Tim tilted his head, turning his cup in his hand. he wasn’t allowed to have the coffee at home. “i have time,” he decided.
Danny nodded again. “is there a place to get better coffee at this time of night?” he asked, clearly knowing that the shitty gas station coffee wouldn’t sustain him for long. Tim of course agreed.
“there’s a 24 hour internet cafe on grotto st.”
Danny held out his hand. “lets go”
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Tim and Danny ended up playing doom in the internet cafe for 4 hours. Danny it turned out was really good at it and knew a lot of cheat codes Tim didn’t. Tim tried not to take that personally. it was still surprisingly fun and normal and no one has tried to kill them in the 5 hours they’d been out. Tim wondered if Danny was shielding them from harm or something. maybe he was just lucky? Tim didn't want to jinx it.
finally they wound down, the workers were changing shift and that was usually a good indicator that it was time to leave. Tim stretched and Danny stretched further. he reminded Tim of Dick a bit, it was like his bones were made of rubber or something.
“now what?” Danny asked and Tim checked his watch. he was definitely hitting the territory of sleep deprivation where he’d start hallucinating and he doubted Danny would be much help given he also was clearly just as sleep deprived as time. they’d both been chugging espresso while playing doom. Tim felt wired but also tired.
never let it be said that he didn’t recognize his own limitations. “guess we should probably head to bed. you live near here?”
“me? live?” the boy chuckled raising his eyebrows. then his smile dropped. “i have no idea where here is.”
“okay, that’s chill. i’m too tired to think of a solution yet, so how about we just crash at one of my safe houses and i’ll call you a cab when we wake up and figure out where you’re from.”
the boy made a face, possibly because Tim said safe house instead of apartments. but shrugged anyway. “sounds good to me.”
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the nearest safe house was one of Jason's but Tim doubted he’d be using it or mind overly much if Tim slept there. Jason was one of the biggest worriers about Tim's sleep schedule so he’d probably appreciate the fact that Tim was sleeping.
Danny crashed on the couch and Tim watched as two rings of light spread from his middle out and turned him into a normal looking teenager in ratty clothes. it was honestly better than a hazmat suit. he even stopped glowing and floating. so Tim mentally shrugged and put it in the superpower column of what he knew about Danny and went to the bed to sleep.
it was several hours later, but not long enough that someone burst into the apartment. Danny being closer to the door rolled blearily to his feet and raised his fists to fight whatever ghost had decided to interrupt his nap. Tim wasn’t far behind, bursting out of the bedroom holding a long lamp as a makeshift staff.
“what the fuck, Tim!” Jason yelled and Tim needed a moment to process that it was his brother who burst in.
“oh, hi, Jason,” Tim put the lamp down but Danny didn’t leave his fighting stance. he looked slightly more confused and relaxed when no one immediately attacked him.
“don’t hi me, where the fuck have you been? who the fuck is that orphan wannabe? what’s going on?”
Tim, still half asleep, shrugged. “that’s Danny.”
Danny was staring at Jason with squinted eyes. “you smell bad.”
“excuse you?” Jason hissed eyes flashing green.
understanding dawned on Danny's face, an expression Tim had found to be rare in the hours he’d known Danny.
Danny stepped out of his fighting stance and went to stand directly in front of Jason. “any recent portal accidents, my guy?”
“what?” Jason asked, only to be cut off by Danny shoving his hand into his chest. there was no blood or gore or anything. Danny just cleanly passed through Jason like he was made of mist.
“what are you doing!?” Jason gasped alarmed as Danny seemed so rotate his hand like he was spinning yarn around it. time was also getting alarmed and picked his lamp back up. before he could hit Danny over the head with it though, Danny finished what ever he was doing and pulled his hand out of Jason’s chest. Jason was seemingly uninjured.
around Danny's hand was what looked like red glowing goo. the slime ran down his fingers and smelled rank even from this distance.
“all done,” Danny said sleepily and reached into a back pocket with his clean hand to pull out a thermos. he clicked a button and suctioned the red goo off his hand with a flash of light.
“what the hell...” Jason whispered, putting a hand to his chest. he no longer felt the hazy green pit rage that had haunted him for the last three years.instead there was just a feeling of warmth. like a hot bath, like steam at the center of his being. “what did you do to me?”
Danny yawned. “cleaned your plasm. you smell less like fruit loop now.”
that clarified nothing.
“what are you?” tim asked, now somewhat awake enough to ask the questions he didn’t last night.
“halfa” Danny shrugged. “so is this guy, though he’s a lot weaker. needs to drink him some non-contaminated ectoplasm. will probably help stabilize his core.”
“what...?” Jason said. he was still whispering, clearly going into some sort of shock.
Tim inwardly shrugged. he needed coffee before he could start a proper interrogation. “hey Jay you have any coffee?”
Jason gave him an incredulous look, but Danny hummed in agreement and started checking cabinets
“i should probably head back to my hotel before my sister freaks out,” Danny said finding the beans and giving a small cheer. Tim cheered with him and helped Danny set up the pot. Jason was still standing in the doorway, hand against his chest and staring into space like he was haunted by something. “i had fun though. it’s been a while since I've had such a normal outing.”
Tim thought for a moment about everything they did and the weirdness that was Danny. finally he hummed in agreement. it was one of his more normal outings. “wanna exchange numbers?”
“sure,” Danny said. “we should do this again sometime.” Danny glanced at Jason. “and i guess you should call me if you guys have any questions about him. being a halfa isn’t easy, especially when you’re figuring it out alone.”
“halfa...” Jason repeated in a distant voice.
the coffee finished brewing and Tim poured them both a mug. Danny took a deep sip, cradling the cup in his hands and just enjoying the aroma and moment. he wrote his number on a napkin on the counter and then smiled brightly at Tim. this time he wasn’t literally glowing, but it was no less bright.
“see ya, Tim” he said transforming in a flash of light and flying through the wall. he took the coffee mug with him.
Tim blinked several times sipping his coffee and finally waking up enough to realize that that was not at all a normal encounter and he probably should have asked a lot more questions and what the hell did that kid do to Jason? Tim looked at the number on the napkin and hoped it was real because he definitely had questions.
maybe if he was lucky this would all be a hallucination after all.
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A Hollow Promise [20] chapter v, part i
main tags : loki x original character, post-avengers 2012, canon divergence - post-thor: the dark world, canon-typical violence, mentions of torture
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summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of New York, the Avengers need a few days to build a transport device for the Tesseract. With the Helicarrier damaged and surveillance offline, SHIELD sends an asset to guard Loki in the interim: a young woman who sees the truth in all things, and cannot lie.
Even long presumed dead, her memories lost to her, Loki would know her anywhere.
And this changes things.
Some things last beyond infinity. And the universe is in love with chaos.
(Loki was never looking for redemption. It came as an unexpected side-effect.)
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chapter summary : despite his chains, loki begins gathering his pieces on the board. astrid works on escaping her own confines, and mitigating the damage of disasters to come.
recommended listening : no place like home, todrick hall
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The solitary cell was deep underground, far below expansive cerulean skies and the firelit gold of the palace halls, in deepest wing of the dungeons.
Loki supposed he ought to be flattered.
It had long since fallen into obsolescence, disuse, and disrepair, contrasted against the cells shelved several staircases above it- a well-lit, refitted sector of the dungeons that Loki himself had headed the redesigns for, only a few centuries ago.
Oh, the irony, he had acknowledged with a smirk as the Einherjar escorted him past the bright rows, smooth-cornered and minimalist and cold as carved ice within a hallway of black stone. Each chamber was faced with the slow-rippling sheen of a containment field, the weft of it as tight as a seine net, its meticulous smooth-locked gears bearing Loki’s signature style, obvious to any mage skilled enough to realise that there was a difference.
Time and age may have begun to dull the Allfather’s edge at last, but Odin was still too proud and too cautious to store Loki, untried, on display amongst the common rabble- and least of all in a prison that was reliant upon magic that Loki had custom-engineered. Not only could he easily escape, he might unleash the other inmates as a distraction, or just for the fun of the ensuing chaos.
Loki could admit that the thought was deeply tempting.
It would take time, for Odin to decide his strategy and settle upon the sentence pre-emptive to the trial- using supposed exceptional circumstance and royal authority to override that of Glintir, Asgard’s delegated halls of justice- and more to strip down and renovate one of the cells to contain him. A few months, at the barest minimum. Perhaps less, if his mother was involved in the process; perhaps more, if Odin was in a particularly paranoid or vindictive humour.
In the interim, his current lodgings were the one place best equipped to contain him.
Despite surface appearance, the stone walls and oaken doors and rusted iron fittings were steeped in old magic- old protections- drawing from the core of Asgard itself to keep itself strong despite the physical decay. The unevenly-hewn cells had been hollowed out near the very roots of the realm, cloistered against ley lines and veins of unstable ore, the stagnant air thick with wild mana; it set Loki’s nerves sparking, its taste similar to the thrum of the Bifrost, but unfiltered, flowing directionlessly like water swirled in a pail, knocking against the sides and swilling back into itself.
Beyond it-
Loki ran his thumb across the valley of his palm.
The maelstrom of mana was like the wash of daylight over the stars- rinsing out any lesser source of power like bleach. It was part of the reason, he assumed, as to why Odin had ordered to have him thrown in such scarcely used accommodations, using the cell’s unique conditions to overwhelm his carefully honed sense of ambient magic, and prevent him from perceiving or tampering with anything that laid beyond his cell.
Yet, the logic only applied to lesser sources of power.
Even the might of Asgard was nothing to an Infinity Stone, even one disguised and sealed in a lesser form.
Clear as a beacon, singing through him and lingering like the soft metallic ring of a struck tuning fork, Loki could feel the sheer potential energy of the Tesseract even as the gaol door was bolted behind him. In fact- turning his head towards the ceiling, a few degrees above and across from the cell door- Loki was almost certain that he could guess its precise location within the Vault.
He would not have thought much of it, were it not for the fact that he could feel it reaching into the cell, intangible currents swirling in to greet him. Since returning to Asgard, it had become a constant presence, a companion in the dark.
His eyebrows twitched contemplatively, as he wound the Tesseract’s energy around his fingers, and sent a shimmer of his mana brushing against its edges.
The Tesseract glimmered back against him amiably, playing into their wordless game of call-and-response as it drifted, omnipresent and aimless and eldritch in the manner of gravity wells and hydrogen clouds.
Odd. It was odd.
The Tesseract wanted to help me- wanted me to find you- and it responded to you, when you asked it to open the way to Earth –
Astrid was right, as ever.
Even at the time, and more recently with the benefits of a clearer head and the absence of the Black Order monitoring his every thought, Loki could appreciate how unnaturally easy it had been to open the portal. When he had reached out through the Sceptre, hooking into Selvig as an established conduit, experimentally tapping at the Tesseract, Loki had felt its attention swing towards him- effortlessly piercing past and through Selvig’s flesh and the lightyears of space to alight upon him, considering him with what felt akin to mild disinterest.
Then it rippled, as though in reaction to him- and spat a mouthful of energy from within its titanium cradle, setting the PEGASUS scientists scattering into coordinated action, searching for the root of the anomaly.
Loki hadn’t questioned it. Only the naïve and the omnipotent refused the advantage. And besides which, it was a fool’s errand to attempt to understand why the Tesseract had behaved, as Selvig had so elegantly phrased it. It was not quite sentience in the way that most sapient lifeforms would comprehend it but- from experience, Loki knew that the greater an artifact’s age, the more likely it was to possess opinions; and the greater its power, the more unknowable those opinions tended to be, and hence its behaviour more unpredictable.
Applying that same logic to an Infinity Stone- a remnant of the universe’s creation, a concentrated ingot of one of the essential, esoteric forces that underpinned the very fabric of existence, an extant piece of the demiurge itself- and Loki had quickly concluded that there was nothing to be gained from wondering why.
And yet.
I suppose you must not be overeager to be in Thanos’ grasp, he mused in its direction. Or perhaps you’re simply fond of Astrid. Either way, I can entirely sympathise.
The Tesseract sheened back at him.
Loki quirked a slight smile.
He had, however, noticed something odd.
A tendril of the Tesseract’s power steadily tapered downwards- several layers of strata below his cell, to where there should be nothing but inert bedrock.
With nothing else to occupy his time and increasingly restless mind, Loki had begun whittling at a method to borrow and coast on the Tesseract’s power, imbuing it with his own magic until he could glimpse through it. In theory, the restrictions of space should be nothing to the Space Stone itself- and after investigating what had attracted it to one of the least interesting sectors of Asgard’s foundations, it would be useful for his other schemes amongst the Nine in the coming months.
It could have been worse, Loki supposed. He had experienced worse. And the quiet gave him space to think.
Loki held fast to the thought, keeping a firm grip. Staring at the dark walls of his cell, he could almost taste the buzz of the silence in his teeth, a held breath like the artificial hush of a theatre as the drama played out onstage. It sat within him as though he had swallowed a bulb of glass, and was left waiting to see if it would break under the pressure of his throat.
Fine. It was fine. He had free reign of his magic within his cell, and the vague favour of the Tesseract, and the freedom to think, even if he could feel the jagged pieces of himself shifting against each other, disjointed, his mind still split and frayed at the edges despite Astrid driving out the lingering influenced and dosing him with her own mana to give him time to heal, it was fine, he wasn’t there anymore, he needed to be hale and whole in order to drive off what was coming, everything was fine and even if it wasn’t he would never let them see it-
Loki felt a warmth bloom against his spine, just behind his heart.
He startled, like the whip of a livewire sparking off, instinctively careening back and lashing out against other, other, not again-
The slow press of a presence seeped through the spell embroidered into him, warming him through like an orchestra tuning before a symphony- resolving from blank heat into pattern and form, detailed as lacework.
It was golden- the very essence of gold, bright as hot metal, alive in the manner of hydrogen clouds- rippling into satin lustre, dissolving into powder-fine glitter, coalescing into smooth candlelight, diffusing into dappled daylight.
It hit him like sunshine striking through a glacier, shattering kaleidoscopic against his insides.
Oh.
The connection was weak, wavering. Through it, Loki could only discern a watercolour haze of emotion and surface thoughts, like the flit of shadows behind a curtain of finely-spun gauze- the link too new, nothing more than a single hastily-anchored thread, stretched too thin by the immense physical distance and the decomposing magic contaminating her, to convey anything more coherent.
Still, Loki felt the relief melt through him, the intimate press of another mind against his both foreign and familiar, a welcome anathema, a guest rather than an invasion.
With a practiced twist of his wrist, Loki threw up a screen against Heimdall’s gaze.
“Hello, darling,” he murmured into the cell’s quiet. “Have you missed me terribly?”
The warmth stilled.
Loki could sense a current of realisation within it, gently whorling together and condensing.
A solar-flare burst of mana surged within the connection- slamming against its limitations, pouring in power, attempting to pry the connection open- and Loki winced against the shock.
“Steady, dove,” he grunted out quietly, letting the words taper into a fond laugh. “The link isn’t strong enough just yet, and there is no forcing it along- have a little patience, darling. It will strengthen, with time.”
It had stilled at his entreaty, reluctantly withdrawing, but Loki could discern the hesitation-frustration-question-impatience-want lingering in it.
He smiled faintly, massaging the aftershock-ache out of his chest.
“You must have known its purpose, when I wove it. I had to have a way to find you again,” he explained in a murmur. “As a side effect- while you sleep, your mind will come to me. And when I sleep, I will dream in you.”
The warmth rippled faintly, tentatively pressing a few degrees closer, pausing at the tremulous point before it overstressed the fragile link.
Loki had the simultaneous sensation of staring out at a mist-shrouded figure on the other end of a long, treacherously narrow rope bridge, suspended above the sheer drop of the abyss- and of someone gently resting their chin on his shoulder from behind, reading something over his shoulder, a slight weight leaning in against the backrest of his chair.
The nebulous gesture haemorrhaged affection, and casual determination.
Loki laughed into the dark, his dark head lifting.
It tasted of revenge, only sweeter.
Yes. Everything would be fine.
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“I have a question.”
“Mn.”
The noise of acknowledgement that Alethia made was unenthused, but Barton either didn’t notice or didn’t take it as sufficient dissent.
Striding back into the dim, windowless VERITAS testing room with what apparently passed as lunch- an armful of vending machine junk food- Barton let his haul drop to the table in a cascade of technicolour plastic wrappers, plucking a bottle of Mountain Dew from a utility pocket and cracking it open with a firm twist.
If not for the sleeveless, matte-black SHIELD jumpsuit and cinched gun harness, the former assassin, marksman, and one half of STRIKE Team Delta, codename Hawkeye- brass-blond and stocky, square-featured and almost generically Midwestern- would have looked like nothing more than an overgrown burnout frat boy.
Several seats away, Alethia remained reclined in her chair, clean-soled boots propped atop the desk, crossed at the ankles. Her eyes were closed, mouth soft, ash-blonde hair pinned up at the back of her head, one arm draping from the armrest.
By direct contrast, if not for her own jumpsuit, Alethia would have resembled something fae, pretty and still in a way that was not quite natural or human.
As he swung back into his seat, spinning into place, Barton tossed one of the packets in her direction with characteristic flawless aim.
The bag of sour candies struck her boots, falling to the table with a crinkle of plastic. Alethia lifted her lashes just enough to eye the sugar-loaded projectile- then proceeded to ignore it, settling back again.
On the other side of the room, supervising the automated collation of results from their latest testing session, Dr Abigail Brand watched the exchange- observing and unobserved, the blue light of the screen reflected in the curve of her dark irises.
As the de facto head of Project VERITAS, and another of SHIELD’s externally sourced, fixed-term hires- headhunted from AIM several months ago, for her unique expertise in improving AI recognition and classification of human response data and biofeedback- Abigail saw more of Alethia than most.
Privately, she would argue that this was both in the literal and figurative sense.
As a consultant, Abigail was aware that her every interaction within SHIELD and its agents was glossed with a tepid distance, like a layer of clear, flexible resin. As an outsourced asset, Alethia was choked into near immobility, even when her collar slackened under Romanoff’s watch, constantly monitored and quarantined by a closed circle of operatives.
Abigail wasn’t ignorant as to which of them had it worse.
SHIELD had asked one of them nicely for their cooperation. However, Abigail strongly suspected that she wasn’t the only one savvy enough to say yes, given the same opportunity.
Abigail was good at recognising those like her. It was a necessary survival skill.
Within sealed rooms and months of ten-hour days, she had formed a rough sketch of who Alethia was, and they had charted out enough common ground to stand comfortable with each other.
In the wake of the Incident- jeez, are they really calling it that- she had recognised a shift.
Alethia had seemed- for want of a better word- happier. She was less guarded, less opaque, her smiles coming easier and her moods milder.
Judging by her response, Romanoff had interpreted Alethia’s mellowing as an opportunity- as signs of a burgeoning sense of comradery. There was a glimmer of optimism and increased warmth in her handling, and in the less falsely casual tone that Romanoff and Barton had taken with her- pressing their thumbs onto the scale of her conversion from risky asset to invaluable agent. Fury did not seem like the type to refuse an advantage, or fail to capitalise on potential value, and so had likely sanctioned her recruitment, if possible.
Abigail didn’t really think that anyone at SHIELD was stupid, but sometimes they did a very convincing impression of it.
If there was anything that she had learned, however, from spending few more years in academia and research than was strictly good for anyone’s mental health, it was that the sharpest and most highly regarded people in any given field were typically the ones most fixed in their outlook.
Looking at Alethia, all she could see was someone who had finally gotten what she wanted, and was now content to wait out the remainder of her sentence, and even be cordial for its duration.
Which begged the question: what had she wanted? And when, and how, did she get it?
“Alright, so, we’ve encountered gods now,” Barton was saying, splitting open a bag and popping a few Cheetos into his mouth with a crunch, “as in- real, literal, fell-out-of-the-sky Norse gods.”
“We have.” Alethia agreed idly.
“And we’ve got proof of aliens in HD. A lot of corpses too.”
“Mm-hm.”
“Alright, so- how many of the stories are true? How many myths, fairytales, religions, whatever- how many of them are real, or based on something real? Is the History Channel gonna start looking like National Geographic? How many clowns do we have to add to the circus? We’ve got aliens, demigods, whatever the hell the Nazis were doing back then- should we start looking out for vampires? Werewolves? Mermaids? I mean, why not, right? How many are we talking, here? I mean, how much weirder is the world going to get?”
There was a long moment of expectant silence, punctuated by the quiet crunch of corn puffs.
Then Alethia opened her eyes and straightened slightly, her hair mussed as she turned towards Barton.
“Oh, were you asking me?”
“Yeah, I’m asking you!”
“Oh. How should I know?”
“Y- wait, you don’t know?”
Alethia shrugged one shoulder, settling back with a flick of her wrist.
“Bring me your gods, and I’ll tell you if they’re real.”
Abigail grimaced, taking a hasty draught of her cooling coffee to hide it.
Fuck, give me an existential crisis, why don’t you.
She could almost hear Alethia laughing, warm as a heartbeat, unmalicious.
Alethia had remarked, once, that Abigail had never asked her anything outside of the testing sessions. According to her, most people gave into the temptation eventually; Fury was a notable exception, for which Alethia appeared to have a grudging respect, but Romanoff had been delicately circumventive in her attempt, while Barton had been unabashedly obvious in his.
Operating on too little sleep and too many hours of coding, Abigail had answered with a touch more blunt honesty that she probably should have.
I’m not stupid, she had muttered, you’re like some fucked-up genie, or that fairground thing from that weird-ass Tom Hanks movie. I’m not going poking that psychological hornet’s nest. If I gotta ask, I deserve the monkey-paw treatment.
Pft-!
Alethia had barely stifled her startled giggle behind her fingers, clear hazel eyes creased at the corners and glittering delightedly.
Abigail had frozen, mortified- what the fuck, Brand, why would you say that- until Alethia had spoken again in a faintly strangled tone.
It was Big.
… What?
The, ah- title of the weird-ass Tom Hanks film. It was Big.
Abigail had thawed, nodding slowly. The awkwardness ebbed just enough to let her mouth and scientific curiosity run away with her impulse-control again.
Why do they always ask you something?
Alethia had hummed quietly, cocking her head, open as the skies.
As a general rule?
Sure, yeah.
She had lifted her shoulder in a wry half-shrug. Curiosity. Hubris. People either want to witness the party trick, or prove it false. There are few who like to think that their deepest secrets are available to a perfect stranger, prima facia. But also- some of them just want the bragging rights. Of being the one to beat the living lie-detector. Alethia exhaled quietly. Spies. They’re the equal of surgeons, when it comes to ego.
Abigail had frowned, nose crinkling sceptically.
But- hold up. Their deepest secrets wouldn’t be available if they just kept their mouths shut, she argued. You need something to go off, right? You’re not psychic. All they gotta do is shut up and believe you halfway about your whole- truth- thing. Err on the side of caution.
Alethia had smiled, the motion as precise and conscious as the unfurling of a wing, half-hidden beneath the lingering skim of her fingers.
As you said, Dr Brand. You’re not stupid.
Abigail shivered at the memory, teeth clinking against the ceramic rim of her cup.
The words had been spoken casually enough, but there was a knowing in Alethia’s face that had rattled Abigail’s nerves.
It was nothing.
She’s not psychic.
Barton frowned in consternation, the Cheetos bag rattling in his lap.
“So you have no idea which stories are true? Even after hearing them?”
“Stories are stories. Their intent is different. They contain truth,” Alethia said, “even if they are not true.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
“No it is not.”
“Because they really kinda sound like the same thing.”
“And yet it’s not.”
“Okay, so what’s the difference?”
Alethia exhaled, deep and quiet- then levered herself upright with a press of her palms into the arms of her chair.
“Thor and Loki were born approximately a year apart. Around 1150CE.”
“Were they?” Barton swallowed thickly, fingers already stained to the third knuckle with orange powder. “Hang on, how do you know that?”
“He told me. Except Norse mythology originates from the old Norse religion- which is thought to have been at the peak of active worship between 500BCE, and 1000CE. Do you see the dilemma?”
Several seconds late, Abigail registered the implication of who he was.
Barton gave no sign that he had noticed. But Abigail knew better than to underestimate those who had Fury’s favour.
“Oh. Yeah, okay. How is it possible that there are myths about Thor and Loki that are that old,” Barton said slowly, “when they hadn’t been born yet?”
His tone was one of statement and deduction, rather than question.
“I don’t know,” Alethia admitted with startling ease, almost laughingly, turning her head to meet Barton’s gaze with a pleased glint in her eyes. “Therein lies the mystery. Barring an anomaly in space-time, it’s impossible for Norse mythology to be a factual record of events. Yet it still has some correlation to the truth, as the planet is now aware. The myth is true; the mythology is not.”
“Huh.”
Tearing open a candy bar and breaking off a chunk, Barton mulled over Alethia’s statement.
“Okay, so- basically, a bunch of myths could turn out to be referencing something real, but,” he popped the bite into his mouth, speaking around it, “the folklore might not actually be that useful, in practice.”
“In essence, yes.”
“Huh.” Barton sucked nougat from between his teeth with an obnoxious smack. “Do you think we’ll be seeing more of this weirdness? Like, out in the open?”
“Mm, most likely,” Alethia said lightly, lifting her eyes back to the ceiling with a blink, “now that SHIELD can no longer swallow it back into the darkness.”
Barton paused, stilling like an animal sensing danger.
“You make it sound pretty sinister.”
“SHIELD has a list of enhanced people called the Index, constantly track their movements regardless of what they have or haven’t done, and threaten them into keeping their abilities hidden from the general public,” she said dryly. “You quite literally disappeared me.”
“Come on,” Barton rolled his head back in his chair exasperatedly, “that’s unfair and you know it. Even you have to admit that SHIELD’s mission is to protect people-”
“Which ones, and from what?”
Her tone was lacklustre, almost vacant, as though this conversation was one that she had with him many times before, and had little hope of it progressing any differently this time.
Abigail wondered what it said that she had to say it again- but also that she begun to anyway.
“Most of them- these myths in hiding- are in hiding from things like SHIELD. You are not the heroes in their stories. You don’t know about them because they don’t want you to. They masquerade as baseline humans and lie to your face and never think twice about it, because they are protecting themselves. They could be right here, in this room, and you would never know. And who could blame them?”
Abigail’s stomach dipped in terror.
The door opened.
“I got lunch,” Romanoff announced.
“I got lunch,” Clint protested, rattling a bag of pretzels in her direction, quickly switching gears into the distraction.
“You’ve got a future heart attack and type-two diabetes.” Dressed more casually than her partner, her dark-rinse jeans and scoop-neck sweater still relatively professional, Romanoff lifted a brown paper bag into the air. “I bought something with nutritional value.”
“If you went to the sandwich bar on the second floor, I seriously doubt that. Unless, you know, nutritional value is interchangeable with salmonella-”
“Shut up and eat your fibre, Clint.”
Sweeping across the room, Romanoff placed an oblong package on Abigail’s desk, wrapped in white deli paper: crab meat in mayonnaise, shredded lettuce, sliced tomato, pickles, and a dash of hot sauce on French baguette, in a somewhat inauthentic, New York approximation of a Louisiana po’boy.
Romanoff had a memory for such things.
Offering Abigail a brief smile, Romanoff turned to Alethia with a skim of chin-length cherry curls. “Ali. Caprese on focaccia, right?”
Ali? Abigail wondered with a twist of her mouth, as Romanoff tossed Alethia her sandwich with a low underarm throw. That’s new.
“I had them hold the pesto, add aioli, rocket, and red onion,” Romanoff added as Alethia caught the package with one upturned palm.
“What did you get me?” Barton asked expectantly.
“Salmonella.”
“Nat.”
“Did you save me some Oreos?”
“Please. I’m not a monster, Natasha.”
“Roast beef on wholewheat.”
“Hm. I’ll allow it.”
“Seriously, it’s a miracle you don’t have a nutritional deficiency-”
“Look, I keep telling you, peanut butter is a source of protein-”
Shrouded by the smooth-flowing banter between the agents, Abigail made the mistake of stealing a glance at Alethia.
She was looking directly at her.
Abigail’s blood seemed to drain directly to her vital organs.
Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.
Her gaze was unworldly, frighteningly intense, like staring into the core of the sun. Abigail had the sensation of being an insect trapped in amber, paralysed at the mercy of a being that could carve her soul open and leave it to bleed, if she stood in her way.
After a moment, a faint, knowing smile softened at Alethia’s mouth- as though greeting Abigail for the first time.
Without comment, Alethia strained forward to drop her wrapped sandwich on the desk, and kicked off sharply- swivelling her chair, catching her boot against the table behind her to halt herself.
With the slant of her torso, her new position effectively left her with her back to Romanoff and Barton.
The message was clear.
Abigail forced herself to relax, unwrapping her imitation po’boy with trembling fingers and refusing to look back at Alethia, who was now humming a soft, romantic refrain.
She just had to reach the end of her contract. That was all. Once Project VERITAS entered its final phase, she could begin looking for another position. SHIELD would provide her with a mostly accurate reference from a credibly falsified employer, avoiding a damning void in her work history, so she could head back out and-
And then what?
It wasn’t an unfamiliar question.
After completing her studies, she had quietly left her school, declining to enter the graduate program. It wasn’t for her, she had decided, and to his credit, the head professor had been understanding, sending her off with his good will and a glowing reference.
But the world had been wilder, then, and smaller. Their conflict had been fought in shadows, both sides of the schism tacitly agreeing that obscurity was the best source of protection, for now.
But now the light had flooded across the globe, and there were fewer shadows to hide within, and-
What now?
What now, Brand?
Sooner or later, it seemed she would have to make the trip back to Westchester.
-
Later, when she had the time to think about it, Abigail asked Barton what Alethia had been humming.
Ironically, despite being mostly deaf without his hearing aids, Hawkeye had an excellent ear for music; even from Abigail’s tone-deaf attempt at replication, he had quickly identified the piece.
It was opera, apparently, one of those recognisable classical pieces that had filtered into common knowledge without anyone knowing actual title.
The song was an aria, from La traviata.
Sempre libera.
It was clever, and biting, and exactly what she could expect of Alethia, and it should have been enough of an answer just to hear the title.
Except Abigail had gotten curious, and listened to the aria, and looked up the lyrics, because scientific curiosity should not be sated by the first answer it encountered.
Alethia had not been humming the defiantly carefree, fluttering refrain- free and aimless I frolic, from joy to joy- sung by the opera’s protagonist, Violetta. Instead, she had been humming the lines of Violetta’s lover, Alfredo, as he sang offstage.
Love is the heartbeat of the entire universe, they read, the melody drawn out in gently sloping notes, mysterious, altering, the torment and delight of my heart…
-
The shackles, Loki decided, were a little excessive.
Chains as thick as a femur looped between his wrists and ankles, connected by a third to the collar resting against his clavicle, which locked into a fourth wrapped around his waist, from which two more were linked and leashed in the grip of a set of helmed Einherjar- Loki had wanted to roll his eyes at that alone, but he hadn’t been able to resist the low huff of laughter when he was met with no less than ten figures in golden armour outside his cell, dispatched to escort him to Valaskijálf Hall.
At least it would appear that Odin was finally taking him seriously.
The thought was bracing, allowing him to pull forth all the practiced, aloof insouciance of an Asgardian prince.
Odin was paying attention- it was only right that Loki give him a show.
He could already feel the discomfort twisting into the guards, like thumbscrews, in the face of his calm irreverence. They were the ideal test audience- Loki had manipulated enough of the Einherjar over the years that their thoughts were all but cellophane to him.
Admittedly, it was far easier to play the unrepentant monster when she was with him- emerging into consciousness like the break of dawn, burning and righteous and steadying, like a weapon warming his palm.
Over the weeks, their link had stabilised, enough that it could finally convey more than echoes of emotion.
He could feel the moment that she snapped awake in his mind, the breath of a spectre.
Where-?
Loki let his gaze drift briefly, letting her see his surroundings.
His eyes glazed a subtle circuit over dark, mirror-gloss floors, inset with knotwork motifs of amber marble, opulently engraved gold pillars bearing the weight of the high ceiling and its delicately detailed fresco. Fires burned in braziers thrice his height, contrasting the clear natural daylight streaming from the breezeways at his back. Through him, Astrid could no doubt hear the gentle clink and rattle of the chains against his leathers, and the smooth scrape of the Einherjar’s laminar armour as they kept in pace with him, in a parody of an honour guard. Loki could smell mist from the waterways, and sunshine, and the crisp opening knell of autumn- contrasting the heat of early summer that Astrid was currently experiencing in New York, from the trap of SHIELD’s air-conditioned base of operations.
It all tasted traitorously of home.
Trial, he explained to her simply.
Ah. Palace?
Yes.
She paused. Hm.
After a moment of consideration, Astrid sent him a breeze of blasé contempt, and a flash of a memory- of what he recognised as a casino lobby, somewhere on Midgard-
Loki almost choked.
Astra!
The Hall of Valaskijálf, the magnificent heart of the Palace of Asgard and the seat of its power, was being compared to the Bellagio on the Las Vegas strip.
Loki had to forcefully remind himself that dissolving into delighted, scandalised laughter would, at this juncture, be a bad idea.
Against his mind, Astrid preened, irreverently.
Sheath, she murmured with a tint of melancholy, curling around him, setting a little of her mana through their connection to press warm against his heart.
Shoulders relaxing minutely, Loki sent her every ounce of fierce, violent affection that was welling in his chest.
Dagger, he whispered back tenderly, his magic twining into hers like laced fingers.
Even despite the solidified connection, it was still like comparing the glint of a distant star to the heat of the sun, or hearing strains of music just beyond coherency. Loki would have wondered if he had not unconsciously chosen it as a masochistic punishment, if not for the fear that it was affecting her the same way.
“Loki.”
His heart stopped briefly.
“Hello, Mother.”
Loki whipped his head to meet the sight of her, blasé and unmoved.
Astrid tensed in his veins, wary and curious.
Queen Consort Frigga of Asgard was not dressed for court, devoid of the finer trappings of her station. Rather than an elaborately braided, sleekly curled coiffeur, brocaded chrysalis silks, and waterfall sheets of jewels, her gown was one of her simpler garments- a relatively subtle teal satin, with a seafoam-silver shawl draped over her arms. Her only item of jewellery was a set of turquoise pendant earrings, handcrafted in a simple Vanir design, waves of copper-blonde hair left unbound to her waist.
She looked- tired, anxious. Loki could see it in the lines around her eyes, in the tight downturn of her mouth. Her fingers were laced together, one thumb pressing at the opposite palm unconsciously.
Crushing an acute lurch of guilt, and the momentary embittered wish that he could have hated her for all that she had- or, more accurately, hadn’t- done, Loki steepled his eyebrows sardonically at her, his voice soft as velvet.
“Have I made you proud?”
“Please,” Frigga implored quietly, her eyes wide and unblinking, intent and quietly afraid, “don’t make this worse.”
“Define worse.” Loki riposted dryly.
“Enough.”
The king’s voice echoed throughout the throne room.
Loki consciously resisted the reflex to straighten his spine. He felt Astrid coil in response, her attention diverted from Frigga.
Loki turned towards the throne.
Set upon the raised dais, at the summit of three flights of curved steps, was the high seat of Hlidskijalf.
The seat itself was nothing so magnificent- a square of gold, hemmed by broad, rectangular blocks at either side to serve as arms, and a low back- but its silhouette was made imposing by the heavily ornamented wings of solid gold that curved from either side. Bevelled at the edges like a great axe blade, their gentle upward arch framed its occupant, like the centre of a set of inverted scales.
The Allfather sat comfortably upon it, as ever.
His armour was darker than when last Loki had stood in his presence, compared to his burnished silver-steel war plate, or the ceremonial armour that he had worn for Thor’s almost-coronation.
By contrast, the pitch leathers and aged gold plate looked almost tarnished.
Knowing his father, it was undoubtedly a message.
Loki met Odin’s gaze, finding one piercing blue eye gazing down at him dispassionately.
He refused to blink.
“I will speak to the prisoner alone.”
Odin spoke with a calm, almost reasonable authority.
Instinctively, a pit formed in Loki’s stomach, even his jaw worked with defiance.
A thousand years of conditioning- of loyalty, deference, and respect instilled towards his father, his commander, his sovereign- was not so easily broken.
Meanwhile, he could feel Astrid assessing and dissecting the Allfather like a lancet, merciless and unawed.
Whatever it was that she saw, Loki could already feel her dislike forming.
Frigga glanced towards her husband, settling one last unreadable look upon Loki- and turned on her heel, departing with a swirl of heavy skirts and quick steps, accepting her dismissal with dignity.
Loki watched her leave, before swinging his attention back to Odin.
So, Astrid stated, her presence cloaked across Loki’s shoulders like draped arms and mantled wings.
So, Loki agreed, leaning back into her support.
He drew closer to the steps with three slow, measured steps, and snapped his heels together in a sarcastic salute, the crisp clank of his shackles echoing out into the empty hall.
Provocateur, Astrid teased, like lips against his cheek.
This time, Loki left himself exhale a laugh, swaying forwards slightly.
“I really don’t know what all the fuss is about,” he said with a rehearsed air of callous, flippant levity, palms splayed as much as they could within the chains.
“Do you truly not understand the gravity of your crimes?”
Rich, Astrid commented dryly from across their link.
Loki sent back something that evoked a huff of agreement. Of all those involved, Odin had the barest understanding of his actions- even in his ignorance, Thor had at least witnessed the destruction for himself and had almost hit upon the correct question to ask.
“Wherever you go,” Odin proclaimed, almost blandly, “there is war, ruin- and death.”
Astrid stilled dangerously.
Dove, Loki calmed her, his expression sobering.
“I went down to Midgard to rule the people of Earth as a benevolent god.” Loki allowed a soft, taunting smile break through, unable to resist the accusation that welled. “Just like you.”
“We are not gods,” Odin said sagely, all but ignoring his closing barb. “We are born, we live, we die. Just as humans do.”
Hypocrite, Loki shared with Astrid, receiving her dry agreement in reply, before shrugging.
“Give or take five thousand years,” he corrected with a flat-lipped, sardonic smile.
“All this,” the Allfather mused, a hint of scorn finally bleeding through, “because Loki desires a throne.”
“It is my birthright!” Loki snapped, unable to withstand the insult, as though Odin had not told him that he was born to be a king, as though he could not have known what he was implying through the lens of that lie, as though the Norns-damned throne was all it was ever about-
“Your birthright-!” Odin bellowed in reply, leaning forward in his seat, as though to swiftly crush the insolence shown to him. “Was to die!”
Silence reigned for a moment.
In the ringing quiet- and the detached shock that, even now, there was still something left in him to hurt at a truth he had already known- Loki felt it.
Pure, clean, unadulterated rage, the emotion borrowed and possessive and selfish, swathed him.
It tasted like destruction on his tongue, like intent on the edge of his nerves, borne in the currents of something heart-deep that threatened to obliterate anything before it. Her mana burned bright in his nerves, crackling behind his retinas, threatening to radiate out of him and contaminating his own magic.
And if Odin caught the traces of a foreign mana in him, active and alive-
Loki reached for Astrid with thoughts like cool water and nepenthe, gathering her wild mana into his core, hastily absorbing and reforming it before Odin could notice.
There was only so much that his own magical core, and the mana-supressing runes in his shackles, could do to mask her presence. Ironically, it was fortunate that the connection was yet to develop to its full strength, muting her.
Given the strength of her rage, however, an intensity so heady that he could overdose on it-
Bastard. Her thoughts were incandescent, tumbling through his own and breaking through to a fresh level of coherency. Bastard. How dare he-
Beloved, please, calm- for me-
“- as a child. Cast out onto a frozen rock. If I had not taken you in,” the corner of Odin’s mouth lifted, almost a jeer, “you would not be here now to hate me.”
Abruptly, Astrid’s mood crystallised, bright and clear, giving Loki space to breathe again.
No, Loki heard her decide, no, better- wait and sic Daddy on him-
He took a sharp stride forward, back into more pressing problems.
“If I am for the axe, then for mercy’s sake, just swing it,” Loki challenged Odin in reply, sotto voce and almost obliging. If he seemed preoccupied, if Odin was given cause to suspect anything, if he found out about Astrid-
He felt the sharp knife of instinctive fear, sick in his stomach.
In this respect, Odin remained exponentially more dangerous than Thanos.
Astrid offered a flicker of conviction in comfort, her temper still cooling.
“It’s not that I don’t love our little talks, it’s just-” Loki paused pointedly, as though considering his phrasing. “I don’t love them.”
Odin didn’t respond to his insolence, as though it mattered so little to him that it was unworthy of a reaction.
“Frigga is the only reason that you are still alive, and you will never see her again.” His announcement was perfunctory, prelude to dismissal.
Ah.
Well. The Allfather knew how to mete out cruelty with the political precision of an autocrat.
“You will spend the rest of your days in the dungeon,” Odin concluded softly.
As though choreographed, the guards gave a short tug on Loki’s chains, drawing him back a step from the throne.
He should have been prepared for it.
He had been prepared for it, intellectually, had predicted the most likely ruling and Odin’s pretence at a measure of mercy, had expected to be kept in cold storage indefinitely lest Odin ever encounter a better use for him, or a quandary that Thor’s brawn could not resolve- even while he knew that the sentence would never be carried out. Between the Tesseract’s power and Astrid’s sheer will and wit, all Loki would have to do was ask.
But this was the ruling, the mock trial that was all that Loki was worth. Odin had not even deigned to ask why. He had assumed, and accepted the lie in confirmation of it.
Alderliefest, she gentled him, her mind as unclouded and radiant within his.
She strained for him like an outstretched hand, fingers flared and trembling.
Ah, Loki realised ruefully, so I really am being cruel to both of us.
Gripping onto her lifeline, winding the necessity around his fist to ground himself, Loki spoke numbly.
“And what of Thor? You’ll make that witless oaf king, while I rot in chains?”
“Thor must strive to undo the damage you have done,” Odin spoke sharply. “He will bring order to the Nine Realms, and then-”
The Einherjar behind him clamped leather-gloved hands down on his shoulders, prepared to haul him away.
“Yes. He will be king.”
Internally, Loki dissolved into triumphant laughter.
He felt Astrid’s flutter of curious confusion- and her sting of pleasure at being surprised.
Later, he vowed, darkly heated, already in anticipation of witnessing her reaction.
What Odin had meant as a parting volley- as salt ground into an open wound- was a precious piece of intelligence that Loki would have otherwise been hard pressed to obtain.
The Nine was in chaos, then. The damage you have done could only refer to the destruction of the Bifrost, only recently repaired and restored to functionality, with the assistance of the Tesseract.
Without the Rainbow Bridge, Asgard had limited means of interstellar travel. Their spaceworthy fleet had atrophied over the centuries of relative peace, the great warships considered obsolete upon the construction of the Bifrost, the streamlined technology left to fall behind the other galactic powers. Almost no one knew of the secret passageways that Loki had discovered, let alone mapped them, and there were few his equal in the kenning arts who could locate, stabilise, and manipulate the few that could accommodate passage of a large volume of troops.
Without the Bridge, Asgard had been cut off from the other eight realms.
And without Asgard’s presence as a deterrent, every world within the Yggdrasil complex would have been overrun with opportunists for months, if not close to years.
It was a cold necessity- a nasty shock to the established system, both for those who had relied upon Asgardian arms for the safety of their realm, and for Asgard itself at being so simply and effectively hamstrung for almost two years.
Thor would do what he did best, of course, and battle his way through the marauders, trussing them up and tossing them into the dungeons to rot beside Loki- but the damage would already be done.
The seeds would be planted, and people would start to think.
And when people started to think, they would start to talk.
And that, Loki could work to his advantage, like hot metal upon an anvil.
Thank you, Allfather, Loki wanted to say, laughing against the pain as he was led away, for your most gracious cruelty.
With that, the first gears were in motion.
-
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#a hollow promise#cross posted on ao3#marvel fanfiction#avengers fanfiction#loki fanfiction#loki fanfic#loki x original female character#loki x ofc#loki odinson#loki laufeyson#loki friggason#mcu loki#post-avengers 2012#fix it au#no beta we die like canon by my blade#writing#chapter update#ao3 fanfic#ao3 writer#ao3 link#right on schedule
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Writing patterns ✍️
Rules: list the first line of your last 10 posted fics and see if there is a pattern!
Tagged by @valonia47 :)
Their cells are underground, but the heat is still miserable at the height of a summer day. - vixere Ted Lasso (Jamie/Roy/Keeley)
“The bright side is,” Jamie says, picking at the sling holding his dislocated shoulder in place, “that if I had to do this, it’s a week before the Manchester derby.” - there’s a heart on your sleeve Ted Lasso (Jamie/Roy/Keeley)
Eileen couldn’t picture Rebecca’s body. - Aphrodite Eileen (2023) (Eileen/Rebecca)
They go over to Phil’s flat, because oddly enough he’s the tidy one of the three of them. - Table Read Ted Lasso RPF (Brett/Phil/Juno)
Trent’s not trying to lurk or be weird. - light through the ceiling Football RPF (Trent/Jordan)
It’s all Virgil’s fault. - place your head between my collar and jaw Football RPF (Trent/Dom)
Keeley has never really thought about Jamie as having childhood friends. - all the love I’ve had worth giving Ted Lasso (Jamie/Roy/Keeley)
Virgil knows that watching a woman for half an hour without talking to her is creepy. - more like a silence Football RPF (Virgil/Jordan)
Jamie wants to spend his last real week of the off-season his usual way: a few nights of genuine debauchery at the latest clubs, a few days of recovery on his couch, and then a trip to the spa for a full-body and beauty tune-up before he reports to preseason training. - cherry on top Ted Lasso (Jamie/Roy, Roy/Keeley)
Jamie knows it’s not good to get too settled in with things. - bruised like violets Ted Lasso (Jamie/Roy/Keeley)
Hmm… something to set the POV character’s interiority, or else something to set the, uh, setting, I guess. This is interesting! Most of them are short and punchy, but then I have some looping sentences from Jamie. Which is probably part of his interiority too.
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@minnarr tagged me in this (uh, actually, for the record i think the tags didn’t work but whatever you mentioned me in the post and i saw it anyway lol) and i’d been thinking about it since i saw it on my dash anyway, so thank you!
List the first lines [i did sentences rather than trying to define a Line] of your last 20 stories. See if there are any patterns and choose your favorite opening line!
(do i remember what my last 20 fics were? NO so this should be really exciting. starting with the most recent and going in reverse chronological order)
The sun was warm on his face, even through the mask.
The room was dark, only the faint light of the fire in the brazier flickering off the dark wood of the furniture.
Jin Zixuan wakes up.
"You know you could still fuck me, right?" Wen Kexing asks one night as they're readying themselves for bed.
Opal wakes up.
"Lao Wen, what are you doing there?"
"...Run that by me one more time," Lando said.
It's a lovely day in Cloud Recesses, they're spared lectures for the day (supposedly to study and reflect on what they've learned so far, but even the Lans can't enforce rules for what they're thinking about), and so Nie Huaisang is reclining against a tree as far from the Lanshi as possible.
Wei Wuxian lay awake, the hard dirt beneath his back as he stared up at the stars.
Something was wrong, Dick thought frantically.
Yanli had known that she was to marry Jin Zixuan since she was very young.
It’s Cassie’s idea, but Kon’s the one who gets the most into it.
It would be cliche to say that the ship was quiet—too quiet—but that didn’t change the fact that it was too damn quiet.
“I’m sorry,” Wei Wuxian said.
The smell of the Pit hangs heavy in the air.
It’s not that Jin Zixuan is bored exactly, just that he doesn’t really know what to do at the lake.
When you were younger, you thought that temples were silent and imposing, but this one has open windows that let in the noises of the outside and bright stone that keeps the fading light of the evening.
“Babs.”
There was no light in the cell, but unfortunately Bruce had trained himself to register the passage of time without external stimuli.
“You know,” Clark says thoughtfully. “I spent some time in an underground fighting ring.”
lol this is TWO YEARS worth of fics holy shit. some things that jump out: the fact that i have TWO “[pov character] wakes up.” is hilarious, esp since i was writing them at the same time (in my defense, they’re both situations in which the circumstances of waking are somehow Shocking). i’m honestly surprised there aren’t more dialogue-first openings! obviously i’m very prone to ‘start with a sensory detail’ but i’m not mad about that, i like that as an opening quite a lot. the ‘here’s a thing, negate or contrast the thing’ pattern i am slightly mad about but i did know that was my fallback opening for a while.
as for my favorite, it’s hard to pick because there’s a few that i think do different things well, but i’ll go with:
It would be cliche to say that the ship was quiet—too quiet—but that didn’t change the fact that it was too damn quiet.
because i think it gets across the voice of the character really nicely and in a way that most of my openings don’t
i feel like everyone i would tag has already done this so i’ll just do @enter-remiges, for whenever you see this even if it’s in a couple weeks ☺️ (but also if anyone else wants to take this from me without being explicitly tagged, please do)
#i can't believe this accounts for TWO YEARS worth of fics#like almost exactly! 20 is from april 25th 2020!!#wild#anyway this is neat#i honestly expected them to be a lot worse/more repetitive than they were#i also thought about using some tumblr fics/ficlets too but then i decided that was too much effort lol
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Hi! I really loved your piece about how the brothers would react to MC almost being killed by a lesser demon. I was wondering if you could do the same for the undateables? (feel free to leave dear sweet luke out of it!)
Thank you, we are so glad you liked it!!
We are happy to do the side characters too, and are absolutely not leaving chihuahua boy out of it (though of course NOT as your s/o, he is a child!!) - just because he's babeh doesn't mean he can't kill a demon too <3 (Don't worry though, his isn't that violent.)
content warnings: blood, gore, torture, body horror -- especially for Barbatos. Not for the faint of heart.
For anyone who missed it, see original demon bros post here.
DIAVOLO
Little D. No. 2 saw the whole attack, and while he's not strong enough to fight the demon himself, he goes running to Barbatos to tell him what happened....which then obviously has to get reported along to the Demon Prince.
The Devildom has never seen a trial get organized so quickly -- within an hour, the lesser demon is standing in the student council room, awaiting judgment.
As a fair and just ruler, and also your s/o, Diavolo feels obligated to recuse himself from the trial -- but, he's going to personally administer whatever punishment the rest of the student council decides on.
Which, you know, is still made up of the demon brothers, so of course that demon is going to die, and painfully.
It's extremely rare for Diavolo to personally punish someone, so they aren't fully sure what to expect, but the minute the Demon Lord steps into the dungeon, oh shit they're scared.
"You dare disrespect me, your prince, by attacking my beloved?"
He's in his full demon form -- dragon wings, dragon eyes, dragon scales, dragon roar.
The demon's eardrums shatter immediately at the sound.
His claws dig directly into their face, ripping eyeballs from their sockets and knocking their teeth all over the ground.
Meanwhile, his wings beat wildly, sending powerful shockwaves of wind through their body, which rip sharp tears into their flesh.
Full of rage, Diavolo also sinks his teeth into their chest and wrenches their muscles clean off their bones.
Sharp claws find their way to the demon's limbs, and he tears them right out, tossing them so hard that one arm smacks a prisoner in the cell across the hall squarely in the face.
Needless to say, that prisoner is absolutely terrified and very glad to have only been sentenced to punishment from Lucifer by comparison, a sadist but way less brutal, they think.
With one last blast of dragon fire directly into the demon's heart, Diavolo recomposes himself and walks calmly out of the cell.
Considering it's been all of about 4 hours since the incident and you don't even know that he knows yet, you're quite surprised to then receive an invite that night to a grand feast he's holding in your honor. Afterwards, you spend an intimate night together at the castle, as he personally makes sure you're in absolute comfort in every way after what happened.
BARBATOS
Although Barbatos is technically not allowed to use his powers unless Diavolo asks, sometimes visions of the past and future slip into his dreams unconsciously.
He doesn't always know if they're true or not, but when he has a dream that you've been attacked by a lesser demon, he is not going to take any chances.
He calls you in a panic, explaining his dream and asking if you're okay, and you end up telling him it's true that you were attacked earlier, but you're fine, really.
But that doesn't stop him from deciding he's going to get revenge.
The next day at RAD, the lesser demon just about screams when they suddenly realize that Barbatos is standing about 3 inches behind them.
"Hello. :) :) :) I'm sure you already know this, but I am Barbatos. :) I understand you attacked Y/N yesterday. :) You should prepare to die now."
He opens a portal below their feet, dropping both of them directly into the underground dungeons below the Demon King's Castle.
Within seconds, he has his prey suspended in chains.
In this particular dungeon cell, his favorite for torture, an array of tools lines one of the walls - all his favorite torture toys conveniently within arm's reach.
He starts with a dull, rusty vegetable peeler, an old relic of the kitchens that has found a new home here in the dungeons, and slowly begins peeling the demon's skin from their arms.
As they whimper pitifully at the pain, he moves on to their torso, drilling a small line of holes down either side of their stomach, and the whimpers evolve into screams.
The torture master isn't satisfied with just these screams, though. He's going to get bigger, better screams from this scoundrel.
With careful precision, he begins looping the strips of skin he peeled off earlier into the holes, crisscrossing them in a corset-like pattern across their torso.
And then pulls them taut, because a corset is meant to be tight, after all.
Blood spills a little from the demon's mouth as their guts are constricted upwards inside them, and they beg for mercy, though none is about to come.
Next he removes a pair of metal boots from the walls, another favorite, with needle-thin spikes inside still covered in the dried up blood of their last victim.
He encases the lesser demon's feet in the boots, and with a smile, summons up some hot volcanic rocks, which he begins forcibly wedging into the back of the boots, crushing their legs against the front and forcing their feet forward into the spikes.
For good measure, he slams some of the rocks directly into their legs as well, the still-lingering volcanic heat immediately sealing the magma stones inside where they pierce skin.
At this point, their screams have reached octaves they didn't even know were within their vocal cords, and having heard the lovely music to his ears, Barbatos decides it's about time to wrap this up.
He picks up a dentist's plaque scraper off the wall and tears a thin line from their chin down to their collarbone, before squeezing the forked ends of his tail into the incision and prying it wide open.
As the blood spills out from their neck, he smiles and pats the demon on the head, saying he hopes they've learned their lesson - not that it matters, since they're about to die.
That night, Barbatos meets you for your weekly dinner date night, and he doesn't mention his activities from the day, just fusses over you and checks you all over for any injuries, no matter how minor.
SOLOMON
You show up to your sorcery lesson with Solomon as usual, but he quickly senses that you're unfocused, as you keep messing up on even simple spells, so he asks what's wrong.
When you explain, his face darkens in a way you don't usually see on the sorcerer, though his expression quickly softens again, making sure you're okay.
Once he's satisfied that you haven't been badly hurt, and patches up any minor injuries you do have with gentle healing spells, he ends the lesson early and walks out.
He's not proud of who he used to be, and he tries to be better about his relations with demons now, but the thought of this stupid lesser demon, so weak compared to the many, many demons he commands, putting you in danger...
He texts Asmodeus, who quickly obtains the name and location of the demon who did it through his gossip network -- and of course comes to join him, since he's also pissed to hear what happened to you.
When they find the offending demon, Asmodeus pins them in place with his charming eyes, and with a cruel laugh, he manipulates them into entering their demon form, before sitting back and letting Solomon get to work on them.
Solomon then grabs them by the horns and pulls their face right up to his so they are forced to meet his deadly serious stare.
"If you thought you could target Y/N just because they're human, you've really underestimated what humans are capable of."
The sorcerer conjures forth a magical whip imbued with a little bit of holy magic, a tool he'd long ago stopped using but which still feels familiar in a way in his hands.
The holy magic tears burning gashes into the lesser demon with every strike, sizzling each time it makes contact with them -- on their wings, on their chest, across their face and arms.
Once he's satisfied with the number of injuries across the demon's body, he proceeds to cast a spell which speeds their blood flow through, forcing their hearts to pump at three times their normal speed, feeling like they're going to burst.
It's dizzying, and the demon's vision blurs, though they also feel far too awake from the effect to pass out. Their eyes meet Asmodeus's, who just smiles and gives them a little wave.
To finish them off and make a point to them just how lowly they really are among demons, Solomon summons forth another of his pact demons, Ose.
Ose taps the lesser demon's forehead, transforming himself into an illusion of you in their eyes so the last thing they'll see is the human they tried to prey on, and with another tap, he floods their head with insanity.
The lesser demon's mind collapses, as does their body, mouth dribbling with blood and drool as their life leaves them at the mental and physical overload.
After he cleans himself up from any blood spatter, he comes back to see you again, spoiling you with little gifts and magical surprises for the rest of the night. He doesn't want to burden you with trying to teach you anything right now, but he makes a mental note to focus your next few lessons on healing and defensive spells, too.
SIMEON
From the moment Simeon sees you, his angelic senses are buzzing, alerting him to various minor injuries on you, even if you tried to cover them up.
He's on you in a heartbeat, asking what happened, rushing you to a seat, healing you up, and generally doing everything he can to make sure you're comfortable.
As an angel exchange student in the Devildom, he's painfully aware that running off to go kill some random demon is not good for building relations between the three realms.
But when he overhears that same demon bragging to their friends about it the next day, his anger boils over.
"I see you're quite proud of yourself for what you did to Y/N, aren't you?"
The group of them turn to face him, but upon seeing the smiling rage upon his face, and considering the gossip among the RAD student population about not wanting to see Simeon mad, the lesser demon's friends quickly abandon them, scattering away.
The remaining demon tries to back away, sputtering out apologies, but quickly finds their back against a wall.
But Simeon simply repeats the same question again, tone increasingly menacing.
At the demon's continued attempts at protest and apology, he grabs them by their forehead and forces them to meet his eyes.
They flail around a bit, desperately hoping for a bit of angelic mercy, but that's not really what angels are about -- especially this one.
Unimpressed with their pleas and apologies only out of desperation, with no actual show of regret, he decides to make them repent another way.
Holy light spreads in streams from where his fingertips are holding the demon's head, gradually enveloping their entire form.
As he drops his hand back down to his side, the demon has dissolved away to ash at his feet.
When you meet up with him at the RAD gates after your last class, he steers you towards downtown, insisting on treating you to a nice date out to help you feel better from the previous day's trauma.
BONUS: LUKE (*NOT YOUR S/O*)
This little boy is SO upset when he overhears you mention what happened to you.
HOW DARE one of those horrible nasty demons try to kill you!!
He declares that he's going to go find that demon and make them pay for what they did!!!!
But like he's going to call Simeon along to help, but it's not because he's scared, he's DEFINITELY NOT scared of a demon (he's totally very scared but you pretend to believe him).
When they find the demon, Luke summons up all the (extremely powerful) magic in his little body and blasts them with a big burst of angelic power.
The demon is toast, goodbye, not even ashes left behind.
Luke tells you very proudly later that he took care of the problem, and he doesn't want to ask you to pet his head, but he actually really hopes you'll pet his head and tell him he did a good job.
Which you do, of course.
Pet the chihuahua!!!!
#obey me#obey me swd#obey me!#obey me shall we date#obey me diavolo#obey me barbatos#obey me simeon#obey me solomon#obey me luke#obey me dateables#obey me side characters#obey me headcanons#obey me reactions#obey me demon brothers#ask and ye shall be answered#demons being demons#gore cw#blood cw#torture cw#body horror cw#sorry to all the other anons who have been waiting patiently!! we promise we'll get to those asks too!!#we just really love our side character baes ;;
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; Sunny Dear (m) | yoongi oneshot
↳ “I didn’t do it, and it’s my right to say that.“
› ✖︎ PLOT. underground producer min yoongi is falsely life sentenced for a crime that a mysterious rival committed. he sees his life go down the drain in prison — until his old flame and high school crush, sunshine, emerges to visit him out of nowhere. her appearance drags daegu detention center into violent chaos, her insisting there is evidence to get him out: and that he still got it. to yoongi’s surprise, sunshine wants to pick up where they left off and sleep with him... if needed, behind bars.
words. 34k
pairing: inmate!yoongi x femme fatale!oc
genre: smut / angst / drama / horror
READ IT ON AO3 | MASTERLIST
⌜ 🅽🅾🆃🅴 ➝ this one relies heavily on world-building, many details and jail slang words are taken from IRL occurrences. i wanted realism and to bring up some heavy-weight topics as a deep dive into prison culture but also make it understandable/immersive. i usually don’t create ocs, but this pairing just fit together perfectly.
warnings. | classism, ptsd, blackmail, death penalty mention, mental illness, solitary confinement, profanity, misogyny & homophobia, depictions of aggression, mind break, sex in nasty environments, extreme fantasies, tall and curvy!oc, protected sex, lingerie, tattoo/muscle fixation, yoongi pov
PROLOGUE
My name is Min Yoongi. This March, I turned 28 in prison. I’ll be almost 50 years old when I leave this place. I didn’t do it, and it’s my right to say that.
I produced as Suga in the underground, I’ve worked for a label. But that feels like it happened a decade ago. Time is different in here. Days, too — structured, to the very last minute. You’re certainly not spoiled. Everybody gets to know that as soon as they arrive on the yard. No Gods, no kings. Just people trying to create a weapon from everything they get their hands on. It’s the least romantic thing you can think of. Especially for someone who didn’t commit the crime.
The case has followed me around since 2017. Two years later, I came here. Daegu Detention Center. The only thing left of my former life being a pair of shoes. They screened me for a week, assigned me a group cell. By the summer of 2020, only one cellmate.
I don’t really talk unless I really have to. The food is slightly better than things my school handed out back in the day, but other weeks, there’s just bean rice for a month straight. If you step out of line, it’ll be cut down further. You can’t even watch TV anymore. If you get the allowance at all, that is. It’s just one programme anyway, and they don’t play any music.
I train, I work. It’s overcrowded here. I share my already limited space with sexual predators, organized crime lords, family murderers, spree killers, kidnappers, pimps, child pornographers, school shooters, and blackmailers. Most of them attested incurable: No matter what, they will return to doing what they do — hence they’re in here since forever, all in one spot, which of course makes them totally harmless and doesn’t galvanize these people at all.
Hate the sin, not the sinner, forgive, don’t forget. After just five months and getting most of my things for basic survival stolen, clothes and all kinds of things from the commissary, I could already tell you that’s a load of bullshit. Listen to the guys from Floor 4 at lunch and you’ll change your mind in two seconds. Floor 4, and that’s what I didn’t have to learn from the guards because the inmates tell you right away, is where the rapists are kept. And that’s just the beginning. The people in charge are no better, the marching guards that surround me every minute of the day.
It’s really no matter where in the DDC hierarchy. It just depends on where the money is, and the guns, and the police. Position is everything, the strings you pull are everything. And as a treat, the guys in here are not just carrying around their criminal role. The more I spend time on the yard, the more I notice how they become ‚a certain personality‘.
Or rather, they give themselves away as such at one point. Too many instances down the food hall, it brings out what’s already been slumbering inside. Prison is like alcohol. Lower the inhibitions, you see the real person. My cellmate calls it the Famous Four you find among inmates first-hand. The Entitled, the Bullies, the Sheep, and the utterly Self-righteous. You can’t even call them ‚personalities’ if we’re honest. They’re just tools. For what, we all know. Power’s everything.
The Entitled guys, they’re narcs, only they deserve the best. They’re no good but expect to get all the good, so you can imagine how they’re like. The Bullies, they run this place. They’re confronters, abusers. You find them at every corner. At least they burn out when you successfully ignore them, but they’re physical, still. Control is everything. They dominate. If we’re talking staff, guess which category the wardens fall into.
Meanwhile, the Sheep. They’re dangerous. Extremely dangerous, all the way. Sheep can turn into all the four types depending on the situation. They comply for praise, belonging. What the gang says, they execute. Choi from the first floor, a guy I thought was likeable and ordinary, almost killed a novice just because a senior inmate had something against the youngster’s way of talking.
Sheep can turn. Trust them one day, the next, they’re at your throat: Just to fit in with the big boys telling them what to do. What I noticed is, especially Bullies feed off their neediness. They can lean back, expand their control, Sheep do the work instead. Not that it’s comfortable at the top. Just more comfortable.
That’s why conformity is the most dangerous sign post I’ve run into. If someone is in any way ordinary, watch the fuck out. The other types, who they are, at least they tell it to your face. Sheep are the actual people who put the agenda of the big boys into practice. If you see diplomacy, run for your life, lest you want your eyes carved out by rusty spoons for breaking the tight code that rules in here.
And finally, as a last type: The Self-righteous, a category that others try to count me into:
Those who insist they did nothing wrong.
Their sense of reality is the following: They simply live in their own. Self-righteous inmates construct everything to soothe their little ego and never fall short of blaming others. They’re the innocent ones, the denialists, the holier-than-thou, Jesus Christ in perfect flesh just happening to be incarcerated.
I reject being called that kind of guy. For reasons that are supposed to be obvious. Which makes me look like I’m digging my hole even deeper. And vice versa, it’s the same. Should I accept being chalked up as some kind of moral crusader, should I say I’m guilty even if I’m not — guess what that makes me. A conforming sheep with no way out anymore, right inside the slaughterhouse. A hundred people are waiting for me to say I did it, I started the fire, I’m the one. The only way to evade it all is to stay forever ambiguous.
It’s the last thing I planned when I took up working on my album in 2016. Other rappers do their best to land in here on purpose. That’s some horseshit. I stay clear from as many people as I can. It’s a good thing I’m older, and it’s a good thing I came from the underground. Junsu says, it gives you the currency of respect. Not leverage, that’s what Bullies wield, but at least some respect in the eyes of older convicts. And I duly need that since I’m not a 6’4 iron jaw wonderboy who’s naturally intimidating.
I perform maintenance at a wage even lower than what music paid me through the years. What’s worse, I haven’t heard a song in at least seven months. I stop remembering some melodies altogether, and the hardest part is admitting that. Playing it in your head is all you can do. On and on and on. To preserve it, and to cherish it, but there are days where I see no point and just try to think about sex to distract me from everything.
Delusional I’ve been, I was looking forward to working in the kitchen, but the atmosphere isn’t any less tough in there. The bathrooms look like crime scenes. People are fighting for food to bring back to the quarters and sell. Knives and laddles are essentially chained to the tables so they can’t be used for assault. The last guy who got caught making out with a female kitchen staff member in the dry storage room got sent into solitary as punishment.
People attempt to punch each other’s lights out over a single cup of coffee. I try to keep a low profile and not get into a fight like that. Preparing the same rice for 19 more years seems to be my fate, then. Some people can manage with humor. But usually when they’re already out of there. The real jokesters and hippies in here stagnate, and most likely become extremely religious, which annoys everybody else since they’ve gone from Sheep to Self-Righteous.
I don’t have that kind of belief in me. I just want a piano. Daily life monotony makes me tread along, but I’m close to just giving up. I probably already did. Every way to shift I trod down the corridor thinking of nothing at all where I once had racing thoughts. Maybe I got used to all this, but nobody would call that a good thing. Except the wardens. They love it when you switch yourself off like that, calling you a shell, a puppet.
The established people don’t often try to mess with me, that’s the only good part. My voice and dialect compensate for my stature at least a little bit. My first idea was, make friends with the right people. But we’re all too selfish in here, and the atmosphere on the yard couldn’t be any more tense. There’s been a gang war that ended up locking everything down for two weeks at the beginning of the year. The guards had to tell us it was New Year’s Eve, we lost track of the days.
Guys in my neighboring cells have tattoos of clocks with no numbers and handles on them. A cellmate told me what it means. The only way out is in a body bag one far decade ahead. They still choose to be alive and gain something. Whether for good or bad stuff or both, I really don’t know. Regardless of the 65 years ahead. In comparison, my sentence looks short. But it doesn’t make the coming 20 years and the parole afterwards any less brutal. Years of home confinement. Never underestimate parole. And it’s not like you can start a career in music at 50 years old, from your living room.
Whether I think about these things or not, either way, I can’t fall sleep on the bunk. There’s a reason why the people with the empty clock tattoos aren’t allowed to return. They’ve done things I can’t imagine. And I’m with them. In here. My life is in shambles. Nothing that goes on in society until I reached the half of my life can I witness from here. Twenty years of lost music and stuck with some of the most dangerous guys of society, Level 4 and 5 criminals.
Molesters, killers, sadistic pedophiles. And people who actually, systematically, ruthlessly committed the crimes I was accused of carrying out. Real arsonists, who acted on intent and in the most calculated ways. I was at the wrong time and place, without a match and gasoline. They were not. They wanted to be there. If you have any grip on statistics and Cluster Bs, you know that they all are capable, no, motivated, to try similar things in here. Lighters are so strictly forbidden, only non-smokers are hired as staff.
It’s not like the tone in here is all sombre mood. That’s actually the frightening part. There are low-level gang members, thieves, and scammers leaning at every cell bar with that smug and scanning smile on their face.
These people see an opportunity everywhere by default, no matter if this is Daegu prison. You have to keep your attention on your things at all times. I spent last week on another lockdown because of them. One inmate screws up, we all pay. Which isn’t effective at all in preventing the same thing from happening again. It’s all one big cycle.
The food becomes more and more terrible, even if I make it. I feel sick. I go to bed with one eye open. I work my shift looking side to side rather than checking the pot. It’s too loud in here. I have to work more so I can afford basic fucking clothes. Namjoon is as broke as I am, I can’t expect much help from the outside. The only thing I can try to do is get any sleep and blend in without losing myself. And so I keep my head down.
ACT I
Thursday morning begins with quarrels on the yard, more bean rice, a meager workout, and Officer Lee. Towering, angular, and stomping down the chow hall like an army general.
„Showtime, Min!“
He’s dragging me out of the kitchen after lunch, handcuffs dangling at his broad belt. He came prepared.
„Sir. I need to finish cleaning up.“
Lee’s unfazed — as always. The cuffs snap fast around my wrists in two seconds. Too fucking tight for my taste, but who cares about my hands.
Last time, I tried to convince. Told him they’re my most important tools in here and needed to keep the meals running. Which — obviously — doesn’t just benefit me alone. Instantly rejected. It’s not that he’s dense. He just likes to see me wince.
„Come, come along,“ Lee tugs at my sleeve, far too aggressive to be resisted. „I don’t have all day.“
His grip is way too hard on my arm. I can already tell something’s in the air, and not just the regular bullshit.
„I didn’t do anything. What is it now?“
„No need. Let the others take care here. You got something else to do. Get movin’, Min.“
Junsu warned me from the very start that Lee might not be the highest in hierarchy, but very well equipped to ignore an inmate’s every question. Most of the remaining kitchen staff is either glaring or laughing at me, but they’re equally not in the know, it seems. Things going on behind the scenes is all too common.
I’ve learned they’re acting like that because I’m the one getting shoved around now, whereas I wasn’t before. They all love seeing others get their punishments, do they. Anyone but them. As I told you. That’s how you spot the Entitled.
„Don’t tell me it’s solitary.“
Lee chuckles, and I can’t interpret it. „Something worse, by the looks of it.“
Fuck, man. I just know I have to brace myself.
It’s the same thing as before. I stuck to the rules and yet here I am, pushed through half of the third floor.
„Tell me. What’s happening!“
The panic shooting through my body is just about as worse as it was back on trial. I freeze, and I try to move, but it feels like I’m part of yet another scheme I know nothing about.
„There’s somebody very interesting waiting for you on the second floor.“
Another correctional staff approaches. Officer Han, here since 2019. I now get shackles for the feet as well. The mocking eyes of some other inmates from their cells propel my legs to walk, even if my mind screams no.
„The second floor?“
A place where the laundry is done, lawyers strut around, there’s the barber…
„Is it a lawyer?“
„Again, I think, worse.“
Like a fucking broken record. His vocabulary has never been interesting. Lee pushes me to enter a staircase now, narrow and grey walls all around. Han goes back on duty, it’s just the two of us again. The light is barely functioning in here. My fucking eyes. The pattern on the floor tiles is mismatched, an ugly blue and straining green.
„Who is it then!“
„Oh well,“ Lee stomps down the stairs behind me. „You have a very attractive lady visiting. Kinda strange one, but. Attractive regardless.“
„A—?“
My mind just skips. First, what the hell is Lee even talking about, and second, what’s up with that last part? I shake my head in disbelief, which paints a haughty, amused kind of expression on his face: It just screams arrogance more than ever. I feel so drained.
„Early 30s. Very blonde, very rich. Probably up to no good. Rings a bell?“
„No?!“
I didn’t have visitors for a whole year. This simply can’t be. No letters, no calls, nobody announced themselves in the last months, nothing.
Blonde and rich, I don’t know any person who looks like that lest someone with a lot of means. Who in the underground really does. I don’t have any rich friends. Namjoon and I probably have a combined net worth of ten bucks. Bang PD is the only one who makes a couple dimes off our mixtapes. Emphasis on ‚couple of‘, which frustrates him more than the two of us who are already used to it.
„Dame looks like so much trouble, we sent in some extra wardens,“ Lee continues to grin for a little, but also goes on to frown right at me. „Whatever she’s up to, or whatever you are up to: Better stay in line.“
His growling tone doesn’t sit well with me. It reminds me of the times when they announce lockdowns or some new, extremely dangerous Level 5s being brought here.
„I literally don’t know anything about a person like that!“
„I don’t like to repeat myself. Stay in line. Or else: Goodbye to your partner cell and kitchen work. Then we’re doing solitary indeed. Stop fucking yapping.“
A thousand possible people run through my mind. University, school, the label. It has to be someone I don’t know. Namjoon’s friends I know by heart, Jimin’s, too. She’s not someone who sounds like she’s affiliated with my family, either.
„I didn’t go out with anyone. I don’t know anyone with money!“
„Then,“ Lee shrugs, „you’re either twice as lucky or twice as doomed. We haven’t had a guest like that since ages. Your lady even scared the gatekeepers with her crazy outfit.“
More flickering light. We are about to descend to the second floor, where there’s barbed wire and no carpets anymore. Suddenly, the hostility of the kitchen seems to be the way lesser evil. My shackles are so heavy.
„Lee, what the hell is going on! Who is that girl?“
„Chick got a weird kinda glare,“ he booms, tipping me stair down stair. The banister, I really have to hold on tight. „I know a femme fatale when I see one. You got some freaky shit going on.“
I still have no idea. Why do wardens like Lee always talk like they’re not even introducing a real person. It’s always like you’re either meeting an animal, a villain, or some kind of wax figure. Lee is probably so caught in his bubble, he stopped seeing the humanity in anyone around him.
„Did she say why she’s here?“
„Unfinished business was the word.“
The way he repeats that sends chills down my spine. The handcuffs feel twice as tight now. Junsu always says: Euphemism is the language of authority and the damaged. He’s right. I know where to count Lee in.
„What’s her name?“
„Woman insisted on being registered by a name that’s not on her passport. Lord knows she’s here undercover.“
„Undercover?!“
I stop. What on earth is happening. An agent?
„Hurry, rap brat. Don’t stop walking.“
Lee pushes my back. I almost stumble.
„What does that mean now!“
„I’m watching you, Min. Don’t plan some bullshit.“
„What the hell should I be planning?“
„I think she’s here to put you six feet under anyway. It’s all fun and games until the blonde shows up. I got a feeling.“
„That person’s trying to kill me?!“
Officer Lee’s amusement is just about as terrifying as the thought of being entangled in even more of a mess than I already am. Somebody hiring a contract killer would not surprise me given the things that happened. One second of distraction, they have me poisoned, and I don’t wake up tomorrow. If I learned one thing, it’s that I’m easy to turn into a target.
„Well.“
„What, well?“
„As I said. It’s all pretty funky,“ Lee raises a brow. „You might be dealing with someone who lost their loved one in the fire, huh. Some people aren’t satisfied with your sentence.“
Oh no. Everything but that. Someone from the trial.
„I didn’t set the fire! Why do you even bring me to someone like that!“
Lee smiles. „Visitor is visitor. Be happy you get to see a shapely girl in all these years. You know, you gotta think realistically at DDC.“
What follows is the creepiest wink I’ve seen. Lee seems pretty self-satisfied with his talk, hands in his hips. I don’t really have to wonder what kind of person applies here to become a warden.
With every new week I spend in jail, I realize these people are as screwed up as the people inside the cells. Grandstander Bully if you’ve ever seen one.
„You think that’s all just a game. I don’t want to see her. I don’t know this woman… and I don’t know what’s going on. It’s my right to refuse,“ I grit at the Officer, who’s not impressed or swayed at all judging by his snarl.
In fact, Lee doesn’t seem like he’s stopping dead in his tracks anytime soon. We’ve passed almost the first half of the floor already.
„Some relatives of victims wanna look the perpetrator in the eye. It’s also their right. Can’t wait to see it.“
A rich fucker related to the victims is worse than twenty years of cooking bean rice. That kind of person is not only the last one to believe you. They’re also the first to make some moves to get you locked away for eternity. That this woman is on a personal vendetta is already bad enough, but that she’s visiting to see me in my misery is times worse.
„Is she there to just… laugh or scream at me or what?!“
It seems like everyone is out to humiliate me since three years and I don’t know why. If Namjoon turns out to go „Fuck Min Yoongi!“ at some point and leaves the label, I’m fully, entirely by myself.
„Who knows,“ Lee shrugs again. „She’s the type to say an electric chair looks great on you.“
„Are you fucking kidding…“
My head is breaking apart from panic. I’m fucked up. My eyes are a blur. I try to shake it off. Try to talk myself into remembering how Lee messes with your head like that. This can’t be. At this point, I do think I’m dealing with a lawyer. One that still doesn’t have enough.
„I’m just saying. You got a storm coming,“ Lee slows down his walk, indicating that we arrived. „Another thing you can whine about at the psychiatrist. Really pity Miss Park on that.“
Park is my assigned rehabilitation staff and we meet up once a week. She does consult people on death row even if the practice is supposed to be ‚under abolition‘ here. That’s a fucking lie.
As of recently, she tries to guilt-trip me into admitting I did it. I really have better things to do, to put it mildly. All these people are out to fucking strap me on that chair and close the door, then push the button and go on with their daily business. Fuck.
I really have to watch my every word. My body is on edge. I feel every heartbeat thump in my every limb. I’ll insist on my right to get my own lawyer in here, Mr. Kim, that’s all I can do. At this point, I’m almost screaming.
„Now at least tell me what her name is!“
„Easy, Min. Easy. This charming lady,“ Officer Lee grins, pushing open the door to the visitor hall, „ironically goes by the name of Miss Sunshine.“
„No fucking way!“
„Hey, handsome.“
There she stands, in the middle of the room. My God, as tall as ever. All gone blonde in long waves, just like Lee said. I never knew she dyed her hair. I had no idea about a designer costume, either. But the way she greets me is just like it always was. And still, I haven’t heard Sunshine cooing at me for so long, it sounds like a completely new language to me. I just can’t believe what I’m seeing. My jaw hasn’t dropped like that in four years time or more.
„Come on here, honey bun!“
She’s beckoning me. Twice, unmistakable, eyes on me. She’s so different than everything inside this place. I must look like some kind of loose puppet staggering towards her in my shackles, mouth remaining wide open. Most of the guards around the room are no different. Nobody has talked to me about any type of seating protocol.
Officer Lee stays behind, arms crossed. Clearing his throat and glaring. But I don’t mind him anymore. Sunshine has all the attention on her like the center of the universe. All in that saintly beige, textured blazer, and I’m no exception, stopping short before her at an arm’s length. Which she immediately corrects, stepping closer herself. Now it’s half that distance. I’m losing my fucking mind.
It’s really Sunshine. Out of all people, it’s her I anticipated the least. Up to this very minute, no, second, I thought we’d never see each other again.
„There we go. My sweet boo, eh.“
„You… you, here?“
„Well, yes,“ she fully pulls me close by my shoulders, low tone — so husky. The grip is neither superficial, nor is it very rough. I can’t name it, the way she’s touching me. I’m not used to these things. It’s such a wild mix of emotions. The only thing I can say is that it makes me hold my breath.
She tickles the underside of my chin, too, non-chalant as ever. Lee is probably imploding right at the end of the room, behind me.
The material of her gloves is as cold as the weather outside, at least I assume so. Goosebumps, hardcore. It happens so fast, I’m lagging behind for several moments. Stumbling down the stairs, my body was cold cement, but now it’s warm and malleable before her, just like muddy clay.
While she’s at it, Sunshine pinches at my left cheek because she can, which is also just like she always did. The guards are staring in shock too much to prevent her. Those kinds of exchanges are usually prohibited. It just happened anyway. She smiles, and I look just as sheepish, if not more. Her short verdict:
„Because why not!“
„I didn’t expect you at all— I thought, I—“
In a pencil skirt and platform peep-toes in the style of the 50s, for that matter. She must be 6’2 in those. That’s taller than Lee, taller than Han. And Junsu, who’s damn good at basketball and reaching the cell top shelf without a problem. And Namjoon as well. I’ve never seen her dress this way.
„Dropping by on a Thursday. Traditions.“
It’s just like back then. My knees have gone all shaky.
„Sorry“, I blurt out. „Really sorry. I need a moment.“
Sunshine swipes back a strand of waves from her shoulders and ends up turning sideways now. Now I actually notice — there’s a place reserved, just for us. I’ve never been in this room. She probably spent a few minutes here already.
Head tilted, Sunshine points me there because I don’t really react on it. I’m sort of pinned to the ground by a third pair of invisible shackles. The overwhelm of seeing her, the disbelief itself.
„Hey. Take your time,“ she says, basically guiding me to the designated table hands-on. „The whole fucking room’s gawking like we’re the circus, eh. But that’s okay. Just ignore that.“
„Yeah…“
„Now— Sit, sit. Look here. I picked up some coffee from the machine over there.“
And yes. A steaming cup is waiting for me right there. Somebody pinch me. This all can’t be real. Or wait: She just did. And I felt something from it, this actually happened.
The whole room, it’s spiralling. The white of the walls too brutal. The murmurs in my ear from every corner, so extremely daunting. But her, also her, most importantly her. Like a magnet, Sunshine just pulls my tired body to the little seating arrangement. I cannot not mirror her, I just do what she does to get there.
„What… what now?“
„Talk. We’ll just talk.“
I sit on the little red chair. She sits on the small blue one. Her legs are crossed to the right. Just like I remember her, seated on the piano bench next to me some time in July. And not just there. It’s Sunshine’s number one way of sitting. So characteristic of her. I missed it so much.
Seems like beside the dye and clothing style, her movements haven’t changed at all. Choppy, but slowed, and self-assured. Refreshing.
I sigh out. A ton of weight falls from my shoulders. We face each other up close and I love that. But the square white table between us is so old and unpolished, it’s not worth Sunshine laying her elbows on it.
„You could say it’s vintage,“ I speak out loud what we’re both thinking about it, pointing at the furniture. At least I didn’t lose my wit entirely yet, or maybe it’s her. Merely by sitting there, Sunshine has already loosened a tongue that would not move for weeks just by her presence.
All of a sudden, I couldn’t be any more focused. I’m alive, but at the same time, I want to pass out on the ground. I don’t know what this kind of shock this is. My hands hover close to the coffee cup, but I’m too busy gaping at her to extend the movement any further.
„Just like the two of us,“ Sunshine makes a kissy face at me, having my legs all fidgety. „Fits, doesn’t it.“
„Fits,“ I just nod, akin to a kind of hypnosis — but in a good way.
It’s no secret we had a fling back in the day. A few sweet months, until I was drafted on a rainy afternoon in late October. ROKAF — Republic of Korea Air force. Sunshine had to go abroad four months later. Opposite sides of the globe, basically. Her way of talking did get a little different. Not to mention the whole styling.
It’s more elaborate than ever, all in muted color. Taupe eye shadow, roughly pencilled brows, wild expressive eyes. Golden charm bracelets, back-combed hair, too. The waves, all loosely down her back, almost wispy at the tips. Pretty pointed shoulder pads, but not extremely so. It’s like the 90s in Paris.
I can very well imagine she scared the living shit out of some more inattentive staff at the gate. They’re more used to seeing all types of grim trodding figures with bad postures like mine.
Most of my fellow inmates would raise a brow at her decades-old clothing and the creepy gloves especially. Everything’s really overstated, more bizarre than plain fashionable. She’s not like their brand of tiny dolled-up girls from stolen porn mags on Floor One. And vice versa, she doesn’t look conservative either.
I knew Sunshine had an interest in putting a twist on historical clothing, but that she’d follow through over the years and make it a whole wardrobe mindfuck does surprise me. It’s like someone from the past came to see me.
If you think about it: It is fitting. One outfit says a thousand words. This meeting’s like a time machine. Whatever brought Sunshine here, it lightens the pain in my wrists and makes me look up instead of down for the first time in weeks. If you ask me about bizarre, antique, or creepy: I like it.
„Take your coffee, babe. Not extremely hot anymore, I’m thinkin’.“
„Oh, uh. Spaced out for a moment. Thank you.“
Right. The coffee cup. There I go, eventually. She gives a little wink.
„Cheers, eh. Bill’s on me.“
How many years has it been, a bit less than eight? More? We were barely 20. Bustling, confused late teens. And now, I got a grown woman in front of me. While I’m here sitting with my baby face, the fuzzy hair. It must be ridiculous by comparison.
The coffee cup looked small in her hands, but becomes all ample in mine. It also feels that way. I never got my hands on a sizable portion like that, even working in the damn kitchen where you’re supposed to be at the source.
Sunshine and I, if you ask our professors, we’ve already been the most unlikely couple back in the day. But now, it’s even more exaggerated, proabably in more ways than one. And I really thought I’d have to deal with some devil’s spawn of a lawyer.
This is just so much better. Sunshine is absolutely dressed like she earns twice as much as those. Lee didn’t lie about that, you can see the money. It’s really been such a while. And she came here, DDC, for whatever lucky reason.
That excitement takes away a lot of my body aches. And we’re not even talking about the wink yet. She looks so mature. Like she fully developed her own thing in life, a signature. The person I assumed I’d meet, who would have thought it’d be my old friend, right here in the visiting hall, buying coffee and touching me without a care in the world.
So much about Lee’s conspiracies. Electric chair my ass.
„Do these cuffs hurt?“
„Yeah.“
„Who the hell did this. That shit is way too tight.“
„I don’t think about it.“
„Just how much are these people mistreating you? Like fucking honestly.“
„It’s not like I got the keys at my disposal.“
„No complaints allowed here, huh.“
„Not really, no.“
„Figured that. Screwin’ you up big time.“
What I’ve been concerned with is that they let her in with blazer pockets like that. It’s a miracle. She could smuggle literally any small or medium-sized item in here. And that didn’t go unnoticed.
The officers are keeping eagle eyes on us with tapping feet. Not to mention some of the other inmates waiting for their own visitors. Three drilling gazes from each side of the room at least. I hate that we have to do this in a group. I do keep my voice as low as I can.
It’s not like I have to try, Sunshine just touching my face has basically knocked me out already. It takes my skin a while to even register that she really did. When I woke up today, and when Lee riled me through that staircase, the last thing I thought I’d be subject to was any touch like that.
„So… Namjoon told you I’m here?“
She nods. That’s the reason. So it’s all true.
I take a sip of the coffee, which makes my brows shoot up. It’s like liquid ambrosia: Hot, and the right amount of bitter. She added actual sugar, too. I don’t know where she managed to organize that one from. Or maybe it feels sweeter because I’m seated with her and my tongue is playing tricks. All of this moment could be one grand delusion.
„He did. By chance! When I was searching for you, all I ended up with was an old clueless couple. They were living at your former address.“
„Guess you still found me now,“ I say, trying hard not to make it sound defeated, but it is.
„Exactly right.“
„Didn’t really know you were searching for me.“
Sunshine and I kind of lost contact. Well, not kind of. We did. I didn’t really know how to reach out. Texts grow awkward when you can’t meet up. Work was overwhelming. The military really didn’t help, either. They fucking drilled me all day. Down the years, we got new phones, new numbers, too.
I know being in person is very important to Sunshine. Texting is the last thing she enjoys to begin with. We’d always call each other over. „Where are you, honeypot?“ — the only thing she’d have to write.
Namjoon didn’t mind her being at the studio. We spent a lot of afternoons in the Genius Lab. She’s not clingy, but quite touchy, that way. I admit I’m all too similar in a quiet place, and maybe even more than years ago. Because this place is so sterile and rotten at the same time.
Plot twist, now here she is, with the hair down and the lids batted low. She’d wear it up at university. But today, she ran a curl or waving iron through it, whatever’s used to make that kind of vintage hairstyle. The bleach is actually light, honey-toned. Much less aggressive than what I’ve been using before prison.
My hair probably looks terrible, and frizzy, and half-grown out. We only get hand mirrors once a day because some inmates would make weapons from wall mirror shards otherwise. It takes three weeks to get on the prison barber schedule and you need to pay extra for color. It’s not like they have the sharpest equipment either.
To see Sunshine at that table having put so much effort in her appearance makes me feel ashamed. Even the wardens that look after themselves the most, and they have enough salary for that, are a joke compared to it.
Her way of leaning on the chair is so confident. She should be sitting on me as we speak, but this is about the worst way of meeting again.
„Didn’t sound good in the text. The train from the coast is less than an hour. Namjoon talked a lot about how it happened on the phone. Got extremely agitated about it. Spoke really fast.“
I can imagine that Namjoon really dumped it all on her because he doesn’t really have anyone to talk to about these things.
„He seems to be the only one who really believes me.“
„The only one? Not really, no.“
That realization comes as a cold, deep stab in the back.
„He— doesn’t anymore? Why did Namjoon suddenly—“
„Hey. Cool it, boo. Shh. I mean I believe you as well. Makes two people. Of course he does.“
I think I’m really starting to think off track too much. Can’t really blame myself. Namjoon has no reason to change his mind, he always stood firmly behind my pledge. But I really don’t want to embarrass myself in front of her. I’m already pathetic enough this way.
„Sorry… rough day.“
And that coffee is making me even more nervous than before. And still, I drink it. That cup of dark gold which seems to encapsulate everything outside of this place. It makes me less tired at least. And I won’t taste anything like it for the time being.
„It would surprise me if you had a nice merry time in here. Don’t you apologize.“
I’m just mumbling, and I can’t look at Sunshine. If she at least told me I look like an idiot and we got on with it, maybe I could relax.
„See,“ she goes on, arms crossed. „You’ve always been all smartypants. You always think twice. Except! When you play basketball. I’ve seen it often enough. That’s the only time I saw you having any reflex at all.“
„Ah… I guess that’s true.“
„You’re ambitious in music. But the least likely thing you do is run out there to set something on fire. You’d rather write a track and call it a day. The Yoongi I know, way too soft-hearted. It simply can’t be you. You’d have to be hardpressed to become a domestic terrorist all of a sudden. Most you’d do is vent. It was somebody else. End of discussion.“
A voice like a wall. That’s the conviction I know of her. If the judge would have had not even a tenth of it, I might have gotten ten years less. But that’s wishful thinking.
„I’ll really become old with that sentence. You really shouldn’t affiliate with me anymore,“ I shake my head, and my hands cling to the coffee cup as if they were frozen around it, despite the comforting heat. „I’m locked away. They decided. There’s no chance.“
„Not if some new evidence shows up.“
Same old. Namjoon said the exact thing two years ago. At least optimism looks good on her. Namjoon knew he couldn’t help even one bit and the remorse for that is probably making him go as insane as yours truly in here. Sunshine being driven into a similar fate makes me more worried for her than I’m worried for my predictable state.
„They already rolled up the case twice“, I knead my fingers against each other. „I got enough debt from it. 20 years in here, Sunshine. I can ruin my life by getting dragged into this. But you shouldn’t.“
„You sound like you could really opt into this. So what if I’m still here anyway,“ her brows shoot up all questioningly at me. „I’m sitting right in front of you. I was abroad for long enough. We promised to meet again some day. And some day is now. If you’re here instead of the studio, then so be it.“
Although I never thought this was possible, it dawns on me that it’s probably harder to persuade Sunshine not to step foot in here than convincing the jury of my innocence. If I’m honest, a part of me is glad about it. But there’s the other part, too.
„I can’t do anything about it. Nothing. I never expected you to dig in this case. It could be extremely dangerous. It’s not that I don’t like you visiting and believing me. Okay.“
„You don’t look like you have any other visitors. Even Joon is afraid to come here.“
„You might see why.“
Officer Lee’s scrutiny from the back of the room is only the tip of the iceberg. I don’t think she can imagine what goes on during the weekends on floor three, or days when the lockdowns are just lifted.
„Eh. I do. But fuck I care,“ Sunshine blows a hair strand out of her face. „We didn’t see each other for so long. I want to visit you. Just protect yourself well. We both don’t want more shit regrets than we already have. I’m making the best out of this. I came here as soon as Namjoon told me where you are.“
„Sunshine, I know that we’re on one page. I just understand that this place is the worst.“
„You think I don’t, with a green floor like that? That’s the ugliest piece of interior I’ve ever seen.“
She’s right, maybe that’s all you need to know already. It’s a puke-ish kind of green designed to make you feel just like that. The more they build a place that should make you repent, the higher the rate of relapse. The smell in here can make anybody want to get back at this place.
„Yeah, the floor is fucking terrible. But nevermind. I’m saying you should watch out for yourself. We are both limited in here. Even visitors have no guarantee for anything. Most of the guards are corrupt. They’re selfish. There are Level 5 criminals in here. Even in this room right now. It’s already extremely generous that we can see each other.“
„Yoongi… honey,“ Sunshine unwraps her arms, folds her fingers into mine. „You’re cute when you try to baby me. I can see all that. It’s even more a reason that you shouldn’t rot in here. Just play the game and leave the rest to Sunny dear sitting across the table. Do I even need to say damn pretty please for once. Let’s enjoy our minutes here, okay. We don’t have much left.“
Very well then. Apparently, there is some kind of miraculous way I didn’t think about. If she wants to dream about it, it’s not like I can prevent her, and I can’t prevent that part of me either. I just hate that it would need a kind of illusion to keep us together like this to blend out the fact that there are actual extremely dangerous people all around us, and I’m in here for two entire decades.
But fair enough. She’s across the table. Sunshine, living and breathing, here at DDC, a place few death rows short of being a hell on earth, with the tip of her heel dangling against my leg underneath the table just like back then at the bars where we went out. There are so many memories colliding in my head, things I tried not to reminisce about.
All you can ever do is focus on the moment. We didn’t even do normal conversation yet. Even more idiot points for me. But it’s sort of ridiculous to talk about the weather given that I had no glimpse outside today. I try to come up with a good question, but the coffee has me spill out the cringiest things before I can give it a better wording.
„I’m,“ I start, hoarse, somehow, „actually curious how you’ve been. Don’t get me wrong, I… I thought we’d lost sight of each other entirely.“
„I won’t hold it against you if you didn’t think of me all day in here. You have too many problems for that. I get what you mean.“
That Sunshine is well aware that the possibility of loving her would make my stay even more of a torment is both helpful and a reason why the bitterness of the coffee’s aftertaste is starting to actually show.
„To the point as always. You do look like money talks.“
„I came back from Europe in 2016. Got a Masters. In film. Built up a store in Seoul. Traded bedroom interiors. Expanded to Busan. Bought a shore house.“
„Large?“
„Small enough to be cozy. Large enough for a Mae West style swan bed should I ever get my hands on one.“
She always had an interest in these Hollywood things, I knew she wouldn’t ditch that over the years. I’m feeling more nostalgic than I thought myself, if you can say that. Sunshine always came to the movies with her little polka dot dress and red ribbons on her heels. She took me out for dinner at a retro café once to eat bagels. When we went out rowing past the spring pavilions and trees in the southern districts, she’d ask me to put my hand between her thighs while the boat would just rest on the flat waves. She looked at me just like she does now. Her lips do that little curl. That I admire her consistency so direly reminds me that I should be producing as we speak myself. But no, I’m here, where bagel is a foreign word.
„Must be nice. But where’s the catch? You’ve always been thrill-seeking. No way you just sit on the porch and watch the birds for fun.“
That came out more sour in tone than I wanted it to. I’m too used to hearing people speak nothing but angry nonsense.
„Come on, honeypot. Just ask me if I had any guys. The face you’re making right now is not just about the house. You wanna know who I was with.“
She does another lip curl. Seeing right through me as always. At least we’re honest.
„Dammit, Sunshine. Okay.“
„To tell you the truth,“ she plucks a crumb off my shirt, „I tried out some blind dating. I know that’s a bit unlike me.“
Back in the day, she always insisted she decides by how hot and heartthrob someone looks if she wants to take him out to begin with. But a blind date? It is unlike her. Oh Jesus Christ.
Sunshine always decides by eye first and has parameters that are wildly distinct, if not demanding. Everything else is out of character. Knowing that and the fact that she’s sitting here — I can’t say it doesn’t flatter me a little.
„Tried out… who?“
I don’t really want to know, but then, I do. It’s so weird to be stuck here.
„Some elite sons in town. Dad had some whimsical suggestions on the phone.“
„Oh man…“
„I know, right. Basically, three of them. Dad just had one idea after the other. He’s quirky. Actually arranged something. I thought, maybe they enjoy me talking about Cary Grant, maybe they present themselves nicely in a certain way, and so on. What do I find?“
„Um. Probably idiots.“
„You got that right. Tall and awkwardly dressed, exact same choppy haircut. You know, with the short rancid fringe. The weird forehead, the incomplete eyebrows, all that. Sharp suit so they can hide their lack of shoulders. Shiny ties with geometric nonsense on them. You can guess how predictable those guys are if you even hear them talk for a minute. No taste in Rennaissance statues or anything. Insensitive, totally bland, calculated bores, sly, cheeky. Very strange pattern. Last time I took dad’s suggestion. But I think he realized. You know how it goes.“
„Guy worth a ton, actually useless.“
„Hm, hm. And they all have such modern houses. No life in there. Square as they are, odd stuff.“
Modern houses with greasy dudes in them, picking the same style of suit every day. I have to almost laugh. I can imagine Sunshine pacing through some guy’s 120 million minimalist block of geometric cement with a judgy squint on her face.
I have to catch myself trying to remember the last time I checked my face in the mirror, hoping my eyebrows to be oh well, complete, hopefully. I think they are. They’re actually pretty dense and dark, I think. No weird forehead as far as I can tell, either. It’s not like people tell it to your face. But the choppy hair you can be objective about, at least. My bangs are much longer than that. Since I came here, anyway.
„Long story short. All boring,“ she carries on. „These kinds of people have no idea what I’m all about even when it’s all right before them. I could show up on the date with Eartha Kitt and we would not talk about Eartha Kitt. Like how can you not?“
If anything, Sunshine is the most obvious person in the world. That actually makes things much easier, or apparently not. So that’s puzzling. I’m shifting around clueless in my seat. The story isn’t over yet.
„I’ll tell you,“ Sunshine continues again. „None of the guys can row a boat in a way that’s romantic at all. It’s all about getting to the end of the river as fast as possible apparently. My fucking veiled hat flew off. It’s still diving with the frogs as we speak. It took me five months to find one like that in Seoul. Good-fucking-bye. So don’t think too much about having competition. Much like I don’t.“
All tension drops from my body with that one sentence. She’s single.
By the sounds of it, nothing serious beyond a first date happened to begin with. I always assumed my rowing skills were just lazy, but maybe that’s the key. When I think about it, I love the thought of Sunshine with a veiled hat. How fast do you even have to row to make it fucking fall off.
Why’d you go on a date with unwashed hair to begin with. Even I manage to shampoo every day and I’m in here, the lowest circle of hell. Some guys only think about themselves. You can’t help a bumpy forehead, but why would you make a date some kind of show-off race for yourself instead of enjoying the time. That just goes against all principles of being together.
„You’d not be here otherwise,“ I say, eyebrows rising — a bit tentatively for now.
„Finally you shoot back.“
„Am not touching a single gun for all I care. I just wanna know what drives you here.“
And I’m starting to understand it. Unlike Lee said, Sunshine is not here to have my throat slit by a Level 4’s rusty shank knife while I’m sleeping. I can tell just how much he’s projected. They do play with your self-worth.
„I did run into Namjoon on vacation. In Seoul. He told me about a more interesting man than these three shoulderless infestations. Someone who coincidentally took me out to the movies more than once. Can we guess who that is?“
„Hah, Sun…“
I smile into the coffee mug.
„So now I’m here. Unfinished business. We’re not moving about anymore. Got enough loose ends to tie up for good. Actual time to write letters. We’ve grown up. I’m not doing ribbons anymore, and you have a big tape to finish. Yes: You’re here. But let’s do fucking adult things.“
I, in fact, will not move around much, so, well. But besides that, maybe it’s a fair point. Fucking adult things. I’m turning 30 soon. More wasted years.
At least my body still perks up at the mention of letters. I only got some notes from Namjoon the first weeks, and those were as cryptic, as emotion-filled as can be. I didn’t know what to answer besides that I need money for necessities, that it’s terrible here, and there’s no way to do music. Which obviously Namjoon all can’t fix.
If anything, it burdens him twice as much, worries weigh heavy on him. So the reply was brief, not much of substance, and likely news — which went in circles anyways — that made Namjoon twice as head-in-his-hands as he was before, including myself. So we stopped writing for now and feel bad anyways. In our position, you really can’t win.
„Do I actually have any taste in Rennaissance statues?“
„You can tell gay Italian artists apart. Don’t act like you’re boring. Pat yourself on the shoulder for once. It’s wide enough for that. I got eyes and ears.“
If any of the other inmates had a clue about all that, I’d immediately get ignored and outcast. I start to understand why Sunshine dressed up with such stuff and chaotic jewelry, it distracts all outsiders from anything else.
It does look like something drove her back to me because she liked it when we dated. Which seems more and more painful— knowing it’s a situation that even her insistence or bargain talents cannot solve with the snap of a finger.
„I’m not fishing for compliments. Just haven’t seen any art in a whole year. ’xcept you right now if that’s alright to say.“
For starters, I shouldn’t get high on prison machine coffee. That stuff makes you manic. Get back to your senses, Yoongi. Fast.
„Aha. Always charming. Orange’s great on yourself. Don’t get me wrong. I’d rather see you in all black as always. Would have paid a bail to see you back in your sandals, love.“
„Orange doesn’t suit me, Sunshine. I look like a mess.“
I don’t like how the words come out so candidly, at the flick of a switch in mood. This place can’t handle vulnerable truths, but they do come out when even one particle of culture from the outside world does manage to push into these halls. Or maybe it’s just her presence. It makes you admit to things.
„You’re a fine man, okay. Look at your hands. The face! Shoulders. Always had nice eyes.“
„Please don’t, Sunshine. I’d feel worse if you’re here out of pity.“
„You do look fucked up. Doesn’t mean you suddenly aren’t attractive anymore. Pretty guys are always pretty. I don’t pity you as a person. I still think you’re handsome and you’re still Yoongi. The situation is the pity part. There’s a difference. These people are playing with your self-worth. You can’t even handle your coffee anymore. This place is bad for you. But you’re still sweet. Those things don’t change.“
Her fluffing up my hair makes the guards flinch. But they’re probably prepared. Sunshine, smart she is, could also communicate with her outfit that she’s a raging eccentric with the most unpredictable antics, stubborn and goal-oriented. All reasons why I like her, that hasn’t changed at all either. She’s a Leo. I know that everyone in the visitor hall wants to have her.
„You’re teasing me. Leave that to the newbies.“
Every now and then, inmates are shipped from Jeju Detention, and they test out their place in hierarchy. The Level 2s and 3s tend to stop them and take them under their wing, but it’s been nothing but trouble and black eyes from wardens and TV admission cuts.
„Nothing stops me, hon. Deal with it. And I’m not here to mess with you, I’m here to get the name of the fucking guy.“
And now it gets dangerous.
My voice drops even lower, half whispering. Whatever project Sunshine takes on, she punches through. Behind the cooing is a steel fist.
„The guy…“
„Uh-huh.“
„I can’t.“
„Listen to me. You know how it goes. Money means lawyers. Money means you might wake up on my Rennaissance couch next fall. I pinch your bodybuilder ass, you make a nice breakfast, we listen to good music, Namjoon arrives for coffee and tangerine cake at 4. Your parents can go outside their house again and we can see the movies like we used to. So.“
„I want to be on your couch. But it’s not like I can tell it here. Sunshine, please don’t go head first through the wall. It’s seriously dangerous.“
„Not if you wear a helmet of hairspray like I do. And anyway. All the reasons to do something so we can talk in private somehow. You know, as they say. Make it so.“
She really wears a lot of hairspray. All these 1930s styles have always been Sunshine’s thing, to the point where she experimented with hot rollers and I got involved in the morning. She doesn’t burn her hands, it’s just been a basic courtesy. I’ve spent quite a couple morning afters at her student flat back in the day and it’s been a vintage shake by then already. I can imagine how her house looks now. She really succeeded to take the leap. I envy Sunshine, but that she wants to have me around there is a sweetener to my thoughts.
„Don’t think I don’t appreciate your support. I really wish my parents weren’t affected.“
„Everybody needs a little hand, especially soundcloud rappers. And I’m just terrible in the kitchen. I would bail you out under the excuse of hiring a proper chef.“
„Do your cinnamon rolls still collapse past the first ten minutes?“
Sunshine baking stuff has often resulted in a clogged oven which even Namjoon’s regular household mishaps could not beat.
„Don’t even ask about it. Eh.“
„I’d be willing to make them for you. If you promise not to wild out too much in here.“
„Honey bun. Listen. It’s worth the risk to turn 20 years into 20 months or so. And if you mean your fellows looking. I’m just here for you, jot it down. And we’re not doing scan calls behind some glass, I come here.“
„I hope you know what you’re doing. I want parole, not five years more.“
„That’s in both our interests. 25 years without coffee scent in my house sounds terrible.“
Sunshine only drinks tea.
„I can give you the details soon enough… somehow. I’ll try to come up with a way.“
„If the prospect of good coffee gets you going, Min Yoongi before prison is still in you, hm. I’m sorry this is so unfortunate.“
„Please don’t leave, angel.“
I’m not sure why I said that. She seems to take it in stride.
„Another 30 minutes would be nice, I know.“
Sunshine’s gloved hands in mine feel even more precious now. The guards are already preparing to escort out all the visitors, the atmosphere is loaded and emotional. I’m actually more nervous than times when we get a new inmate, or when I try to beat off at night trying not to wake and anger anyone. I can’t help but think how the nights will be even harder now that she came to me.
„Will you come back?“
„Thursday next month. Pinky promise, honeypot.“
She says that in a flirty tone, very low and raspy. Maybe she picked up smoking? Probably not. Sunshine was never the type to ruin her clothes with acid smoke. They’re way too old and far too expensive to do that. I wonder how she can say something so childish in a way mature as can be.
„You’re the best.“
„Maybe they let me into your cell. It’s not like I can’t pose as your girlfriend.“
„You really—“
The prospect of just an hour alone with her is enough to send me down a spiral. Prison makes your mind a teenager. I think about all the things we could do. I wonder what she’ll be wearing. I wonder what perfume she’ll put on. So she’s really not dating anyone else in the outside world. Or does she? Hell… the fact that she drove here is enough to know I have a chance. She’s so rich and so busy, she’d not come here for condolences only. Or would she? My mind is going in circles. Sunshine poking me right in the chest with her finger snaps me back to the reality of the grey room.
„Hey. Why the fuck not. These video calls they’re offering are shit.“
„Maybe… we can play chess like we used to.“
„That’s right, boo.“
Sunshine bends down to kiss my forehead. I’m so dizzy. A lot of people around are mumbling.
„You know you make me very lucky.“
She pinches my cheek in response. The guards get in formation, some more enter the room. Just two minutes left with Sunshine. She looks at the clock as well. It looks like one that’s used at schools, it couldn’t be any more plain. But the meaning behind the minutes could be weighed up with diamonds and gold around here. The chief warden announces it’s time for goodbyes.
„Okay, so. I’ll tell your mom that your shoulders got bigger. Maybe she’ll send another letter, then.“
She just knows how to make me laugh. If anybody else said that, I’d probably break out in tears.
„I’ll need ’em to carry your new 1920s wardrobes up the stairs, okay.“
If I’m not mistaken, those are her favorites. She mentioned it in passing when we had some liquor in the studio and danced all night and day.
„You’re still so cheesy.“
Her smile is so sheepish, I’m so glad she came.
„Mark my words. And…“
„Hm?“
„Sorry I called you that. I’m just in here for way too long.“
„I have no problems getting called angel. M’kay. Something else important?“
„We wrote in June. He’ll finish the mixing. You should ask Namjoon to have a listen.“
„Nothin’ I’d like more. I’ll see you, rowing champ.“
„Maybe I can dive for your hat one day.“
The guards ring a bell, shout through the room. We embrace hard across the table, then Sunshine rises to leave under dozens of keen eyes. Two wardens frame her, functioning as a guide to the door. But between us, the lingering eye contact is like a rope pulled apart for as long as it can until it snaps.
There are still too many things to say. It’s another month without her. I’ll probably go crazy. Meeting up brought many good things and hopes in the last 60 minutes, but probably makes the next 43,200 of the following month even harder. Hell, I’m already counting these things. If I wasn’t at the point of calculating every second already, I sure am now.
That a lot of the other inmates saw us this way doesn’t make it easier. I feel exhausted by how they watched us. If anything, that will be the biggest challenge. The last thing I wanna do is brag about her or get some tattoo of her name because that’s bad luck. People around are already telling me they never saw me talk like this for the entire year. Prison gossip, that’s basically wildfire. Maybe it’s been a terrible idea Sunshine came here in the long run. Her PDA leaves nothing left to imagination, either. Everybody can see that she’s certainly not neutral.
Whether she really comes back or leaves, either will hurt, for different reasons. That she even entertained the full hour with me looking and speaking pathetic shit like that stings from having to blend out she might have done it out of moral pity. But Sunshine really didn’t seem like she’ll go home and pat herself on the back for visiting me just because. And it’s not like anybody could brag about seeing a falsely convicted arsonist who’ll return as an old broken man because oooh-that’s-so-sexy. I trust Sunshine that she’s not doing it so she can tell her friends a story.
Officer Lee’s grip on the fabric of my uniform seems twice as brutal as before. I couldn’t give him the satisfaction of Sunshine being some kind of lawyer with a vendetta. And he thought I was in trouble. Sunshine is far too proud and unbending to play that game. But that she couldn’t treat me horribly, or even just act like that, feels like a soothing thought. A thought that helps me endure getting pushed all the way back to my cell. I’ve lost all measure for what affection is, so the afterimage of her taking my hands like that is unusual, but somehow, makes them feel warmer now despite this whole place being stone cold.
After spending an exhausting 5-hour shift in the kitchen stirring soup, I get called to the lobby. It turns out Sunshine deposited a hefty sum of money. Four figures, an amount Namjoon and I always dreamed of raking in within five or six weeks at best with a proper album. It’s enough to buy as many phone calls and gym shorts and deodorants as available in here, or probably even more. It’s not something I can instantly believe. A lot of people at the penitentiary would go the most extreme lengths to get their hands on money like this. I’ve already wondered if Sunshine was a figment of my imagination, but the digits are tangible before my eyes. I wouldn’t be surprised if I just hallucinated her, still. It’s too good to be true.
The languid kiosk staff looks trustworthy enough not to pass on my new bank balance to the next best gang member, but I can already see all kinds of issues coming my way. If I don’t hide this information and the items I buy well enough, I’ll get ripped off faster than I can breathe. Many level 4 criminals are nothing short of experts at smelling the presence of cash and doing something about it with the help of group dynamics. No discretion? The wardens have to clean me from my cell floor by tomorrow if I’m not bribing someone myself or paying something ‚extra‘ for the sharks. It’s better to scarcely buy things acting like nothing has changed.
At least fifteen prayers and one sweat breakout later, I swear I’ll be careful with it to myself and invest it in a postage stamp. I really want to write. I’ve lost most of my manners and words in here, but if she says I’m not dumb then I can at least manage to pen something, can I. It’ll help me calm down and look less stressed hopefully. It’s too idealistic to hope that all of this flies under the radar. The repercussions are already in the air. If the group visit room wasn’t under intense surveillance, who knows what would have happened.
Just seeing her meters short of very young and aggressive guys who yell way too much at night and love to cause trouble, and some level 3s who basically work for 5s — I’m in the wrong type of place, the worst possible. Nothing more terrifying to see Sunshine close to wife beaters and sex offenders. Nobody can technically leave their seat without personnel immediately reacting, but I still wish I would be the kind of person who was much more protective in the way I come across. Maybe I was some years ago, but in here, and since I’ll turn 30 soon enough, it’s a different story.
Sunshine is both extremely brazen in how she looks, and talks, and acts, without any apologies. I wish I had a pinch of her confidence in here instead of adapting and retreating so much. At least it’s better than becoming the next best Grandstander Yard Bully because that’s the other side of the spectrum and seemingly the only other choice. Since I neither look like it and lost most of my sharp tongue in the chow hall within the first three months, I’ll stick with what remains of me and put in on paper for her. And it’s not like I can’t work out four times as hard in the evening. Which will get noticed as well and I hope not too many people will connect the dots about.
The banker makes some strange faces before spewing shit about how I got such a ‚sweet bee buzzing around you, with all that money honey‘. I tell him not to dare look at Sunshine but leave it at that. don’t want the full 20 years. Talking smack to staff gets you charges and more mistreatment than necessary. Wasting Sunshine’s money on that would be like some kind of heresy. He says he’s just joking, but that I should watch out, „you know, in general“. As if he’s not the one participating in that. It’s already enough to bear meeting Sunshine in the group room with the most intimidating people whose registers I know too well from keeping my eyes and ears open at the chow hall.
The next week passes with people looking at me differently. I could exchange extra TV hours and shirts against peace from a Level 4 ring boss who got wind of me replacing my kitchen-goo-ruined sneakers with new ones. I could curse his lackeys out or be smart and cooperate, offering something they really need. Getting respect for standing up against the big ones and risking a shattered rib are a too slippery slope at this point in my sentence.
Only the longer I stay here, the more I can work my way up, if at all, but again under the jealousy of the new ones. At least people understand the principle of avoidance in here. But it’s not the final prison I’ll land in, this is only reception. When I’m with people who committed felonies in my category, everybody wants to know everyone’s business. And it’s not like everyone is Sunshine who believes you didn’t do it because she knows you.
I manage to get a haircut on Friday, pay for extra peroxide and a good shave. It really does make you feel much better. Sitting at the barber’s makes you feel like a real person. The only time I felt that during the entire year I spent at DDC was when Sunshine put her lips on my forehead. Seeing her was excitement mixed with panic because of the other people in the room — oh, how I want to see her without anybody else mumbling — but that moment outweighed it to me.
Maybe it was the meaning I ascribed to it. I put my thoughts on that into the letter. Hoping Sunshine wouldn’t feel offended by it. There are too many guys who have been involved in all kinds of trafficking and abuse around me, to pick up any jargon of that would be the last thing I want. It took three entire days to finish the letter. Or rather, until I was happy with it. I received one basically 9 days later and hid it from my cellmate. He was rumored to sit for snitching and having a new class 1 identity to get by in here. If he’s level 4 and the hidden gossip central of this tract, I’d not be surprised.
Sunshine was using the most beautiful baroque papers that she said her store is selling. Almost five pages, double-sided text, with actual ink. It’s the most luxurious thing I’ve seen in 12 months. She even put some perfume drops on the envelope. I’ve never smelled something like this in here. Those five pages must be the most-re-read piece of prose in history. I actually read it every morning when I use the bathroom and memorized the sentences by now.
Sunshine says I should come visit her newly equipped kitchen once I’m leaving DDC. There are enamel pans, and copper pots, and even a brand new cast iron wok pan in a normal size, not unlike everything that’s so gigantic and rough in the chow kitchen. Sunshine describing all of these things in detail makes me feel equal parts happy and depressed. But she finishes with saying it’s not relevant if it’s by the end of the year on early discharge, or in two decades, it’s not like an enamel pan wears down fast, and it’s adding to its intrinsic charm. I wish I could cook with her and distract myself at work with ideas about it. Maybe it’s building a castle of glass, but I accept it as a little dream world to ping pong back and forth with letters for now. We know we’ll do it out of distraction.
A lot of other inmates ask me about who it was as the visitor room, and wiggle their eyebrows, even congratulate me. It feels weird. I let them talk their talk as long as they only bother with their respect game. People assuming I must be anything special makes living there only worse because it draws attention from the influential guys who have been in there since 25, 30 years already. They want to know who I am and what kind of strings I can pull. Since the only thing I can do is release a mixtape at best and I say I’m a nobody, people suspect I must be some kind of spy trying to retrieve secret information. A lot of level 3s down the hallway only address me as „Hey Cop“ and „Coffee Boy“ whenever I walk past the cells to get to the kitchen for shift. I resent Sunshine and I don’t resent her. Because how could I. She made a lot of things better and gave me motivation to go on.
Every week, I sat down cuffed in Mrs. Park’s office. Not a single word to her about Sunshine. Thank God she’s an extern, she doesn’t know the gossip. Nor did I react to Junsu’s pestering.
ACT II
Best news of my life. Thursday next month comes with me getting a separate visitor cell. Actually, the day before.
It smells acerbic, damp. Like a run-down surgical suite. Or the dentist’s, with slightly more ugly green in it, and less air condition. But I’m still glad I do.
No cellmates around. Less noise. A high-up window facing East. Yes, a fucking window. It’s not too small in there, either. One generous bed with a strong metal frame in the left-hand corner. It’s actually a bit bigger than the bunk I spent the year on. My height is paying off: That cell, and that bed, can handle two people.
The hours simply don’t want to pass. I brushed the living hell out of my teeth. Showered twice Wednesday evening. Much to the anger of the novice warden, Chang, who proceeded to cut my breakfast and extra ramen for the next day to compensate the water cost. He didn’t let me go to the recreation cage either. Guess why: Lee told him so.
Pacing around in a space as small as my former apartment bathroom doesn’t exactly get my blood moving, at least not full-blown. Good thing is, and I thank whoever made this happen, I got my own space for Sun and I. And at least a glimpse of daylight. I managed to fucking beg the staff to get me lip balm and a safety razor at the commissary. They charged five bucks more so I need to take some extra shifts on the weekend.
All this absolute crap for being at the wrong place. Can’t even get fucking baseline stuff and some shit to get my hair in at least a tolerable shape. It’s sort of just doing whatever it wants. I can only use water and bar soap to control it. Sun wants to get with me and I look like an unsightly caveman in bright orange. Bags under the eyes for free because some Level 4 blockhead decided to get into trouble talking back at Lee, Tuesday night. Several times. I couldn’t sleep one bit. Nobody has seen the guy at breakfast.
I have to strip and squat down to get searched before entering the cell. That humiliation I can take. Eyes closed, I imagine it’s Sun’s gloves. They’ve done worse kind of searches when I was still new here. I get the allowance, though, and Chang locks the door twice. All I do is walk up and down, count the push-ups. The visitor cell is much better than the one I normally stay in in terms of its layout, but after a while — that’s about it. They basically ‚accommodate’ me for an entire day with the brightest ever overhead lighting so I can’t get any sleep, either.
The lunch passed through the door is an already half-spilled vegetable soup without any substance or major color to it. Basically clear pee. That one goes right down the sink once the warden has walked off, no way this is getting into my system. The bread that comes with it is actually pretty edible and gets half my stomach full, but it’s essentially dry with something unidentifiable smeared across it. All brown and yellow, some weird onion scent, which I’m scraping and cutting off immediately. Goddamn fucking hellplace.
Since they don’t serve dinner, I’ll wait it out until breakfast. Which gladly has some oatmeal and orange juice, and God fucking yes, two palm-sized pancakes. Kind of burned, but there’s cherry jam. Which has too much sugar in it, but it’s the only thing that’s ever really melted on my tongue in here. For lunch, less bean rice than I usually get. Lee is in charge of handing out the food trays today. He simply decided to pick out the least supple portion for me because ‚here — for our small guy‘.
I devour it and aggressively wash up, shave again, and try not to puke thinking about brown onions. I don’t have my writing things with me in here, so all my spontaneous ideas and melodies stay at the back of my brain and turn hazy after some time. Maybe they’re lost forever since my ears get a regular jump scare from some howling inmates or doors being unlocked, which erases all my other thoughts. So much about less noise. I’m starting to think it’s worse in here.
The only thing I can’t forget is Sun. Against the color of the wall, her image remains in clarity before my inner eye. Since we got to sit so closely opposite one another, I could memorize her eye color down to every nuance. The kind of contacts she’s wearing, the way her skin looks like, how her eyebrows move. My mind clings to our over-the-table talk every waking hour. I try to imagine her stroking my face again over and over. Each memory I’ll replay like recorder.
There’s a loud scream half past nine going through the hallways, something I’ve never heard before. Chang trots up and down the floor afterward. There’s a dog barking from somewhere. It’s raining non-stop. Han seems to talk a lot outside, but I don’t understand what he says. More screaming follows. I crouch in a corner sitting on the ground.
I pretend as if she’s standing at the window just singing a bit. She invites me to stand up and dance. I say I’m horrible, we waltz together anyway. There’s a vinyl playing, I don’t know which, it’s pretty jazzy. Sun says I’m great as the record fades, and we dance again regardless. When I lay on the bed, pillow over my eyes and ears to drown out the noise, I imagine how Sun squeezes me from behind. Like hug. Yeah, she’s a squeezer. I pick up a book, head leaning against the wall. My mind wanders off to Sun bathing in a pool behind a house I don’t know, without her makeup on, drinking orange juice from a glass bottle until she turns toward me.
She splashes me with water while I’m biting into walnut ice cream from a cone, drinking canned green tea with artificial sweetener. Taken from the fridge just five minutes ago. Double the brain freeze, but I don’t care. Then I see me, rubbing Sun’s clit right through her red bikini while she’s drying off on a lounger in the shade. With just one finger, right on the spot, not straying for a second. Softly, but consistently pulsing. Dipped between her labia, legs squirming and winding, Sun telling me to never stop. I’ve gotten so into it, I’ve had this sudden thought for the last three hours, on loop. I add more details every time.
When I meditate on the bed, I act as if she’s busy in the other corner, typing something on her laptop. Sun ends up distracting me because she asks if I also want a snack, you must be so hungry honey, that makes two of us, so we walk into the kitchen together, where we kiss and raid the cupboard. Sun feeds me extra crispy, extra powdered cereal and the milk goes everywhere on my black hoodie. It’s almost like some kind of religious experience. I might be starting to understand why so many guys turn towards a belief in here.
When Park shows up on time to quiz me for an hour, ready to drill, crack, and mince my brain through fifty thousand psychological questions and methods and tricks and measures and scales and inventories, I pretend she’s Sun’s mom who I’m planning to ask for her daughter’s hand. I know Park is profiling me on whether I can accept visitors. I’m not fucking dumb.
When I work out later, sorting out my mind from the convoluted talk, I act as if Sun sits on the bed. Showering gown on, legs crossed. raving about the very first silent movies and how my thighs look so nice by the minute, asking if she can touch them. More push-ups. Leg raises. Sit-ups. Using my body weight. I try my best to be grateful, but that word sucks. I pass out on the bed for 45 minutes after lunch.
I wake up suddenly remembering how we kissed on a swing near the pool. I try to picture the scent of that cherry jam again, and the pancakes, because I think that’s how she tastes like. My nose lost most of its memory since last year as well, so I have to try five times until I think I got it right. Right after I dismount from the swing, Sun asks me to tie off her bikini because she’s so on edge.
She wants to do all kinds of things to me and I know the tone of voice. The weather, not a single cloud in the sky. The occasional seagull. Sun has her own ice cream now, but this time, we share it, and I work up the courage to fully undress her. She says I ate so nicely, and wipes some cream off my nose even if leaving it like that would be cute. I can’t really say anything to her, it’s just stammering. I know it’s funny that I’m bashful, but she likes it.
With the most doting of her expressions on, Sun coos how I’m so shy and curious, and ends up choking me out on the lawn. Hard, my back on the cold grass. The kind when your head is briefly lifting off the ground and comes down with the hair a mess. I always think doing it gently would be pointless to how I work. She keeps going until I’m drenched in sweat and my legs are kicking, and my dick is way too hard to do anything with it. I fall asleep for another 15 minutes, dropping down a grey-black vortex.
I wake up, wash up. Painstakingly. I imagine Sun on all fours right on that lounger, legs closed, that’s how she feels it best. Umbrella overhead, me penetrating her from behind while she’s eating ice cream, just making her feel good. The moans are the best thing in the world. Really loud and no filter. Sun reacts to every little movement. Her body picks up on every change in touch. I hate it when I can’t see her face, but she’s tall, her neck is long. She turns her profile so nicely, and I love to give her waist all the attention it deserves with my hands holding it. Eye contact, all the way for five minutes, until she closes her eyes for a little while.
Since I got her off twice earlier, we’re exhausted and she’s bubbling wet. Sun asks me to add some of my spit on my dick just for the extra fun of it, so it would drip to the ground. I make sure my thumb is circling the very best spot. Third orgasm, I can get her there. The more I get my hand going, Sun tells me how nice it feels when she pushes back on my hips because they’re all warm and her skin is a little colder since the pool water evaporates.
„That’s so good, Yoongi.“
I make sure to move very deliberately so she’s comfortable. Her legs open just a little, so it runs down to her knees on one side. I tell Sun that she misses out on seeing her lips wet like that. Sun says, take your phone. I get a close-up and show her. Again she says come, make it a quick video. Like fifteen, twenty seconds. Just slowly going in and pulling out, and back, all making it seamless as good as I can. We’re just playing around with it for a while. Going super easy and being turned on like mad. I can feel how relaxed she is and also promise that I’ll dip in the water a bit later with her after we had something to eat.
The more we’re going on, the more her skin is warmer, and I love to stay deep inside her for a bit until she tells me to move again. My finger slips off her clit a couple times because she’s so runny. We go on anyway, and Sun loves the way I breathe. A slight gust of wind trails around the pool, just at the right time. Sun finishes the ice cream and goes on about how I’m really cute. Every time she moans, she squeezes me a little bit. It’s like a hug from the inside. With a little maneuvering, we manage to hold hands. I bend forth, kiss her upper back, ask what to do next. The screams of terror down the hallway cut so deep to the bone, I can’t continue the thought.
„Please! Please! Please!“
Distorted and gritting. It pries your skin off. The worst part is that nobody out there reacts.
I can’t sleep anymore. Sex drive, killed. Everything limp, cold hands. Now I really wanna throw up. I stare into the bright light until my eyes start doing weird things. My mind goes back to the loop of Sun splashing me with water a few times, but my ears have become too alert. I’m stuck in this room again, not the world of fantasy.
Sunshine gets escorted in by the wardens in the early evening and I almost get a heart attack. An unusual visitor time, but it seems like they wanted me to rot under the bright lights for as long as they could to wear me out. Not a chance. I’m wide awake, you fucks. I waited for this hour an entire month and hardly thought about anything else but this day way in the future. I peeled potatoes, I thought about Sun. I chopped carrots, I thought about Sun. Did maintenance in the yard, I thought about Sun. I realize that most of me did not physically live these 4 weeks in prison.
I could tell her way of walking by ear among 10,000 people. Hell, 100,000. Nobody walks like Sun. Wolf whistles all along the corridor, screams, taunts, yells of shock, banging on walls and doors from the cells that don’t have any solid doors but bars, unlike mine. Growling. Chaos. People going ballistic against their bars. I want to scream back, and I shake from how visceral my reaction is. But I don’t want to ruin it all before she even gets in. These idiots. I can hear the click of her heels and the way she sings behind the square peeping hole in the door to greet me.
„That’s my sweetheart in there!“
Oh, Sun. How I missed you. You don’t even know.
I can see a glimpse of her face, alongside two officers checking on me. She seems to ignore the guards completely. Instead, our eye contact twists the rope between us back together. Just that one moment would already be worth it, but I’m so glad we can spend more time.
Keys turn. The peephole closes again. Then, the mighty bolts of the door lock shift back. The noise is as dull as ever, but right now, it feels twice as blunt to my ears. I’m shaking even more, one hand grabs the other to hold it down.
„Don’t do anything crazy in here, doll.“
Officer Lee, right next to her and first to come in, licks his lips.
God no.
Not that bastard again.
„We searched you head to toe with good reason,“ he continues, and I hate the sardonic tone already. „Now you, Min. Act weird, you get cuffs. We collect your entire bank balance if you do shit you shouldn’t do.“
The other wardens clear their throats and stifle a laugh. I know where the money goes when I mess up.
„In fact,“ Lee dials up the lighting of the room from the outside of the cell now, „you better not have too much fun. The bathroom in our kitchen begs for a cleaning. I got a fucking job to do. You can get assigned for that in ten seconds. Count your fucking blessings. Who knew you were doing some hypergamy shit.“
He glances up and down Sun’s body with some kind of ambiguous expression. It forces me to look on, literally feeling I’m about to implode. Meanwhile, she just looks at me instead. It’s encouraging enough to pull my own gnarling eyes away from Lee. God bless my Cherry. She’s too eyes on the prize for someone as low as him. We say nothing at all. Sun’s busy painting a little smile on my face.
„Anyway,“ Lee turns. „Do your pathetic nonsense in here.“
Lee is always ready to respond to people who talk back, but awkwardness has him beat. He just doesn’t anticipate it. Brilliant. She can pull the rug from under anybody’s feet.
„Yeah,“ the other guards chime in as well, retreating to the hallway. „No business with weirdos. Han says, Min’s gone crazy. Like real loopy. He’s seeing things.“
On the doorstep, Lee pulls out the keys from his black vest pocket and turns over the shoulder one last time.
„You don’t look so good these days, do you, Min. Careful, Lady. Your man’s acting like a wimp. Who’d have thought the stoic guy would go all nutty like a patient. Just let me know when to shorten the visit time. My break’s always half past 12.“
My blood is at its very boiling point. Now he’s trying the psych route. It’s the same poking tone that the profilers used, the people who screened me upon coming here. First step is wearing out, the second, destabilize. The third, breaking the person down. We’re at stage two in this conversation. I’m pretty sure who the real fucking weirdo is and it’s not me.
Thank the heavens, at least they close the damn door. Finally. It actually dawns on me now. Park really said yes and let me have visits by myself. It all worked out. Sun’s here. It’s happening. We meet alone. I rise from the bed and rush to the spot where she stands, next to the sink, in a split second.
„God, Sun—!“
„Baby, hey!“
She hugs me, hands around my shoulders. My hands in the curve of her back, halfway up. Warming my fingers up for those split seconds. They’re fucking icy, feeling twice as heavy as they usually do.
I’m standing there so awkwardly and full of shock. Breathe out, so hard. My back becomes less stiff. Memories of the first visit come back to me, when we said goodbye with a rough embrace. I’m clueless for seconds. I think my body forgot how to do all of this. Even if I wish it would be different, physical affection is a lot to take for my mind.
This whole day has worn me out so much. I can’t tell if I’m seeing double. Maybe she’s not even here but my brain tells me she is. Maybe I just came up with that story and I’m still passed out in the corner. Too many thoughts like a sudden waterfall. Concerns, and anger, and the ever-shaking hands. I don’t know when I got this insecure.
„Are you okay? Forget these things… That CO is an ass.“
For me it’s already daunting and I’m used to prison, but for her, it must be the inconvenience of her life. I really want to say I’m sorry for all this. I stroke Sun’s back carefully, until we depart from hugging.
„Easy, easy,“ she now unties the belt of her trench coat, actually more unfazed than I expected. Voice calm, and raspy as ever. „These people all dance to the beat of the track. That’s their problem.“
„You got a lotta guys by their balls, that’s true.“
This all happened in such a rush. She’s here literally one palm length away from me so suddenly. I help to strip the sleeves off her arms, level off the garment. But my fingers don’t get very far without me almost sucking in air out loud. Under the relentless lights from above, it hits me in the face even more so.
She’s wearing a whole set of white corsetry underneath.
Nothing except the coat had covered it.
„Sun, that…“
Jesus Christ. The corset is just the beginning.
Below, long dark stockings that are slightly opaque. A white lace bra on top, cupping up her breasts on eye level to me. Black spike platforms below, the heel thin and tall, at least five inches. The hair in a neat chignon, roots all dyed, straight and sleek like a teacher. The nails dark and shiny, shaped like almonds. Sun put on a rose perfume that’s very deep, rough, and a punch in the nose for someone who forgot how roses smell at all. Her eyes, calm and cold, with softly curled lashes, have delicate mascara and brown smoked eye shadow framing them.
Her pupils… steadily dilating.
As if the bright light didn’t even exist in here. Did she take something? I don’t really want to think it’s because of me exciting her so much. That would be too unrealistic. I don’t look even slightly on par. I’d need a full designer tuxedo.
Up close, I can see her wine red lips lined with a slightly browner color. She’s so tall, I’ll overextend my neck just looking at her chin already. My hands don’t know what to do anymore and just float somewhere at my solar plexus level.
How on earth did she walk in here like this. Sun has hardly worn something like that, not to such a degree.
I can’t help but get turned on. She could make anyone lose their mind, let’s be honest. Sun just keeps catching me off guard. I know she hardly ever holds back, but she still managed to ambush me, and even make my daydreams in the kitchen about our Thursday look ridiculous.
„Guys by their balls? Including you. With all due respect. Now why don’t you pull me on that bed with ya. Come.“
No objections, Ma’am. I do just like she says, like a robot. Thumping heartbeat. Everything passes me by. My whole body says yes. I take her by the wrists, gently. She walks up to me, sits on my lap, legs crossed to one side — in typical style. Oh God. Her ass.
Neither the very bed we’re on nor me myself and I deserve even a millimeter of her. Lee did have a point with one thing. Sun is out of my league times ten. I do have to count my blessings, and they’re immeasurable in this moment. ‚Thursday next month‘ suddenly sounds like a harder drug than the ones I saw dealt on the yard.
„Sunny,“ I look her in the eye. „Did they do anything when they searched you?“
„Eh,“ she frowns. Sunshine’s voice being so suddenly unnerved makes me angry. I don’t have to guess why for long. „The coat stayed on. But I almost had to slap away a hand or two.“
„What!“
„Your staff is not professional at all. Least they’re tame like lambs after they see the designer bag. I even lied to one of those greenhorn interns that I’m your wife and he bought it, even though he kept being cocky. They had female staff for the rest. I had to leave the bag there. But it’s not like that’s the most important thing.“
Whoever was making Sunshine so uncomfortable should be promptly fired on the spot. It’s even more gnawing since I knew she wouldn’t be in safe hands and wrote it in the letter, to come around with even more care this time. My own hands, perhaps for that very reason, seeking not to distress her anymore, don’t want to close fully around her, but she guides them to do so.
„It sure ain’t, Cherry,“ I tell her. „You don’t even know. These sick fucking bastards, they got some nerve. I’ll get myself out of here. I’ll get myself out.“
And I’m literally swearing. Not a waking minute do I want to spend in here anymore. Not one filthy second. The fucking frustration. We’re caught like little birds in a net in here.
„Look who’s talking now. But leave it to me,“ Sun trails at my neck tattoos with her nails. I’m shivering, it stimulates me so much. Even that little bit of scratching is enough. „I’m not here to waste time talking about these people. Your part is making Sunshine a very happy girl.“
Sun’s voice is so husky again. She knows what she came here for, and I am lucky to provide it. In my current state, if I’m pragmatic, I don’t know how it’ll be like. Sure we’ve done this before, and I hope for some muscle memory to come back to me. I can’t believe she’s sitting on top of me, the sheer catching up I have to do makes my thoughts do somersaults. I knew I’d be lightheaded, but not this overwhelmed.
„Oh that I will,“ I say, and we put our foreheads together. „You know you can do anything you want with me.“
Without her gloves on, Sun’s fingers stroking down my nape becomes almost mind-numbing, teeth-gritting. I’m between passing out all over again and jumping to the ceiling. She really came because she gives a fuck about me. She did. I still have to convince my perception into this reality. The brutal intensity of her simple touch makes me bite down on my tongue. There’s no feeling like that in the outside world. It’s simply not possible. Sun takes her time to look me up and down, more composed.
„Touched up your hair, did you,“ she brushes across my bangs, sweeping them back. I can spend all day running a comb through and it springs right back to its original shape. But when Sun touches my hair, it magically does as she says. Her magic talent is that everything in her surroundings will do precisely what she desires, but that’s nothing new.
„New shirt. Freshly shaved. Great thighs I’m sitting on.“
I worked hard for days to pull myself together for this. What’s the bare minimum in the outside world is a public stunt inside DDC. I admit that her scrutiny thrills me. Teases me. Gets my hormones going, which I expected even less so given how empty-hearted my nights are. Sun’s eyes are as acute as ever. Holy fuck, they’re almost undressing me.
„I really like you as a blondie.”
“Really? My hair?“
“Looks super cute on you, huh.“
“No, it’s just fried and...“
“You look cute! You’re always nice. Look at you.“
Let’s be honest. A lot of guys at the studio would run for the hills. Sun is decisively superficial with these things. She is analysing every inch. Her taste is critical and so specific. Maybe that’s why I’m fascinated by her. I don’t know why. It’s a compliment. Maybe because she’s sitting on my lap. Not anyone else’s.
„Thank you, angel.“
How many tests I must have passed for her to return, it’s probably an entire Christmas wishlist. She treated Lee like he was basically air, as he deserves. The three rich guys got a whole run for their literal money. All gone with the wind. She’s been to Spain, to Denmark, France, and came back ready to mingle. What I’m looking at? The eyes of a hawk. Everyone gets sorted out. But the little voice of confidence that I have left says maybe her taste is so specific because it’s geared towards me. She literally just said I’m nice.
I absolutely wouldn’t mind being Sun’s husband if we’re frank.
„You’re very welcome, sexy.“
And I think I like her because she’s single-minded. The way her eyes are so focused is the type of silent praise that’s unmatched. I think my hair is not that bad.
„Put your pocket money to good use.“
„Uh-huh,“ Sun says. „Am absolutely feeling it.“
„Really, star?“
„Very. You’re looking all juicy tonight.“
Her voice carries a level of perversion that university Sunshine had yet to tap into. Back then, she was more casual. The person on my lap eight years later looks at me with the same type of desire, but also something that’s intimidating, something that makes you drool and say take me. Something that makes you wonder what she’s up to.
Ironically. I somehow can’t fully understand being together this way, in my situation. I’m still in kitchen shift mode. Which guy on this corridor is this lucky to get so strongly pursued. It’s already rare outside of these bars. In here? I should crawl on the floor in front of her. Why would you come to such a horrible place.
„Sorry for the eye bags and all. Can’t sleep in here.“
„Pinky promise I’ll knock you out.“
She trails at my collar bones with her left hand, puckering her lips. When she kisses my eyelids, the stress of a thousand hours seems to fade. And yet, when I open my eyes again, I’m struck by how perfect she is.
„Sun… I look like an idiot next to you.“
„If you insist on being an idiot. Least say you’re my idiot. And don’t pretend you need a lot of manicure to be sexy. You always still got it.“
Sun’s ‚don’t be so oblivious, I’m swooning‘ face has got to be one of the most rewarding things a guy like myself can ever see. I love her when she’s hard-headed and I love her when she’s cheesy. I wanna be hers, all the way, and I wanna show what I’m made of.
I really have to repeat to myself that she is 100% here for me. She’s beauty, she’s grace, she’ll tell it to your face. Sun woke up for 30 days wanting to be on this bed with me, too. It probably took forever just to style herself that way, just to make this pit of hell a little less drab.
She rejected three extremely wealthy guys for not being Min Yoongi. And probably lord knows how many people in her messages, or, at the store. Who did she pick? Glad motherfucking me, and I don’t even know why. The way she sits on me makes my thighs so warm, I forget the lack of proper heating I’ve had for the last year.
„You know you’re the best.“
„And by the way,“ she says. „Your next deposit’s already done.“
„A deposit!“
„Don’t save too much, will ya. Buy yourself the fucking things. Make sure you hide it well.“
„Oh my God…“
Sunshine plants her big signature kiss on my forehead. Then goes on to pepper my face. Lipstick, lipstick, and more lipstick. Everywhere. I’m so touch-deprived, it makes me shake and question if this is all going down in real time. The inmates will probably start a mass riot if I walk out with that amount of treacherous marks on me. Who in here can say he has a prison Sugar Mommy. Well, just little ole me. It must be the rowing. I have no other explanation.
So much cash. But I’ll risk cleaning that toilet if that means being able to punch Officer Lee in the stomach for messing with her money. Sunshine could probably get Lee to whack himself in the groin if you think about it, at this point I think she can make anybody do anything for her.
„If you want me to kiss your feet. Just say the word.“
„In a minute.“
Sunshine pushes her bra all up in my face. All I’m seeing, and all I’m feeling, is boobs, silk, and heat. Real bodily heat. Sun’s heartbeat is going really fast, which makes me hard, as if I absolutely wasn’t before. How excited she is for me gives me back an excitement I’ve stored away for as long as dozens of months.
Her breasts. They’re big and soft and lacy, the best thing I ever felt on my cheeks beside her lips and lashes. Over 390 days on that ratty cell pillow, reconciled in just seconds. But my body is honest. I could break out in tears every minute with that level of physical contact.
„Now how are we feelin’, you know, generally?“
I can’t see her oggling my arm tattoos, but I know she currently does, because I know Sun. That she’s so blatantly here to fuck me, I must be the luckiest and most ill-punished criminal in history.
„I— went to the doc on Monday,“ I mumble.
„Uh-huh. What’d he say?“
She retreats, my face now cold in the open again. The lipstick stains from my face are all over Sun’s cleavage now, so I try to rub them off with my thumb. If those get on her lingerie, they could and should give me five more years and I’d see the point. Never soil a woman. Sun is wildly amused at me rubbing back and forth there so awkwardly.
„I think, good things.“
„Oh, bless.“
She looks relieved. Genuinely. I can’t believe I have someone worry about me. In here.
„I’m all clean.“
„Responsible, are you, boo.“
„I try. But it’s like they don’t really want you to be.“
„Well fuck that.“
„That’s what I thought… you can ask for condoms there.“
Right in my pocket. Glossy, but plain gray packaging. Staff Chan begrudgingly gave them to me in the apothecary. I didn’t know how many to request. Four, five, I said. I got three, with a scorning eye to better use them. This place is so contradictory, it hurts. I’ll ask again for next Thursday even if they roll their eyes. I got a wife to make happy.
„Very well-organized,“ she nods. „Am impressed. You worked out, too,“ Sun smacks her hand flat across my biceps. „Gettin’ all meaty, Herc.“
For the first time, I can actually, audibly, laugh a little. Sun going on to shamelessly poke at my thighs and pecs through the thick orange fabric of my clothes still manages to leave a felt tingling imprint long after her finger withdraws to find another spot. If we had more time, I’d ask her to grope me for as long as she wants. But the clock doesn’t say something so nice.
„I play a lot of basketball on the yard. And, maintenance stuff.“
„That’s very Yoongi. Gotcha, hm.“
„If people aren’t busy shanking each other in the throat. And I guess you naturally buff up with those huge pots in the kitchen.“
„I bet you, baker man. And please protect yourself, Yoongi.“
„I will. But yeah… I hit the gym more.“
Lord knows how many of those ugly big pans I had to clean and hoist. At least it’s good for something. No knife in my throat yet, so. Avoidance tactic, all you can do. Pre-emptive. All else means body bag.
„Look at you, then. Can you actually lift me?“
„Lift you?“
My mind is too horribly jumbled to really put one and one together.
„Just for fun. Like bridal style. We’re married, apparently. According to the grapevine, of course. It’s wedding night, honeymoon start, you know, and all that.“
Oh. That kind of lifting. Right here, right now? In her own words, why not.
„Sure, Sun. One sec.“
Arm under her thigh, the other under her right arm. Up we go from that bed. Having her on my lap has got to be the nicest thing that’s happened to me in the last 5 years, but carrying Sunshine through the room casually while she’s giggling just tops it off.
Here I am with my glamorous lady teach looking wife, pacing in a prison cell in an orange potato sack myself — which my mouth promptly decides it’s time to lament. Sun insists we’re sexy regardless, pinching my nose all over.
„Fuckin’ lies, eh. You’d be hardpressed not to look hot,“ she twirls at my hair, probably another magic trick in the making.
„Don’t say that, Sun. I’m not used to it.“
„Hey. Gotta start somewhere. You know I’m proud of you.“
„Thank you…“
„Which includes how you look. All of this. You’re all my pride. That hasn’t changed. Okay?“
Something in my mind, and I have a hard time explaining it to myself, is more convinced than before. She’s so enjoying herself. With her legs dangling off my left arm, and how she plays with my bangs in our little ceremony here. There’s that carefree kind of chemistry. The time passes with a little more lenience. I can prop my head against hers and talk a little lower, but my voice is still so ripe with emotions that it’s hard to hide at all.
„I’m glad I got you.“
„Ah— So sweet, Yoongi.“
„Really am. Thank you for coming.“
How she’s pressed against me. It’s what I wish we could do for the rest of us existing, even if it’s on this shit planet. There’s got to be a little room for us just like this cell. Just Sun on my arms for long. I don’t know why I think that, but it feels like she’s the apple of my eye again. I do and I so want her to be. I cherish every second. Maybe she does teach me something.
While we banter, the clock slows. Sun describes to me everything up outside the little window until she bends down to kiss me. Teeth against my bottom lip for a moment, then full contact, but no tongue. A series of plump and breathy kisses follows. No work from my side needed. I know that Sun just likes that pouty lip on lip, repeating a couple times as it is. Since my left hand is all wrapped around her thighs, I notice how her legs are pressing together. That, and I’m guessing based on experience at the cinema, might be what I think it is.
„None of these boys,“ Sunshine twirls at my bangs, „could make me… You know. So what’s your secret.“
It is what I think it is. Sun’s all wet. From all that talk. Just inches away from me. Oh Jesus.
„So… It’s not true that I set the president’s house on fire.“
Again, my mouth just works on its own. I think it’s Suga junior talking. He pulls off the weirdest shit. Even Han couldn’t come up with it.
„Am not contesting, hon,“ she lets her feet dangle.
„And. You know what they wrote. I’m not the worst terrorist in history.“
„I know that for a fact. Don’t be silly here.“
„But. It’s true I might have… set something much nicer on fire. I don’t know how, to be honest.“
Suga junior is definitely the one that needs the restraining order instead. Life-long speech ban. I just wanna hide. Sun doesn’t look fazed at all. Entertained, even.
„You don’t say… That’s the secret? What’ve you been burnin’ up there?“
„If you— Ma’am, let my tongue show the rest, for the time being.“
„Oh, oh, naughty. You’re confident!“
I love her reaction faces. It’s not just Sun who can be cheesy. Adrenaline does shit to you. She always makes such big eyes at me. Maybe I do impress her more than I tell myself. I hope I do.
„Like it, Cherry?“
„Sounds promising.“
„Would be a pleasure.“
„Gimme a taste here, then. I like that spot, love.“
Sun points at her neck, and points at her lips, and I let my mouth do the work without a second of hesitation. I don’t care about subtle. Bad technique or testing out my shit, that’s literally not allowed. Straight to the good stuff. It’s something you simply can’t dare to forget, not in a situation like this.
The tongues deep intertwined. Arms around her as if I had to guard her from dropping off a cliff at the end of the world. We only have an hour. They can put me in the basement tract or beat me, at least I should keep my promise and walk out of this cell having gone as many extra miles as I could. I don’t walk up and down all day for fucking nothing.
I take in the fragrance, that amazing perfume on her neck. And her natural scent, her sweat, which mixes so well with it. Sun must’ve showered just before departure with the train because I can smell a specific shampoo on top of that. The way she prepared herself to come to me (and on me as she’s about to witness in a minute because I’ll give my fucking everything) has been so meticulous. Attention to detail everywhere. I bury my nose in her hair bun, and continue to lick, to suck, all across her neck to see with satisfaction how jittery her thighs are.
„Just like that… Oh my god, Yoongi.“
„S’that it?“
„More!“
I had no idea. This is the magic spot. Those are things we’ve hardly done back then, and we already kissed a lot. I better still got it and I better give her more. Full tongue, and the lips playing into it, and just some superficial teeth to stimulate her even more. Our little rendezvous sessions after going to the movies need to look like peanuts compared to this. Sun just playfully lifting my skirt, us taking pics fresh out the shower in towels, me being an anxious mess. I don’t know if I ever managed to just lift someone and hold them like that for this long, either. I can hate this place all day, and with good reason, but the workouts are five times as effective.
„Give me fucking more! Oh my God…“
Just with her head thrown back like that, I already want to cum on the spot. My cotton shorts probably won’t tear, but it currently feels like it. All the guys from university back then or the rap underground would faint on the spot seeing her. With me, entangled this way, even more so. I’d probably get death threats and get my fingers consecutively broken on the spot if I walked into floor 3 with her like this, neat heels and dark nails, that rose perfume on. She really did it all to make our spare hour the very best, I never would’ve expected it of her to do just a fraction.
„Oh please. Yes! More lips.“
The opportunities in here are so laughable for me to do the same. I need to fucking get out. Out, far away from Daegu. If I can’t, I’ll live off the Next Month On Thursday drug for the next two decades and tie the knot at 80 years old after parole ends. That’s some teen movie pipe dream. Every inmate, no matter the age, would tell me — they always leave. Many guys I know all have arms with black ink blocks on them. It serves to cover up the name tats they once got for a girl. We have an awful lot of black ink block tattoos here.
„Fuck, you’re good. Why didn’t I find you earlier. Fuck.“
But maybe that’s because the guy wants the girl more. He has nothing to offer. In my case, I’m surprised I don’t feel that bad about being desperate. Sun seems to outdo me wanting her just when I thought I was mindlessly horny. I haven’t been pursued this aggressively my whole life. If that doesn’t make you feel like a million-dollar man, I don’t know. Other people date to kill time and to fulfill an expectation, a pressure from inside, from out. But in here, it feels like we double every minute, and we went here because it would all be worthwhile just for ourselves. I have no intentions on a name tattoo as a reminder (I mean fucking why). Too busy kissing her neck.
„Right up there!“
She strokes my hair and the tense back I got from all that hard bed I’m sleeping on, it feels so much better even if she’s just brushing over it. All her lipstick is smeared right across me, she kisses me so hard. I’m so starstruck with Sun because of it, and she asks me to lay her down on the edge of the bed.
„Fancy a good meal?“
„Oh hell yes. I’m fucking starving.“
„Would’ve smuggled in something more to eat in there if they let me. Maybe a French pancake. Didn’t you write about these twice?“
I would be the most spoiled person on the planet if she had pulled that off and brought me Crêpes. My heart is kinda fluttering when I realize she really read every detail in the letter.
„I can handle. It’s okay. Don’t get yourself into trouble over food. You’re the French pancake. With all due respect, Ma’am.“
Stacked with extra tangerine, dark cherry jam, dripping maple syrup, chocolate coating, and a big cream portion right on top of it. And it’s all served with heavy duty Americano. Everything at once. It’s her that I adore. Fuck your transparent pee soup, Lee.
I am starving. But that’s emotionally. A meal skip I can bear. Thinking about our two empty bedsides at night, that’s like a fork between the ribs.
And just so you know. That disgusting kitchen bean blob is a fucking joke compared to Sun who’s a ten-course meal with extra sorbet dessert rolled up in edible gold flakes. Year-long supply of nutrients, most expensive delicacy on earth, an entire hall of coffee beans, a banquet and a feast combined, and that doesn’t even suffice yet when I see her gliding off her panties.
We use her coat to cover up the mattress, thank God she brought it along. I’d never let her rest on that bed without any barrier. Just to be between her legs makes my inner world collapse, I haven’t had anything like that in a felt eternity. I can’t smell anything else but Sun and I hate that 17 minutes passed already. I don’t want to embarrass Sun digging in so much, but it’s probably just my mind being fucked up. Her praises are pouring down on me, and she’s pouring down my tongue, god fucking dammit, she really got extra wet. That it’s me causing her to be like this gives me the last push to just let go and eat her without any constraints.
Sun is covering her mouth at this point, but I hope that Officer Lee can hear her hard breathing through the door. The corset comes off the second Sun asks me to open the hooks. There are about fifteen of them. Sun is horny to see the orange shit shirt off, I couldn’t be happier to discard it. The rest stays on, we agree to spend no time getting dressed again.
„Oh yum. I knew you’d get tattooed with all kinds of corny things,“ Sun traces her hands all over my shoulders, and she seems to like the big tiger the most. Large and winding, claws curved, the stripes visible from a large distance, with fiery eyes just like hers.
„The day,“ I pause, „I’m out of here is when I’ll add your name. Inside here, it’s bad luck. But just you wait.“
„I’ll book you a tat appointment for Christmas, boo.“
„I trust your confidence, Sun. I hope I can.“
„Just eat. Don’t worry.“
And that’s what I do. Sun’s thighs are like soft pillows in my palms, and I start drooling between her tits after we share another series of kisses. I apologize and lick it off, but Sun thinks I’m cute. That she said that I still got it is more important to me than I’ll admit. I wish I had the energy of my 19-year-old self, but maybe she can do with the maturity that comes with me being 28. I’m old enough to know that rather than going to the movies, she is the movie and I have the honor to be invited for caramel popcorn extra sweet.
„I listened to your mixtape so often. Did you dream of me? You look like you do.“
„Every night, Sun, you don’t even know. You really don’t. I swear, fucking swear.“
My brain latched onto the visitor hall incident like moths to the flame. Junsu reported to the warden that I must be beside myself recently, gladly with no further investigation. I don’t immediately react to my name when I think of Sun. I sometimes stare into nowhere in the evenings. It was only right for them to hear. They only bother if someone is a hazard to the officers, or if someone doesn’t work.
„Every night? My pretty love,“ Sun neatly traces my chin, smiling to herself. „But I can tell what you’ve been dreaming of. Cuz you’re not the only one, huh. I thought about all kinds o’things.“
„You, too, Sun?“
„Wasn’t joking with the adult stuff.“
Her tracing follows the outline of my lips, and the hollow of my collar bones. Torturously slow. Breath-stopping, a sensation that’s just like the first time of being touched this way. Goosebumps.
„Ah—“
„If we care for a ride, honeypot.“
„We care, Ma’am,“ is all I can nod out, and I didn’t even have a tinge of coffee. At this point, I think it’s just her having that type of effect.
„Mh, I hear you. You’re talkin’ so cute, eh.“
„Just please… nothing too wild, Sun, I—“
„Hey. Not asking you to climb around like a rabid motherfucker on speed.“
She pats the mattress, and I know I can just be on my back for the time being.
„You know you’re the best, angel.“
„Uh-huh. Come,“ she places a kiss on my stomach. My mind jumps through fifty hoops and at least a hundred far dimensions like a knee-jerk response. „Let me tease you at least. Just stay as you are. Fine by you?“
„Fine by me.“
Her nails dragging across my loins has got to imbue my head with a new level of insanity. I can’t control my whimpers coming out even if I wanted to. She investigates all my tattoos with her lips. Sun’s steady breath on my skin, I’ll never forget. Her hands, the hip grinds, the hungry eyes all over my erection, they become almost hypnotic when she finally pulls down the hem of my trousers.
„Ohh— Doc was right. You really are healthy. Pretty, pretty.“
Sun props her palms on my thighs. Enjoying the moment, kneading them with her thumbs. Even that little amount of stimulation makes my dick strain.
„Sun, don’t fool around. That’s not true…“
„I mean it. Look at you. And these tattoos are really nice.“
I know I shouldn’t want to impress her. But when I do and she tells me outright, I get even harder. Especially since we’re under the scrutiny of the bright lights that seemingly highlight every pore and cell of your being. If she likes me here, she likes me everywhere, and that reassurance is almost too much for my mind to take in. This shouldn’t be the place we’re in, but this reality is the most unrelenting thing I know. Just a little soothing makes accepting it easier.
I actually got a set of red and silver salmon fish inked left and right onto my groin. Scaly, broad, and winding in a vivid crescent shape on either side, either fish in its own way. Sun running her fingertips through my close pubic hair trim and right across the fish makes me want to grit my teeth more than when I got the tattoo itself. I can see in her eyes how much she delights in caressing and surveying me.
„You know how it goes… Happy wife, happy life.“
My mind in the twilight zone, I still manage to reach into my right pocket for a condom and leave putting it on to Sun. My hands are basically defunct from shaking and sweat, it’s no use. Thank God she spares me from needless fumbling or worse, some kind of handjob.
„Are we lasting three rounds? Four?“
A classic sequence of Sunny tease winks follows.
„Maybe just a half if you tell me that.“
I always get turned on as hell when she talks about going multiple times. Maybe it’s because it’s so hot that Sun can’t get enough of me just because. Back in the day I managed maybe two. But I’m still obsessed with how much she wants to enjoy me even if I can’t do it that often. Especially not here, I’m completely on edge. How many years did I not have sex? I can’t expect myself to not cum early.
„Honest,“ Sun giggles, carefree, and it’s the most refreshing thing I heard in a long while. „Lemme hop on. How many minutes left?“
Having Sun kneeling above me with just inches between us, the sheer sight is enough to make my heart race to the point of my ears feeling like they’re getting a repeated puncture.
„Thirty-eight,“ I grit. „Enough to get some cinnamon rolls perfect.“
„Oh, sexy. Oh my God, Yoongi.“
Sun always gets a little flustered when I talk kitchen stuff. I think I’ll have to make it clear to her that she’s my favorite select delicacy.
„Let me kiss you, Sun. I need you.“
No hesitation from either of us. Her lips are so nice and addicting. I’m left refreshed with every contact, and heated after every brief depart, but there’s hardly a pause between kisses. Because Sun’s lipstick color is so matte, her lips keep sticking to mine, and don’t come off like they usually would. She likes that. I do, too. We kiss until I almost black out, only for the adrenaline to drag me back underneath her face.
„Forgive me if I won’t remember most of this. I can’t think right now, Sun.“
„No worries, boo,“ she whispers. „I’ll write the details in a letter. Just describe me the recipe.“
I whisper right back. After not really talking for so many months, the words beg to come out. Sun has effortlessly loosened my tongue again, and this time, with her own.
„That one comes out automatic, I guess.“
„Let me hear it, handsome. What are we having today?“
Okay. Now we’re going there. I have to brace myself. I don’t think I can handle it in the very least. But I want it. It’s now or fucking never. In every sense of the word. I haven’t touched anyone sexually or romantically for over three years in this court and conviction back and forth. Maybe even four years. I worked on the tape pretty much in isolation. Sun didn’t walk all the way through this screaming shit place so I leave her with nothing, either. This time, I can’t keep my head down and wait. She smells like none of the guys she was talking about could really give it to her.
„First— we’re mixing the ingredients,“ I push out the words, kiss at her chin and behind her ear, short of the nape. So good. I can’t describe how I missed being sensual. It’s all coming down on me in one go.
„M-hm, I’m listening, babes.“
Sun showering me with pet names gives me at least an anchor that it’s all the way it always is. Her scent is amazing. I can hear guards march down the hallway outside, past our cell. My mind can’t fully blend it out. It gives me a kind of fear I haven’t felt, and a kick, all at once. I just keep on kissing her collar bone, take in how she softly moans.
„The sugar, the flour. We’re putting it all together. Okay?“
„Okay, darling.“
My hands are careful at her waist, giving her the tempo in which she can lower herself on me. Ah, shit. If she did that out of nowhere, I’d probably scream out loud and start crying. It’s already hard enough for me to tolerate how much I’m twitching. The first contact of my head between her lips churns my whole body upside down. When she lets me sink in, I stare, I’m in disbelief. I feel nothing and everything at once.
„God… Sun, that’s—“
My whole mind feels like it’s breaking apart. She’s so wet, and so warm. I don’t know what anything means anymore. I’m just focused on her.
„Feels really good, honey pot,“ comes an indulgent, whispering groan to my ear, and I remember the one time she said that to me in the morning after we went out.
Her kisses that follow are hard to describe. I’m feeling up her arms to have something to hold onto. That Sun took my virginity after we watched East Of Eden almost eight years ago doesn’t count anymore. She’s actually doing it now because it’s feeling like it. The kiss we share is so slow and tantalizing, I don’t know how I’m keeping it together. Sun with her breasts at my chin and sinking down all the way on me has got to be the best feeling in the world. I’m only stammering at this point.
„Then you melt some butter… and add it to the rest. Really stirring it in while it’s still hot.“
Our hips get moving. We don’t have to wait for the other to set the tone. We’ve done this too often not to know each other. However, I’m probably being too overcareful, which Sun picks up on.
„I love it. Can you stir a little more, baby?“
„We’ll stir it even better, then.“
My hands at her hips help Sun’s thighs do the work with more leverage. God, she’s fucking killing me. My own hips do slight raises and rotate, just enough to bring some movement.
„You’re heaven, Yoongi, oh shit.“
Let’s give her some more of that. If there’s one thing I learned in this fucking hellscape kitchen it’s stirring and stirring and more stirring. Nevermind it’s bean rice. This is so much better. Basically no comparison possible, actually. Having Sun get a taste of that means that this time, it’s the best stirring I’ve done yet so I can see her eyes roll back. With my balls pressed up all against her so I can hear Sun gasp. I know she loves them, so she gets them, the math is that simple.
„Like that?“
„Just like that! Oh Jesus fuck.“
Her way of kissing me is going crazy. She’s sucking my soul out and I’ll say thank you. It’s so forward, I’m sinking into the pillow more and more. Fuck, Sun is getting aggressive, with her hands at my jaw, holding my mouth in place. I’m feeling so hot right now, I haven’t experienced it for an entire year. Even when the kitchen was busy, the floor was still cold. You bet my feet are warm right now. I don’t think I’ve ever been this aware of my circulation. This goes on for almost two minutes. I’m entirely delirious. All I hear is Sun’s breath going shorter and shorter. Those kisses are on a new level. Her insides are twitching, and Sun’s hips align with the movement of her lips. I just let her take me. It needs another half a minute until our tongues slip apart.
„You’re addicting, Sun. I… I forgot what’s next.“
„Don’t we need some milk, honey love?“
„Right, Sun.“
If I can make her any wetter, my fingers are more than eager. They slip right to the place where they should be. Not very hard to find. I know my Sun inside out, and the face she makes when my thumb does the work. Sun doesn’t just have a thing for my tongue. She always insisted she loves my hands („Oh my God honey, they’re like porn“) and how can you not remember that. I hope my tattoos are her kind of taste. Probably not that difficult to add some more wet stuff to our little party. Prisons don’t sell lube, I prefer making Sun as turned-on as possible anyway, what else are those little licks at her neck for. I might have done a little love bite at her boobs as well. But mostly the neck because that gets Sun going like nothing else.
„Milk… and butter… and sugar. Oh shit, shit. There, you doing it there! Yoongi, you’re so bratty!“
I’m well aware. As I remember her, she’s actually pretty milky. I stop teasing because I have to focus on my hands. It’s not perfectly easy when she’s leaned forward like that. But honestly, I’ll ruin my wrist for her if I need to. I can cook rice with my fucking left hand.
„So, far, so good?“
She nods. Wriggles her hips.
„You know your hands are porn. What’s next?“
„Now we’re kneading… deep and proper, rolling it, preparing it… We’re letting it rise more as well.“
Sun’s reaction faces are enough for me to know that my hips are doing the right thing. If there’s one thing I love, it’s stretching her out. Sun’s body doesn’t have to tell me twice that she can make her lips open up in either sense of the word. Even her most minimal movements intoxicate me, so it’s no wonder I almost lose consciousness again when Sun starts bouncing on me. Without a condom, that would have been enough already.
„Now comes the heat, Sun. Ready if you are. No cinnamon rolls without the oven.“
„Fuck… Just switch it on.“
I put my arms around her firmly, get the friction going. I try to focus as hard as I can. Her bra rubbing against my chest will probably give me another dream worth ten hours of heated sleep. Sun’s hairdo is coming off, the strands are all over my arms. For anyone else, that would be a normal feeling. But for me, it’s so good and so stimulating, it’s torturous. My thrusts are short and to the point, Sun does the rest, putting me in a haze of kisses and deeper into the pillow, my moans stuck, my arms so desperately holding her. She has no mercy on me and she’s right. There’s no time to play.
„We’re preparing… the glaze.“
„Yes, show me— Yes! Oh my God, your arms.“
The noise itself pushes me. Her pussy clinging and squeezing. Her breath at the side of my face. I don’t know if I’m half awake or half knocked out. My face is burning.
„Sugar… vanilla… Do you like it?“
„Do it, do it, do it. Come on!“
How did that song go. I can’t feel my wrist when I’m with you. I think it was something like that. Sun’s getting the deep rub of her life. The shaky legs follow. Her eyelids squeezed shut. Dick buried deep and not moving. Sugar it is. Oh yeah, I’ll make her enjoy it without a move of my hip.
„Oh— Nh!“
When she’s not saying anything and just bites down a smile, it’s a good one. You know that type of happy heavy frown. Sun pulls at my hair all throughout. Her fingers are locked in the strands like an iron grip. The body talks until the tension all runs out. If I can’t look outside the window and see some stars, at least Sun gets to. Winding, trembling, bucking up. For seconds, and then she opens up her eyes again, and it’s all wearing off. She stares at me in shock at how intense it was.
„You motherfucker… Oh my god, Yoongi! What was that! Wow.“
That was a thorough orgasm for my Sunny. I shouldn’t waste time with her more often. I might have caramelized the whole thing a little more than I thought was possible. The things you learn in a rotting dentist office prison cell.
„I told you we’re adding Sugar.“
„Shit, you are something else!“
„Don’t mention it,“ I pump in and outside of her still, keeping myself at the limit.
Sun’s now-you gaze doesn’t need an explanation.
„Put the cherry on top, babe,“ is what she whispers to me, still shaky, veins showing.
„For a good glaze,“ I say, „You need extra milk. The consistency. It’s the best.“
„Gonna be so tasty,“ Sun moans, and God damn we’re about to fucking decorate.
„Last, last step,“ I stutter, and Sun lets herself fall forward entirely. Nothing I can see anymore. At least the hideous ceiling is gone. I can only do so much as croak and whisper between her breasts. „Frosting.“
„Yes, put it in. Come on.“
Maybe it’s me suffocating, maybe it’s Sun’s pussy effortlessly doing a last long glide, relaxed, drawn-out, with an exhale of hers. I’m shaking all over. She won’t stay still. Sun gets all my semen in three goes, and milks out a fourth one. It’s passed quickly. I’m basically having tunnel vision at this point. My whole body, all on fire. A mix of relaxation and total fatigue. This one punched my lights out. I’ve forgotten about the entire world. All my mouth does is mumble into her cleavage. My thoughts are just floating nonsense. At least I know I’m living, my lips do move and I can feel the condom being awfully tight with way too much cum. How that happened from just eating pancakes, I have no idea. Guess the recipe is working, Sun got a good portion of glaze.
I see the light of day when Sun reclines, pats my chest. The last twitches make me whince. I think she murdered my entire dick. My body feels like it’s on the verge of either levitating or breaking down fully. It can’t decide. And I ride that high. In all bliss, because I almost choked underneath her, Sun’s boobs just did their magic. Yes, my face is still there. Never thought I’d have a thing for having it all crushed. The dynamic of the moment just had me tangled up as a first time. I don’t think I’ll ever feel like that again, but that’s okay. Choking virginity is also a virginity. And anyway. What happened eight years ago with a lot of fumbling and angle experiments. I’ll consider this one the bigger deal. I think I just took heroin.
„Ah— Sun. Ama, Amazing. That was amazing.“
Immediate nose kisses.
„Whew, yes. You’ve been fucking twitchy. Look who still got it.“
„Likewise, babe… Shit.“
She crawls off. Tucks her hair behind her left ear. I do the right one. We didn’t even go remotely hard and are both all limp on that shitty bed in every sense.
This is what you’re calling a quick recipe for a filling. Most nights I jacked off, lord knows there wasn’t much coming out and it took ages. I’ve been so tense. But now, even with the condom on, it feels like such a great relief. Cumming inside Sun while I’m here was the last thing I expected. It’s a high that makes prison coffee look ridiculous. She feels so good to me. It won’t stop coming out. I know I’m not knocking her up but it’s almost like it.
After a worrying glance on the clock, I lick Sun clean. Better taste than anything they’re serving in here. Can’t wait until next time. I put her panties back on at lightning speed, wrap her into the coat. If any warden has the idea to peep inside early, that’s prevented now, this is for our eyes only. Last but not least. I kiss both of her feet through the stockings before putting her heels back on. They simply fell off the bed while we were busy.
„Happy wife,“ Sun coos at me, and aims for my cock with her hand, seeking to remove the rubber.
„No, no, no, no. Let me do this.“
I roll the condom off. With the left hand. Away with that into the tiny old bin next to the sink. Very much hoping that Officer Lee is on cleaning shift sometime. Would be nice to see his face because that thing is a sopping mess. Sun claps and laughs because I can chuck it there in one go.
„You’re a lot of fun, Yoongi,“ Sun and I cuddle up on the trench coat, and I make sure to hook up the corset while we do. The other second, we already panic over Sun losing her hairpins and collect them one by one. If I get caught with one of these, they’ll probably let me lick the floor or some other shit. Sun promises to do a ponytail next time. I say the pins do go down the toilet if it comes down to it. I hoist up my trousers, put on my shirt, but let Sun take a good last look at the two fish. That my whole skin there has gone all flushed and veiny makes Sun tickle me.
„I just wish they didn’t keep my phone.“
„Ask Namjoon for the key to our studio closet. I have old photographies from me there, bottom shelf.“
„Oh! Well that shelf’s fitting for you, eh.“
Fair enough.
„Labelled UY2. UY as in, uni year.“
„Oh right. You studied photography! Sorry, my mind’s lagging, too.“
„Don’t forget, UY2. Second year.“
„I got you. Thanks, Yong. Means a lot. Really need something of you outside there.“
Hearing that puts a gripping fist around my heart. I don’t want to think about Sun feeling lonely for the next four weeks, much like I don’t want to think about myself.
„Request some B-Sides from Joon. I have a hundred stumps and drafts.“
Bless the heavens that this idea, in all my daze, still came to me.
„Really?“
„Yes.“
„Okay.“
„Are you satisfied?“
„Very.“
Thank God Sun’s perfume is so strong. Otherwise, this room would be treacherous. But it’s not like my ruffled hair and skin flush isn’t telling. I hope Sun’s coat doesn’t have anything on it. That one goes straight to the laundry machine and I wish I would be the one switching on the programme and filling in the fabric softener and doing the ironing and put it on a hanger that’s probably 80 years old and refurbished.
I really have to get back to Floor 3 mindset. If I say or mumble in my dream that beside all paper work evidence that I’m married, they’ll probably inject me the craziest shit or get numbed out with pills. That private paradise game that Sun and I play needs to stay in the visitor cell. I really pray we found all hairpins because she goes through the metal detector and they count what she brought in and out. That Sun is already preparing to depart and the clock indicates only 45 seconds left for us is just tear-jerking.
„Okay, hubby. You know when I’m dropping by. Let’s see if your case develops. If not…How often until release in total?“
„I calculated. Twelve times nineteen equals 228.“
„Then we’re baking 228 times until we’re old and grey. Home confinement at the coast doesn’t sound so bad afterwards.“
„With good conduct, I might make it twelve times sixteen. 192 times the dough. I’ll perfect my recipe even more, pinky promise.“
„I’m so looking forward,“ Sun smiles.
Another kiss.
„Me, too.“
Sun smiles at that, too, but also looks at the clock. She seems to be much more serious now.
„And… by the way—“
„Hm?“
„Conduct. I see you glaring at Lee like you’ll rip his hands off. It would be nice if someone would do that. In an ideal world. But we’re here. Don’t get angry at the wardens. You wanna stay as innocent as you came in. The rest you leave to me. If Lee thinks he’s funny— my lawyer has a new lady apprentice that studied assault cases specifically.“
„Why the apprentice?“
„The lawyer herself is busy with your case because how could we not.“
„Besides keeping my feet on the ground, if I can help with anything…“
„You know what you can help with, boo. Come on, now. We’ll take that chance. I want you on my couch.“
And I lean in to whisper the name into Sunshine’s ear. I saw him set the fire. It’s going to be a mess.
We help to wash each other up with the lousy tap water as good as we can. We use Sun’s scarf to dry down. There are no towels in these cells for the fear of inmates hanging themselves. The sink is probably twice as old as I am and disgustingly metallic. Sun has to do the rest at home and stay like this for the remainder of the train ride. I curse everything about this hell place. The lipstick only comes off after hard scrubbing with soap.
I wish I could keep it on to know where she marked her territory. Everyone should know we belong to each other. But there’s no way making anyone jealous is a good idea. And thank god it’s another warden coming to fetch Sunshine, and not Officer Lee, or anyone of these new guys. I can already tell by the gait. Way different.
Before the peep hole opens, I ask Sun whether she’s really here or not in this moment. I say I can’t tell anymore, and I don’t know if I’m still living, and I don’t know if I feel anything. Instead of answering, she twists my nipples. Not just gentle. Really hard. Question is answered once and for all. A) They didn’t grill me on that chair at 2k volt, this being the afterlife and B) Sunshine evidently exists as a living person. My wife is very no-nonsense and — bad word use — for that I’m grateful. I deliberated four weeks, she solves it in four seconds. Nipple pain reality reset.
„Hey! I just fucked the shit out of you! ’Course I’m here!“
„Nevermind, Cherry. Just lemme kiss your neck one last time.“
„Oh, that’s nice. Here, up here!“
It’s harder when I’m not carrying her, but tippy toes will do.
A wary kiss blown over the shoulder tells me 1001 things that she doesn’t have to say. Thank God it’s late and the corridor is silent when she passes through with the female escort. When I no longer hear her shoes, I bury my face in both hands. The adrenaline is coming down bit by bit. My arms hurt like hell. Whopping headache. Stomach growling. A sting in the eyes. I accidentally bit my lip a bit too much.
I feel nowhere near as brave anymore. I love what we’ve done in the moment and I hate what it could cause. But it thankfully doesn’t kick in entirely that Sun was here with me and we shared a round. I can ride that wave of ignorance until I go to bed, and hope I only fully realize it when I dream without a word.
I get a permit to actually return to my usual cell after I got searched. I don’t have to spend the night in here with the glaring lights on, on the bed empty of her. I goddamn don’t. And in a week or so, maybe the letter arrives. I get another fucking letter. Sun’s luck is rubbing off on me. But the next 30 days will be even harder than before. Whether I lose my mind, stay sane, of choose a delusion, the result will be the same. That’s what this place does to you.
ACT III
I wake up to Chang ripping up the cell door. He growls at me to pack up my things.
„Fast, come on, kid! We’re movin’ you about. Order from the higher-ups.“
Sheep he is, that’s his absolute catchphrase. But this time, it sounds gnarly. Serious.
He stomps in, pulls away my duvet. The cell is colder than ever. Now it’s over. Maybe this month was the last time I saw Sunshine. My cellmate is mumbling from the top of the bunk bed. I scramble out of bed, stack up my stuff in a box that the warden brought along. There’s a lump in my throat. This got so much worse.
I take a good look at my cell. The dark walls. The bars. I’ll never see it again. How many years? Maybe ten if I can leave early. If. Inmate Choi got transferred into solitary confinement on Floor 5 two years ago and the rumors about his state of health gave the new guys two sleepless nights. It wasn’t for a reason Choi deserved. I’ve gotten to know a couple Level 5 guys in here who should spend a month or two in there instead. But the powerful stay always powerful. And yes, it’s about deserving. I can tell you a thing or two about it.
Inmate Kwon, imprisoned for a minor instance of juvenile theft, moved to Seoul Detention Center almost five years ago, I learned. His family can’t afford to get there since they’re from the south. It already takes eight hours time of the day to travel. I say goodbye to my fellow inmate knowing he might be the last non-staff person I’ll see for years. I can feel my stomach tense up like a knot. One day in the visitor cell was already putting me at my limit.
Chang walks behind me while I carry the box, but shoves me in a different direction than I intended to walk. He’s barking right at me.
„Hey! Min! Where are you going?“
„Left…“
„We’re headed right, fool. Keep walking.“
„We’re not going to Floor 5?“
„Looks like you do have an angel. Or rather, a sweet bee.“
„What happened?“
„Thank this neckbreaker height lady. The only thing you did to burn shit up was the mixtape. Don’t do funny stuff while we get to the van. You get your gate money soon enough.“
- Daegu Times -
Min Yoongi, 28, also known as Min Suga, has been suspended from Daegu Detention Center last Saturday. The local producer and rapper had been accused of political arson and national treason three years ago, sending him to prison as a Level 6 criminal as part of a 50-year-sentence which was partially given to spend in home confinement after 20 years at DDC. The historic lengthy case had been delayed by missing evidence and murky details surrounding the underground rapper’s supposed proceeding of setting the Presidential Residence on fire in February 2017 for unidentifiable reasons. Co-producer and friend Kim Namjoon, also named RM, had provided courts the necessary detail to identify the actual perpetrator using Min’s mixtape-in-the-making. The clue to finding the actual arsonist had been in the music itself.
A mistakenly included B-Side sample actually features Kim’s label boss, Bang Shi-Hyuk, admitting to purposely setting the building on fire, only to frame Rapper Min — who vacationed in Seoul at the time, writing songs at the Presidential Park — with compromising footage. The confession had been randomly recorded and made its way onto the now-title track, ‚Daechwita‘. Rapper Kim cites his lack of coordination with buttons to be the cause of said mix-up. Bang Shi-Hyuk had bragged on the tape to conspiring stakeholders how Min would „rot in jail with his good looks and never get the best girls“. But the court ruled jealousy to be only the side motive of Bighit magnate Shi-Hyuk, who had mainly been frustrated by the lack of Min’s success, hoping to receive extra insurance money. Prosecutors note he painted himself as the victim, citing his „most valuable resource“ going to jail.
In the same vein, the label boss had accused Min of sending a message of hate to the establishment, citing prior rebellious mixtapes. At the same time, Bang received bribe money for testifying by a local Daegu rap underground gang seeking to silence Min, aiming to get rid of him as a music industry competitor. In the meantime, Daechwita remains listed number one in over 30 countries around the world since its release last weekend. However, the ex-convict seems to have his attention elsewhere. In an interview, Producer Min indicated having found his fiancée-to-be in the mysterious elite Busan vintage broker and CEO „S.“ whom the rapper attributes to pointing out the final clue to Kim Namjoon: „Something about this track isn’t right! That’s your [redacted] boss talking in the sample!“
Shi-Hyuk is now incarcerated, serving a lifetime sentence at DDC. Daegu gang boss and rival of Rapper Min, Jay Park, has been identified and arrested on Tuesday and awaits his blackmail trial. Several stakeholders who had witnessed Shi-Hyuk’s sample speech have been found out. Alongside Shi-Hyuk’s sentence and the dissolving of Park’s gang who also threatened to ambush label-mate Kim (RM), a notable other suspension from mentioned venue has taken place. Chief Correctional Officer Lee at DDC, alongside several warden apprentices who had been in charge of Min, have been fired for misconduct and abuse of power.
New music is already said to be on its way: „I spent over 400 days in prison against the law. You will be able to tell how much I could write in there. Most of the later stuff is romantic.“ Rapper Min is said to receive a compensation by the Presidential Couple and a record sum in royalties, making him an overnight millionaire. He has since been in psychological treatment, however cites his upcoming wedding to be „more healing than that if I’m honest, it’s not your psychiatrist who does you the most good in life. I know first-hand. Everyone should have a partner like this.“
Co-rapper RM has since been pronounced the new label boss of Bighit having relocated the label to Busan, and is due to release more music himself including a full album titled: „Failure of The System“ with further details on Park’s „vile and unenlightened“ gang schemes behind the scenes seeking to defame the two producers: „He really should love himself more“. Tuesday, Min took to twitter to announce that his wedding would take place in private, on small terms, but most certainly would feature RM as a designated best man.
The ceremony is said to be complemented by Min’s own cooking rather than restaurant dining. The rapper is said to pursue his hobby religiously for recovering and a future as a house husband, a future unusual for the notoriously macho business. „You know. People think I must be miserable. Mostly, I’m not. I think I gained more than I lost. My esteem, it’s good. I feel much better about myself. Nobody has a wife who loves them this much. Of course I’m cooking. If you cleaned at prison, you’re grateful.“
Broker „S.“ seeks to remain anonymous: „My business is going well. Vintage never goes out of fashion. In our case, you can also see how something you loved in the past can be so be valuable to you later on if you rediscover it. Rather than publicity and more work, I want to enjoy seeing him [Min Suga] every day instead of 12 times a year for a meager hour.“ The President has announced taking the case into further consideration to prevent jailings of those innocent, alongside increasing visitor times to foster rehabilitation for criminals deemed safe for interaction, on top of more meticulous psychological trainings of correctional officers and hygiene checks.
The Presidential Building remains under reconstruction, using the court scam expenses of Bang PD. The President has offered to invite all Bighit artists for a banquet at the Parliament, expecting newly-weds Min and „S.“ in a private meeting to offer his apologies and award two medals of exceptional honor. Min appears to be equanimous, stating he „doesn’t really need a medal, but anyway“. „S.“ comments: „At the core of the matter I’m just extremely [redacted] for my sweetheart and I get a medal for that? Okay, I’ll take it!“
By the way. It turned out Sun’s bedroom had been filled with polaroid pictures of me until my release. She really dug up the university box.
„Was a lotta dust in there,“ she said. „I used one of these hand vacuums. Didn’t ask Joon about what’s in there when I picked it up. But I figured you were practicing this photography for some kind of seminar. So. No questions asked.“
The box contained approximately 400 erotic pictures of a nude study assignment. I did a semester abroad in Japan, we rolled a little different there. Every student in our lecture was scouting for models, which ended up a predictable mess. Since I was uncomfortable asking just about anybody, I cut the whole process short and just photographed myself. If I knew back then that the embarrassment would pay off, I would have taken ten thousand.
In any case. The pictures are well-used. The cat’s out of the literal box as Sun says. Unsuccessful shots, mediocre ones, and great ones. Almost all of them chaotically arranged on her bedroom walls. Like a seasoned detective was lining up some word clouds and pictures on a whiteboard. Sun’s bedroom, it really feels like the eye of the storm. Then again: That’s my star in a nutshell.
At the end of the semester, I only submitted four faceless collar bone pics for the assignment as a kind of montage. With a cheesy title I will not reveal, don’t even try. I got an A-, which didn’t faze or strike me until now since I simply forgot. At some point, most of my university education didn’t pop up in my mind at DDC. Like what would you do with photography in there, anyway. The green ruins every shot.
At best, you could only display pictures like that as a museum of terribleness. Even then, I’d think of it as questionable. If you ask me: To hell with everything can be art, attitude of the observer and whatnot. Obvious bogus, spend a night in solitary and we’ll talk. Same with journalists coming in there and making supposedly poetic and insightful photo stories.
In the same vein, Sun has very firm views on aesthetics, to which I agree with 95% of the time (the only thing where we fully contradicted was when she said cats are more sublime and nicer to look at, whereas I said small dogs are cute by principle, which is a debate that can’t be resolved). Rule number one, if the men don’t look good, all is lost. So you can guess why I’ll never walk back in there with a camera. Seeing Lee make it to a Page 6 report was already enough.
Before we talk about the other 500 rules, back to the box. There are a lot of memories to recover since all I thought of was never getting out of jail, so I’m happy to have someone to catch up with. In two ways, if you think about it. There are almost eight billion people here, and there’s the 1% that lives beyond comprehension. I insist I must be among the top most fortunate for some other reasons, more interesting ones. I also live beyond comprehension: My own.
The polaroids I thought turned out cringey or boring are the ones that Sun seems to like the very most. They’re plastered all around the vanity mirror and right above the bed. I never would’ve given the box to anyone. Even Namjoon was prohibited to ask what it is, and I would’ve feared for my reputation if it ever saw the light of day since Daechwita gave me some public attention. But Sun simply can’t be shocked by anything. If there’s a person you wanna give pictures of me in shady bathroom lighting and a barely-there tanktop, it’s her. I know for a fact that her private laptop background has an HD crop of those pics almost regularly.
Given how well-appreciated the box contents are, I think some new ones with the fish tattoo peaking at my jeans hem are very due. I mean, for instance. Sun’s birthday is July 29th. I have time for some more ideas as well. And you can’t go wrong there. Shit, even my full-frontal ass shots with me squeezing it are basically stacked on her bedside tables.
„I can brag about my wife being extremely perverted,“ is not what I typically say walking around at the label. But in my mind, I do. That Sun has been sleeping for several weeks surrounded by Min Yoongi pin-ups is both impeccably sexy and a hint for please more of that, which is no problem, fuck I care if I do some more modelling. Sun being horny for me 24/7 is nothing new, but I always admire the sheer extent.
„Also got a few in my wallet as well if you bother knowing.“
Sun’s eyebrow wiggles are too funny.
And I owe that wallet a lot, so.
Needless to say. Wherever they sell a Mae West swan style bed, I’ll be queueing and bargaining at 6 in the morning if necessary. Evacuate every cinema and drive-in theater around town when a James Dean movie is on because we are coming for them, extra caramel popcorn portion included, and ice cream, as much as we can handle. But back to the box again. She said this recently.
„Just so you know and to honestly answer the question I see on your face.“
„Yeah, sweetheart?“
I’ve come to like her teasing. There’s always something good coming out of it. We don’t need to stay dead silent with the moans or watch the clock anymore so that’s that.
„I did jerk off to the one with the choker.“
„This one?“
„And the one on the left.“
„Been busy, Sun, hm.“
„’til three fucking AM. The one with the naughty tongue’s probably the best, though.“
„Noted, noted,“ I’d say. Every detail is key when you’re married.
„You also look cute here. And here.“
„Honored, and question answered.“
Talk about questions. In the same conversation, she also asked me how many rounds we can train ourselves to do again.
„You look like you’re aspiring to the second one if we get into it properly.“
We’re not 20-year-old motherfuckers anymore, thank God. It’s drawing out. I’m too in love for three, but I can whip my discipline into another sweet 40 minutes.
„If we incorporate a cuddle break.“
„Sure we will. And a lil’ bit of coffee.“
„Coffee sounds good.“
„As I say. Anything can be done if you’re just stubborn enough.“
I nod. What else can I say. It stands that I must be both the luckiest and the most ill-punished criminal in the whole world. I ask her to pinch me regularly but my senses have been catching up during the last weeks, and the smell of bread with self-made cherry marmalade on it just can’t be faked.
EPILOGUE
Sun and I agree to eat first and love later. Now the cinnamon roll recipe is finally turned to actual, culinary, hands-on practice. Rising in the oven until they’re big and golden. Glaze all over, you gotta be generous, with extra ground pistachios and almonds on top. I regularly dish up everything foreign I ever heard her swoon about.
When we dated back then, and based on the letters she sent me. And: going by some phone calls we recently did. Sun took a ferry to an auction in Nagoya for a weekend. We talked an hour or two in the evening. It’s creepy as fuck to be alone inside the house, so Dawn and Namjoon stayed over. Which meant we wouldn’t chat about sexual things on the phone, so I listened to Sun’s vivid accounts of her foodie travels in the last eight years which has been enlightening.
Crêpes, cheesecake, pizza, veggies, paella, pad thai, wraps, homemade burgers, bolognese, creamy butternut lasagna, and we’re not even getting started yet. Yes, I keep a mental list on that. Especially crêpe suzette seems to be the recent favorite. Of course we’re doing these, not missing out on some sweet lemony delicacies. Thin and lightly marinated in sweet orange sauce, carefully caramelized. Beige and soaked, neatly folded into a quarter, and really: fucking juicy.
With the lights turned off, I get to flambé the whole thing. It sets ablaze in a kind of zapping neon blue for a little while. The alcohol fades, it smells amazing. Sun claps, and I’ve proven all my haters right for the very first time: That I set something on fire for the sheer glee. That accusation I am willing to take. If French kitchen is concerned, I do love being a sort of… romantically motivated table arsonist as Namjoon would put it in his ever-eloquent manner.
I know I’m up to more jokes. But I don’t forget one thing. Never in a thousand years would I have guessed I’d end up leaving the inside world — to be a normal person doing normal household and husband things again, cooking and all, ever. Even if I would have made it until parole. It probably would have been almost impossible to fully integrate me at 50 years of age, with no clue what happened culturally. Prison freezes you in time. Thanks to her, I only missed out on one year, and I’m catching up.
But I won’t say it’s all dew and roses, because my stomach acts confused. In fact, it’s fucking sensitive to almost anything. It can’t take as much as I wish it could yet. Prison changes your eating from the inside out, not just sense perception. Sometimes, I forget dinner, even when I’m hungry. Setting a phone alert is what I do recently. And, accepting her help. We have a little back-and-forth thing in the evening. When we have some candles lit, or the old but solid stone fireplace that Sun wisely chose not to renovate when she bought the house, talk about old flame.
I feed Sun rolled pancakes with chocolate or jam coating, pizza slices, and some carrot cake to round it up. She feeds me back with smaller bits and pieces of tofu and proper rice, jasmine-flavored, super sticky, no beans in sight. Tofu is nutritious, rice goes easy on me, so that’s 70% of my diet. Especially because it’s consistent. That’s what you need for a transition phase. Some kind of anchor. My taste buds will catch up sooner or later. I sometimes dip some slightly toasted bread into a bit of jam. I actually cut most of my portions into smaller pieces, too, so I can trick my brain.
We’re like grandparents, but if it does what it intends to do, we don’t feel weird about it. Because I do have to work my way up. When you’re so set up to be deprived, having something good without preparation will turn against you. That’s an irony I don’t accept. I will eat a full meal, a proper one, without even having to think about it one day. It helps that I expand on my skills and recipes. But other days, just the oil in the pan or the vinegar in the sauce is enough to overwhelm me.
I can smell the slightest trace of a certain food, and it tricks me into thinking I’m already full. That’s why I don’t eat at the label cafeteria. Too many unpredictable scents from every side, and the chance of things that remind me is simply too high. Trays. Giant pots. Laddles. Steel surfaces. Even a certain kind of bread. They use a lot of onions. I want to keep that kind of environment as controlled as I can. That’s why Sun and I always have lunch at home. Everything is meticulously planned.
Many days, I put a dinner portion on Namjoon’s doorstep during my commute to the label. Avoiding crabs and seafood however, he’s big on marine wildlife protection. We also invite Sun’s bridesmaid-in-charge aka best friend Hyuna with her boyfriend Dawn for a casual leftover feast on Mondays. They’ve been seeing each other for five months and have spent more time together as a couple than us. It’s hard to believe.
Sun and I date back to 2013 and I know her favorite vintage knitting patterns, and she knows all the NBA players I pinned to my wall when I was younger, but in person — we’re absolute beginners by comparison. That contrast makes these double dates entertaining to say the very least. Sun says I have to take it slow with socializing to begin with, but I really want to be with people now, so we do that little coming-together as four to see how it goes. Namjoon cried for three hours on the phone earlier even if we already spent half a day and a whole night talking. It is good to be back.
Tomorrow, I can see my parents for brunch, which is a term I forgot even existed. I’m following it up with seeing Sun’s parents next weekend in my best suit. Which is so unusual to wear, I still have to get used to it, as with most tailored clothing. Her Dad likes me for suddenly having royalty money now, but I try to ignore that.
Sun knocked on my door when I didn’t have a single dime not once but twice, eight years ago and back at DDC, I hope that he picks up that mentality one day as well. I’m there to talk about things like the piano instead. They actually own one as well so we have something in common to talk about. I play, and it becomes a pleasant evening. Background music makes the difference.
If we’re speaking of suits. I love sorting through my closet, by the way. Sun gave me a big welcome sweater when I moved in, which replaced a lot of other old stuff, and filled up what all kinds of people gave away or took for themselves since it was assumed I’d never return to the outside world. To which I say, fuck you. But I can also start again. No more orange shit shirts. More actual oranges. Sun, on sheer impulse, planted a tangerine tree outside for our house toward the land side (not the beach, the breeze is too strong). It’ll be ripe soon.
The tattoo appointment is already booked. I’ll make sure they’re filling in the two fish with new colors while we’re at it. I have every means to take care of myself now which you bet I’ll do. In fact, we’ve been renewing our looks a lot recently. As I see it, there’s nothing to distract from anymore, and we don’t have to speak a language that prison understands. This is the real life and the — mostly — safer life. Now that we’re here, there’s no need. Sunny has gone back to her natural hair color and a ponytail. The heels and the corsets stay in their wardrobe. Maybe they get auctioned off in May. And who actually needs lace. Skin on skin is always better.
Anything I would have texted her back then, I now remind myself to say in person when we meet, even most of the organizing stuff. I kicked my own ass to make it a habit which isn’t actually that hard. Who needs a cellphone when you have a Sunshine. In fact, I don’t let Sun go to bed uncaressed each day. At least twenty kisses on the neck, I take my time with it. She gets all the nuzzling she wants, she can pinch me all she likes, the whole routine.
If Sun says she wants my hand between her legs, I put my hand between her legs. It cramps less from hourlong edging since I picked up the piano again. As one would expect, both is very good news and I feel motivated. I listen to a lot of songs recently, it’s balm to my ears, Sun’s moaning being the obvious favorite. Again, we do this ad nauseam. Because consistency. It works.
The piano sound mixes well with the crashing off the waves. Salty air is good for my breathing. So much fresh breezes and natural light through the big wide windows. It’s the perfect spot. Sometimes, I play self-composed things for Sun at dawn. We end up making out afterwards, and not just the lite version. But I can keep up nowadays. Less time pressure, less hormone chaos, less sensitive. I don’t get as close to straight-up fainting from emotional overwhelm.
A lot of things do remind me of our meetings, but I can differentiate the environment more and more. We don’t really use the bed to roll around on, the couch is much better. Bigger pillows, spongier surface. Sun even switched to a new perfume and shampoo entirely to make it easier for me. We picked up some unobtrusive blue paint and light bulbs with much warmer light for the formerly all-white living room, slowly getting there.
But I’m not the only one. I recently learned that Sun disposed of the dirty trench coat right after she got home. The day after, she bought a new button-up in an entirely different color. Bright like a fresh peach, or maybe, reminiscent of salmon. She didn’t bother washing the original trench. The whole thing went straight to the trash, alongside the matte lipstick and nail polish. The stockings, everything.
I learned that you can attach a deeply unsettling meaning to something within sheer minutes in that filthy prison. Things that would otherwise be trivial for 50 years in the outside world. She didn’t throw it away because she thought we had a bad time. It’s because it would have been impossible to wear it in daily life and not think back every second. Knowing how unsanitary that room was, I would have burned all the clothing I wore myself. Detergent kills germs, but not memory.
While I prepare a breakfast, Sun grinds coffee through a mill by hand. It really makes a huge difference in how savory it is. I refuse all coffee at bighit because of it. You don’t even know how picky I’ve become. Life after prison seemingly makes you live the most consciously you can if you have the money, the morale, and an half-way intact mind. I’m very happy I make it out of bed, and I’m happy I had the chance to marry. The grocery isle is like a revelation every time. Sunshine and I make our own cookbook. Not one trace of burnt fried things and thin soups in there. It wasn’t even the full sentence served, but it feels like my whole organs pushed reset anyway. You have to be very patient.
As for her, it’s also less about rowing the boat as fast as you can for the sake of arriving. Sun said she learned the lesson from that rich guy date gone wrong. She does take her time on me. I noticed how she gets off slower and longer and harder. Whenever I think that Sun can’t become any more sensual, I’m again mistaken.
She still loves my wrist and hand tattoos like the first time. I do plan for more. A Rennaissance statue on the biceps is the idea, a full 3D sleeve part. Until then, my hand tats wait for some company. She can touch them however she wants. I keep my arms around Sun when we sleep. Especially in bed, I don’t wear long sleeves anymore. The way it just encloses you, it reminds me too much of cuffed hands. I gladly don’t have to worry about being cold.
I can actually pass out this way these days, I’m less insomniac as in my cell. I can dial down the light the way I want to, after all. No goddamn lamps flickering all night, fucking finally. The darkness and moonshine is what I love the most. Besides that Sun is right next to me, which is of course #1. Spooning almost always ends up with us being stuck together. We don’t have any immediate neighbors, so the silence in the home is the most soothing it can be.
I make special time to snuggle her as often as I can. Unless work makes me travel, which doesn’t really happen since I’m working on the next album. Touring sucks and we have enough money. I can kiss her feet without stockings now. We can always clean up properly. Her walking around the house naked with my hoodie on is a thing now, and I can tell you it’s easier to get down to business in one second without worrying about bobby pins. I work out less, feel less tense all over.
The arms are as big as I need them to be, which means strong enough to carry Sun’s new 1920s wardrobes upstairs and to work on the household in general. I’m actually not as inefficient with exercise anymore, because I know it won’t take too much to get me in shape, since I’ve overdone it so much vice versa. I think my expectations are different. That’s why it’s easy. Prison gave me more good lessons than I can count, and I’ve not even been guilty. It’s a privilege I managed to come out. I owe Namjoon a lot for providing the evidence.
Lately, we’re adjusting everything so it will be the most clean, the most comfortable. The kitchen is maximum organized. We get the most skin-on-skin that we can. Guess who can grope her husband as much as she wants. When and how she likes. Nobody around to check the clock. Weekend times, Sun and I are glued together for hours in her terrace hammock until either Namjoon or Hyuna call us for random things. I feel very peaceful, almost lazy, but I like it.
Recently, I go out for walks at 5. Watch rollerskaters twirl skillfully along the beaches like the figure skaters on the new concrete. Listen to groups of kids playing in the sand talking without a care. Get cherry ice cream and dip my toes in the water with my jeans rolled up. Just stare into the sky. Know my hair dye will bleach out even more. Shove the shades up in my hair, let the sun shine right on my face. Namjoon is some yards down the beach elsewhere, just catching some crabs and carrying them around on his hands. I often take my camera with me to photograph the waves.
Ironically, I feel safe being out there even after sunset. I can sit down in a café with me laptop way until midnight and type out songs. Instead, I avoid walking past schools. It shouldn’t take a genius to notice, but only after DDC did I realize most schools are built exactly like prisons. They look like it and feel like it and sound like it and smell like it. Or is the prison built like a school? At the end of the day, I’m not too sure. I just walk faster and don’t look. Leaving things behind quickly is an essential life skill, and dwelling the bane of existence. I think thoughts about Sun enjoying my food or a recent melody I made, and I feel at least a little better when I walk on.
We light lanterns in the living room and on the terrace after I return. The window opens up to the sea so widely. I know every detail about the weather these days. The people at the label think I’m weird, but Sun understands why I bother with it so much since she’s seen the cell windows. I often take a few minutes time to indulge in the winds and the breezes. I like the rain an awful lot, it’s cleansing. Like a long shower that washes away everything. Standing at the shore for half an hour doing nothing isn’t too rare these days, I take my umbrella with me. Sunny can’t be stopped licking the sea salt off my face when I come home, and I admit it’s hilarious.
My attention isn’t as hypervigilant as it used to be, although I still check on the majority of noises at night. When Namjoon’s noisy bicycle breaks aren’t taken care of, when he arrives at the studio like that, I get random states of flight and freeze out of nowhere. I don’t really know why. So I just help him oil them well. I’m really working on being less scattered and more in the moment. That’s why having sex with Sun cools me out. I can put all my focus on her. The chemicals do the rest.
These days, I don’t have to distract myself not to cum too early. I can just put my mind to Sunshine in my arms and make sure she gets off properly. The more hitched the breath, the more it’s music to my ears. She said ‚I love you’ to me for the first time to me when we woke up on Sunday. I was actually surprised and had to pick up my jaw. It’s not typical of her. She didn’t think something like that had a good meaning when we first met because it was so overused at uni and empty, which I agreed with, and thought it would put us in ruins if we said it behind bars, which I agreed to as well.
Here, it does hold a good meaning, and it holds a fair permanence. If I think about it, this must be the right place and the right time. I make sure to kiss Sunshine deeply in reply, arms around her, comfortably leaning on the couch. I don’t have to say it back. Our silence, when we kiss this way, is comfortable. A little whisper how she’s my star is enough the words when we go to sleep. Showing her comes as a hug, or a nice chocolate sponge cake. Or making little silly jokes about me being surprisingly salty for a guy called Suga when it’s „kissing the sea salt off my face“ time again.
Talk about what she said to me recently. I’m approaching 30, but Sun still doesn’t hesitate to tell me how cute I am. „Sweet all day. Walkin’ around with your cute little sandals at the beach. I can tell your walk from a million people, you hear me.“ We actually kept the habit of me carrying her around, too. I’m not as steely anymore, but it’s a casual staple. Especially when I place her on the kitchen counter edge and make sure she’s so well-kissed.
Every time she wraps her legs around me then, we end up playing with grapes or ice cream. My wife has all sorts of movie quotes and references up her sleeve, and we often recreate famous couple scenes where they’re flirting up a storm. My acting is just terrible, but I can sort of morph my voice to vaguely sound like the guy in the movie.
The added perks of rapping, she can’t stop giggling at how I do it. Sunny’s playful side I love. When she puts ice cream on my nose and licks it off, I’m having the hots for her all over again, and can’t help smiling like an idiot myself. It’s never boring in the kitchen. You can bet I eat every fruit I can get my hands on for you know what.
I think both our tempers have calmed a lot. Especially my prison rage towards Lee. That’s something I don’t need to think about anymore, and my brain is no longer replaying the memories as often. It’s about us now, being a full-fledged team. Namjoon says I don’t really make a good MC anymore and I should switch to folk music and romantic ballads. Maybe I’ll do that sooner or later, who knows. I produce a lot, what I write nowadays are basically melodies and memories. I guess I used to be more apt and expressive on the paper before 2016. Because I had big fucking problems. Now I have Sunshine. Where she is, I don’t have to run away.
Last spring I realized, my anxious days aren’t as debilitating as they were. It continues to decrease with every hour I can gaze absentmindedly at the sun climbing above the terrace, and my Sun anyway. Someone so intensely stubborn turns out to be an unshakable stability that I do need. And there’s not much of a reason to insist outside things to bend to us. These days, it’s mostly all arranged to how we like it the most and I’ve seriously worked on my libido. We don’t aim to replicate what we did in the inside world. The circumstances are too different.
I have no reason to overwork when I’m content and busy cooking. A few songs write themselves almost, anyway. It needs to be off my chest, I still talk about some things from prison. I won’t make a song talking about how we have or had sex, though. It’s for our eyes only. What happened in the cell, nobody will know. What happens on our couch, nobody will know. We belong in our own world here instead of to the whole country. I’m cozy with her, very much. Satisfied. Happy wife and happy husband. We protect each other.
My mind is a lot clearer, I don’t need that much coffee. I’m too busy twirling at Sun’s hair or making cupcakes. We spend a lot of time just soaking in the bathtub, reading. I eat a slice of tangerine, and she eats a slice of tangerine, and so it goes on. We play cards. Sun gives me a back massage. I give Sun a foot massage.
For hours and hours we lay down basically lifeless on the porch like dozing seals in the sand and listen to the water. We call Namjoon and talk about what kinds of crabs there are at the beach, send pictures, talk about Namjoon’s upcoming engagement. Love’s been knocking on his door as well. Our best man will become the best groom, we’re sure about that.
Going back to the underground has been a more challenging part of coming back. It’s something I had to make up my mind about. A lot of people did believe I set the fire and made a ball out of gossipping for months. Some celebrated me for it, others cut ties and now don’t answer the phone after the truth came out. It’s good for me. I don’t need anybody among my friends who turns against me that fast knowing there’s no way I would just burn something up out of nowhere.
Nor do I want to be with people who have the sickest fantasies about me being a hero. Sun and Namjoon must have been my only friends who had the true guts to believe me at all. I still hang out with some rappers who hold me in high regards for clearing the situation. I need that connection to my roots. And the others: They flock to me, anyway, there’s no way out. I insist it wasn’t actually me, but whatever they choose to so erroneously believe.
They want to associate with me thinking my supposed honor and my awfully new money suddenly transfers to them. I let them. My ‚career secret‘ that everyone wants to have is still the fact that Bang PD managed to get me incarcerated as the worst arsonist of recent history. I’ve heard of guys seeking to try the same, dreaming of actually burning something to get that exposure and female attention.
They even try to convince me that Sun only got attracted to me because I was a criminal. Which at no point I effectively was. Even if I was ranked Level 6, and I got dressed that way, it doesn’t change the fact that I didn’t light the match. I stayed clear of the gang wars. I had zero to no influence in there, less than even the majority of Level 3s. I didn’t sell drugs or contraband. I don’t think I even looked like much of a criminal if we’re not counting in the tiger tattoo, and that one is not really visible with the orange shirt on anyway.
I think that people who create that story in their head only want to justify and paint their own terrible character and bad habits as something sexy. It lets them off the hook, allows them to toy with girls. I feel sorry for Namjoon who has to lecture a lot of youngsters these days. I’m glad he helps me clean up this mess. Namjoon really deserves to lead the record label. My music is in good hands. Imitators aren’t the only ones that he has to stop from doing what they do, though.
A lot of guys, when they muster up enough courage, try to hit on Sun when she’s busy at her shop or drops by for lunch at the label. On the street, the worst, no matter how she dresses, and even when I’m right beside her. Most guys gladly are afraid of her, and I know why.
This woman managed to get out the supposedly highest-ranked perpetrator in the nation out of the highest-ranked security prison in Daegu just because she thinks he’s cute and doesn’t like baking by herself (okay, understatement, those aren’t the only reasons). But there remain some dudes who think they’re sly despite the ring on her finger.
Hyuna has cussed out lord how many rich ‚customers‘ at an auction dinner who wanted some of Sun’s curves and kisses for themselves. I don’t have to worry about Sun taking up the invitation. I know for a fact who she thinks about. Last time Hyuna gave her some random lifestyle magazine — because it had cutesy vintage stickers in it, which Sunny promptly plastered on her laptop and also my free real estate face — Sun even thought that Timothee Chalamet was „eh, extremely boring“ and shrugged at the topless Idris Elba editorial. But I have to worry about the sheer annoyance and guys trying to get aggressive. And Sun doesn’t have the time of the day to deal with all of this waste of air and time. Nothing really new if we think about it.
Namjoon has been preaching a lot at the company because too many heads turn when Sun visits. People don’t do their work. But it’s not like you can police glances and coffee room talk. People’s real envy is actually not that comfortable. I take it as my part to draw the attention to me instead. I don’t have these big tattoos for nothing. Before prison, I used to cover up a lot. Nowadays, I show more skin in summer, I put more effort into clothing. I actually kept up my habit of bleaching the hair. Which makes the ladies on the street do a double take. Which makes the guys raging mad. And while they’re so disgruntled, there’s less trouble for Sun. But it’s again a risky thing. Some guys start hurling slurs at me, others try to be all buddy buddy in the hopes they’d get a wife like Sun that way, somehow (news flash, they won’t).
On those days, I do have something to rap about. I’m disappointed, I’m unnerved. Not being left alone by other men seems to be the bane of our marriage, and simply not caring doesn’t get us too far because they’re fucking invasive, so we huddle up inside of our home and rather invite people instead of seeking exposure. Thank God we’re not in Seoul where the media would kind of mob us, especially since Daechwita went viral. It sucks because we’ve been successfully been driven back into isolation again, but this time, it’s not a detention cell. Our house must be the nicest place in Busan that I know of. It’s good to be in a spot where you really deeply want to be. Sun’s collection of arts and crafts is beyond impressive, and where the piano is, there am I. But yeah. Going out isn’t really our thing.
Sometimes, the outside world is as much as a prison as the inside world. I mean, look at any school, any hospital, or any corporate workplace. So, sometimes I feel like Sun and I have to find the loopholes all over again when we step outside our house. Recently, a youngster started working in the shop, he goes by Jimin, he’s from here. Sun has even more time for the big decisions of her business now, and more time for us, which really is all we need. I can already write songs from home and put up a recording studio in the attic. We can spend a little longer schmoozing in the shower in the mornings.
Recently, Cherry and I went on vacation in Taiwan and Sri Lanka and Europe. The latter, in early September. Great scenery. We saw Geneva, Tuscany, the Mediterranean Sea. Sun and I walked through Prague and Rome by night, especially across the bridges. We stayed up way past midnight and found a fountain other than Trevi (you get fined if you get in there, and you can tell I’m done with the law) to bathe in. If you walk into the suburbs, if you can consider them such, you do find nice fountains where two people fit.
Sun had the idea to just throw me in to see if my white oversized shirt gets transparent enough to see the tiger. It did. Her whims are always paying off, but we’ve seen that, and I anticipate the next one. We took some time to dry, but Rome is scorching hot in July, so it’s not a big deal. It’s the most romantic thing you can think of, though. To arrive at the hotel after having a great dinner, and still spending time on the balcony because the summer night is so nice.
It’s easier to be outside that way. People are a bit confused by us, but they leave us be thinking I must be her son. Sun has the time of her life getting offered single parent discounts, they’re not even asking her. Returning home we have made so many memories, Namjoon is the one listening for two hours on the phone now and not the other way around. The summer is just as sweat-breaking around here, so the holiday feeling continues.
My Sunny sleeps with the white fountain shirt on and nothing else. Me, just nothing else, maybe briefs, sometimes. Recently, I wake up to her riding me, shirt still on, when the mornings are cool and dim. We take a dip in the tide before breakfast and sit on the porch eating pancakes. I really set a routine of making them often, with extra cream. If she’s feeding me, it tastes even better.
Even after fucking me dry and getting off on my face, Sun is still as perverted as before and slathers me in cream just to lick it off the wrist and neck tattoos. I’ll probably never fully understand why she’s that horny for me, but the motto remains. Whatever she feels like doing, it’s something that gives me a sheepish little smile when I’m working in the studio. Namjoon first asked if I started doing coke, nowadays, I think he gets the gist. The next mixtape may or may not be in the making. The medal thing, I don’t know about that. That’s a little bizarre. I don’t want to hear about that shit again to be honest.
Instead, I’ll write a lot about Sun and I’s honeymoon last year. We did go rowing with a picnic basket. At the perfect speed, with not-so-perfect weather, but we all know she likes my clothes becoming see-through all over again. I think my dear right-hand wrist has never fully recovered, especially after taking care of things right on that boat in the rain so my sweet Sunny babe and I wouldn’t get awkwardly cold until we reached the shore.
We recently agreed to let it rest a bit, and Sun’s wrist is taking over. Basically messing me up, I mean I got a mouth and ass not just a dick to work it on, but I anticipated that, and I’m happy to lose my mind all over again. Her aggression is crazy. I get tossed onto the bed like it’s nothing. If she’s in that one type of mood, she can grab me by the neck and tell me exactly what to do. She’s so hot. Everybody wishes they had a wife like me. Alas, Sunny is mine, and nobody else gets to eat the pancakes either. Personal chef shit only.
We never reached the level of what the fuck as in that visitor cell, but I can say that everything feels so pleasurable the more and more we practice. More agility, more fun. I think we’re much more athletic in bed. Believe me when I say I can handle her now. Sounds unrealistic, but I got the hang of it. She’s my wife. I’d do anything. I’ll always thank Sun for popping up out of nowhere to just take me by the hand and coo at me. I still maintain that Sunshine must be the hardest drug I’ve come across, and I’m glad to get extra hooked. Only side effect are some pretty intense hickeys around my tattoos, she is definitely not acting normal about those, but I can live with that.
Sun actually stored the UY2 box away very neatly last month, saying that there’s no photo needed to bridge our distance anymore. I know no force in the world could prevent Sun from masturbating anyway, but I got sad she doesn’t check out my pics like that anymore and just sent her new ones for her birthday. This time, the digital version, and with the experience of a few more years. Sun really looks at her phone a lot smirking ever since. My favorite pervert. I suck her boobs and she plays with her clit looking at shots of my hands massaging my thighs, our favorite pastime. Actually, the thigh thing I do in person, too.
The business is going well. Rennaissance art is in these days. Yes, I can name all of it. How she let me fuse with her so carefully curated household without any scorn, I simply had the biggest luck in life, god damn. That my wife is the best you all know, that she is so infatuated with me still is a knighting to me that I keep very private. Sun just can’t stop fucking me on the sofa and pins yours truly up against the wall to steal all kinds of big kisses every chance she gets. It’s just nice we’re old flames. Proves the fire didn’t burn out fast. I don’t know how wet my dick is, I have no sense of how often we’re at it because that’s a privilege of the outside world, so ask Sun, she’s in charge of that.
I keep all of our letters, but throw away the newspaper articles. The label doesn’t forward me any news reporters anymore. Since we’re not living in the capital, there’s less attention anyways, although I might have been pretty recognizable with my case plastered everywhere and my tape in the charts. But I can gladly say that modern media, except for some top-notch journalists, forgets things very fast, especially the social networks. I don’t build my presence there, I’m way too busy with my wife first and the piano second. Priorities. In fact, nothing more important than having an open ear, she can talk about Cary Grant being bi and a great comedic actor for an entire afternoon and I find it worthwhile. You always learn.
It would be an understatement to say that prison made my preferences work right. Namjoon says that when he looks at Sun and I doing the groceries, that I came to my senses. It’s an irony. The people who aren’t innocent come out worse and do worse in there, at least in many cases I saw. I think that prison simply stabilizes what is for those it’s made for. If anything, to be among your kind, if you’re truly guilty, is about the most dangerous catalyst you can think of. The restrictions in there only aggravate, and fortify your opinions. I had enough of that terrible rice to testify that, and I even cooked it myself.
When you have no motivation, of course it’ll be bland and give you resentment. When I’m cooking now, I know the full meaning of love begins in the stomach. I’ve been of service and stirred pots for 2,000 people and felt nothing, even if it gave me the most direly needed money, now it’s one person and I’m the happiest to do it. And it’s not all just in the head. I don’t have to put the soup down the drain or share it with some lost souls and mobster laymen, it’s got actual vegetables in it, which I admire every day when I open the fridge.
Fresh fruit taste different than before. It shouldn’t have taken me a prison visit to appreciate it, but it’s also got to do with how they season things in there, always the same stuff, and so scarcely. Sun just tickling me while she’s passing by the kitchen is already the kind of salt and pepper that makes a dish good. A smack on the ass tongue-in-cheek, that’s the thyme and the basil, and if she just twirls my hair, the soup becomes fragrant like sage. „Ah, you sweet honeytrail“ — another little saying that just flavors the rice in a way that’s unrecognizable to DDC. Small things like that make me compose.
Divine things show in the detail, don’t they. Sun must be the most god-like person I’ve come across, and I’m a little torn between regretting how we lost contact, or appreciating that we came back together at the very right point in time, with the right kind of attributes developed more fully. Sun, prouder and louder, and myself, with more focus on her, less awkwardness, and some hair dye. Maybe I should do both, hone my regret with good reason and also be glad. And just invest in a good, old-looking rowing boat. A movie theatre ticket here and there is not a bad idea, either. Those things are the greatest luxuries to me.
Sun really wants those gloves she found online for her birthday, my bid won just yesterday, but don’t tell anyone. Maybe I can get my hands on a black veiled hat, my friend Taehyung probably knows where I can find something like that, one that looks totally creepy and mysterious, exactly Sun’s taste. On top of that, I get a new tattoo, it’s James Dean on my left thigh, I know you were about to ask, a portrait in like a sailor man style. Special emphasis on a great forehead, courtesy her old vinyl collection box where I found the perfect promotion picture template, don’t tell her either.
In the meantime, we’ll play chess ad nauseam and watch a gazillion DVDs. Old-fashioned is still the best. Even cooking shows. I did the math. If we make it until a 100 years old or so, we can bake over 25,550 times and more. Since Sun is older than me, more luck for us. We can spend the last days knitting something together and then lay down after a good dinner one last time. So, 25,550, making it count.
And I’m not saying quantity over quality. It’s just the sheer idea that makes me happy. It would only be 192 times otherwise. Thank God Sun is the most stubborn person I know. It’s always paying off. We took care of unfinished business, now there are plenty of cinnamon rolls to enjoy. We’re in a position where Sun is not just dropping by on Thursdays anymore, I can switch the light out when I want to, my bank balance is safe enough, and we’re not really just ‚recently married‘. Our relationship, you could say it’s fine vintage, without the ugly green floors, but with extra kisses on the neck for my tall angel. And in whatever bed we’ll be in, it doesn’t matter, it’s clean, it’s soft, we can embrace all night. I still almost cry when she kisses my nose.
My name is Min Yoongi. This March, I turned 29 in a house at the shore, married and very happy. I don’t know if I ever have a reason to leave this place. And if they ask about the fire: It’s official I have done no wrong. It gave me all that’s good, and I can humbly say that. It’s my wife, Sunny, who should take most if not almost all of the credit. I think she understands prison much better than I do. The roles and the tools and the deeds and the currencies. The more I think back, I can see the people smarts behind all of it. She walked in like a Bully, talked like the Entitled, dressed like the Sheep, and left like the Self-Righteous. All within the span of four weeks.
My life turned upside down for the better just because of two hours we could spend. 120 minutes and the entire misery of eight years disappeared. At this point, I concede I really must be her most dedicated type. Some say it’s the complete eyebrows, and it’s true they’re very full, but I know it’s perfectly close to everything about me that she says she enjoys. So needless to say, I’m really lucky to be Sun’s old flame husband in all regards. It would’ve been nonsense to dive for the hat, but you can always look for the same new one. I will break my neck in honor for that.
I produced as Suga in the underground, and I continue to do so on the regular. Time is different nowadays, days are different nowadays, my life is more comfortable than ever. All worth waking up to. It’s always warm under the duvet, I really enjoy every moment. The tight hugs you just can’t hallucinate either. Everybody gets to know that as soon as they tie the knot with someone who really adores them. That’s the most romantic thing you can think of. And just so you know. The maintenance job is paying off. I’m building a pool.
READ IT ON AO3
final note. thank you for making it this far! hope you enjoyed, let me know what you think. i love these two <3
© sugar-petals 2017-2022. all rights reserved. do not repost or translate. all depictions are fictional.
#yoongi smut#yoongi#yoongi fanfic#yoongi x oc#yoongi fluff#bts smut#bts fanfic#bts x oc#sunny dear#bts fanfiction#bts#bangtan#long post#yoongi one shot#bts one shot#yoongi angst#bts angst
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brought to freedom
pairings: eren jaeger x reader
content warning: hate-fucking, spit, choking, mirrors, fingering, orgasm-denial, unprotected sex, cream pie, degradation, rough, slight violence at the end?
the dim glisten of moonlight was the only source of brightness shed in that airship. the only person running through your mind was eren, and not in a good way. both you and he knew who caused that death on the ship, he just didn't want to admit it.
you cried, begged. you didn't even know what it is you wanted. revenge? for the perfect words to roll off his tongue? crying was pointless, it wouldn't change anything. it wouldn't change eren.
two days later, the look on his face remained the same... not moving a muscle. sure he looked different than the other night, but he was still the same. not the same as before he left, though. you thought you knew him before his trip to marley, you really thought you did. but that eren was gone, he wasn't coming back. not now, not ever. you had to learn to deal with the new eren. or you couldn't... you lived without him for all that time, you could do it again. even if you were to run back to him, you wouldn't be getting your eren back.
but eren jaeger was like a drug.
of course you could compare his face from the two different nights, you were standing right in front of him after all. you weren't supposed to be down here looking through his cell, they didn't trust you. being eren’s lover meant you would probably do anything to help him escape. they were really blind if they couldn't piece together the fact you wanted nothing to do with him after that night on the ship.
so why were you here, sneaking around for him? its almost like he called you through your head to come down here. you were always slick to begin with.
but it seemed like the man in front of you completed the mutual feeling. you didn't understand why though. you did nothing wrong, he has no right to be mad at you. no, he doesn't deserve to be mad. you wished you could kick the life out of him, but somehow it felt like he was the one stabbing a dagger into your chest.
“why are you down here, y/n”
you didn't know if you should react or stay quiet. “why not, i have nothing else to do... considering my best friend is now a rotting body underground.”
you expected him to release the same reaction as the other night, just a chuckle. but no. his expression didn't change once. a straight look, staring a hole right through you. he took a step forward, hands now wrapping around the metal bars of his cell. “i asked you why you're here, you must want something from me.”
“what happened to the eren i knew before you left. why are you acting like-, like this.” you felt the blood rush up through your body, hands clenching into tight fists.
“c’mere, wanna get a better look of your face.”
“what-”
“don't make me say it again.” you wanted to stay back, leaned up against the hard brick wall. but you were always so drawn to his words, it was like a spell just sucking you in. walking up towards the rusted bars, you stopped right in front of his face. his body towered over yours, looking down among you.
"i never loved you, so let our past go.”
“ere-” your protest was cut off by erens strong, rough hands grabbing you. one on your jaw, the other on your wrist. he pulled you up right against the cold bars, your face now roughy forced inches away from his.
“all you do is follow me around like a lost puppy, you were always so dependent on me.” forcing your mouth open with his thumb, he gathered a glob of saliva in his mouth, before spitting it down your throat.
this was the first time you've tasted any of him in months. it felt so nice, warm. you wanted to swallow it, so badly. but you were strong, especially after what he's pulling. not letting the saliva in your mouth for another second, you spit it out all over eren’s pants. again, you expected a reaction out of him... but no. nothing.
he let you out of his grip, sending you stumbling backwards. you turned your back to eren, as you coughed up any spit that traveled down your throat. returning your graze with eren’s, your eyes were no longer separated by metal bars. the door was swung wide open, key dangling from eren’s finger.
you froze in your tracks, too scared to do anything. you wanted to scream out for help, but nothing formed when your lips slightly parted. not giving you another second to think, eren pounced onto you, pushing your body back into the brick wall. he brought one hand to roughly cover your mouth, the other to squeeze your throat just enough to make you light headed.
“scream, and ill snap this little throat of yours.”
feeling your heart beat faster than you thought was possible, you knew this was it. he was going to end you off now, or you'd die from being in his way.
but eren had a different plan for you.
he couldn't help but get excited, looking at you. your eyes were so glassy, tears falling down as you fearfully looked up into his eyes. something to do with the sense of power he had over you, just riled him up even more.
loosening the grip around your neck, he slowly removed his hand from your mouth. letting your breath loosen up, you didn't break the eye contact being held with his empty eyes.
right when he shoved his knee between your legs, you knew what was about to happen. no words spoken, no words needed. he crashed his lips down onto yours, forcefully shoving his tongue down your throat. peeling the both of you off the wall, he pushed your bodies back into the cell.
the sex you had with eren before he left was sweet, special. he took care of you... not himself. he wanted to prove how much he loved you. but you could tell by the way his body moved, that wasn't the case this time. he didn't even feel the need to bring you into his bed, he brought you over to the small sink in his room. bending you over the wet metal, he stopped for a moment to catch his breath.
you dropped your head down, avoiding the mirror, as he looked right at himself through it. taking a deep breath, he pulled down the night-pants you were wearing, along with the panties you had on. he brought one of his digits to glide along your slick folds, teasing the entrance with his fingertip. slowly, he slid it inside of you, your juices helping it easily move in and out. you gripped onto the sides of the sink, as he added another finger. moving them in and out at a fast pace, he occasionally curled them up inside you. the feeling you could never reach by yourself, you haven't felt this good in so long. he took his free hand to sneak it down in front of you, slowly rubbing circles around your clit.
the pleasure was overwhelming. while he was gone, there wasn't much you could do on your own. of course, while thinking of him on lonely nights, you hands found their way in between your legs, but nothing could compare to the way eren made you feel.
“gonna cum-”
before you could even form the full sentence, the pleasure was ripped right away from you. his fingers pulled out of you and were brought to his own pants. he unzipped them and pulled down his boxers just enough to let his cock spring free and slap up against his abs.
taking the pre-cum seeping from his tip, he lathered it up and down his cock, dragging against each vein that ran through the shaft. he took your left arm and bend it behind you, pinning it against your back. with his other hand, he forcefully gripped your jaw, brining your graze up to the mirror. looking down at you through the reflection, he slowly slid himself into your cunt. eren was thick, with girth. no matter how many times you fucked, you still needed time to adjust. but this time it wasn't about you. he wanted to ram himself in and out of you imminently, and that's what he was going to do.
pulling himself almost all the way back out, he roughly jammed himself right back in. giving you no mercy, he picked up the pace of his thrusts, all while looking at your pleasureful pained-looked face.
each thrust had you clenching down harder and harder, squeezing and sucking him back in.
eren’s hand slightly shifted upwards from your jaw, pushing open your lips with a swift motion. taking two fingers, he shoved them into your mouth, sliding down your tongue.
“you're such a dirty slut, fucking disgusting.”
he was right. you were disgusting. looking up into the mirror, your eyes were teary, fingers knuckles deep down your throat, hair a mess. and the worst part? it was all caused by eren jaeger.
the motion of his hips slamming into yours got sloppy and faster as he let out a deep groan, straight into your ear. he latched his lips onto your neck, sucking as deep as he could. you tried letting out a moan, but just choked on the fingers still set in your mouth.
to no surprise, eren didn't last longer than a virgin. i mean you couldn't blame him though, how long has it really been? hips coming to a halt, he released his cum straight up into you. the thought of pulling out didn't even cross him mind, it just felt so good.
he let himself sit inside you for a few seconds before pulling out. he watched as his cum poured out of your swollen hole, dripping down onto the floor. of course he didn't care enough to make you cum, he needed his fill of pussy, that was all.
letting yourself fall forward onto the counter, your vision went black as you felt a strong impact on your head.
eren knew you'd thank him later, he was brining you with him to freedom after all.
#aot#aot smut#aot x reader#attack on titan#attack on titan smut#attack on titan x reader#eren jaeger#eren smut#eren x reader#eren jaeger x reader#eren jaeger smut#eren yaegar#eren yaeger smut#anime smut#smut
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Spring breeze part.2 — Spencer Reid
Gif by @ssadrreid
Sumarry: Spencer never thought about falling in love with someone, but he certainly didn't expect that he would fall in love with Gideon's daughter. — season 3 —
Part.1 Part.3 Part.4
A/N: I was very happy with the return you guys had in the first part💖. I hope you guys like.
English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.
Requests are open. Love you ❤️ Couple:Spencer Reid / Gideon's daughter!reader.
Warnings: nothing, just very fluff.
— — — — —
Spencer straightened his tie for the hundredth time in front of the mirror, in several unsuccessful attempts to exhibit his best that day. It was funny and ironic how, after so many years wearing dress shirts and a tie, the universe seemed to handpick that day to do - no matter how much Spencer tried to fix it - his tie looked weird. The fabric was too far to the left, or too far to the right, or too wrinkled in the folds. No matter how much he undid the knot or changed his tie, still looked strange.
What a nightmare.
Reid was barely able to sleep with the notion that he would see you today, his body being whipped assiduously by unsettling waves of euphoria, his mind whizzing like a propellant, anxiety screaming in his mind and sending his sleep for miles away. That morning, the world seemed to be more stuffy, hot and torrid, and for a second, Reid felt himself under the heat of Egypt instead of autumn in Washington.
He could feel his heart speeding up with the steps of the clocks, his breath running away from his lungs, a thousand and one speeches being revised in his head to try to lessen the likelihood of speaking some bullshit near you. Because he couldn't ruin that chance.
Spencer knew he was not the type of guy to have dates whit women like you every day. In fact, Laila had been the only stunning woman who had looked at him a second time. But, well, to be honest, he knew that all that affection she had directed him had been side effects of the transfer. He had been her hero and it clouded people's rationality. And, to his disquiet and to the dread of his insecurity, you were above the beauty of Laila on stratospheric levels.
To make matters worse, the damn tie wasn't good! God, he was screwed.
Spencer gave up on that impossible mission, settling for and conforming to what the tie looked like after the twentieth attempt. He wanted you to see him as a handsome person, a man worth wasting time with, not a boy who only served to be your friend. You were beautiful on so many levels that... well, Reid wanted you to be attracted to him, too, to simplify.
He stepped away from the mirror and slung his work bag over his shoulder, trying to control the pounding of his own heart.
On the way to work, trying hard to avoid thinking about what him looked like in that damned imperfect tie, Reid wondered, for a moment, if you too were under the same emotions. Did you change your clothes several times because you also felt anxious too? Could it be that, like him hands, yours also trembled? Or, if he was lucky, was your heart beating as hard as him?
He hoped that was yes.
As soon as he entered the BAU headquarters, with anxiety as his chaperone, Spencer sat at his own table while pouring a “Good morning” to his colleagues.
“Arrived early.” Derek narrowed his eyes at him, in that suspicious look.
"I am never late." He was quick to hit and that caused his friend to raise an eyebrow.
"But you never be anxious to get here earlier."
Sometimes Spencer hated that his friends were profiles.
“I just like my job.” Reid started to unpack things of bag, trying to avoid the look of Derek who was still burning his back.
“Oh, I'm sure you like.” The double meaning in his friend's tone did not go unnoticed by Spencer, but he did not want to delve into the truths of that argument, much less think about it.
Emily and JJ arrived after a few minutes, with Garcia following behind and making their point that she was not to blame for buying those pairs of shoes, since they were practically begging her to take them. Normally, Reid did not look at the glass door whenever he heard someone approaching, or had a strong desire to see Gideon pass through them as well.
But that day... that day, seeing Gideon meant seeing you. And seeing you meant that you would go through that door. And going through that door meant that Spencer would see you come in. That was enough to make his gaze turn to those doors from minute to minute.
But time passed. Fifteen minutes flew by, then twenty, then thirty. Anxiety increased and now his agitated heart was tuned to his right leg, which did not stop quietly, shaking from top to bottom assiduously.
“What do you look for at the door so much, Reid?”
Prentiss asked the last question that Reid would like to answer, and that caught Derek’s attention, who, as expected, laughed amusingly and sank further into the chair, a sly, playful smile on his lips.
“Oh, he is expecting a member of the Gideon family.”
Spencer swore and, in that moment, he was never so jealous of ostriches for being able to stick their heads underground. If he were one of them, he would definitely do it.
“I'm not expecting Y/n.” he said, whit voice higher and thin than usual.
“But I didn't say it was Y/n.” Derek laughed and Spencer felt his cheeks go red.
This time he gave up hitting back, his let out a bad mood murmur and turned forward, forcing himself not to look at the door anymore. From that moment on, Spencer focused on focusing on the pile of reports in front of him, forcing his brain to disconnect from the things around him and concentrate on matters that demand his all attention.
The hours went by, faster this time, the case-free day was being used to finish late reports and giving the team time to recover the nerves and breath of the last case.
After noon, Gideon still hadn't arrived and Spencer started to feel slightly fearful. He was about to take his phone out of his pocket and dial Jason when JJ appeared, handing over more piles of reports to they that required to be finished today.
Derek gave a loud curse of annoyance, muttering something and back to writing again. Emily was used to the paperwork bureaucracy, but from the bittersweet and dissatisfied look on her face, Spencer knew that no one there shared the same delight him had with paperwork. He also knew that Morgan was exhausted because he had remodeled a property yesterday and was barely could to sleep, and Prentiss felt overwhelmed because she was dealing with problems with her mother and with the bureaucracy policy that Strauss pressed against her.
Then Spencer looked at the file stack itself. There was a lot of paperwork, but the amount of reports he would finish in two minutes was three times what his friends would finish in an hour. He leaned forward, looking over the table to see Emily and focusing Derek better in his field of vision.
“Do you guys want to give some reports? I finish faster anyway”
They agreed without hesitating or pretending modesty. Reid laughed, saying that his friends would owe him one, and went back to work.
After that, when Spencer finished the reports and lifted his head from the paperwork, the light in the world had dimmed to a dark blue hue, streaked by small, bright stars.
The breeze coming in through the large glass windows was fresh and invigorating, the scent of the night's wonderful promises was reminiscent of your perfume. And then he realized that neither you nor Gideon showed up all day. Something about him withered, the euphoria diminished until it became as small as the stars outside. The clock struck seven at night when Spencer got up and put his things away, millions of feelings buzzing in chest.
The unsettling sense of concern began to take place than had previously to been emotions of anxiety and excitement, and he pondered whether to ask Hotch about Gideon or to call himself. Reid looked around, looking under his colleagues, who were packing up to go home, and going up to Aaron's office. He could still see his figure under the marble table, the light from the room underscoring the serious and concentrated expression he directed to the documents. The air in that room looked different, maybe more dense, maybe more serious. But Spencer knew it was best to let Hotch do his own thing.
He ran the tip of his tongue over the corner of lips, reaching into his pocket and reaching for his cell phone.
“Hey, Reid." he turned toward Morgan, that signaled them to go to the elevator.
“Did you speak to Gideon today? Or did you hear Hotch say something about it?” The question came after he reached Derek, both of them walking out the glass door.
"Is it Gideon you're worried about or... his daughter?” He laughs shamelessly, pressing the elevator button.
Spencer stumbles over the words when says: “Wh-What? No. I'm just worried about him. It has nothing to do with… ”
As soon as the sentence was about to end, the elevator doors open. Instead of the usual void or presence of someone from the FBI, Spencer felt catatonic when he saw the female figure inside.
You.
In a burst, like a strong wind that blows and pushes things away, Spencer was struck by all the feelings and sensations that had been bubbling in his stomach all day. Euphoria, anxiety, insecurity and... animation. Suddenly, he was worried again about how he would look, what he would say, if he was presentable enough for you to look at him with... Well, Spencer didn't know how he wanted you to look at him, but he wished it were something that guarantee your affection.
He wanted to be something that excited you, that made your heart race. Just like his was now.
"Y/n...” He did not recognize his own voice. The intonation.
"Hey." You smiled genuinely, and it was able to make Reid's heart beat so fast that he feared you could hear. “I'm sorry I didn't show up and neither did my dad.”
“No problem at all.” He was sincere “Did something happen? Are you two okay? ”
The concern in Reid's voice was so palpable that you losing your breath. God, that man couldn't be real.
“I just remembered that Garcia is call me." Morgan tried to swallow a big smile “It was good to see you, Y/n.”
“Me too, Morgan.” You gave him a hand gesture that, for Reid, was lovely.
Spencer put his arm in the elevator door, preventing it from closing.
“Will you want to leave?” Always as solicitous as a gentleman.
“Oh no.” Now it was your cheeks that were softly red. “I came to see you actually.”
If nothing that had happened before was not enough to steal Spencer's breath, your sentence completed the mission. He put himself in an elevator, pressing a button and letting the doors close.
"I was going to bring my dad today, but ... well” You laughed “To put it succinctly, my dad has a list of things he wants to do before he dies, and one of them was rollerblading”
You and Spencer laughed. Half because he would have laughed at anything you said to see your smile, and half because he couldn't see Gideon having such a list. But he liked it. The feeling of knowing that Jason was having fun, enjoying life, not letting that job rip off all of his humanity, was comforting, joyful.
“Why do I feel this is not going to end well?" He joked too and you laughed.
“Because it doesn't end.” Your fingers ran through your hair “We ended up going to a place that had this, before he have work today, and he ended up twisting his ankle when he fell.”
You tried to no laught, because it was not something to play with, but after the fright passed and your father and you were entangled, they both burst out laughing. And now, reliving that, you didn't remember the hurt itself, but how great the fun between the two of you had been.
“He is fine?" But Spencer had a worried flash in his eyes.
“Oh, yes, the doctor said there was nothing much. He just needs to get some rest.” You smiled “I was going to call, but one thing led to another and when I saw it, it was too late to call. So I thought about coming in person.”
Spencer was known to have a photographic memory and a very high IQ, but at that moment, if then asked what you had just said, he would need a moment to remember. For the only thing he was concentrating on at that moment was the certainty that your smile could light up the whole of Washington. How your eyes held the stars' syntax and how the energy that emanated from you was... cheerful.
He realized that you were a cheerful person, outgoing and with an innate ease of making friends. You had that special touch that made people and the universe orbit around you. And Spencer knew it was one of the planets captured by your gravity.
"It is very sweet of you to come here to tell me that.” He smiled, but then realized what he had just said “N-not that you owe me any explanation! I just-I think it's cool that you worried and…n-not that I waited for you but… not th-that I didn't expect you too and...” Spencer stopped talking, giving up trying to find the right words to get him out of the mess he got himself into.
At times like this, Reid was used to people just dropping an embarrassed nod and leaving, or ignoring the avalanche of things he said. But as soon as the tone of your laughter echoed through the elevator and snaked through him body like a wave of energy, Reid looked at you more closely. You didn't give that embarrassed look, nor did you look sorry for him. You laughed lovingly and touched his arm.
"I was also looking forward to seeing you.” You summed up all of him thoughts in one sentence and freed him from all fears.
"Serious?" But disbelief was still present.
The elevator door opened and the two of you got out, walking to the exit of the building and being greeted by the cool, comforting breeze of the night.
“Yea.” You said as if it were obvious, “What do you think about going to a movie? It's not too late. ”
If Spencer had been told a few weeks ago that in a few days he would be on a date with the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, he would have scoffed. He would have thought it was a joke with a background of evil. Going out with girls was not on the list of things Spencer did regularly, but he was thanking any confusion or mistake the Universe had made to accidentally placed you with him.
To be honest, with you on his side, with you with him, Spencer felt like he had won in life. That all those years of school and university, when he only saw beautiful girls from afar and dreamed of what it would be like to have one this girls interest in him, had dissipated into the air. Dissolved in the breeze like smoke. During all the hours of film, the joyful and ecstatic conversations you both had after, Spencer could feel the connection in the air. Naturally, kind of magical.
Did he know you two days or two decades ago?
You told all of your adventures, all of stories, and listened carefully to every ramble and phrase Reid had to say. He felt, for the first time, completely important. As if everything he had to say was valuable as a diamond, rare as a tropical treasure.
He felt comfortable, relaxed, cheerful.
And when, at the end of the night while the two of you were walking along the lively and vibrant streets of DC, you took his hand and intertwined yours fingers, Spencer never felt so alive.
He had been born twenty-four years, but only now did he really feel what it was like to be alive.
tagged: @gublersuvula @peculiarinsomniac
#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid#dr.spencer reid x reader#dr. spencer reid#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid imagine#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds#criminal minds fluff#derek morgan#spencer x reader#spencer x y/n#spencer reid fanfiction#mgg imagine#mgg fluff#mathew gray gubler#mgg x reader
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What if Techno is like a walking heater cause he's from the Nether and Dream who's naturally cold??
Snow crunches under their feet, warm clouds of fog escaping frozen lips, evaporating quickly in the icy air like ghosts. Endless whiteness surrounds the pair, an empty canvas yearning for a splash of color. But there are no colors for miles, nothing but an abyss of white, except for the red cloak fluttering in the wind like the wings of a newborn bird. Not for the first time, olive green eyes find themself staring at the only interesting color since they started their never-ending journey through the north.
He stares at the broad back of the warrior, well aware of the muscles hidden behind the thick fabric. A hog-like snort escapes his companion as the tall warrior lets out a hot gust of wind. Dream’s tired, freezing body jerks at the loud noise. They haven’t spoken to each other for hours, only Dream’s exhausted breath and the snow crunching under their feet filling the silence around them.
Olive-green eyes widen and he stumbles back, almost falling into the snow, as Techno rams the end of his ax into the snow next to him. They stop in their tracks, finally giving the ex-prisoner’s body a precious second to rest after hours and hours of non-stop walking. Dream’s chest rises and falls in a mix of exhaustion and fear as he stares at Techno’s back. Even after spending weeks in a tiny cell together, building a relationship that doesn’t fit into any category but runs far deeper than simple friendship, Dream’s still gets nervous when he’s confronted with the view of a sharp object. A spike of anxiety settles into his chest, his fear rising the longer he has to look at the damn netherite ax sticking out of the snow.
He trusts Techno more than anyone else on the SMP but it is still hard to let go of old fears even after months of recovering in the Piglin's small cottage. Swallowing, Dream forces his body to relax and instead moves his eyes towards Techno’s face. Anything to distract himself from the weapon still glinting in the corner of his vision like a poisonous snake ready to strike.
At one point, Technoblade has turned towards him, ember eyes staring at the lanky blond, “We should search for a place to rest for tonight.” Techno murmurs before picking his ax back up, swinging it over his shoulder before walking straight towards the line of woods surrounding the snow-covered trail.
“Ah- wait for me!” Dream calls after the other man, small feet stamping through the snow like a newborn fawn who is just learning how to walk from their mother.
Away from the trail, the snow is even higher, reaching Dream’s knees and causing the blond to get stuck on multiple occasions. He has a hard time keeping up with the pink-haired man who doesn’t seem to have any problems navigating through the snowy landscape, his thick leather boots keeping him from sinking into the snow unlike Dream’s pathetic excuse of footwear which can’t even keep his feet decently warm. He can already feel his toes starting to freeze off. If this goes on he won’t have any feet to complain about coming tomorrow morning.
If it weren't for Techno's strong hands pulling him out every now and then Dream would be forever stuck in the middle of the woods.
"Be careful where you are stepping." Techno grunts after pulling Dream out of the snow for what must be the tenth time.
Dream grumbles a curse under his breath, patting the snow from the pants before throwing a dark glare at his companion, "I do! It's not my fault the snow is, like-- ten feet high!" He stomps his feet into the snow, his childish tantrum only resulting in him soaking his pants even more.
Dream could practically hear the other roll his eyes, "Don't be dramatic...it's not that deep." As if to prove his point Techno stomps one foot into the snow. The appendage barely sinks into the snow. But all too soon Techno’s attention is stolen away once more by the distant howls of wolves. The warrior grips his ax tightly, red eyes jumping around the trees, searching for any potential danger while he waits for Dream to stop sulking around so they could start moving forward again.
Dream lets out a huff, seemingly indifferent about the continuing howls. He knows that Techno will keep him safe, so he doesn’t even bother taking out the dagger hidden inside his dark-green coat. It’s not like he would be any good in a fight. Ever since they escaped the prison, Dream quickly realized that his hands would never be able to truly hold weapons of any kind anymore, not with how much they trembled and shook. He’s happy that he could hold a cup of tea without spilling hot liquid everywhere, and hey, he can even hold a spoon without too much of a hitch.
Small progress as Techno would say.
And maybe, with a lot of training and patience, he would even be able to hold an ax again one day.
Though, that dream is rather blurry for now. Let’s rather focus on re-learning how to use a knife and fork for the moment....or Techno would have to help him cut his steak forever and that’s just fucking embarrassing. He already feels like a helpless child 75% of the time when it comes to holding anything.
Which also includes not being able to walk on snow like his companion.
Fucking piglin hybrids and their natural ability to walk over loose ground.
"...that doesn't prove anything. You-you're used to walking through snow." Crossing his arms, Dream glares at a random patch of snow near Techno's left foot. Now that they have stopped moving, Dream can feel the unbearable coldness sinking into his already half-frozen skin. Dream hates to admit it, but he does have a low tolerance when it comes to low temperatures. All his life, he has lived in hotter regions, places where the sun never stops shining all year round, and where hurricanes and heavy storms are a monthly concurrence. But now, he's forced to live in a snowy biome, far away from the sun, where it never stops snowing and the nights are long.
Dream couldn't remember when he last felt truly warm. Even in the safety of Techno's beloved cottage, there's still something cold lingering in his chest, freezing his body from the inside...
Maybe that's just his trauma showing his ugly head... Nevertheless, Dream really missed lying among the flowers, grass tickling his cheeks while he let the sun heat up his body.
And while the prison had been warm, unbearable so, the warmth wasn't the same as the feeling of sun rays on his freckled skin.
Ender, when was the last time he had worn a crop top? Felt like a billion years ago. He couldn't even wear cute outfits in this shitty weather. Fucking Antarctica...
Yearning for an outlet for his building frustration, Dream angrily kicks a small pile of snow, accidentally spraying Techno's face with the powdery substance.
For a second the woods go deathly silent as if the trees themselves could feel the tension rising between the rivals. The two men stare at each other, a silent battle taking place. Techno's narrowed red eyes promise unbearable pain, causing Dream to fidget nervously.
If there is one thing Dream hates more than raw potatoes it's complete silence. He remembers a time when silence didn't bother him. A time when he could linger in his base far underground unbothered by the pure quietness surrounding him, even enjoying it. He was used to being alone, doing his own thing, a lone wolf some would call him, but after the whole prison thing...Dream began to hate the sound of his own voice, the silence that would linger after he screamed his lungs out either from hours of torture or talking nonstop to his own reflection in the lava.
Yeah, he would much rather listen to Techno's monotone voice for hours, all day long, if it means he wouldn't have to listen to his own scrambled thoughts.
"Uh...Tech--"
Before Dream could finish his sentence his feet suddenly left the ground as his tall, lanky body was raised from the snow. The blond squeezed his eyes tightly, expecting to be body slammed into the cold abyss for revenge but instead, he felt a pleasant warmth surrounding him from all sides.
Fluttering his eyes open he's met with the sight of Techno's broad chest. Jerking his head up he stares at the piglin but the other is ignoring him, red eyes stubbornly looking forward as they continue their way through the foggy woods. Green eyes focus on the warm puffs of air escaping Techno's pink lips, the way his sharp tusks glint in the faint light like hidden daggers, and how his red eyes seem to sparkle brighter than the ice crystals littering the ground. This close, Techno's beauty is almost otherworldly.
Truly the God of Bones and Blood.
And now the God is carrying him. Carrying him bridal style while curling his precious red cape around them both.
Dream's cheeks quickly catch on fire at the unexpected turn of events.
Forcing himself to relax, he leans his cheek against Techno's armored chest, almost jerking back in surprise at how warm the other feel even through the thick layer of metal.
Oh Gods, Techno is burning, a steady warmth spilling from him in waves like a dying star. With the cape curled around them, keeping the cold air away and trapping Techno's body heat, Dream feels like he's sitting in a furnace.
A very soft, grumpy furnace.
He almost forgot how warm Techno is. When they were still in prison Dream didn’t really notice Techno’s abnormal body heat. Back then everything, the air, the water, the obsidian blocks, was hot to the touch. Soon Techno’s body heat just turned into another source of heat in the already stuffy cell.
Now, Dream welcomed the warmth.
For what feels like the first time in months, Dream feels the coldness leaves his body.
Letting out a sound that comes close to a purr, Dream leans back against Techno's chest. With his cheek pressed against the other’s armored chest, he can clearly hear Techno's strong heartbeat. The steady sound pulls him into a placid state where each one of his problems and haunting memories leaves his mind for a little while until all he can feel is the vibration of Techno's heart and the strong hands holding him up.
Protecting him.
"Just so you know, if the wolves decide to attack us, I'm throwing you into the snow." Technoblade's monotone voice drifts through the blurry edges of his mind, almost throwing him out of his serene bubble.
Not wanting to leave the peaceful corner of his mind just yet, Dream cuddles deeper into Techno's chest, successfully ignoring the Piglin's warning.
Above him Techno let out a long, tired sigh, yet, the hands around his waist are pressing him closer, a silent promise to shield him from any upcoming danger.
With a small smile on his lips, Dream lets himself sink into the peaceful abyss, the sound of Techno's heartbeat guiding him. He falls asleep to the familiar lullaby of Techno’s heartbeat.
And so, far up in the north where the sun rarely shines and the snow never stops falling, the blond warrior found his own sun to warm up his broken soul.
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This ask has been sitting in my inbox for weeks! Sorry that it took me so long, dear anon! I hope you like it!
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The Princess and The Duke - Chapter Twenty
Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader
Summary: As the Princess of Spain, you were always supposed to marry King James of England to make an alliance between Spain and England. When he marries a woman at his court for love, you are married off to his best friend, Sirius Black the Duke of Bedford to keep the alliance. However, the court is riddled with secrets and a rebel in the North starts to rise against the Throne. Royal AU.
Warnings: angst, mentions of death, character death, tiny bit of fluff.
Words: 2671
Disclaimer: This gif doesn’t belong to me, and I’m sorry for the gif I used!
A/N: So here we are at the end! Thank you so much for supporting me with this fic and I'm sorry for this chapter, I kept James and Lily alive to make this part even more sad! This was actually going to end in such an angst filled way but I didn’t want to do that to you guys, though I might write the alternate ending at some point! Hope you guys all enjoy and please let me know what you think! I love you all! xxx
Chapter Twenty - Wherever You Are
Dread coiled in your stomach that fateful morning as you got yourself dressed and pinned your hair. Reggie was sleeping soundly, letting out little snuffles but still, you picked him up and nuzzled your nose into his fine dark hair as you felt the tears build up behind your eyes. You weren’t aware that you could possibly cry as much as you had done, there were little red rashes beneath your eyes where the salt from your tears had irritated your skin. Your heart seemed to be in a constant state of pain as your husband awaited his trial.
This trial should not be even happening, you were appalled at how James had arrested Sirius for treason, “we’ll be alright, little one,” you whispered to your baby boy, “papa isn’t a traitor, he’s a good man,” you pressed a kiss to Reggie’s little forehead.
James was originally going to hold Sirius’ trial the day after Halloween, but Lily had convinced him otherwise, Lily knew that you wanted nothing more than to be at Sirius’ side. So, the King relented and allowed a few days for you to recover after giving birth to Reggie. Unfortunately, it meant that Sirius would have to spend more time locked in the tower but you knew that Sirius understood.
“Y/N?” a soft warm voice came from the doorway and you looked over with blurred vision to see Andromeda who was smiling at you kindly, “I think the King and Queen are ready to start, I’ll look after the children, because they shouldn’t have to be subjected to such an event.”
You nodded with a sniffle as you placed Reggie into her open, waiting arms, “thank you so much. Are you not coming to the trial?” you muttered, feeling like a shell of yourself.
Andromeda shook her head with a sad smile, “I can’t watch that happen to him, I can’t. He’s not just my cousin, he’s my best friend. I’m so sorry that I can’t be there for you both; I know that he’s not the traitor, he would never betray us. Never. I don’t know what James is thinking having him arrested.”
“You are so amazing, Andromeda, we are so blessed to have you in our lives and we appreciate you so much,” you tried to smile but you feared that it came out as more of a grimace.
Andromeda leaned forward to kiss your cheek with a sweet sad smile, “whatever happens today, it’s been an honour to serve two people who are completely made for each other, two people who are soulmates. Good luck.”
You felt tears sliding down your cheeks, stinging at your sensitive skin, you adored Andromeda, you couldn’t have got by without her, “let’s just hope that the King sees sense and does the right thing. He must know that his best friend could never do this to him, he just wants someone to blame, he sees enemies where there are friends, and it’ll be his undoing,” you mumbled with a tight smile as you departed from your chambers.
You would never admit it out loud but you had a strange sense of foreboding, a horrible feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t help but feel that something was going to go dreadfully wrong.
As you made your way to the Throne Room where the trial was being held, you just couldn’t understand why on Earth James would believe that Sirius was a traitor. What had happened to make him believe that? Snape was already in the dungeons for committing treason. Under coercion, he had admitted that he had been working for Voldemort but apparently he had told him nothing of the prophecy. You supposed that he had to be lying, he just had to be. According to Lily, the evidence they had against Sirius was damning but it was a lie or a set up, it just had to be.
The atmosphere was heavy and full of dread as you walked into the Throne Room and Lily gave you a brave smile from where she stood at James’ side. James had a grim tight look on his face; the King that you had first met a few springs ago was kind and benevolent. That King was no more, it seemed like his heart had hardened.
Your heart broke when the guards roughly dragged Sirius into the room, showing him no mercy. The past few days that he’d spent in the Tower had seemed to age him considerably, his eyes were starting to take on a haunted look but they softened when he looked at you. You tried to offer him a small smile.
As Sirius was pushed to his knees before the King, James glared at him as he produced a letter, “you’ll remember writing this, I bet,” he snarled and began to read the letter out loud “’Lord Voldemort, in regards to my last letter, you will now know how to break Dumbledore’s enchantments. There are underground caverns and a secret entrance on the West side of the castle. They will lead you into the royal chambers and you can complete your work. Your faithful servant, Sirius Black, Duke of Bedford.”
James tossed the chilling letter at Sirius’ feet, “if it hadn’t been for Peter telling us of the conversation he overhead you having then we would be dead. We managed to prepare and we managed to defeat Voldemort when he came after us. We were supposed to be your friends, your sovereigns. How could you do this to us? How could you plot to kill our son?”
“But, I didn’t!” Sirius shouted, “I didn’t have a conversation of this nature with anybody! I didn’t write that letter, I wouldn’t!”
“Then how do you explain the fact that your seal is on the letter?!” James demanded.
You saw Sirius’ face falter for just a moment and you almost winced, hoping that James didn’t catch it, “my seal was stolen.”
“A likely story,” Remus spoke up, his voice breaking and he looked like he was on the verge of tears.
“Where is Peter? He’s lying to you! I saw him sneaking around the castle with a hooded figure!”
“Of course,” James mockingly slapped a hand to his forehead, “blaming the victim is the right thing to do, you’re just trying to save your own skin. Peter was found dead in the hallways, shortly after he came to warn us of your plan.”
You barely managed to conceal a gasp, Peter was dead? “I didn’t kill him,” Sirius whispered, “I was with my wife who was giving birth to our third child!” he glanced at you and you gave him an encouraging nod.
James looked at you before looking back at Sirius, narrowing his eyes, “the midwife says that you left a couple of hours after the birth, around the time that Peter was murdered, he was killed with your ruby encrusted dagger.”
Sirius swallowed nervously, “I lost that dagger shortly after coming back from our last battle with Voldemort,” that was the truth, you remembered Sirius lamenting after its loss. It was clear that someone was setting him up. Why didn’t James see that? “And the reason for my leaving? It was because I went to see if my twins were awake so they could meet their baby brother!”
“And on the way back, you saw an opportunity to kill Peter!” it was clear that James was hitting Sirius hard with the accusations in the hope that Sirius would confess.
“No!” Sirius took a deep breath, “you’re my best friend, you always have been and I would never do anything to hurt you or your family because you’re my family too, please, you have to believe me,” the tone of Sirius’ voice was pleading but James looked unmoved, which annoyed you.
“The evidence is damning, Sirius. It was your seal, your letter and your dagger, you had the means to kill Peter and betray us. What did you think would happen? Did you think Voldemort would put you on the Throne when he killed us?” James hissed but Sirius said nothing but you could see that he was crying you just wanted to hold him. James glanced over to you, “we found no evidence that Y/N was involved,” cold dread shot through your body and your vision blurred.
“She had nothing to do with any of this,” Sirius glanced at you with tear soaked cheeks and the small smile that he gave you broke your heart.
James nodded, offering you a sympathetic look, “then I’m sorry that you’re married to a traitor,” anger boiled in your veins at James’ words and it was an effort to keep your face straight. He glanced back at Sirius, “Sirius Black, I absolve you of your lands and titles; you are no longer the Duke of Bedford. I charge you with treason and I sentence you to hang by the neck until dead,” Lily gasped in surprise as she looked at her husband.
You felt like you were going to be sick and you rushed forwards to kneel at James’ feet, taking Sirius’ hand in yours, “please, Your Majesty, I beg you, don’t kill him! Think of the children, please,” tears streamed down your cheeks and Lily shot James a meaningful look.
James sighed and bowed his head, glaring at Sirius, “very well, you have an amazing wife who begs for your life even though you’re a traitor,” Sirius just looked at the floor and in that moment you hated James for hurting him. You couldn’t imagine how hard it was to endure this from his best friend, “you’re going to spend the rest of your life in a cell. Take him away,” he nodded to the guards.
You cried out in anguish as the guards began to drag your beautiful husband away. How were you going to live without him? “I love you, Sirius.”
Sirius choked on his tears, “I love you too, and please remember me!”
“Of course!” you sobbed.
You didn’t even get to kiss him one last time; you would never forgive James for breaking up your family. Sirius was innocent; you would bet your life on it.
-----------------
Over the next couple of years that Sirius spent in the Tower, he was full of despair and anger, he couldn’t quite believe that James had locked him away; he couldn’t understand why James hadn’t believed him. How could James think that Sirius could ever hurt his friends? What hurt the most was the fact that he couldn’t see the love of his life or his children, the pain was almost unbearable. He couldn’t even see the grounds from the tiny window in his cell so he couldn’t even catch the slightest glance of Y/N.
In that dank, dark cell Sirius was all alone, he was practically withering away. He wanted his wife and he wanted his children. Reggie had only been a couple of days old when Sirius had been thrown into the Tower, Reggie wouldn’t even remember him.
The guards were particularly cruel; they told Sirius everything that was happening at court. They had told him that the King was forcing Y/N to remarry so she wouldn’t bring shame upon England because she was the wife of a traitor. Sirius had been close to throwing up at this news and he died inside, the knowledge that someone else was going to love his wife killed him inside. A few weeks later, the guards grumbled as they told Sirius that the man that Y/N was supposed to marry had died in a hunting accident. It sounded awful but at the sound of that news, Sirius could breathe again.
10 Years Later
Sirius was rudely awakened by the guards pounding on the bars of his cell, their voices filled with glee, “oi! Wake up, you have some visitors,” Sirius groaned and walked over to the bars to see the guards leering faces, “best make it a good goodbye, you’ll never see your family again after today. Your pretty little wife is going to marry the Austrian Prince.”
The pain that shot through Sirius’ chest almost made his knees buckle and tears stung at his eyes, he backed away from the bars so his family could enter. The breath was stolen from his lungs when his family walked into the cell and the door was closed behind them. Y/N was so beautiful and his children were growing up, and he’d missed it all.
“Sirius!” Y/N cried out as she ran to him and Sirius gathered her up in his arms, after 12 years, she was in his arms again. Once more, she was breathing life back into him, “I’ve missed you so much I love you,” she sobbed into his chest before she cupped his face and drew him into a passionate kiss, her tears running over his lips.
“I missed you too, I missed all of you, I love you,” he pressed his forehead against hers, grinning for the first time in 12 years, it was a wonder that he still remembered how to, he looked at his beautiful children with a smile as Elena and Johnathan ran into his arms, their faces bright with recognition. Reggie smiled at him with a blank look on his face but there was love in his eyes, “look at you three, all grown up.”
“We wish you could have been there, father,” Reggie smiled before hesitantly walking towards him and pulling him into a hug. Sirius smiled as he hugged his son tightly, “it’s good to meet you,” Reggie whispered.
Sirius’ smile dropped a second later when he remembered why they were there, “you’re marrying a Prince? Congratulations.”
Y/N rolled her eyes with a giggle and she lowered her voice so the guards wouldn’t hear, “I am never going to marry another, Lily and James just thinks that I am. The Prince doesn’t want to marry me either, he prefers the company of men,” she blushed, “but he believes you’re innocent, he’s a good man.”
“He believes I’m innocent?” Sirius asked, feeling gobsmacked, he was also elated that Y/N wasn’t going to remarry.
“Yes, and he wants to help, we’re getting you out of here tonight, we’ve got a ship leaving the docks at midnight, the Prince will give us sanctuary in Austria.”
Sirius was excited to get out of here, to feel the sun on his skin again, breaking him out of his cell would be dangerous but he glad that Y/N had an ally, but there was something that bothered him, “you’re coming with me? I don’t want to ruin your lives.”
Johnathan sighed as he rolled his eyes, “come on father, we’re going wherever you do. We’re not letting you go alone.”
“But you’ll always be having to hide, that’s no life for you, any of you,” Sirius bit his lip; he wanted to believe that it was possible but it just wasn’t.
Elena took his hand, “papa,” she whispered, “we love you and we’re a family. We’ve been apart for 12 years; you’re insane if you think we’re not going with you. We want to know you and for you to know us.”
Sirius teared up and sniffled as he looked over at his wife who grinned and cupped his cheeks, “we’ll be here an hour before midnight, the guards won’t be a problem. Leave them to us, I love you.”
“I love you too,” he grinned and kissed Y/N deeply before hugging all of his children in turn, excited to be in the world again. The plan was set and at midnight, he was successfully on a ship with his family by his side and a strong ally at his back. This wasn’t how he thought his life was going to be, he never thought he would be running from James’ court but here he was. They were going to be okay. Sirius was free, they were all free, and most importantly, they were together.
-Fin-
-----------------
@smiithys @elayneblack @amelie-black @siriuslyjanhvi @pregnant-piggy @lindatreb @mabelle-cherie @hxrgreeves @britishspidey @mads-bri @classicrocketqueen @sxtansqueen @hufflepuffzutara @potters-heart @bruxa0007 @ourstarsailor @fific7 @galwithbluethoughts @2410slb @sunles @krismeunicornbaobei @theincredibledeadlyviper @deathkat657 @lonegryffindor2005 @writing-your-heart-out
#sirius#sirius black#sirius orion black#padfoot#pads#moony wormtail padfoot and prongs#sirius black au#royalty au#royal au#harry potter au#the marauders au#sirius black fanfic#sirius black x reader#sirius black x reader insert#sirius black x y/n#sirius black x you#you x sirius black#Sirius x reader#sirius x reader insert#sirius x y/n#Sirius x you#you x sirius#James Potter#lily potter#Remus lupin#peter pettigrew#Tw:mentions of death#Character death#the marauders era#marauders era
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Anti-undercover
TW: Mentions of death, getting shot, and blood.
Anti-Undercover
Ivan Ortiz x Reader
Y/N stood in the doorway of the Director’s office, listening as he and her unit chief, Jess LaCriox, talked about her new mission. She has to fake her death and go undercover in an underground anti-government group. With her familial history, they think that she is the best option for this mission.
“You will not be able to tell anyone about this mission.” The director stated, leaning forward against his desk.
Y/N shared a look with Jess, knowing that it is going to pain her to not tell Ivan. “I understand, sir.”
The director handed her a thick file, dismissing them as she grabbed ahold of it. “You have a week to prepare.” He said, just as she was shutting the door.
She nodded sharply, closing the door tightly behind her. She couldn’t stop from thinking about the what-ifs and how Ivan is going to handle her death. When he joined the team, something clicked within both of them and they became incredibly close. The spark blossomed into something more shortly after they became friends.
The next day, they got a case. A man was targeting women, who he deemed were trying to ‘end to male species’-- which kind of pissed her off. She talked with Jess about how this case could be her way to fake her death, because of this man’s disdain for women. He was quick to agree, but brought up that they have to be careful.
When they had narrowed down some locations, Jess and Y/N were lucky enough to have actually found him. He was holding a female CEO of a Management Company hostage in her Town Home.
With their guns raised, they silently move towards his ranting and raving about how she should only be managing men with her body. Y/N frowned at his statement, kind of wanting to shoot him in the nuts. Jess nudged her, signalling her to take charge.
Y/N stepped into the kitchen, because of course he wants to put the woman in her place. “Graham Holmes… FBI… Put your gun down and step away from Ms.Holloway..” Her voice was firm and authoritative.
His face grew red at her tone. “You have the audacity to use that tone with me!” He screamed.
Y/N smirked, “Considering that I am more important than you, I think that I have every right to use any tone I want with you. I mean seriously, my cat Ginger has more brains than you.”
He growled, like literally growled, at her, moving his gun so that it was focused on Y/N. “You think you are sooo special, but I bet any of your male counterparts are ten times the agent you will ever be.”
Y/N shrugged, brushing off his comment. “They can’t be ten times better than me, because I trained them. I am better than any man on my team. I am far superior than any of them.” She said it slowly to make sure it rubbed him wrong.
He screamed, pulling the trigger of his gun. The bullet hit her stomach, causing her to fall backwards just after getting a shot off herself. She hit him dead center.
Jess moved in quickly, calling for two squads and that an officer was down. He cut Ms. Holloway free. “Where are your kitchen towels?” He asked, looking around the busted up kitchen.
She pointed to the drawer next to the sink. “In the top drawer.”
Jess nodded, grabbing three towels. “Thank you.” He fell to his knees, pressing the first towel to the wound. “You did great, Y/N. But please don’t actually die.” He whispered the last sentence.
She winced, smiling up at him. “You taught me well, Jess.” She coughed up blood. “I think the bullet hit my lung.” She gasped, trying to take in air.
Panic filled Jess’ eyes, “Don’t talk. Breath in through your nose.”
Her eyes started to droop. “Tell Ivan that I love him and I am sorry.” A tear rolled down her cheek, mixing with the blood that she had coughed up.
The team stood around a blown up picture of Y/N, sharing memories of her. Jess had to stand back and watch as the team mourned someone who wasn’t even dead. He watched as Ivan drank and glared at the photo of the one person he loved. His heart ached, because he knew what Ivan was feeling and he wanted to make it go away.
Jess walked up to Ivan, who had just taken a long swig of his beer. “It will be okay.” He squeezed his shoulder.
“I was going to propose.” Ivan replied, voice raspy from holding back tears.
Y/N was coming back. She had gotten enough evidence to shut down the anti-government group within 6 months. She couldn’t help but be proud of herself, because any other agent would have taken over a year to collect the amount of evidence that she got. The leader had warmed up to Y/N quickly, especially after finding out that her father had led one of the largest anti-government compounds /groups in American history. She had told him that her father had her infiltrate the FBI as a spy, but was killed before anything could come of the information that she had stolen.
It was partly true. Her father was the reason behind her joining the FBI, but not for that reason. She had hated what her father screamed about and she wanted to put him away. She was also not going to share that she had been the one that killed her own father--- which only happened because he was using her 4 year old sister as a shield.
Y/N took a deep breath, straightening her mask-- cause COVID.. She pushed open the door, walking in slowly. “Anyone here?” She asked, looking around.
The team, who had been about to go over a new case froze, had been scattered around a large room. “Y/N?” Hana asks, slowly standing from her place at the table.
Y/N waved awkwardly. “Hey, guys.”
Hana almost tackled her into a hug, sobbing in relief. “You are alive!”
The rest of the team, minus Ivan and Jess, took turns hugging her. Just as Kenny was pulling away, Y/N saw Ivan storm out of the room. She shared a look with Jess, who nodded at her to follow him.
Y/N found him outside, glaring at a tree. “What did that tree ever do to you, Ivan?” She asked softly, walking slowly towards him.
Ivan tensed up, eyes squeezing shut in anger. “It pretended to be dead for 6 months and thought it could walk back into my life without warning.”
She sighed, heart breaking at the pain in his voice. “You were supposed to know that I wasn’t actually dead. I made a list and gave it to LaCroix.”
He groaned, finally looking at her. “LaCroix knew that you were still alive?”
Y/N nodded. “He was the one that recommended me for the mission.”
“What was the mission?” He asked, fully turning towards her.
“Shutting down an anti-government cell that was inspired by my father.” Y/N responded, not holding back. “He and the director thought that I was the best option given my history. I didn’t want anyone else to suffer like my sister, like me. I had to do my part in shutting down something that my father had inspired, Ivan.”
Ivan slumped against the tree, anger draining from his body at the sight of her big eyes. He understood where she was coming from, as he had to do things for this job that he normally wouldn’t. “I am still mad.”
She chuckled, eyes swelling up with tears. “I figured. I am so sorry, Ivan.” She took a cautious step towards him.
He nodded, signalling her to walk closer. “I forgive you.” He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly to his chest in fear of her slipping away.
“I love you, Ivan.” She whispered into his chest, tears falling freely.
He kissed the top of her head, tears falling too. “I love you more.”
#requests#ivan ortiz#ivan ortiz imagines#imagines#one shots#FBI Most Wanted#fbi most wanted imagine#faking death#undercover#trigger warning#sweetswriting
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Diabolik Lovers DARK FATE ー Shuu Ecstasy [07]
ー The scene starts in the entrance hall of the Sakamaki castle
Reiji: ーー I am well aware.
While I understand why you would want me to act in place of the eldest son, please remember that I am a mere substitute.
I do not intend to exceed beyond that.
Preparations are being made. Please inform Father of such. If you understand, then I would like to kindly ask you to leave.
ー The Familiar leaves
Reiji: Haah...
Laito: You must have it rough, Reiji.
Kanato: That was Father’s Familiar, no? He seemed rather upset.
Reiji: Of course he was. They found out that Shuu has gone missing after all.
He asked me how we will handle the gala at least a million times, I thought I would get callus on my ears.
Ayato: Did somebody say octopus? (1)
Laito: Too bad, Ayato-kun. We’re not talking about takoyaki right now.
Kanato: Even after regaining consciousness, you haven’t changed one bit, have you?
Reiji: Ayato! I told you to rest, did I not? Please do not walk around just yet.
Ayato: Oh shut up. Just sittin’ still is borin’ as hell.
Reiji: Good grief...
ー The scene shifts to the living room
Ayato: ーー A night gala, huh? Shuu, that bastard, he totally ditched us, didn’t he?
Anyway, what’s the big deal anyway? If Shuu’s not ‘round, we can just have Reiji handle it, right?
Kanato: Exactly. He is the second oldest after all.
Subaru: You guys...I bet you’re just sayin’ that ‘cause you don’t want to do it yourselves, am I right?
Laito: You’ll do it then? In place of the eldest son.
Subaru: Fuck off, why should I...!? If we’re going in order, Ayato should be next-in-line, right?
Ayato: I can’t. I’m still injured.
Kanato: Very smooth dodge...
Laito: I guess Reiji has no other choice but to step up then...
Isn’t this the perfect chance? You could use this as an opportunity to forget all about Shuu and become the next heir?
Reiji: You want me to replace Shuu? That would be impossible.
Shuu is the one who will ascend the throne. I am not suited for said position.
Kanato: That doesn’t sound like something you would say.
Ayato: You’re just throwing in the towel now after competing with him for years?
Reiji: Whether I would like to admit it or not, my loss has long been confirmed.
From the moment I was born, there was an invincible gap between us.
Subaru: Being the first and second born, you mean?
Reiji: The order of our births is barely of any significance.
Shuu has what I do not. That is all.
Therefore, I wanted to win no matter what. However, from the very second I began to yearn after said victory, I had already lost.
Kanato: Something Shuu has, which you don’t...What would that be?
Reiji: It is not something visible on the outside. Which is exactly why I might have had so much trouble acknowledging it.
Ayato: Haah? I don’t get it. Why would you lose if you can’t even see it?
Reiji: ...You lot will understand one day as well.
Familiar A: Pardon the intrusion!
Ayato: Aah? What’s goin’ on?
Reiji: Excuse me? Would you care to explain this ruckus?
Familiar A: My sincere apologies. However, this is an urgent message...!
Subaru: Then spit it out.
Familiar A: Yes...! We have received word that Vibora’s homebase has been attacked just now.
Kanato: Vibora...The Snake Clan?
Laito: Under attack? Did a war start or something? Against who?
Familiar A: That is...Since the information is still unclear, I cannot give you the full details but...
It appears that the person leading the opposing troops...I-Is Shuu-sama...!
Reiji: Pardon...!?
Ayato: The leading force...So in other words, Shuu is the one ordering an army to attack the Vibora?
Reiji: There is just no way, this must be some sort of mistake. There is no way that good-for-nothing would...For one, he has absolutely no reason to attack the Vibora.
Laito: I wouldn’t be so sure about that. If Bitch-chan is involved somehow...I wouldn’t rule out the possibility.
Familiar A: We did not want to believe it either. However, we certainly spotted Shuu-sama amongst the opposing troops...
Reiji: ...No way...
This has to be some sort of mistake, right...?
*SCENE SHIFTS*
Monologue
ーー Once again, I find myself imprisoned,
inside the underground dungeon.
When I regained consciousness, unlike last time,
I could not see Shuu-san anywhere around.
There was only a dull pain in my stomach, and bruises.
When I pressed the patrolling Familiars for answers,
they told me that some time ago,
Shuu-san had left the castle together with Carla-san and the others.
You will be our leading force.
That one sentence Carla-san spoke back then,
was enough for me to be overcome by anxiety.
ー Somebody approaches the cell
Yui: ( Ah...! )
Shuu-san!
Shuu: ...
Yui: ( He looks beyond exhausted...What on earth is going on outside...? )
Shuu-san...Are you okay?
Shuu: ...Come here.
Yui: Eh...?
ー He pulls her close
Shuu: Nn...
Yui: ...Nn...
Shuu: Hah...These bars are in the way.
I’d love to shower you with kisses right now but...
Yui: ...What happened?
Shuu: ...The head of the Snakes died.
Yui: Snakes...?
Shuu: The Snakes Clan. They are called Vibora as well. The Tsukinami have claimed their territory by using me as their leading force.
And then...Zweig, the leader of the Vibora, was killed.
I’m sure the Vibora are burning with a strong desire for revenge right now.
Trying to figure out how they can murder the son of the King of Vampires who declared war upon them...
Selection
→ It’s all a misunderstanding, right? (♡)
Yui: This is all a misunderstanding, right...?
You haven’t done that, right?
Shuu: ...I didn’t deliver the final blow. However, it’d only make sense for them to believe that I’m the one who gave out the order, right?
→ Did you kill him...?
Yui: Did you kill him...? This leader...
Shuu: Not directly, at least.
However, I’m the one who led the troops. It only makes sense that I would be the object of their anger and hatred.
Shuu: They’re terrified of the Old Man, but they’re not cowards to the point of sitting still and doing nothing when their leader has been slaughtered.
I’m sure they will even put their own lives on the line to come and attack the Vampire Clan.
...Soon war will rage. All because of me.
Yui: No way...
Monologue
The disinterested and gloomy (仄暗く) look in Shuu-san’s eyes,
triggeded a sense of fear (恐怖感) inside of me.
However, his fingers wrapped around the iron bars,
were shaking ever so slightly.
I wanted to reach out and caress those fingertips,
but I felt as if I was not allowed to do such a thing.
ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー
Translation notes
(1) Reiji uses the expression 耳にたこができる or ‘mimi ni tako ga dekiru’, which literally means ‘to get calluses in your ear’ and it is used whenever someone repeatedly nags you about something, to the point of you being absolutely sick of it. However, the word for ‘callus’ is pronounced ‘tako’, just like the word for ‘octopus’ is, which led Ayato to believe they were talking about takoyaki.
In English, they are two different words, but conveniently ending with ‘-us’, so I decided to make a pun that way.
→ LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!
<- [ Ecstasy 06 ] [ Ecstasy 08 ] ->
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Aizawa Shōta blinked slowly at Tsukauchi Naomasa, the detective was standing on his door holding the hand of a small child, looking somewhere between having a full nervous breakdown, crying, and worryingly serious.
“Tsukauchi, what can I do for you?” Shōta asked, his voice rough with having been forced out of a nap.
“Aizawa.” The detective started, paused, took a deep breath and tried again. “Aizawa, could we please come in and speak to you and Yamada?” The hand that was being held by the small child jerked a little to show who ‘we’ were.
Opening the door further, Shōta turned his back on the detective as a way of granting them entry. He turned on his heel and made his way to the kitchen. He felt like he was going to need several pots of coffee to deal with whatever the slightly older man was going to dump on him.
The quiet thump of shoes and click of the door shutting were the only indication of the two following his silent invitation. The light steps that he could hear coming closer then further away told him that Tsukauchi was headed to the living room of his home was enough of a warning to have Shōta calling his husband instead of texting like he had been planning.
It took all of six rings for the other man to answer. "Shō! What's up?" Yamada Hizashi sounded a little breathless as he answered.
"Tsukauchi is here, with a kid." Shōta grunted into the mic of his cell. "Come home." He ordered the blonde, and hung up before even giving the blond a chance to say anything.
Shuffling his way into the living room without his coffee, and eyeing Tsukauchi with wry dark eyes, Shōta stiffly sat in his favorite spot on the loveseat that was kiddy-corner to the couch that was being occupied.
"Yamada is out. I called him to come home, if this can't wait for him then we can get it over with." Shōta told Tsukauchi after he had made himself comfortable.
He watched closely as Tsukauchi eyes the kid sitting next to him, still gripping his hand tightly. The detective looked closer to having that breakdown the longer he looked at the kid, it was honestly starting to worry the underground hero a little.
The silence felt like it dragged on far longer than the forty-seven seconds Shōta counted.
"Probably best to wait, you both will need some support." The last part was muttered under Tsukauchi's breath, and Shōta figured that he wasn't supposed to hear it.
The next twenty minutes were spent with idle chatter, both adults in the room getting tencer as each minute passed. At twenty-two minutes the front door opened and shut, the sound of heavy boots clunking on the floor as they were taken off and dropped pushed the expression on Tsukauchi's face closer to resigned and sad.
"Ah, hello Tsukauchi. You needed me home?" Hizashi's voice called from just outside of Shōta's peripherals.
"Yamada, Aizawa." Tsukauchi's tone was a forced flat, Shōta recognized it as the one that was used for grieving families.
"I offer my condolences Aizawa. Your sister Midoriya Inko was found dead yesterday morning, the investigation is still open and I cannot share much more." Shōta froze, he hadn't spoken to his sister since his wedding, not that they had much contact before that even. It had caused all kinds of issues when Inko had shown up and recognized Hizashi as someone she had had a one night stand with when they had met at a college party when Shōta and Hizashi had been sixteen.
"That being said, Midoriya Inko's will stated that her daughter Izumi would go to you and or her biological father first, in the event that she was not welcome there she was to be put in foster care." Many things in Tsukauchi's tone were sending off very loud warning signals that Shōta wasn't sure he even wanted to hear much else.
Hizashi had grabbed his hand from where he had seated himself next to Shōta when the news of his sister's passing was delivered, he squeezed tighter when the kid was brought up.
"Yamada, your daughter was dropped off in front of the police station six days ago where officer Sansa and myself have been taking care of her, until her paternity test came back." At this Shōta felt Hizashi stiffen next to him.
"I would like to introduce you to Midoriya Izumi. She is your niece Aizawa, and your daughter Yamada." The strain in Tsukauchi's voice was very clear, and Shōta idly wondered how his sister had hidden a full on child from him for four years.
"What?" The question was quiet, but full of hysteria. "No...I...what?" Hizashi tried again before Shōta felt his body just collapse in on itself.
The words Tsukauchi had said were making their way through Shōta's brain but they weren't fully being processed.
The sniffle caught his attention finally, it was the first sound he had heard from the kid. Giving his head a firm shake Shōta finally took a look at the kid.
The kid's hair was a wild mess of waves and curls, it was black but it looked to have lime green highlights naturally sprinkled through it, her eyes were the same toxic green as Hizashis' they even had darker green that spiraled out from the pupil.
The freckles that were dusted across pale skin reminded him of his own mother, she had been of mixed nationality, holding citizenship in both Japan and Canada. His own freckles would show up when he had been in the sun, which made him avoid the giant ball of burning gas even more no matter how much he missed and tried to remember his mother.
The kid's ears were starting to turn red much like his own do when he is overly emotional. That observation finally kicked his numb body into moving.
Still holding his husband's hand in a death grip he dropped off the loveseat and onto his knees in front of the kid who was holding onto Tsukauchi so tightly that her knuckles were white.
"Hey kid, did Inko ever talk to you about me?" Shōta asked, trying to distract the kid from the coming tears.
The kid 'Izumi' he forced himself to recall shook her head and nibbled on her lip like she wanted to say something.
"Do you know who I am?" He tried, it was highly unlikely that the kid knew him, but the nod shocked him into staring at toxic green eyes longer.
"How?" Was out of his mouth before he could stop it.
"Pictures. Inko had pictures with names and days on the back." Okay there were a lot of things in that sentence and tone that needed to be analyzed later, but Shōta pushed it aside to get some other questions answered.
Nodding, Shōta asked his next pressing question. "Do you know who he is?" He jerked his head towards the silent blond that was in a still unresponsive heap next to him.
Izumi nodded again, her ears taking on a deeper red color. "Pictures?" Shōta asked, getting another nod in return.
Squeezing his eyes closed tightly and shaking the hand that Hizashi was still holding roughly, Shōta was in no way prepared for the next words that were spoken.
"It's okay if you don't want me, Inko and Hisashi didn't want me, that's why they left me at the police." It was so quiet that Shōta wanted to convince himself that he had imagined it.
Shōta stilled, he wasn't sure what to say, and he was pretty close to either a panic attack or disassociating much like he husband was doing.
Tsukauchi cleared his throat, it jerked Shōta out of his thoughts long enough for the detective to say.
"We came for introductions and to share the information, Izumi will be staying with either myself or Sansa until you two have made your decision. I know it's not protocol...just give me a call later."
That said Tsukauchi scooped the kid 'Izumi' into his arms and quickly left the two pro-heros alone.
The click of the door shutting sounded like an explosion to Shōta, it jolted him again just enough to turn to Hizashi and work on bringing the man back to the real world.
Yanking hard on the hand still gripping his own he unbalanced Hizashi enough to get a stutter in his breathing.
"Zashi. He's gone, you gotta come back." Shōta demanded quietly.
Wrapping his free arm around Hizashis' chest Shōta started to tap out the rhythm of an English song that Hizashi had used to randomly belt out in highschool. Giving himself and Hizashi something to focus on would be the only way to keep them grounded, usually it was Hizashi bringing him back but it worked both ways.
Shōta was just starting the song over for the third time when Hizashi shifted against him and groaned.
"I'm so sorry Shō. I didn't know. I swear." We're the first words that spilled from Hizashi's mouth.
"Oh shut up you overgrown cockatoo." Shōta gently in his own way told his husband.
"You have a daughter that was hidden from you, I have a niece that was hidden from me. My sister is dead, Tsukauchi said nothing of Inko's husband." Saying it wasn't helping it sink in, but he needed to say it.
"She, Izumi, knows who we are in relation to her. She should be around four?" That question seems to jolt Hizashi a little, and a look between concentration and befuddlement is plastered across his face.
"Un, three going on four at the youngest." Is the very quiet reply to the question about Izumi's age.
Shōta pulled in a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before letting it out in a rush.
"Tsukauchi and Sansa are taking care of her, and Tsukauchi asked us to call him later." Shōta told Hizashi the last piece of information.
Feeling the nod against his chest, Shōta just kept tapping the song out.
"I'm sorry about your sister Shō." Hizashi whispered into the fabric of Shōta's sweater. "I know you weren't close, but, still."
Shōta shrugged, "Honestly, part of me forgot I even had a sister." He told Hizashi bluntly. "So her death isn't going to bother me too much." It was harsh, but Shōta was being honest.
"Okay, next thing." Hizashi pulled himself away a little but still kept close enough in Shōta's personal bubble that they could comfort each other.
"Izumi?" Hizashi asked, Shōta nodded when he realized that it was a question of her name. "Izumi was dropped off six days ago, she had a paternity test done to find her father. I am her father." Hizashi's breathing picked up again.
"Okay, just stop, let's look at this differently." Shōta spoke quickly. "My sister is dead, she had a daughter, her custody was given to us in the will. I know we have only been married a year…" Shōta paused to take in a deep breath and release it again. "Do you want to take in the kid?"
Hizashi stayed quiet for what felt like forever. "Can we talk to her first?" Was the tentative question.
Shōta let out another sigh, this one partly relieved and nodded.
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ao3 - loulou1810
you hesitated, knowing there was no other way around this. he could just look you up on the holocomputer. your name would be top of the list. and he’ll, you were in a max prison security unit, so using petty crime wouldn’t cut it either.
you’d have to tell him, be honest. that’s the honourable thing to do, right?
tw - contains violence, suggestive themes and flashbacks of sexual assault/rape
word count: 5,040
____
His chair slowly turned to face you. The child was sat comfortably in his lap playing with a small silver ball, completely entranced by its chrome.
“Is that it?” He scoffed back with a slight hiccup of a laugh. “Me too, why’d they lock you up there? Bit overkill?”
“Yeah…” You drifted, wondering whether you should tell the truth. “I was captured about 2 years ago…” You start, gauging his reaction to see whether he actually wanted to know. He sat up and fixed his gaze to you, signalling that he was listening and for you to continue. You dropped your head, eyes now transfixed on the loose piece of thread you were wrapping around your fingers,
“Well, I was captured. I was originally what you could call a hit-man for the Republic. I’d worked for them consistently for around 8 years. They used me to hunt down and dispose of Ex-Empire politicians and War Lords, but one mission went south and I was drugged. I was then sold to a high-class underground fighting ring, they’d implanted some sort of control chip which meant they could stop me from lashing out or protesting. They could make me do whatever they wanted…” you paused.
This part of the memory was particularly painful. “They didn’t just use me for fighting,” There were so many hidden meanings and stories hidden there, stories you’ve hidden away and not even bared to think about yourself. They’re too painful, just thinking about it felt like daggers were being slowly pushed into your skull, “One customer had let their name loose during…” Your breath hitched, tears now pricking your eyes as the trauma replayed vividly in-front of your eyes, again and again. You close your eyes so that Mando can’t see how much this has affected you. “I committed the name to memory. During one fight I heard that name again. I saw them in the crowd and something in me just snapped, I couldn’t take the pressure anymore. As soon as I’d dealt with my opponent I sent a knife straight through his skull.” The memory was clear as day now and just as callous.
The extravagant curtains draped the room. Rows of black leather chairs lined the arena, circling around the central ring. The lights were dim, a subtle red stained the multicultural onlookers in a bloodied mood lighting. This was a highly prestigious place, only the highest-ranking officials and galactic influencers could witness this fight… this was obvious from the lavish guest attire. Some coated greedily in gold, others jewels and crystals. Normally you’d be dismayed by the lavish beauty of it all, but not today. You were fighting for your life against one of your more difficult opponents. They were at least 3 times your size, chiselled from pure warrior muscle, wielding a heavy battle-axe which was decorated with the bones of their previous wins. You’d given them a run for your money the whole fight, slowly chipping away at their ego with your double-edged Phrik knives. These were the only weapons you needed. Despite this, you weren’t yourself in this moment. Your targets unbeknownst to you were sat peacefully in the viewing box. Your thoughts were painful, the weight of the constant torture and manipulation had worn you thin, you were on your last tether. Despite the chip stopping you from resisting, your soul was ripping that connection from you with every punch, kick and slice. ‘This is your purpose, do it’ swirled your mind in a violent tempest. The words tortured you, controlling every cell in your body.
And then you heard it, their name. You glanced towards its direction. They were right there, in front of you, taunting you with their presence. ‘Complete the mission. Do what you have trained to do. Feed that temptation ’. You’d had enough. As if timed moved slower now, you slid under the belly of your opponent, grabbing their ankle you kicked yourself up, swinging onto their back. You planted a knife into the nape of their neck, twisting it to make sure. As they fell forwards you used the momentum to jump, launching your other knife over the barrier and into the viewing box. It left your fingers before you could control it, before you could stop yourself. The next few seconds felt like a lifetime that day. The confused agony not leaving their face until you’d dropped to of view. You’d watched their face as they realised what had happened. The synthetic mind that had been forced into you left the moment the knife did, and the weight of that kill latched onto your soul.
“The synthetic consciousness left with the knife. What I didn’t know is that they were a high ranking Republican political official, and you can piece the puzzle from there. That was that. It was over for me”
You could feel his rage. This had angered him more than you. You didn’t dare say a thing. You fiddled harder with the fabric in your fingers now, the anxiety was suffocating you and you didn’t know what to do. You knew that what the officer did to you was wrong, illegal. But the way you’d been treated afterwards was what stung. You were the dirty criminal, they were a war hero. It didn’t take long for them to convince you that you were crazy, that you were a psychopath.
This guilt would carry you to the grave, maybe even push you in.
“If it wasn’t your choi-… if it was synthetic, why’d they lock you up? You were kidnapped and manipulated.” The question fair, and exactly the same question that had eaten away at you ever since they sentenced you. You were taken, held hostage, abused and tortured. Your body became a toy, something for them to release their anger and lustful cravings on. The pain they slowly incited within you only made things easier for them, more enjoyable, they fed off your hate. You tried to cut your emotions, but what they did to you was unforgivable, sadistic. They used your emotions against you, like Lori said would happen. By the time their use for you came around you were an empty shell, stripped bare. They implanted you, and with the flip of a switch, you were their puppet.
“My kidnappers implanted a chip into my brain. They could control me when they wanted, on and off like a droid. It was an old hijacked Clone Wars tech. They only had one use for me, making money. Once I’d done their bidding for them, they’d turn it off. After the incident though, they destroyed the switch along with the evidence. I was classed as insane. The Republic arrested me and took me in. That's how I ended up in the transporter. I was Disposable”
The last word rang your ears, it was driven into you from the start. No one had any attachments to you, no one. You were nothing. A credit without currency. An object.
The sigh that left your body felt like it took the last remaining pieces of your soul. Your tears relenting now, a nervous response to the rehashed trauma. You’d thought about it until your mind was raw. No matter how hard you reasoned with your conscience, you couldn’t shake the guilt. It was your fault, you knew it. You wished that you hadn’t thrown that knife, that you’d had more self-control and restraint. Deep down though, there was no other reason, you killed them, no one else. You, you’re the sick psycho.
“So they can’t control you anymore?” It was low, quiet. You knew he was trying to understand how it all worked, it was confusing even to you, and you weren’t the best at explaining things either.
“I don’t think so, they said they’d destroyed the controller,” You told yourself that they couldn’t control you like they did then, not anymore. But you couldn’t deny the power they still held over you. The way they’d manipulated, engraved their domination into you meant that you’d do anything they’d say out of fear. They were the only people you feared. You couldn’t face that pain again, and you knew resisting would only lead to torture. Out here in this ship, flying through hyperspace… they had no grip here, you were away from them, free.
He seemed uneasy, and you thought it was because he suspected that you could just turn on him at the flick of a switch. You were sure that they’d destroyed it. They’d not used it since…
“Would you like a job?” Out of everything you thought that he was going to say, you really could not have ever thought he’d be asking to employ you. You darted your eyes up, the confusion on your face was almost painful. Completely speechless. He elaborated, “I need someone to look after the Kid” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You’d just told this guy that you were a top-ranking assassin and now he wants to employ you as his babysitter?
“Are you having a laugh?” Is all you could say, chuckling as the words left your mouth. You’d never dealt with kids. You had no idea what you were doing. Mando seemed to be doing fine, why did he need you?
“Why, what makes you think that?” He sounds confused now. He shifts his head back a bit, his back straightening. He really did not know why this was all so confusing…
“You want me…me?” you point to your chest, emphasising your concern “of all people, you want me to look after the Child? Did you listen to a word I just said?”
“Yeah. You’re overqualified. Exactly what I’m looking for.” Right, this is odd. You pinch yourself, are you really awake. Have you somehow died or is this some messed up dream?
“I don’t understand?” You curt back, arms now folded in an aggressive manner. You weren’t up for being played around.
“I need someone who can protect the Child, you said you were trained and that’s obvious, I saw the way you moved from me in the cell, how you came away unscathed from Xian” He was right. You started to see what he was getting at, and despite agreeing that you could quite comfortably be the Childs personal bodyguard, you couldn’t deny the fact you had no idea how to look after a Child in the first place.
“I have no idea how to look after a Child…”
“Neither do I, we can figure it out together” He looked down to check on the kid. He was in a whole other galaxy, completely amiss to the tense situation happening just in front of him, the chrome ball his only concern. Mando’s gaze held for a moment, you assumed to weigh up all the possibilities of what he was offering. He turned back to you.
“You can call me Mando” And with that, he left the cockpit to put his weapons away in the main hull. You glanced at the child’s beaming toothy grin as he was carried away. You were frozen. That was it. You’d just bagged yourself a job.
___
He watched you, eyes bearing into your back as you assessed what was now going to be your new home…if you could even call it that. He handed you a small bag of clothes, some black long sleeve t-shirt’s that were way too big for you, some trousers and toiletries. The gesture was appreciated. You placed it down next to the metal slab of a pull-out bed… Damn, it is what is. You scold yourself, you’ve never had luxury, why do you expect it now? Maybe the promise of freedom was sweeter than it actually was. He nods for you to follow him out of the room.
He shows you the fresher, which is small but practical. Next, the carbonite freezer, explaining briefly that this is where his bounties go. Then, he pointed to his cabin, making it explicitly clear not to enter or open it unless he says so, even in emergencies. You thought it was odd but then it clicked as to why, and so you let the question die before it surfaced.
You’ve heard the stories of Mandalorian’s, how they’re the fiercest warriors in the galaxy. You’d read books about the battles, the power that ran through their blood. Through your job, you’d come across a few who posed as Mandalorian's but were never real. They wore the armour for protection and style, never out of honour. But with the way this guy acted, spoke and had some sort of attachment issues to his armour… you sussed he was the real deal. Xian even said the doesn’t take it off during…stop.
_____
A few days had passed now and Mando was getting more and more agitated. You’d stopped off at a small spaceport on a remote planet to gather more supplies and fuel.
You walked together through the market. He’d given you a small bag of credits so that you could get some spare clothes, toiletries and anything else you’d need for your stay on the Razor Crest. It wasn’t much but was enough to tide you over. You couldn’t complain, you had no money so it was better than nothing. You made sure to say thanks as you walked out the ship, following just behind him.
The market was a bit overwhelming at first, but once you’d realised that no one was out to get you you settled down. Mando walked in front, the Kid sat up in his pod, watching the people go about their lives. You noticed that people were making extra effort to stay out of his way, turning to whisper to others as you passed. He stuck out like a sore thumb wearing all that armour, but he didn’t seem to care. It certainly made traversing the busy streets a lot easier. You also found that you got things for a lot cheaper too, he’d stand just over your shoulder each time you went to a stall. The owner would give you the biggest smile whilst simultaneously trying not to anger the armoured chrome bucket behind you.
You found one stall that sold a bazaar range of things, from cutlery to footwear. But what caught your eye was the small Orback toy sat over in the far corner. It was perfect for the kid, it’d keep him distracted and it meant that Mando might get the silver chrome ball back. You asked for the price, not bothering to haggle the shopkeeper. Once you’d paid for it he handed it over and you placed it straight into the Childs hands. He looked it over for a second, confused at what you were giving him. He soon realised and the noise he made melted your heart, he was ecstatic. Waving it around in the air you grabbed the silver ball and handed it to Mando. He nodded at you, then glanced at the now screaming child who was what looked like laying down the law to his new friend.
After a while, the distance between you and Mando got closer and closer until there came a point where your arms were practically nudging one-another with each stride. You didn’t mind the contact, it was nice actually. Even in the busy streets, you felt like the only one there, his presence looming and protective. As the streets got busier you started to get antsy, you’re now scanning for possible threats. You didn’t want to slip up on your first day on the job, first impressions count. Mando could sense your tension and tried to soothe you by resting a hand onto the small of your back as you were walking. It brought your attention away from the dark alleyway and the rooftops and right into his touch. It paid off and you were instantly calmer. You said thanks through a small smile, which still hadn’t left your face whilst you were packing your stuff away back on the ship.
“We have to go somewhere, to pick up someone. I know you’re skilled in fighting, more than many I’ve seen” The compliment lands short as he continues, “The Child has a bounty and he isn’t safe until we take out the root cause. I'm going to need your help with this, is that ok?”
“Yes… for the Child, anything” He stared at you for a second. You guessed it was so he could read your face, ensure that you were ok with what he was asking of you. If it meant that the Child would be safe, then you’d do it. You know it was now your job, but over the few days you’ve been part of his crew, the Child has grown on you, incredibly. He’s already taught you so much, things you never thought you’d learn, and you’re grateful to the Child for that. Even though he can’t talk, he still finds ways to communicate warmth and hope. You don’t like to admit it but he is growing on you…a lot. He nodded and then left for the cockpit, firing up the engines and directing the ship out of the port. You turned away, walking back to your room.
__________
You wake screaming, the torture of your nightmare gripping your neck vindictively, suffocating you, dragging you into the depths of your mind that you never want to re-visit. You’re screaming but its broken, bloodied, hurt. You’re sat upright now, gripping your neck as you find release, the door to your cabin swinging open. He rushes in, quickly scanning the room for the cause, only to set his eyes on you and realise the root of the problem. He slows, just a small space between the both of you now, his helm still checking to ensure there’s no physical harm causing your pain.
You struggle to catch your breath, still clutching at your throat. The dried tears coating your cheeks, your eyes glint off of the ships dimmed lights. The extend of your struggle was shown in the reflection of his Beskar suit, the physical strain pertinent around your neck, the grip you’d been holding was enough to kill.
You were still struggling to breathe but were completely conscious now. Mando reached out a hand to your shoulder, trying to soothe you, “Breathe” He looks again to triple check the child isn’t doing any crazy magic as he had woken in a fit of tears too.
You quickly turn to look at him, your breathing still hoarse. The physical contact cutting through your mind and bringing you to now. Your eyes search for his. The black visor stared back. It’s probably good that you can’t see his face, as its currently slightly torn at the physical wound you’d inflicted to yourself in your sleep. His eyes scan the rest of your body, gazing at your arms which are now bare, the sleeves of the black-top he had given you were now rolled up. They’re riddled with scars of different shapes and sizes, but obvious. He glanced to your neck again, the edges of some pointed out from under the neck of the tee, some raised, some etched, some burned.
“Sorry for startling you…I…” The embarrassment starting to set in now you’ve absorbed the situation.
“The Child woke in tears too, and then I heard you screaming. Cara’s looking after him now”.
You furrow your brows at the new information. The Child too? Was he connected to your dream somehow? Or did the feeling transfer… you wouldn’t know, just acknowledging the connection and leaving it at that.
“Yeah… I was confused too…” he’d noticed the coincidence too, “We’ve got a busy day ahead of us. You should start getting ready soon.”
All this information was starting to rack your brain, the sleepy haze in your mind making it difficult to focus. Then you remembered.
The last week had been a blur. You’d picked up some reinforcements for the mission. First, an ex-shock trooper who went by the name Cara, the tattoo was one of the first things you noticed. She wore it proudly. Cara seemed nice enough even though Mando had told her your backstory, she understood. Her eyes had seen the horror of manipulation too. She knew pain, death. You doubt she’d excuse what you did, but it seemed as though she’d done her fair share and maybe call it even. You’d made small conversation with her and it seemed that you could trust her, you hoped that she’d trust you too.
And then Kuill, now he was sweet. A kind, older Ugnuaght who had served the Empire. He’d done his time. Like you, he was forced to do something he didn’t want to do. The similarity between you two was silently acknowledged, he knew your pain, wanting to fight back but not being able to. He always spoke to you with soft words. You remember his admission with clarity. A day or so after picking him and his Bluurgs up, Mando and Cara were discussing the plan in the cockpit. You were sat in the corner of the hull, entertaining the Child, rolling the chrome ball back and forth along the floor. Kuill strolled up to you, holding your shoulder, bringing your attention from the Child to him.
“I too know the pain of Capitulation. I served my time, and now I work for no one. My soul is free. You are changed now, your punishment dealt. Make good of your life now it is yours. I have spoken.”
You didn’t know what to say but you knew that was exactly what you needed to hear. You’d never had kinder words spoken. It was bittersweet, but a lifeline nonetheless.
“I don’t know exactly how things will turn out so it’s probably best we prepare for anything” he admits, fear hidden in the admission somewhere. “I have asked Kuill to look after the Child along with IG. You’ll come with me and Cara to sort the problem. To finish this.”
Your head turns to the small Ugnaught now standing in the doorway, Cara to his side holding the Child. You nod politely to them, slightly embarrassed at how they were seeing you. The Child coos, his arms outstretched to his Dad. Cara walks into your room to give Mando the child, he coos again, this time more assertive. Cara tries to hand him over to Mando but he’s blubbering louder now, his arms are now outstretched to you. You sit up properly at the realisation. Mando nods to Cara, giving her silent permission to hand the Child to you. They both watch as you and the Child babble, his hand grabbing around your finger.
The connection warms you. He’s telling you through the only way he knows how that he’s ok, and that you should be too. He exudes calmness, soothing your mind to level with his. You smile at him, silently thanking him for his unique comfort. He nods back with a coo, head-turning towards Mando. He looks back at you with a toothy grin, releasing your finger then making grabby gestures to Mando. You smile to yourself as you watch Mando pick up the Child and leave, resting him in his right arm. Mando’s head was tilted towards the Child as if to ask what all the fuss was about. Cara watches them leave then turns to you.
“Hey,” She says calmly, sitting to perch on the side of your bed.
“Hey, I'm sorry if I interrupted you, I didn’t mean to-” She cuts you off.
“Don't apologise, it’s ok, we all have bad dreams sometimes” She sports a small smile, letting you know she understands. You smile back. It’s nice to have another girl on the ship, you feel like you can open up to Cara a bit more than you can with Mando. You maintain the small smile, showing your sincerity. “The kid seems to really like you” She chuckles, showing a couple of teeth. She’s right, you both got along really well. You’d not known the Child for long but you were already smitten, the toothy grin got you every time.
“Thank you, Cara.” You don’t know what else to say. The simple reply is soft, thanking. You really did appreciate her care.
“Don’t thank me, you’re the one that can make that little womp-rat smile. I’ve tried and he just… anyway. We’re not far out now. You should get ready”
You both exchange a small smile, it's sweet. You know you can trust Cara now.
___
The doors to the weapons locker opened and you couldn’t stop your jaw from dropping in awe. There was enough to form a small army! Does this guy have a thing for weapons or what? He reaches out and grabs a blaster. It’s exquisitely crafted, the mahogany wood polished to within an inch of its life. Once securing it in his belt, he reaches out again, grabbing two leather sheaths. Turning, he hands them to you. You put them on, one of them sits on your right thigh, the other sits just under your binder and rests under your shirt. You look up at him, his visor pinning you in place.
“I took you as a knives person” He deadpans, handing you two combat knives. Yeah, true, he’d read you like a book. You loved close combat, the thrill of it was always your favourite. You hated your past but you did have to admit, you enjoyed the hunt, it felt like fighting was what you were made to do. You drop your gaze to the knives. They’re pleasing to the eye. You’d not seen anything like it, the metal had waves to it, like an ocean. You traced a finger up one end of the blade, the sharpness of them tantalising, “Beskar” he chimes. Goosebumps riddled you like a rash, you couldn’t hide the grin that found your face. You’d not had a nice pair of knives since you were taken, hostage. Looking back up to him you thank him, placing one in the thigh holster and the other in the holster on your chest. You felt more confident now, adrenaline starting to prickle your senses; your body was starting to prepare itself for what was to come.
He reaches in again, grabbing a small belt. It was rough and tatty, this must be an older belt he’d once used, the one he wore now was a lot sturdier and more practical. Turning back to you he hands it over. You hear a slight scraping sound, like metal on metal. Inspecting one of the two pouches attached to it you found it was full of little throwing knives. They weren’t the same material as the daggers he’d just given you, but still sharp nonetheless. The grin feverish once you’d placed the belt around your waist, it hung lower than you’d like but it was still practical. You tested the buckle to see if it’d release quickly, and to your amusement, it did. You look back up at Mando, grin now toothy like the kids. “Thanks, hopefully, I won’t have to use them”
“Don’t lie, we all know you want to,” he said jokingly. So he finds it funny now? His comment makes you glance down. He was right, you were looking forward to it. Guilt floods your cheeks and you blush, now coming to terms with how you’d been acting. You didn’t want them to think you wanted to fight. This mission needed to go as smoothly as possible, for the Kids sake. Now they just think you’re in it for the blood, great.
“I didn’t mean it like that…I…” He stutters on his words, now realising the meaning behind what he said.
“It’s ok, I get it” you mumble back, turning away to get your boots from your room. You don’t notice him turning his head back around, watching as you walk back into your cabin.
___
Trust Cara to be carrying the biggest blaster from the locker. She’s all muscle that girl, and she knew it too. A blaster that size would look stupid if you tried to use it, you’re not even sure you could even lift it. Cara made it look like it was second nature, each to their own.
“Let me do the talking,” says Mando. Him? Do the talking? Is he having a laugh? The guy can barely hold a conversation, and now he thinks he’s some negotiating mastermind. You let it slide though, he is a Mandalorian at the end of the day, the armour does most of the talking for him. “Kuill, are the Bluurgs ready?”
“Yes. Someone will have to walk, I only have three” he says back to Mando, back turned as he’s fixing the final bits of equipment to the Bluurgs.
“I’ll walk,” you say, you’re the odd one out at the end of the day. You want to make a good impression, and you thought that a decent walk wouldn’t do you harm. You’ve not had a chance to properly stretch your legs in too long.
“You sure? It’s a fair way?” Cara asks back, she’s genuine.
“Yeah, I need to stretch my legs, let me lend a favour” you smile back. You really did want them to trust you, and you thought this is the least you can do to show your appreciation for their kindness over the last few days.
“If you get tired then you tell me,” Mando commands. There's no room for if’s or but’s, he means it.
You pull a sneaky grin, the temptation to say it was just too much, you can give in this once, right? You pick your next words very carefully but use the most seductive tone you could. It's just a bit of fun…
“Yes, Sir”
Cara chokes out a shocked laugh. You turn to her, she’s pulling her eyebrows up and down in a suggestive manner. I'm glad that landed well… You laugh back as you both follow Kuill out of the ship to the Bluurgs, her elbow nudging your arm in a jokey way. You both continue giggling, not noticing the now slightly flustered Mandalorian.
Notes:
Hope u guys enjoy this chapter! the next couple chapters are quite action-driven as they follow the original arc, but I'm a few chapters ahead and let me tell you... is it getting hot in here?;)
#the mandalorian#mandalorian fanfic#mando x you#mandalorian x reader#mandalorian x you#din djarin#din djarin fanfiction#din needs a hug#angry din#fanfic series#mando x reader#mando.exe has stopped working
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Can’t sleep. (Risotto 2.1k fic)
sfw // no pronouns // gender neutral
It was a stormy night in Naples, thick dark clouds covering up the beautiful stars. Bright flashes lighting up the empty streets every now and then, followed by roaring thunder that boomed and echoed through every alley. The city seemingly an inch from being swept away into the ocean. Rain was falling in thin, cold spears against the windows of the old building that held many. Up on the highest floor of the bricked home, a group of outcast gangsters made it their base of operations. Left behind after betraying their own superior, they were denied grounds and had to take shelter in the less fortunate part of town. Some of its members even making the top level their permanent home. Their leader, Risotto, a strong willed man who held pride in his heart which had long been tarnished. He cared deeply for his subordinates, after the unfortunate loss of the couple named after delicious frozen sweets, he felt a coldness he hadn’t felt before take over. The young flame of rage that drove him to become the proud captain of his crew, the sheer bravery of overcoming all challenges, merely frozen over. Thrown out into the mud like day old kitchen scraps, he felt a strange peace when him and his team were cast out, but not forgotten. A peace that finally, after all these years, he truly knew with all his heart that this group of men were his allies. Every member like a chosen brother that would risk their lives to save each other. Yes they were ill behaved at times, but weren’t all siblings like this?
Two weeks ago, capo Risotto had received news from the higher ups in Passione. The little contact they still had with their headquarters was short and curt. Receiving orders to maim and kill, envelopes filled evenly with a small amount of money each month for all the members. But this time it wasn’t yet another assignment to end another’s life who had wronged their organisation. No, this time it was news of a new member that would be placed under the silver haired man’s care. Little was told about the latest members that would be joining. A bright young Passione constituent, cunning and hard working. Having made their way, climbing the intricate ladder of their underground world. But alas, all stars must fade. This star, just like the ones we look at on brighter nights than this, will not go out without a fight. The freshest member had fought with a superior officer, the details of their squabble were unknown to all, only the two partaking knew of its subject. They had battled with great might, the officer was nearing his end on this plane of existence. When others finally intervened, word spread fast. The mysterious figure that was the head of Passione had heard the news as well, ordering the removal and punishment of the rebellious youth. Death was not an option, seeing as they were too skilled to be wasted like that. Being thrown into the most spit upon group would suffice, they might even teach the others something about what it takes to make it in this cruel world of crime.
And so a new member was thrust upon the tired capo. Sitting in his wooden office chair every night, wondering about how they’d make it another month. No thought of leaving had any place in the clouded mind. One doesn’t just leave Passione. So with little said and minimal introductions to the others, the newest crew mate was assigned the last room available. They had only brought the clothes on their back, a small suitcase filled with whatever they could carry from their ransacked apartment they had found after the fight. Left with very little and moving into not much more abundance.
The poor outcast hadn’t felt rest from the time they had arrived. For two weeks now, every night spent aimlessly staring out, fighting within themselves to find solace. Now sitting in the empty and cold sitting room, on the top floor of the creaking building. The storm still brewing over the coastal city west of old mount Vesuvius. The rain being blown in all directions, attacking the old wooden windows that seemed to hold onto its frames by sheer force of will. Clothed in the last bit of nightwear they had taken, a silk set. Long pantaloons that felt soft to the touch, the richness of the fabric reminding them of a better time. The flow of the robe that waves behind them if their pace quickens to that of a stride. A soft top that had to be a place holder for its silken predecessor that had been ripped to shreds in the invasion. Their thoughts had silenced after the first week spent here, now the only thing on their heavy consciousness was getting to sleep. Sitting on the old tattered couch, legs crossed and eyes focussed on the big window in front of them. They had tried every old wives tales in Italy and beyond for any sign of repose. So they returned to sitting, and staring, and sitting and staring. Counting breaths every once in a while. But sleep did not come. Having seen more than enough sunrises, returning back to their cramped room that felt like a prison cell. The boss’ punishment seems to really be what he’d set it out to be, torture. The observant captain had noticed their newest subordinate’s behaviour. From his room on the furthest end of the hallway he’d hear the sound of their footsteps, a sound he had memorised of each his teammates. They’d end in the sitting room, or maybe on a particularly restless night he’d hear them circle the room. Even noticing the lightness of them, a certain technique he was impressed by. And night after night the same ritual occurred. The few members that called the top floor home would always find their ways into their rooms, be it late into the night, and as soon as they were settled the familiar patter would travel. He’d stopped himself from investigating, not wanting to impose on a nightly ritual. The dark eyed capo was not a man of many words. He said what needed to be and observed matters further, leaving the ordering around to his second in command. Risotto was not even sure what he could do to help his troubled newcomer.
The established members had not interacted much with them beyond short replies. The crew’s jobs were sporadic so they’d have to figure out their own ways to make any revenue. If the newcomer knew all the necessary information of the day had been announced they were free to go. And they did, roaming around the neighbourhood, getting to know every alley and crevice. Discovering all its illegal stations, which police officer was taking bribes, which crook was selling illicit materials. Whatever task needed to be done, they’d do it first. With cold eyes they’d stare in front of them, pedestrians moving out of their way with hushed whispers. If only they’d knew the lonely and exhausted gangster that took no pride in their new position, spent the night in worse ways than them. It felt like a personal hell. No one to talk too, deprived of sleep, no money.
The silver haired capo was not derived of compassion after being a mobster for this long. He reserved it, tried to show it instead of wording it. He kept it only for his closest members. He felt conflicted as to why he should already extend his arm to the new one, but he felt pity gnawing at the back of his troubled thoughts. Their nightly routine told him enough, it wasn’t a routine out of want, the dark circles under their eyes told him more than words could. So he gathered his thoughts and finally decided to interrupt the charade with the two week run.
Even with the light step the largely built Risotto adapted, the newcomer had noticed him as soon as he left his office. Keeping themselves ready for whatever may happen. They hadn’t spoken much with the new capo. Having exchanged a short conversation on the day of their arrival and beyond that only orders were spoken. They were already used to his large build and intimidating eyes, seeing beyond the outer layer. Sensing they shouldn’t be afraid of him, but never let your guard down. As he stepped closer and closer, another flash of lighting illuminated the sky, beaming light through the sitting room for brief moment. Roaring thunder following shortly after. The rain still seemed angry at the world, just like the wind. Still sitting crosslegged on the stuffy old couch, awaiting the arrival of the capo. “Can’t sleep?” The baritone of his voice felt like the purring of thunder that just rang loudly, his softer and clearer. “Can’t sleep.” They confirmed while refastening the silk robe around their waist. The tall man sitting down in the lonely armchair that had also made the large window its view. “You haven’t slept much in the two weeks you’ve been here. Is there a way I could help?” He offered in all sincerity. He knew the ache of loneliness. He took pride in the group dynamic that existed within his team, wanting the one on the couch to be part of it just as much. “Haven’t slept much indeed. I see it as my punishment, capo.” Honesty clear in their tone, not as much as moving their gaze from the view. “Ah punishment, I see.” A low chuckle in his throat. It amused him how they phrased their plea. “Two weeks seems like enough, doesn’t it? It seems more like you’re punishing yourself.” The comment now extruding a small laugh from the sleepless one. Perhaps they HAD been punishing themselves more than anything, they thought while starting to fiddle at the hem of the robe. A nervousness they tried their best to omit. “Then how do I stop?” A soft plea for help, the clattering rain filling up the silence in between. “You just do. If you decide you’ve suffered enough, it stops.” Risotto’s voice echoed in their head. Just stop. It was that easy. The sentence repeating until it clicked. There was no frustration, no they’d stopped getting that three days into barely any rest. Just stop. Baffled by the simplest of answers, but it was never an answer that appeared in their many thoughtful nights. A cart set in motion was reaching its end station. Just stop punishing yourself. The fire inside that had rested in a calm blue hue grew back into an amber one, glinting at a new start. The capo realised what he had set in motion with his simple solution when he was answered with their silence. “So did you stop?” He inquired. “Yes. I’m starting to share your sentiment against our boss, just a smidge.” A sly smile moving onto their face as they turn towards their capo. “For now, just try and get along with our family. They’ll put their lives on the line for you if needed.” He’d asked out of concern for his men. They hadn’t complained about the newcomer but they certainly felt their distance. A sudden flash of lightning illuminating the room, the red of Risotto’s eyes becoming clear. The man looked in his element in the armchair. “I’ll do my best. You can count on me too Risotto.” His name rolling off their tongue like they’d been friends for ages. Both of their gazes met each other as to agree upon their statements. From now on they’d be part of the family too.
Exhaustion had kept them running, even on the little rest they had. But the termination of punishment had changed the course. Eyelids finally being allowed to feel heavy, their brain foggy with sleep. Finally after two weeks they felt some relief, a veil being lifted. “Come, before you fall asleep here. Use your room for once.” The tall man regained his height as he stood again, leaning over to help them up, seeing their eyes close longer and longer after every blink. The capo felt warm and comforting as they supported them while walking them back to their room. The tired soul shuffling into their room and onto the bed, the pillow that felt like it expelled their touch before now feeling like home. They could barely even hear the door creaking closed when Risotto left them to regain their strength. He felt satisfied with the conversation and his newest member. He would let them sleep and sleep until they’d finally awaken a day a half later at midday. Sending in a team member to check in on them every couple of hours. But they always returned with the same report: sleeping like an exhausted gangster.
#jjba x reader#jjba part 5#jjba part 5 fic#risotto x reader#risotto nero x reader#sfw#jjba fic#neutral pronouns#ok this writing style is kind of different for me#more descriptive i would say#but don't get used to it this was a halloween special peoples-
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The Emperor - Yandere! Jungkook x reader
The Tarot Series
(Y/N) was freezing, and the thin material she wrapped around herself did little to help. If anything, it made her feel more pathetic. How the mighty had fallen.
It was insane to think a mere week ago she’d been reading books and eating feasts in the palace with a loving husband at her side, yet now she was stuck in an underground prison being fed barely enough to survive. All thanks to the Emperor himself.
It had started when she’d received a marriage proposal from the Emperor’s brother. Her parents, excited by the prospect of such a high status, had immediately accepted, and within a few weeks (Y/N) was married. There were many aspects to her new life that were overwhelming at first, from the copious amount of wealth and the constant need for guards, but none were quite as terrifying as the attention she received from Jungkook himself.
The Emperor was on a whole other level of entitlement than anyone she’d ever met. For the first week of living in the palace she didn’t see him once. Supposedly he’d had an argument with his brother over the marriage, as Jungkook had yet to be married himself and thus the matrimony was severely humiliating for him. But (Y/N) had heard of how he’d scared all previous candidates away, and it was clear he didn’t believe anyone would be his equal.
However, one afternoon, he’d requested to have a meeting with her in the gardens. When she’d arrived with her husband, Jungkook had immediately asked him to leave, saying that this was private business his brother had no right in knowing. And once they were alone the questions began.
It was like Jungkook wanted to know every single thing about her life, from her childhood to her family to her hobbies. All the while his eyes scrutinised her, piercing into her soul.
“Do you love my brother?” (Y/N) had felt her heart stop at the question. She couldn’t lie to the Emperor, but she couldn’t say no.
“I am uncertain, your imperial majesty. But I am sure that my affection for my husband will grow as our marriage perseveres.”
“I see.” Jungkook looked slightly torn, something clearly bothering him as he dismissed her, but (Y/N) pushed the matter to the back of her mind.
That night, she woke up to the sound of a thump outside her chamber. Cautiously, she reached out for the knife that she kept hidden next to the bed in case of emergencies and climbed out of bed, being careful not to wake her husband sleeping peacefully.
When she left her chamber, she saw the cause of the sound. The Emperor was leaning against the wall, the flush across his face being evidence enough that he was heavily intoxicated.
“Are you lost, Your Imperial Majesty?” (Y/N) asked, hiding the knife away in her sleeve.
“No… I came here to see *hic* you, (Y/N)...” Jungkook mumbled, stumbling forward and looping his hands around (Y/N)’s waist, nuzzling his face into her neck. She glanced towards the guards, seeing them watching the scene passively.
“Can you please accompany His Imperial Majesty back to his bedchamber? He is clearly intoxicated and needs some rest.” (Y/N) called out to them, but Jungkook shook his head furiously.
“No! I’m not going… not without you…” She felt like she was going to be sick as the emperor started to tug at her bed clothes, hands searching for the strings to undo her nightdress. It only got worse as Jungkook started to nip at her neck, leaving behind small marks and muttering something that (Y/N) could only distinguish as “I want you.”
It was when he finally started to go further, a hand lifting up her skirt that she acted, finding the knife she’d hidden up her sleeve and brandishing it.
Then, in a hotheaded moment of pure panic and fear, she slashed at one of his invasive hands. The sight of him withdrawing, clutching the bloody hand to his chest, was at first satisfying, but then terrifying, as his eyes were filled with unfathomable fury.
“Why are you just standing there? She attacked me!” The guards jumped into action at his words, capturing (Y/N)’s arms in seconds.
“What would you like us to do with her, Your Imperial Majesty?” One of the guards asked.
“Put her in one of the cells, we can negotiate a sentence later.” Jungkook ordered, unable to hide to grin on his face. “And where is someone to attend to my hand? Quickly, before I bleed out!”
Hearing the shouts, more people arrived at the scene, eventually causing such a ruckus that (Y/N)’s husband emerged from his room, just in time to see his wife being dragged away.
*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*
(Y/N) had found her first night in the cell to be less than pleasant, to say the least. Thoughts of her fate kept her awake, dreading what was to come. She lost track of the hours, eventually managing to shut her eyes and sleep.
When she awoke, there was a visitor. Stood triumphantly in front of the bars, with a bandaged hand and a victorious smirk, was Jeon Jungkook.
“You look so beautiful when you sleep.” He purred. Noting the shocked expression on her face, he edged closer, slipping a hand through the bars to reach out for her touch, only for her to shrink away.
“Ah, you should not be so afraid, (Y/N). In fact, I am the one who should be afraid of you, after all.” (Y/N) shook her head, back pressed against the wall.
“You harassed me, but I am the one who is treated like a criminal. This is ridiculous.” She snapped, immediately cursing herself and her sharp witted defense. But rather than get angry, Jungkook just chuckled.
“That’s right. No matter what, I win. But, you don’t have to suffer.” He withdrew a key hanging around his neck to unlock the door, stepping inside.
“I’m sure you can tell from my… actions… last night that I need to be with you. I propose that you may become my concubine.” Jungkook seated himself on the creaky metal bed next to her, the warmth from his body being very much welcome in the cold atmosphere of the cell. He removed the long coat he was wearing and draped it around her shoulders, instantly providing relief. “I am sure that my brother does not care to see you after you attacked me last night, so you would live in my quarters, sleep with me. Rather like a marriage, except obviously we cannot-”
“No.” (Y/N) said shortly. “I’m sorry Your Imperial Majesty, but I will have to decline.”
“Why?” Instantly the Emperor was angered, standing up and shouting. “I could easily have you executed for attacking me, yet I make such a gracious offer and you decline.”
His lip curled into a snarl as he stormed away shutting the cell door with a loud bang and locking it, pulling the key around his neck once more.
“Enjoy rotting here then. Maybe you’ll appreciate my offer when you’ve seen what your alternative is.”
*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*
She was barely alive, she knew that much. With only Jungkook’s coat to keep her warm and a few candles on the wall outside to give her light, her days were numbered in these conditions. Of course, he made sure she was nourished, always being the one to bring her a cup of water and a measly portion of food with a taunting smirk and a reminder of his offer.
However, clearly he’d been too busy, or perhaps he was holding out on her just to make her a bit more desperate, as her stomach growled loudly in protest of her conditions.
She could only guess it was daytime when she heard someone enter the room. She barely had the energy to open her eyes, although she didn’t need to to know who her visitor was.
“I’m getting tired of this charade, (Y/N).” She finally peeled open her exhausted eyes to look at him, standing there. There was nothing in his hands at all, offering no hope to (Y/N). “I’ve been so generous to you. So this is your ultimatum. You can choose me, or death.”
She didn’t reply, feeling a sob rise up in her chest at the despair of her situation.
“It’s your choice, (Y/N). Reject me and continue to suffer, or marry me and return to the life of bliss I know that you crave so much.” Jungkook growled. “You cannot continue to disrespect me like this and face no consequences. I am your Emperor, your leader and you will love me.”
When she still stayed silent, he banged a fist against the bars.
“Do you want to die? (Y/N), you are driving me insane!”
“Please… just stop this…” She whimpered.
“Stop this? Let you out? Gladly! So you’re finally agreeing?” Jungkook looked elated.
(Y/N) just weakly nodded as he unlocked the door, striding over to scoop up her weak form into his arms.
“I’m so glad, (Y/N). I don’t know what I could do without you in my life.”
Yet, as he barked out orders for a bath to be drawn and a hot meal prepared, all (Y/N) could think about was how blessed she would be to have never entered his life in the first place.
#jungkook#yandere jungkook#yandere#yandere bts#yandere kpop#kpop yandere#yandere bts au#yandere jungkook x reader#yandere oneshot#yandere au#yandere x reader#yandere jeongguk#yandere jeon jeongguk#yandere jeon jungkook#yandere jeongguk x reader#yandere jeon jungkook x reader#the tarot series#bts jungkook#jeon jungkook#jungkook x reader#jeongguk x reader
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