[insert current hyperfixation here]

You try not to laugh at their stupidity, but then both of them turn in your direction, arched eyebrows and equally predatory smiles. “Can you confirm that, darling?” Your big green best friend asks.

You let out an incredulous laugh: “I can’t talk about every pussy, but mine is pretty good. Got no complaints so far.” You take another slow breath, the smoke warming my chest.

They stare at you mesmerized, gaping like fish as if I just said something revolutionary. The orc sighs, and his tone turns whiny, his hand repositioning his dick in his pants as you stare. “Damn, darling, I wish I could try it.”

You can’t look away from his crotch, and the words stumble out of you before you can think anything more: “Maybe… Maybe you can.” Did you just say that? Did you just offer your pussy to your best friend? He takes one last inhale before killing the blunt.

“What?! Not fair! I was the one longing for human pussy, and he gets it and I don’t?” The minotaur is ready to break the spell, but his words only make the room more tense in anticipation.

You look between them, your body loose and your brain content, and thinking about it… You want it. You want them. “Well… Maybe you can have a try, too?” You offer him, smiling shyly in their direction and giggling, your brain still fuzzy in the best way possible.

They were speechless, and the orc was the first one to break the silence. “Do you mean it? Like, do you really mean it?”

Do you want to be fucked by two big monsters? You don’t have to think hard about the answer: “Yes.”

“Fuck, I’ve been waiting for this moment so long,” the minotaur says. You smile in his direction, hoping it expresses how much you’ve been waiting for this, too.

It must have because in less than a second they are crossing the distance between you. The minotaur pushes you back against the cushions and attacks your mouth like a starving man. You feel the hands of the orc on your side, and you moan, your pussy getting wet and making both of them moan at the scent of your arousal.

It’s rushed, it’s needy and it’s fucking perfect.

“Are you getting wet for us, darling?” The orc’s voice is way lower than usual, and it does things to you. Naughty things. Things that only get wetter the second his hand finds your boobs, and he starts groping you like there’s no tomorrow.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

That’s so hot. You are so hot. They are so hot. Your head feels like cotton candy and each touch is like lightning to your senses.

You are losing your mind. Your brain is floating in a cloud, and you can’t focus on anything that’s not their hands on your body, their groping touches and the minotaur’s mouth currently sucking a hickey on your neck.

Clothes fly everywhere, and soon the contact of skin-on-skin is driving you insane with desire to have them in you ASAP. “Who goes first?” You ask, parting your legs to show them your glistening pussy.

They moan in unison, and you smirk at them, your fingers reaching down to rub your clit while they try to hold themselves back. The minotaur points at you, telling the orc: “You go, you’ve been waiting for this the longest.”

“You have?” You ask him, surprised by it. You knew he looked at you all hot and bothered sometimes, but you thought it was just casual.

He leans down to kiss your lips softly. “You have no idea, darling,” he sounds so earnest your heartbeat goes crazy in your chest while he positions himself on top of you.

The second you feel the tip of his cock against your pussy, you let out the longest and most needy moan you’ve ever let out, and they both chuckle. Your brain feels like it’s inside a cloud, and every touch is amplified by a thousand. The minotaur lays next to you, kissing every inch of skin he can reach when you feel the first press of the orc’s cock against your opening.

“Open up for me, darling. Let me fill you to the brim,” he whispers.

It’s like he has the keys to your internal control, because the second the words are out of his mouth, he’s pressing inside and opening you wider than anything before. He’s so big, and so hot, and feels so fucking good you can’t stop babbling, not even sure about what words are leaving your mouths. But neither of them seem to care while they focus on bringing you pleasure.

It takes him a while to get fully inside, but your body is already trembling with the need to come undone. His thrusts are swallow and hard, and he’s hitting your G-spot each single time, making your eyes roll back into your head and your heels dig onto his back.

The minotaur pulls his mouth away from your nipple, licking it one more time before looking at the orc and requesting: “Tell me how she feels. Tell me how good her pussy is.” The way he talks about you as if you aren’t there makes you clench, and the orc grunts loudly.

“Oh goddess. She’s so tight. I’m not gonna last, she’s clenching on me like a fucking vice. Good goddess, darling. Your pussy is perfection. You’re perfection.”

You moan something like a response that ends up sounding like a choked plea, and he accelerates, his hand resting on your lower abdomen, pressing down when his thumb rubs over your clit. You let out a banshee scream when the orgasm hits you, and he’s not far behind, thrusting half a dozen more times and releasing everything he has inside of you.

You are breathing hard when he pulls back, his eyes zeroing on your leaking pussy. “Look at that, she’s so pink and soft. Her hole is still clenching over nothing, so eager to take more…” The orc says, making you clench again, moaning. You just came but you need more. “What a dirty girl you are, darling,” he adds before kissing you senseless.

You feel the cushions around you dip when they change positions, your orc not breaking the kiss while he moves. “My turn,” the mionotaur says, making you two break the kiss.

The first look at the minotaur’s cock makes your spent pussy twitch. He’s so fucking big, you aren’t sure he’s going to fit, but dang if you didn’t want to try either way.

“It will fit,” both of them say at the same time, making all three of you giggle while he sits back. You straddle his hips, his dick positioned perfectly.

You lower your pussy slowly, marveling at the stretch while they are transfixed by the way your pussy is swallowing him. By the time he’s inside of you, all three of you are panting. “Ready?” The orc asks. “Ride him, darling. Ride him like the bull he is.”

The orc kneels behind you, hands on your hips as he moves you above the minotaur, helping you ride him. The pace is fast and deep, pulling almost all the way out before you let gravity impale you onto his dick. You do this a dozen times, but with each new thrust, you get closer and closer to your release. He’s just so fucking big, he presses every single one of your pleasure points at once, and it’s driving you insane.

“Rub her clit. I’m close. Fuck. Her pussy is perfection,” the minotaur mumbles, and the orc complies.

The second his fingers touch your clit, you are throwing your head back and falling onto the minotaur’s dick so he’s as deep as possible when your orgasm hits. You clench around him almost painfully as he bellows, releasing everything he has inside of you.

You lay over his chest, the orc pressing against your back and rolling to the side so they are sandwiching you. Your combined pants are the most amazing symphony to your ears.

"You must be the one who was fighting in the market yesterday. I could hear your voice halfway across town."

The reminder makes your blood boil all over again.

"And?" You demand, placing your hands on your hips. "Must I remain silent when others sabotage my livelihood?"

Your mother pinches your arm. You rub the spot blindly but refuse to back down. There are many rumors about Lord Thalor. Some stories say he was so ruthless in his time on the battlefield that his own army feared him. Others claim that he used black magic to strike down his enemies. No matter the truth, the king had gifted him land and the title of a lord, putting him in a position of power in your small town.

Lord Thalor stares back calmly, idly stroking the black cat in his arms. He and the cat share the same cunning green eyes.

"I saw the dragon as well. It was as big as a house! Surely we can't be mistaken about such a sight," you argue.

"If I say there was no dragon, then so it will be," Lord Thalor says.

"Then, in the case that it should attack our town, I hope it goes for your home first," you snipe.

You bid the Lord a good day, bow angrily, and drag your poor mother out. She scolds you all the way home, but you're preoccupied with thinking about the massive reptile you'd seen in the treeline earlier that morning. How could such a large thing disappear in the blink of an eye? Life carries on after the incident, because no one else seems to believe you either. If your mother hadn't also caught a glimpse of it, you might have begun to believe that you'd been seeing things.

Several weeks later, you're stacking firewood in the backyard when you hear a terrible crash in the trees. You look up just in time to see the tip of a black wing dip below the trees. There. You're so excited to prove your memory right that you forget it is a dragon you're running straight towards. You fight through the bushes and stumble over roots till you reach a clearing, freshly made by something large and heavy snapping trees in half. The air is thick with the scent of sap and mulch. There is no dragon in sight, though, just a pile of leafy branches.

You hear someone groan somewhere in there. You heave a particularly large branch out of the way and crouch down to see a man naked as the day he was born, sprawled in the debris. There's an arrow lodged in his chest, causing each breath to come out as a wet rasp. His cheeks, neck, and arms are covered in black scales, and dragon horns jut from his scalp. You hold your breath as you reach out and brush leaves away from his face.

"Lord Thalor?!"

The man in question scowls up at you. "Do you ever stop shouting?"

"So you're the dragon! No wonder you weren't the least bit surprised!"

He drags himself up a little, propping his back against a tree trunk.

"You must tell no one of this."

"I could be persuaded with some coin," you say amiably.

He stares at you. "And where will I get that in this state?"

You shrug. "Your ring will do."

"Absolutely not! Do you know how valuable–"

You pluck it off his finger. He sits up sharply, smoke billowing from his lips.

"You dare to steal from me in broad daylight–"

You push his mouth shut with a finger on his jaw.

"If you give me the ring I'll even help you take out that arrow," you say.

"Ridiculous," he mutters, but he slumps back with a wince. "Very well."

  There are many tomes in the temple library that depict the realms beyond the living world. And you could vaguely remember your teachers explaining that your ability to speak with Eia would guarantee you a fortunate afterlife. You'd be greeted by a feast hosted by the gods, and your ancestors would be in attendance. And for all eternity, your soul would reside in Eia’s palace. 

  But you couldn’t see, hear, or feel anything around you. Swallowed within a void, with only your thoughts to entertain yourself. Was your soul simply trapped between realms, waiting for Hedis's aid? Before your thoughts begin to spiral, a voice mercifully cuts through the silence, “you thought I would let you die? Do you think so poorly of me?”  Instantly, the darkness disappears, and you land on a hard surface. The void has been replaced by candlelight and marble floors. A tall figure in a velvet cloak deeper than the night sky stands with their back towards you. “I will admit, it was getting close.” 

  “I am relieved you haven’t forsaken me,” you gradually stand up, keeping your eyes on the figure. “It's been too long, Eia.”

  “Watch your tone, child,” she warns. “If you haven't noticed, many things are occupying my time.” 

  “I find it hard to believe that you didn’t have time to spare to give me a sign,” you take a few steps towards her. 

  “You’re still alive, isn’t that enough of a sign?” Part of you wanted to argue with her, but you decided against it. Eia approaches you, and although she is merely a cloaked figure, you can tell she is looking you up and down. “I see you forgone the pin of my sigil,” she chuckles, “but yet you believe enough to spill your own blood?” 

  “My faith in you is stronger than a brass pin.” 

  “But something about it bothers you, my dear,” Eia questions. 

  “The heraldry of the royal family is imprinted on the back,” a sigh escapes you. “As I learned more about why the rebellion was formed, and as the horde began to feel like home, it felt wrong to wear it.”

  “Well, that makes me feel better about what I’m about to ask of you. When you awake, you will need to destroy it, and the one Yanna wears. All the pins are embedded with tracking magic.” 

  “But wouldn’t they already know where we are?” 

  “The tool used to track them, which the lieutenant had, glows brighter as it gets closer. Thankfully, it is not precise. And the king would need to send another one to find the two of you again.” 

  You sigh in relief, “that’s good. I will be sure to destroy them… Although it might prove difficult to convince Yanna to give up her pin. She’s still so young, and she clings to the words of the king's council.” 

  “If she resists, tell her that once she gives up the pin,  Karl’s coughing sickness will never return.” 

  “I will,” you promise. You glance around the ornate marble hall that you’re standing in, a million questions rushing through your mind. It takes you a second, but you decide to ask the most important one, “Eia, what is happening?” 

  She sighs heavily, “the royal family needs to end.” Neither of you spoke for a minute, letting the words sink in. “Generations ago, your people pledged their loyalty and subservience to us in exchange for freedom from their captors. We helped them create treaties with the Dwarven Council for their excess land. We chose who would become the royal family because we had faith that they would uphold those values. But their bloodline has since been tainted by greed and ignorance.”

  “And by end, you mean killing them?”

   “All of them,” she confirmed. She lets you sit with that information before continuing.  “We’ve tried many times to correct their behavior, but the royal family continues to ignore us. And this is more than our egos being hurt; the kingdom is suffering. Treaties with the Dwarves keep being broken, more and more magic is outlawed, they’re dead-set on isolating themselves from the rest of the world, and people are starving.” 

“Then this is your last resort?” 

  "No, that would be releasing demons onto the mortal plain," a quiet chuckle comes from the cloak. "This is our second-to-last plan. And considering how well the rebels and the horde get along, I'm fairly confident in its effectiveness." You could only nod in agreement as your brain processed everything Eia revealed. 

"If I had heard this from anyone else, I would laugh in their face," you glance at your hands, unable to keep from fidgeting."What will happen to me if this grand plan fails?" 

  "It won't." 

  "But if it does?" 

  A spectral blue hand reaches from the cloak and lands on your shoulder, “as long as your faith in me doesn’t waver, you will be fine.” You glimpse at where her face would be, but you couldn’t make out anything beneath the cloak's shadow. “There is something else you will need to do for me when you awaken." 

  "I presume I know too much to say no?" 

  "Exactly," she teases. 

  "What do I need to do?"

"This plan relies on your budding relationship with the Otoschlibt." She holds up her other hand to keep you from interrupting, "it was Frua's idea, don't blame me. But she is right, love is a powerful motivator." 

  "I can't force him to love me.” 

  Eia laughs, “he already does, my dear. He hasn’t professed it because you are keeping him at arm's length. How many people  need to point it out to you for you to believe it?” 

“Too many, apparently,” you mumble while wringing your hands. “It still feels wrong. All my life, the elders have warned me that romance and lust will stray me from my divine path. Won’t our connection be severed if I lose my maidenhood?” 

  “Your elders have filled your head with lies. They told you that to control you.” Her hand moves from your shoulder to gently cup your jaw. “Their rules are worthless to you now, so forget them.” 

  “You won’t be mad if I choose to live a more Orcish life?” 

  “As long as it is me you are praying to, I do not care. Do what feels right, what makes you happy, and rediscover yourself. Promise me?” 

 “Yes, Eia, I promise.” 

  “Good. Now wake up.” You didn’t even have a chance to process her command before everything around you vanished. The shock makes you bolt upright from your slumber. Your eyes slowly adjusted to the light in the room, and you looked around. Somehow, you were already back in your quarters, buried beneath the furs on the bedroll. The flickering of the fire caught your attention, but the sight before it was truly a surprise. 

  Kurakh knelt beside the fire, sitting on the heels of his feet. His eyes were closed, and his hands rested on his lap with palms facing upwards. You couldn't help but be amazed at the sight of his supplication. Not only because the orc's form of prayer was so different from your own, but also because you could hardly imagine Kurakh begging for anything. "Kurakh?" 

  His eyes opened as he turned to look at you. Relief washed over his face as moves toward you. "Otoshkar heard my prayers," he says, kneeling beside the bedroll. His hand quickly envelopes yours, turning your arm to access your wrist. The cut you made was already long gone; only the pale mark of the sigiled iron was left as you expected. "A little warning would have been appreciated." 

 "There was not enough time," you shrug and glance at your wrist. "I've done it many times before." 

  Kurakh sighs but doesn’t bother to argue. “Yanna took care of the rest of the injured while you were asleep. The Lieutenant hasn’t woken up yet, but Yanna thinks he should be fine.” 

  “Poison wreaks havoc on the body; he’ll be sleeping for a while.” 

  “Good, the less I have to deal with him, the better.” 

  “You'll have to deal with him eventually,” you sigh and pull your knees to your chest. “How is Yanna?” 

  “Very quiet and timid. But, she seemed to be happy with her placement with Galta, Maaga, and Schelura.” 

  “Good,” you unceremoniously kick the blanket and furs off with your feet. The motion was suspiciously easier than it has been the last couple of weeks. You lift the skirt of your habit, not caring that Kurakh could see. You gently pressed on the warg bite, and for once, there was no pain at all. 

  “What is it,” Kurakh asks, concernedly. You untie the garter, roll down the stocking, and rip away the bandage. There was absolutely no sign of the warg bite. Kurakh looks at the leg, shocked, “is that normal?”

  “I don't know,” you touch the skin almost in disbelief. “I've never been injured when doing that kind of ritual before,” you shrug before pulling up your stocking. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice that Kurakh has graciously focused his gaze elsewhere. Once your garter was secured, you swung your legs to the edge of the bedroll. 

“What do you think you're doing,” Kurakh raises a quizzical brow. 

  “I need to see Yanna.” 

  “It can wait; you need to rest.” 

  “Kurakh, I’m fine.” Your stockinged feet hit the floor, the stone immediately sucking away the warmth. “Where are my boots?”

  Kurakh sighs and stands to retrieve your boots. “I suppose nothing I say will stop you?” 

   A smirk tugs at your lips, “you're learning." You watch as he sets your boots on the ground. Although his face was neutral, you could see the concern in his eyes. “Would it make you feel better if you walked me there?” 

  Kurakh smiles, “it would ease some of my worries.”  

 “Then it’s settled,” you finish tying your boots and raise your hand. Kurakh takes the hint and pulls you onto your feet. Once you’re standing, his other hand lingers on your waist to steady you. You chose to ignore the heat crawling up your neck, “how long was I asleep?” 

  “All day, the sun will set soon.” 

  “Heavens, it certainly didn't feel like that long,” you sigh, hesitantly stepping to the side. Kurakh moves to let you pass, and you could feel his good eye watching you like a hawk. Embarrassment quickly washes over you as you take the first few steps forward. Your feet feel as if stones were tied to them. Kurakh quickly moves beside you, his hand resting on the small of your back. “It seems my legs are still sleeping.” 

  “Shall I carry you,” he asks with a smirk. 

  “You would like that too much. I will be fine in just a moment.” Kurakh chuckles as he follows behind you. You carefully walk to your chest of belongings, grabbing the sigil pin from atop the chest. “I need to get Yanna’s, and we need to destroy them. They have tracking magic.” 

  “You didn’t think to mention that before,” Kurakh frowns. 

  “I didn’t know until today, she just told me.” 

  “Who told you?” 

  “Eia,” you show him the sigil in your hand for emphasis. 

  “Wait, you and Yanna can talk to your gods directly?” 

  “Only I can speak with Eia when she wants to,” you explain as you head towards the door. Thankfully, your legs were cooperative by the time you reached the door. You turn to look at him, “are you coming or not?” Kurakh simply hums in response, confusion written all over his face. “What is it?” 

  “It’s interesting, realizing how much power you have. ” 

  “I don’t, it’s simply dumb luck.” 

  “You may not see it as power because it is all you’ve ever known, but you are powerful. Even the wisest Orcish shaman cannot speak to Otoshkar directly. I have only heard of this ability in myths.” 

  “Does it make you think of me differently?” 

  “I have only gained more respect for you,” he smiles as he steps closer. He glances at the pin in your hand and motions to the door, “I suppose we should follow Eia’s order.” A smile creeps onto your face as you open the door, turning quickly so he doesn’t see. Luckily, the hallway didn’t feel as cold as it did when you first woke this morning, which made the walk to your friend's quarters more enjoyable. 

  It didn’t take long for the two of you to reach their quarters. Laughter could be heard from inside, prompting Kurakh to roll his eyes. You knock on the door and mentally prepare for whatever may be happening inside. The door swings open, and you are instantly greeted with Schelura shouting, “you’re alive!” She didn’t even give you any time to react before wrapping her arms around you. 

  Kurakh laughs as she pulls you into the room, lingering in the doorway as she fawns over you. “Oh, we were so worried,” she rolls up your sleeve and inspects your arm. “No scar?” 

  “There never is one when I do a ritual like that,” you shrug as she shows your arm to the room. You look around the room for Yanna and find her sitting on a bedroll in the corner, trying to keep her distance from the others despite the size of the room. She sits up straighter once she notices you looking at her. You step away from Schelura and knelt before her. The younger girl's eyes land on Kurakh standing in the doorway behind you. Upon noticing this, you choose to speak in the Vorren tongue, “trust me, he wouldn’t dare put a hand on you.” 

  Yanna’s eyes darted around the room, and she nervously responded in Vorren, “I watched him kill our countrymen.” 

  “For him, it was a matter of survival. Despite what you’ve been told, there is not a bloodthirsty bone in that Orc.” You sigh and gently take her hand, “I wish I could explain everything to you, but the gods will be angry with me if I say too much too soon. But, I can promise you everything that has happened, is the gods trying to save us from something worse.” She bites her lip as she stares into your eyes, searching for any hint that you may be lying to her. “I promise you.” 

  “I'm scared.” 

  “I can imagine,” your eyes land on the sigil pinned to her apron. “Before I forget, while I recovered, Eia spoke with me in my dream. We need to destroy our pins; they have tracking magic.” 

  “I want to be found,” she frowns. 

  “I understand that you are uncomfortable being surrounded by those you believe are your enemies, but I need you to trust me. And, if you cannot trust me, then I need you to trust Eia.” 

  “This is madness,” she pulls away from you. 

  “Karl's coughing sickness will never return.” Her eyes widen before looking at her pin, then to the sky as if to ask for guidance. “Eia always keeps her promises.” 

୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧

Your world is small, contained.

A dim operations room buried somewhere deep in the base, humming with electricity and recycled air. The overhead lights are always too soft or too harsh—never just right—so you’ve taken to leaving only your desk lamp on. It casts a warm, golden pool over your workspace, leaving the rest of the room in a kind of permanent twilight.

Screens line the wall in front of you—six in total, each flickering with different feeds: satellite imaging, drone footage, helmet cams. One is always reserved for him.

Ghost.

Though you never call him that out loud. Not really.

To you, he’s just a voice. A presence. A constant thread in your ear during long nights and longer missions.

You know the cadence of his breathing when he’s crouched and waiting. The way his voice drops half a register when something’s wrong. The quiet, almost imperceptible hitch when he’s injured but refusing to say it.

You know him in pieces.

“Talk to me, bird,” he says one night, softer than usual.

You glance at his feed. He’s tucked behind a crumbling wall, dust coating the camera lens. There’s blood—dark and drying—on his glove.

“Two tangos left,” you reply. “One on your six, slow approach. Other’s posted near the exit.”

A pause.

Then, quieter.

“You always watchin’ me that close?”

Your fingers still for half a second before you recover.

“It’s my job.”

A faint huff of something that might be a laugh.

“Right.”

୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧

It becomes routine.

Late hours. Your voice guiding him through shadows. His voice grounding you when the silence between updates stretches too long.

Sometimes, when the mission lulls, he talks.

Not much. Never too much.

But enough.

“You ever leave that room, bird?” he asks once.

You glance around at your little corner of the world—half-empty coffee mug, a blanket thrown over the back of your chair, a sticky note peeling off your monitor with scribbled doodles and coordinates.

“Sometimes,” you say. “I think.”

“Think?”

“It’s… easy to lose track of time in here.”

A quiet hum through the comms. Thoughtful.

“Sounds like a cage.”

You swallow, eyes flicking back to his feed.

“Not really.”

A beat.

Then, softer than you’ve ever heard him.

“Still.”

୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧

You imagine him, sometimes.

Not the mask—that’s all anyone ever sees.

You imagine the man underneath. The lines of his face, the thoughts in his mind, the way he probably looks at a room before stepping into it.

You build him from fragments.

From silence.

From the way he says your name—rare, but it happens.

From the way he says bird—like it means something.

The first time something goes wrong, really wrong, your hands shake.

“Ghost, you need to move. Now.” Your voice is tighter than you’d like, eyes darting across the feeds. “They’ve rerouted—there’s a squad heading straight for you.”

No response.

“Ghost.”

Static.

Your chest tightens.

“Simon.”

The name slips out before you can stop it.

And suddenly—

“I’m here.”

Relief hits so hard it almost hurts.

“I lost visual,” you say quickly, forcing yourself back into focus. “Camera’s down. You’re blind to me.”

“Not blind,” he mutters. “Still got you, don’t I?”

Your throat goes dry.

You guide him anyway. Off memory, off instinct, off the rhythm you’ve built together over countless missions.

Step by step.

Breath by breath.

Until he’s out.

Safe.

They tell you later it was close.

Too close.

You stay in your chair long after the room empties, screens dimming one by one until only your desk lamp remains.

The silence is louder than gunfire.

୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧

You don’t expect to meet him.

Handlers don’t meet operators. That’s not how this works. You’re voices, not faces. Ghosts in different ways.

So when your door opens one evening—quiet, deliberate—you don’t look up right away.

“Room’s off-limits,” you say absently, eyes still scanning reports. “You’ll need—”

You stop.

Because the room feels… different.

Heavier.

You look up slowly.

And there he is.

Filling the doorway like something pulled straight out of shadow. Broad shoulders, tactical gear, the skull mask stark in the low light. Real in a way that steals the air from your lungs.

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

Then—

“…Bird.”

It’s quieter in person. Rougher. Real.

Your heart stutters.

“You’re not supposed to be here..” you manage.

“Yeah,” he says, stepping inside anyway, boots barely making a sound against the floor. “Got that impression.”

He looks around your space—your screens, your notes, your carefully controlled chaos.

“This where you’ve been watchin’ me from?”

You nod, suddenly very aware of how small the room is. How close he is.

“All of it,” you say. “Every mission.”

His gaze shifts back to you.

You can’t see his eyes. Not really. But you feel them.

Heavy. Intent.

“Then I figured,” he says slowly, “it’s about time I saw you back.”

Something tightens in your chest.

“You didn’t have to—”

“Wanted to.”

The words land heavier than they should.

Silence stretches between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. Not like before. Not like the empty kind.

This is… full.

“You’re quieter in person..” you say softly.

A faint tilt of his head.

“Am I?”

“Yeah.” You hesitate. “But less… hidden.”

A low exhale. Not quite a laugh.

“Funny..,” he murmurs. “Was gonna say the same about you.”

Your lips twitch.

“Guess we’re both a little different off comms.”

“Maybe.” He steps closer—slow, deliberate, giving you time to pull away if you want to.

You don’t.

Up close, he’s overwhelming. Not just in size, but in presence. Like standing too close to a storm.

But there’s something else, too.

Something familiar.

“You called me Simon.” he says quietly.

Heat rushes to your face.

“I—thought I lost you.”

A pause.

Then, softer..

“Didn’t.”

Your breath catches.

For a moment, it feels like you’re still on comms—like this is just another fragile thread of connection stretched across distance.

Except there’s no distance now.

Just him.

Just you.

Just the quiet hum of the room that’s held your voice for so long.

“Guess I’m not just a voice anymore.” you say.

“No,” he agrees.

A beat.

Then, low and certain.

“Still my bird, though.”

now listen, we're the same age but mentally (and physically that is not the point) changbin is so much stronger than i am but as someone who is bigger and recently lost weight in the unhealthiest of ways (ed, health issues, etc.) it does not feel good hearing about how you look so much better now and suddenly getting a lot more compliments than you've ever gotten

again, he's mentally stronger than i am but he is still human. you hear, or read, something enough times and it fucks with you. especially late at night when you have time to think and replay everything in your head.

changbin looks/looked great when he was bulking and he looks/looked great after cutting (that's the actual term before any of you freak out because you only know the other meaning of that word)