𝖘𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖙𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖆

How did you get here? It's a question that continuously echoes through your mind like a constant drumbeat. 

It’s not an easy question to answer. It’s actually pretty complicated. Time travel? A quantum jump? You don’t know whatever scientific phenomenon this is. 

But for your own sanity, you decided not to dwell too much on it, especially when the present demands your full attention.

Agust has let you live here under the guise of acting as his bodyguard, which is perhaps the strangest thing you've ever done. You had no prior guarding experience, but the katana sword that hangs by your side now tells otherwise. This item is a constant reminder of your supposed purpose here: to protect the mansion, to protect Agust D. But deep down, you know there's more to this arrangement than meets the eye.

Tonight, however, is different. Agust D, the enigmatic master of this mansion, has extended an invitation—an invitation to dine at an upscale Chinese restaurant. It's a rare opportunity to step beyond the confines of these walls, to breathe in the outside world, if only for a fleeting moment.

As you stand before the full-length mirror in your room, you can't help but feel a surge of apprehension. The maids have stated that Agust D insisted you wear a black satin dress he selected for the occasion—a garment that feels foreign against your skin, yet somehow fitting for the night. You’re too used to wearing a collared white button-up and a plaid skirt for most of the time while you’re at the mansion. You don’t know how long you’d been wearing that, but definitely longer than a young girl who’s in prep school.

Adjusting the delicate fabric, you take in your reflection, the unfamiliarity of the attire almost unnerving. 

A knock at the door interrupts your contemplation, and without waiting for a response, Agust D enters, his presence commanding the room. Dressed in a tailored black suit that exudes power and authority, he regards you with a scrutinizing gaze.

"You look stunning," he remarks, a hint of satisfaction tugging at the corners of his lips. "Are you ready to go?"

With a half nod, you follow him down the stairs and out of the mansion, the cool night air wrapping around you like a shroud of secrecy. Then you hop into the black sports car, which Yoongi decides to drive this time instead of his chauffeur.

The journey to the restaurant is silent, punctuated only by the quiet sounds of the piano music playing, which came from connecting Agust D’s phone to the car’s aux.

He really does love Ryuichi Sakamoto’s music, you comment internally to yourself.

When you arrive at the restaurant, you're met with the grandeur of an upscale Chinese eatery perched on the top floor of a hotel building. The space is a harmonious blend of modern elegance and traditional opulence. As you step inside, the ambient chatter of elite people and the soft clinking of cutlery fill the air, creating a lively yet refined atmosphere that contrasts sharply with the muted silence of the mansion.

The restaurant’s interior is a feast for the senses. Rich, dark wood paneling lines the walls, accented by gold and red details that evoke a sense of luxury. Elegant lanterns hang from the ceiling, their warm, golden light casting a gentle glow across the room. The tables are adorned with crisp white linens, polished silverware, and delicate porcelain dishes, each piece carefully chosen to complement the sophisticated ambiance.

The scent of Chinese cuisine mingles with the faint aroma of incense, creating an inviting and tantalizing atmosphere. The restaurant's design features intricate latticework and traditional Chinese artwork, adding a touch of cultural authenticity to the modern setting. Plush, comfortable chairs surround each table, offering a sense of intimacy and relaxation.

As the restaurant host takes note of Agust D standing beside you, there’s a brief moment of panic in his eyes. He quickly ushers you both to a secluded corner of the establishment, a private nook separated from the rest of the dining area by elegant silk drapes. This area, though separated, still enjoys a view of the city skyline through large, floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a breathtaking panorama of the illuminated city below. 

You are seated across from Agust, but there’s still a subtle awkward atmosphere surrounding the both of you when he orders and after the food arrives. 

For a moment, the clinking of silverware against porcelain fills the silence before Agust D finally speaks.

"Do you still not remember anything?" 

You hesitate, uncertainty flickering in the depths of your eyes about how to respond to him. "Bits and pieces," you admit, your gaze lingering on the dimly lit surroundings. "But nothing concrete. It's like trying to grasp at shadows."

His expression remains impassive, but you catch a fleeting glimpse of something else—something akin to regret, perhaps, or even longing. "It will come back to you," he says, his tone softer than before. "With time."

You only nod, going back to eating one of the xiaolongbao at the center of the table.

The air between you and Agust D grows heavier once again with unspoken words. You don’t like the silence. As someone who is very self-aware of their self, you feel compelled to break the silence to not be stuck in your head. 

"Agust D," you begin tentatively, the name feeling foreign on your tongue yet strangely familiar. You don’t refer to him by name often, as you opt for ‘sir’ or the occasional ‘Hyungnim’. "Why did you bring me here tonight? You never do this sort of thing…"

He regards you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. "Well, you've been cooped up in that mansion for so long," he replies cryptically, his gaze piercing through the facade you've carefully constructed. “Thought it would be good to treat you for your work.”

"But why now?" you press, unable to suppress the curiosity gnawing at your insides. "And wearing this?" You refer to the short piece of black fabric covering you.

Agust D's lips quirk up in a wry smile, though there's no warmth in it. "Maybe I wanted to see how you'd be like out… not on duty," he muses, his eyes never leaving yours. "Or perhaps I simply wanted company for the evening."

Company, huh? From the outside, it looks like you’re on a date. You wouldn’t doubt the restaurant staff is already gossiping from behind the curtains partitioning you from the rest of the world.

You can't help but feel a sense of unease at his words, a nagging suspicion that there's more to his motives than meets the eye. "Is that really all?" you press, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "Or is there something else you're not telling me?"

For a moment, Agust D's mask slips, revealing a flicker of vulnerability beneath the facade of indifference. "There's always more to say," he murmurs, his gaze turning distant as if lost in memories you can't access. "But some things are better left unsaid."

What does he even mean by that? You feel like every time you speak even a bit casually to this man, you only end up more confused and maybe even a bit more scared.

"Agust D," you venture cautiously, "...are you still looking for Suga?"

At the mention of the name, a shadow passes over Agust D's features, his expression hardening into a mask of resolve. "Suga," he repeats, the name dripping with bitterness and contempt. "Of course I’m looking for him. That man is nothing but trouble. I need to get rid of him."

You can't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the man whose name hangs between you like a specter, a reminder of the past you can't quite grasp. "But why? Why do you hate him so much?" you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Agust D's eyes darken with a mix of anger and regret, a storm raging beneath the surface. "He’s got my face and that in itself is a danger to all of us," he admits, his voice raw with emotion. "He could also be the answer to everything I've lost, but it’s better if that answer is never revealed."

The words hang heavy in the air from a confession laden with pain. And as you gaze into the depths of Agust D's eyes, you realize that beneath the cold exterior lies a man haunted by his past—a man who, like you, is searching for answers, but afraid to confront them. You want to pry into what he means, but you’re scared that he may act aggressively. So instead you change the topic.

"Don’t you know his whereabouts though?" you inquire softly, your voice laced with concern.

Agust D's gaze meets yours. "I do," he confirms, his voice low and measured. "He’s in Chinatown. Living in an apartment at the end of Weng Nakorn Kasem. But I can’t act on impulse. I’m too heavily involved in the Asia Pacific Police Union, and that already involves too many variables, too many unknowns."

A sense of foreboding settles over you as you listen to his words, the weight of his burdens pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. "What do you mean?" you press, your voice barely a whisper.

Agust D sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I can't move against him yet," he admits, his tone laced with resignation. "Not until I know how many people are on my side. There are spies within the organization. If I act too quickly, I could end up getting myself killed…"

The gravity of his words hangs heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the fragile truce that exists between you. And yet, despite the dangers that lurk in the darkness, you can't help but feel a flicker of hope. If you help him in capturing Suga, then maybe you’ll be able to piece your own puzzle together.

But would that even be a good idea?

"Agust D," you say softly, smiling gently at him, "you know you don't have to face this alone. Whatever happens, I'll stand by your side. Not like I have much of a choice anyway." Your words trail off at the end. He doesn’t comment on it though.

For a moment, there's a vulnerability in Agust D's gaze, a fleeting glimpse of the man beneath the mask. He reaches out to take your hand, his expression softening ever so slightly at your words. "Thanks," he murmurs, his voice a whisper in the dimly lit restaurant.

“It’s my job after all.”

––––––

After finishing dinner, the two of you begin to walk out of the restaurant, entering a long hallway that leads to large red sliding doors that exit.  Your eyes drift toward the grand wall aquarium positioned near the exit, its towering glass panels reflecting the soft glow of the overhead lights.

The aquarium is a masterpiece of design, housing a diverse array of aquatic life within its transparent confines. Colorful coral reefs sway gently in the water, their vibrant hues casting mesmerizing patterns of light and shadow across the sandy substrate below.

But amidst the bustling underwater ecosystem, your gaze fixates on a lone goldfish, its sleek form gliding gracefully through the water. Its vibrant orange scales shimmer in the ambient light, a stark contrast to the subdued colors of its surroundings.

A pang of concern tugs at your heart as you watch the solitary fish navigate its artificial habitat. Don't goldfish typically reside in tranquil ponds, surrounded by the soothing sounds of nature? Is it even safe for them to be confined within the confines of this glass enclosure?

Lost in thought, you fail to notice Agust D's departure until you feel a gentle tug on your arm. Startled, you turn to find him regarding you with a curious expression, his gaze flickering between you and the aquarium.

"What's on your mind?" he asks softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You tear your gaze away from the mesmerizing display before you, your thoughts still lingering on the lone koi fish. "I was just...thinking about that fish," you admit, gesturing toward the aquarium.

“The goldfish?”

“Mhm,” As you stand there, watching the solitary koi fish swim about, a wistful sigh escapes your lips. "I wish I were a fish sometimes," you murmur.

As funny as your sentence sounds, you thought the older man would laugh at you for making a comment like that. However, Agust D's gaze flickers at you, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. 

"Why's that?" he asks, his voice soft with intrigue.

You pause, contemplating your answer as you watch the graceful movements of the fish. "Uh, well they seem so free," you explain, your voice tinged with longing. “They get to go wherever they want. move through life with such ease in the water, not burdened by the weight of the world.”

As you continue to watch the fish, a sense of yearning wells up within you—a desire to shed the constraints of your human existence. "Sometimes," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper, "I wish I could trade places with that fish just so I could be able to live freely, to live without my own burdens."

Agust D nods in understanding, a silent reassurance amid your musings. "But you know, even fish have their own struggles. I mean, look at it, it’s trapped in this Chinese restaurant’s aquarium as entertainment for guests, fighting to survive in a place it doesn’t belong,”

Sigh.

He’s right. But you hate the fact that he’s right.

“That still doesn’t change what I said. Plus, I don't want to be that fish.” you interject, your voice laced with a hint of sadness. "Slowly destroyed by its surroundings… not belonging there."

Agust D's brow furrows in contemplation, his gaze returning to the small goldfish. "So what are you trying to say?" 

"I don't want to feel like that," you admit. "Trapped in a world that doesn't feel like home, constantly struggling to find where I belong!"

And you hate it because that is exactly how you’ve been feeling right now. You’re living with a man several years older than you, who is probably the most dangerous man in Thailand, maybe even all of Asia. And you have no idea why you stuck here with him, but where could you really go? Where are you actually from? Where is home?

Agust D's expression hardens slightly, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "Life isn't always about feeling at home," he counters. "Sometimes it's about surviving where you are and making the best of it."

No! He doesn’t get it.

You feel a flicker of irritation at his words, your emotions bubbling just beneath the surface. "That's easy for you to say," you retort, tone sharp. "You're not the one who's been confined to that mansion, to these guarding duties, waiting for memories to come back."

His eyes narrow slightly, a spark of challenge igniting in them. "You think I don't have my own battles?" he snaps back. "I'm out there every day, dealing with threats you can't even imagine."

"At least you have control over these things. You have the entirety of this city wrapped around your finger," you snap, the words spilling out before you can stop them. "At least you know who you are and what you're fighting for!”

The tension between you two shifts. Agust D steps closer, his presence looming, but you refuse to back down, meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve.

Inside, you're a storm of emotions—anger, confusion, and a touch of desperation. How can he be so dense and unreadable, yet so annoyingly calm? It's like talking to a brick wall sometimes. Every word you say seems to bounce off him while his expression remaining infuriatingly stoic. You want to scream, to make him understand just how much this is tearing you apart, but he stands there, unmoved, as if your turmoil is nothing more than a slight breeze in his world.

“Agust, you–”

"Fuck…you're so hot when you're upset, doll," he murmurs, interrupting you with a low growl that sends a shiver down your spine. Before you can react, he grabs your arm, pulling you toward the exit.

Huh?

"Hey!" you protest, your frustration mingling with a surge of adrenaline. But Agust D doesn't relent, his grip firm as he guides you out of the restaurant and into the elevator.

As the elevator doors slide shut, sealing you both inside the confined space, the tension between you reaches a boiling point. "What are you doing?" you demand, your voice a mix of anger and confusion.

Instead of answering, Agust D pushes you against the wall, his lips crashing down on yours with a fierce intensity. Your initial resistance melts away as the kiss deepens, the heat between you igniting into a blazing inferno powered by unknown frustrations beneath the surface.

You pull back just enough to catch your breath, your chest heaving as you glare at him. "You can't just—" you start, but he silences you with another kiss, his hands roaming possessively over your body.

"I can and I will," he murmurs against your lips, his voice a husky whisper. "Because right now, all I can think about is you."

Your frustration mingles with a heady mix of desire, the lines between anger and passion blurring as you give in to the moment. As the elevator ascends, the world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you.

When the elevator dings softly, signaling its arrival on your floor, you find yourselves in a private hallway in the hotel building, the opulent surroundings a stark contrast to the intensity of your kiss. Agust D pulls back, his eyes dark with desire and determination.

"We're not done talking," he says, his voice a low rumble that sends a thrill through you. "But right now, I need you."

Your eyes are left wide open, feeling hormones coursing through you.

This can’t be happening. Is this all a dream? Yes, this has to be. And what’s with the scenario? Are you that sexually frustrated? You admit you’ve never done this sort of thing and have only spent your free time reading erotica for entertainment. 

But to dream about fucking the very man keeping you captive within his mansion and living as a bodyguard. There has got to be something wrong with you. Maybe you’re experiencing Stockholm syndrome? But you’ve not once felt emotionally attached to this man.

Though there have been times you’ve looked at him and thought about how beautiful he looked.

Shit.

Maybe you’ll go along with this. Everything else be damned, for now.

“Show me then,” You word out, which only fires him up more.

Agust D’s grip on your arm is firm but not painful as he leads you down the luxurious hallway to a penthouse suite, the plush carpet muffling your footsteps. Your thoughts are a chaotic jumble, torn between the logical part of your brain screaming at you to stop and the primal part urging you to give in.

As soon as the door to a suite clicks shut behind you, he’s on you again, pushed against a wall, his lips claiming yours with a hunger that leaves you breathless. You respond in kind, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. Every touch, every kiss feels electric, igniting a fire within you that you didn’t know existed.

In the back of your mind, you know this is wrong. You know you should be resisting, should be fighting against the pull he has on you. But right now, in this moment, all you can think about is the way his hands feel on your skin, the way his lips move against yours, the way his presence consumes you.

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his breath hot against your lips. “You’re mine,” he murmurs, showcasing his possessive nature. “I refuse to let you go.”

His hands start to inch up under your dress until he reaches your core and starts flicking at your clit. You gasp, the sensation sending shockwaves through your body. He watches your reaction with a smirk, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you.

“Is this what you wanted?” he whispers, his voice low and teasing. “To feel me, to know that you’re mine?”

You can barely form a coherent thought, let alone a response. All you can do is nod, your body arching toward his touch, craving more.

“Good,” he says, his fingers moving with a deft precision that has you teetering on the edge. “Because I’m not stopping until you know that you belong to me.”

He continues his ministrations, his touch driving you wild with need. The logical part of your brain has long since surrendered, leaving only the raw, primal desire that burns within you.

His fingers slide below your black lace underwear until he inserts them inside you with a sly grin. You can't help but moan at the invasion, your body trembling with anticipation. He moves them in and out, hitting just the right spot, causing you to writhe beneath him.

"This is what you get," he growls, his voice low and commanding. "For. every. time. you. talked. back. to. me. today." He growls, punctuating every word with a thrust inside your pussy.

“F-Fuck A-Agust!” And holy shit does it feel so good.

As lust starts to fog your mind and the air fills with moans, you don't know what's happening to you. But you don't care. The fire inside you is burning brighter by the second, and you can't get enough of the man who's taken control of your body and mind at this moment

Yoongi places his thumb on your nub and plays with it, squishing it in circular motions, then using his finger to rub it a little faster then slowing down only to fasten the pace again. You felt a very familiar feeling boiling up in your lower belly threatening to unleash itself.

“I’m not gonna let you reach your high yet.” 

Suddenly, he removes all his fingers from you and you whimper immediately, the absence of his touch leaving you desperate for more.

Yoongi bites down against his lips, eyes quickly traveling from your face and down your body, “Huh…W-Wait..P-Please…” You pant heavily, trying to rub your thighs together to pick back up the pace that was headed toward your release

“I thought you wanted to leave me, doll?” He leans in closer, chuckling in your face, and you shake your head. At this moment, you realize that he’s hard under his dress pants. “Are you sure? I don’t give orgasms to people that won’t obey me.”

“I-I’ll prove it to you!” You drop to your knees quickly, placing your hands on both of his sides. “Oh? And how will you do that?” He gives you a curious look, already knowing what to expect from your sudden submissive behavior. While he spoke, you unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, pulling it down along with his boxers to reveal his cock.

“Oh fuck…” You let out in the smallest whisper. He wasn’t long per se, but more than average. But the girth… holy shit. Will it even fit in any of your holes? And the way his precum is already pearling on his tip just from what you two did earlier? You swallow nervously, but you’re not one to back away from a challenge. “Like this.” 

You hold his cock gently from the base, proceeding to gather spit from your mouth and letting it drop on it. You proceed to move your hand, spreading his precum and your saliva on his dick, managing to get a good slide and starting to move your hand quicker. You looked up innocently, already noticing a flicker of Agust’s facade fade as he felt himself slipping away in pleasure. In his mind, he was tempted to say fuck it all and let himself fuck against your hand, but he knew better than just to let himself become an animal. After the prep, you part your mouth and slowly take him in, the stretch already starting to hurt your jaw from his wide size. In the meantime, you just suck around his head and use your hand to deliver pleasure to the rest of his shaft, earning deep-sounding curses and moans while your tongue swirled around him. 

His eyes are glued to you, watching you work his cock with your kitten-like licks. Though, this isn’t enough for him. He wants to thrust up down your throat so bad and fuck you until your voice was sore. He wants to see how much you’re willing to take in that small mouth of yours.

And that’s exactly what he does. He places his hand on your head, giving you small pats and rubs disguised as encouragement for your efforts. Then his hand starts inching towards the back of your head until he suddenly grabs a handful of your hair and forcibly pushes his dick further until your smacked against his pelvis.

“Seems like you still need practice. Don’t worry, I’ll train you,” he murmurs, his grip tightening on your hair as he begins to thrust into your mouth. The tip hits the back of your throat and you gag reflexively, but he doesn't let up, pushing deeper with each thrust. Your eyes start to water, now holding onto his sides for dear life, but you force yourself to take it, willing your throat to open up and accommodate his girth. His palm comes up to your cheek to rub your cheek, feeling himself on the other side enter in and out of you.

He grunts with each deep thrust, his hips pistoning in and out of your mouth as you struggle to keep up with his rhythm. You feel like you're choking, but you don't want to disappoint him and prevent you from reaching your orgasm after. However, it doesn’t take long for him to come undone, swallowing saliva and cum down your throat. He removes himself and you begin to cough erratically. You have never deep-throated before, so it’s a miracle you didn’t throw up or die from this. It’s definitely not as easy as porn makes it seem. You’ve been lied to by the media! “Haah… Holy shit…” You groan, trying to catch your breath and stabilize your heart rate.

“You alright?” He questions, voice tinged with slight worry as he fixes his pants and underwear back up and leans down towards your face. “I lost myself for a bit…”

“It’s okay–” You pause, shocked for a moment to hear your voice sound hoarse. Despite that, Agust chuckles, using his palm once again to rub against your cheek to comfort you, smiling softly. “Good girl. Now you’ll get your reward.” With this, he guides you to the master bedroom, his grip on your arms firm yet careful, leading you through the opulent suite. The room is a testament to luxury, with rich, dark wood furniture that you knew Agust requested in the hotels he invests in and soft, ambient lighting that casts a warm glow over everything. The large windows offer a stunning view of the Bangkok city skyline, but your focus is solely on him.

He pushes you gently onto the king-sized bed, the plush mattress sinking beneath your weight. The silk sheets feel cool against your skin, starkly contrasting the heat building between you. Agust D stands over you, his eyes dark with desire, a predator savoring his prey.

He slowly removes his jacket, his movements deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours. You watch, your breath hitching as he unbuttons his suit vest, followed by his shirt, revealing his semi-muscular and beefy figure beneath. You’ve never seen him like this before, as he’s a very reserved man when it comes to his body. But each inch of exposed skin sends a fresh wave of anticipation through you.

“You’ve been so good,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “Now, let me take care of you.”

He climbs onto the bed, sitting between your legs where his hands start trailing up your thighs, pushing the hem of your dress higher. His touch is electrifying, each caress igniting a fire in your core. He leans down, his lips ghosting over your skin, leaving a trail of burning kisses from your collarbone to your ear.

His breath is hot against your ear as he whispers, “Tell me you want this.”

“I want this,” you breathe, your voice trembling with need.

“Good,” he says, his lips curling into a satisfied smile. “Because once I start, I won’t be able to get enough of you.”

His hands are everywhere, exploring, teasing, and driving you to the brink of madness. He slips the dress off your shoulders, letting it fall away completely, leaving your body exposed and vulnerable beneath him. His eyes rake over your body, a dark hunger in his gaze.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “My doll.”

He lowers himself, his mouth finding your breast, sucking and nibbling until you’re arching into him, your fingers tangled in his slick black hair. He trails kisses down your stomach, his hands gripping your hips as he positions himself between your legs.

You gasp as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, his breath hot against your skin. “Ready for your reward?” he asks, his voice a seductive whisper.

“Mm..” You only make a sound and nod due to the lust clouding your mind. How do you say words? Do words matter?

He pinches your clit slightly which makes you jump and arc your body a little.

“Words, doll.”

“Y-Yes!” you manage to finally speak out, your body wiggling around close to his face eager for him to move. 

He doesn’t hesitate after your verbal consent, his tongue flicking out to taste you from your clit down to your entrance, drawing a cry of pleasure from your lips. He works you expertly, starting with his tongue sucking against your clit, then eating you out in your entrance. 

And holy fuck does he have you wrapped around his finger with these ministrations. You had heard rumors of him being good at oral sex from the women at the events you would accompany him to, but fuck, the actual thing doesn’t compare to their mere descriptions.

His tongue soon returns to nibble and suck at your aching bud, with his fingers replacing his place inside you. And before you know it, you’re lost in the sensation again, body jerking as every nerve ending is set aflame as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

And Agust D knows it, smirking against your pussy as he feels you tighten against his fingers. “Come for me,” he growls against your skin, his voice a command that you can’t resist.

With a final, shuddering gasp, you fall apart, the pleasure crashing over you in waves. He holds you through it, his hands and mouth coaxing every last bit of ecstasy from your body until you’re left trembling and spent beneath him.

He pulls back, his eyes dark with satisfaction as he watches you recover. “Such a fucking good girl,” he murmurs, his voice filled with pride. “But we’re not done.” 

He stands up and swiftly pulls down his pants and boxers, revealing his cock, red and eager. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight, your mind racing.

Oh? Is he going to put it in?!

“Huh? W-Wait you–”

Before you can finish speaking, he puts your legs on his shoulder and aligns himself to your entrance, his eyes locking with yours. The heat and intensity of his gaze make your heart race.

“You’re on birth control, correct?”

“Yes…”

You’d be surprised that he knows this fact, but he does look over your medical records after all. You’d also question the ethics of this, but not now.

“Then we can go all out,” he whispers, his voice rough with desire. “And I’ll show you that you’re truly mine.”

He pushes into you, his cock stretching and filling you completely.

“F-Fuck!” You gasp, the sensation is overwhelming, fueled with pleasure and pain that leaves you breathless. He pauses movements for a moment, allowing you to adjust, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

Your eyes close as you try to focus on relaxing your body.

“Look at me,” he commands suddenly, his voice low and firm as he holds your chin. “I want to see your face when I take you.”

“Y-Yes, sir!” You meet his gaze, your eyes wide with a mix of fear and excitement. There’s a primal hunger in his eyes that sends a shiver down your spine.

He begins to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, each one sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you try to keep up with the intensity of his pace. The feeling of him inside you is overwhelming and does not compare to his or your own fingers pleasuring you.

“Do you feel that?” he asks, his voice a rough whisper. “Do you feel how your pussy is being molded by my cock?”

“Y-Yes!” you manage to gasp, your voice trembling. “I feel it!”

“Good,” he says, his thrusts becoming faster, more intense. “Because you won’t ever be able to be pleased by another cock as long as I live,”

His movements are relentless, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. The room is filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, the slap of skin against skin, and the ragged gasps and moans that escape your lips. 

As your eyes meet his, he suddenly wraps his hand around your neck, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp. His grip is firm but not painful, sending a rush of adrenaline and arousal coursing through your veins.

“Doll, you like being choked while I fuck you? Having you wrapped around my fingers now.”

“F-Feels so mmh good!” You mumble, your breath hitching as his grip tightens slightly, the sensation heightening the pleasure coursing through your body.

You never thought you’d be so turned on by choking. You don’t know if it’s you getting high off the lack of oxygen and feeling pleasure, or giving up your life’s control to this man before you that has your toes curling.

The pleasure builds up to an unbearable peak once more, but this time, you know that he is feeling the same thing too. His thrusts become harder, more forceful, each one sending shockwaves through your body. His hand on your neck adds an edge to the sensation od dominance and possessiveness that leaves you breathless.

“Come for me, doll,” he growls, his voice a command that you can’t ignore. “I want to feel you come around me as I do at the same time.”

With a final, shuddering cry, your orgasm crashes down, your body convulsing in pleasure. He follows you soon after, his grip on your hips tightening as he spills into you, his own release mingling with yours. The intensity of the moment leaves you both breathless, clinging to each other as the aftershocks of pleasure ripple through your bodies.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes dark and satisfied as he looks down at you with a smile that exposes his gums. He lays down next to you and pulls you into his arms, his lips finding yours in a tender, possessive kiss. 

“You’re mine,” he whispers against your lips, the words a promise and a declaration.

“You’re mine,” he repeats. “I’ll never let you leave.”

At that moment, as you lie there in his arms, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you don’t want him to. The world outside may be complicated and uncertain, but here, with him, everything feels right.

This is your home.

All you want is for this man to be infatuated with you for the rest of your life.

This is how things should be. Right?

–

– tbc?

You learned the name of your pesky neighbor- Jungkook. All thanks to the girl he had hanging on his arm like an accessory only a few days prior, unable to stop his name from tumbling from her drunk lips. You took the liberty of going out for once, deciding to go out for drinks with a couple of girls from work.

Being that it was the first time you saw him that night, your eyes curiously landed on him the minute you came off the elevator.

His appearance was more than jaw dropping. He was lean, standing at probably 6’2, and also promisingly buff. His shoulders were broad and the outlines of his muscles through his shirt had you fixated on his figure.

It wasn’t until you noticed the very intoxicated girl hanging from his arm that made you roll you eyes. You try to ignore the giggles as you hurry to your door, hoping he gets inside his apartment before he sees you.

He’s fumbling for his keys from his pockets, almost as intoxicated as the girl he had with him. You can’t help but notice the way she’s all over him. Her hands are jammed up the front of his shirt, shamelessly coping a feel on the man out in the open. However, he doesn’t seem to mind as he’s looking down at her, a smirk on his pretty face.

His hair looked so plush and you couldn’t help but feel a vague pang of jealously at the sight of the girl running her fingers through the dark tresses. He had a piercing on his bottom lip, the way the light hit the metal capturing your attention towards his mouth.

And the bedroom eyes, Jesus.

His eyes bounced back and forth from the keyhole on the door to the girl at his side. He looked down at her in a way you don’t think you’ve ever been looked at in your life. The way his eyelids weighed down with want. His gaze strong and captivating. It was the playful wink he casts that has you in a chokehold.

He wasn’t even looking at you and you were ready to fall apart before the man.

You didn’t realize you’d been staring until his gaze floats over to you. You quickly avert your eyes and shove your key in the door so you could escape the awkward environment.

You don’t miss the sound of his teasing chuckle as you retreat into your apartment, the slam of his apartment door coming only moments after yours.

That’s the night you really started to despise him.

You’re revealed the true intentions behind his company as you lie awake, listening to the sounds of high pitched moans and the thumping from the bed frame hitting the wall. At this time, they had been going at it for going on an hour.

The clock reads 1:07 am and you let out a groan, flopping your head back on the pillow.

After about another thirty minutes of listening to constant moaning and banging against the wall, you hear faint voices out in the hallway. Then the sound of a door closing follows soon after and then silence…

Every night after that, it’s not just sex noises from next door that keep you awake. Now it’s the yelling and laughing that seems to not usually start until around 10pm at night.

You figure it to be video games causing the source of the ruckus, judging by the multiple comments you hear being yelled into the air. Comments like “Dude he’s right there!” “Behind you, behind you!” “Bullshit, I swear I shot him!” “There’s only one left!”

It was beginning to drive you crazy.

You’ve tried banging on the wall back at him, hoping to make it clear that he was being too loud and needed to shut the hell up. Unfortunately, it never worked. You imagine he wouldn’t be able to hear you, or maybe he just didn’t give a shit that he was disturbing you.

Now here you were, going on night four in a row of no sleep due to your next door neighbor.

It wasn’t a constant chain of outbursts. That’s what frustrated you the most. He would get real loud momentarily and then quiet back down just long enough for you to almost fall asleep. Just for him to cry out again and jostle you back awake. It was like a cycle. A never ending cycle that sometimes lasted until 4am.

You groan as you hear him cackle loudly, clearly having no kind of consideration for those who may be sleeping. Or in your case, trying to.

Huffing with anger, you jump up out of bed and bang a couple times on your wall very loudly. “Can you please keep it down?!” You yell through the wall and quickly press your ear against the surface, listening for a response.

Just like every other time, you don’t get one.

You just stand there for a few moments and listen. After a couple minutes of silence, you make your way back to your bed and attempt to get comfortable.

Like clockwork, as soon as you feel yourself start to slowly drift asleep…

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

Your eyes slam back open, Jungkook’s loud mouth keeping you from sleep once again.

“I’ve fucking had it.” You grumble to yourself and quickly slip out of bed.

You grab your robe that was sitting on your chair and drape it around your body, angrily tying the string around your waist. You don’t even bother to put shoes on as you make a bee line to the front door.

Swinging it open, you stomp out into the hallway and furiously beat your fist against your neighbor’s door.

It takes a few moments of your fist pounding against the wood before the door swings open and you’re met with your infuriating specimen of a neighbor.

His headset is resting on top of his head, his right ear muff moved off of his ear so he could hear. His glasses sit at the bridge of his nose and his eyes stare back at you through the frames.

He doesn’t even seem interested in the reason behind you banging on his door like you’re a part of the SWAT team as his eyes take in your appearance.

Your robe was tied in a rush, leaving it opened in the front just enough for Jungkook to get an eye full of your cleavage. He also notices the fact that the material doesn’t even cover any further than your mid thigh. It’s evident that you didn’t put much thought into what you’re wearing when his gaze travels up to see the angry look in your eyes.

“Can you please, I will literally get on my knees and beg, please keep it down. You keep me up every night with your,” you frantically point at the device on his head, “gaming bullshit. Whatever it is you’re doing in here, I don’t care. Just please let me sleep.”

The entirety of your words don’t really reach him, you notice as a devilish smirk forms across his lips.

“Get on your knees and beg, you say?” You just scoff and roll your eyes at his immaturity.

“Of course that’s the only thing you heard me say.”

He chuckles and puts his hands up in defense. “Sorry, princess. I didn’t mean to be too loud for you.”

It’s clear that he’s just teasing you. The urge you possess to just reach over and smack that shit eating grin off of his handsome face slowly starts to take over your body.

“A part of me thinks you just do it on purpose,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him.

He just laughs and then tugs his pretty pink bottom lip between his teeth.

You have to fight the groan that wants to come out of your throat so badly. He was so hot, too hot for his own good. You couldn’t imagine the amount of women this man probably had under his foot at every beck and call. How can someone still manage to be so charming while being a complete ass?

The air suddenly feels colder and you self consciously push your arms in on yourself, wrapping them around your body at the waist.

His eyes flicker down at the movement and his focus pivots to one of your nipples that suddenly grow hard, pebbling just beneath the fabric of your robe. Suddenly, he gives you a sweet smile and widens his door for you a little.

“You cold, pretty? I can help warm you up.”

The look in his eyes is dangerous, a stark contrast to the cute smile he wears on his face.

That’s when you realize how little clothing you actually were wearing, now feeling exposed to his hungry eyes. Alas, his offer still interests you.

You just scoff and slightly peak around his shoulder inside of his apartment. “Warm me up how?” You question.

“Why don’t you come inside and I’ll show you?” He asks, stepping aside to allow you room to enter. You look up at him with curious eyes and you don’t notice the minuscule bob of his adams apple as he gulps.

Sure he was a tease. His ability to get women left and right whenever he wanted had many men wishing they were him. However, that still didn’t mean he didn’t get nervous around a pretty girl. A pretty girl such as yourself was lethal to men like Jungkook.

Girls like you were usually more challenging to acquire. They typically played more hard to get. So naturally, he wasn’t really taking his teasing comments toward you seriously.

He was really just expecting you to brush off his suggestive comments and stomp off back to your apartment, as girls like you would usually do. It was a cat and mouse sort of thing for them. They liked to dangle themselves in front of hot blooded men, looking all pretty and ready to be snatched up- just to run away at the last second and run them around like a dog.

Jungkook had been with a hefty number of women, so he liked to think he knew his way around them and their antics pretty well.

What he didn’t expect, though, was for you to take him up on his offer and enter into his apartment.

"How cute," you tease, picking up one of his halo action figures he had sitting on the counter.

He closes the door, his cheeks heating up slightly as he feels embarrassment.

"Don't do that." He takes the object from you, not missing the way you giggle cutely.

He shoves it in a drawer and points a finger at you in warning. "It is a very manly hobby, don't you dare say anything."

"Right...." You're feeling bold as you start to inch closer to him. His nerdiness intrigued you. You actually did think it was cute. Even cuter when it's a super attractive dream boat of a man who's into such hobbies.

Once you stop in front of him, you look up. His eyes twinkle with eagerness and it makes you smirk.

"You said something about warming me up earlier, if you remember." He lets out a groan at the sight of you looking up at him that way. He hated to admit that he has met his match, having not met such a woman who was eager to play his own game against him.

You reach towards him and grab at one of his hands, bringing it to the tie of your robe that held the fabric together. He loops a finger around the material and with a quick tug, he pulls your body closer to him. He's looking down at you over the slope of his nose, your intense gaze matching his own.

"I did say that." His voice comes out low, husky, so melodic to your ears.

The feeling of your chest against his has Jungkook taking a deep breath, trying his hardest not to break your eye contact.

With a flick of his wrist, he's managed to pull the knot loose to your robe. The two pieces of fabric fall open and reveal a sliver of your naked torso to the man.

He's quickly flicking the headset off of him and tossing it on the couch before he surges forward and scoops you up. The smallest yelp escapes you at the sudden action and you just wrap your legs around his waist on instinct. His hands immediately find their way underneath the curve of your ass cheeks and he grips the fat between his fingers.

"You feel so soft," he whispers into your neck, finding his way to his bedroom with no problem.

Once he gets to the foot of his bed, he carefully drops you in the center; watching the way your body slightly bounces on impact. Your robe has completely fallen open and your tits were fully out, so vulnerable to his eyes.

He doesn't bother to move for a few moments. Instead, he just sits down in his chair and leans back to admire your figure lying sprawled out on his sheets. His eyes dance around the expansion of your skin, down the curve of your hips, to the prettiest set of thighs he's ever seen.

From the position where he's sitting, he can see the faint dark spot in your panties. His pants were tight from the moment he opened his front door to you, but seeing that has them growing impossibly tighter. Which was hard, considering the fact he was wearing sweatpants.

"Are you wet?" His question has you suppressing a giggle. He clearly already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear you say it.

You sit up on your elbows and nod your head at him before you ask in the sweetest voice, "Wanna see?"

He sits up in his chair, leaning closer to your direction. You take his movement as an answer to your question and reach down to slide your panties down your legs.

You don't bother to rid yourself of them completely, allowing the fabric to lazily dangle from your ankle. You sit up on your elbows once again and let your legs fall open, revealing your most intimate parts to your hot neighbor.

He can feel his mouth start to salivate at the sight of your pussy displayed to his greedy eyes. The wetness you've produced has Jungkook's gaze slightly widening.

"You were this wet the whole time?" he asks, almost in disbelief.

You feel his fingers on you suddenly, causing you to gasp. He wastes no time in burying his middle finger in your pussy up to the knuckle. Your back is arching and a soft moan rolls off of your tongue.

Jungkook decides to get closer to you, his knees now pressing into the bed as he crawls over your body. He slides another finger inside of you and lowers his face right above yours. “What a dirty girl you are,” he whispers into your neck, his breath crawling across your skin so faint.

You’re whimpering at his words but mainly from the feeling of his fingers still moving inside of you. This wasn’t exactly what you pictured happening when you decided to come confront him for his loudness. You couldn’t really say you were complaining, though.

His face was just so pretty. The way his glasses sat low on his nose, his gaze intense as he sets his eyes on you. He made you squirm beneath him.

The trust of his fingers driving into your core doesn’t stop and it has your head stretched back to rest against the pillows. Your back arches and Jungkook takes the opportunity to slide his other hand underneath you and across your back, holding you closer to his body.

Well, you suppose this was one way to make sure you were getting no sleep tonight. At least this way was a lot more worth it.

“Talk to me, baby.”

The sound of his voice pulls you out of your thoughts and your eyes land back on his. “There she is,” he teases, a smirk now resting on his ridiculously soft lips.

He increases the movement in his wrist, only driving his fingers deeper inside of you and the feeling has your eyes rolling back.

Your climax was climbing rapidly, the way your muscles twitch around Jungkook’s fingers making him fully aware.

“You gonna come, baby?” You frantically nod your head at his words, a few whines slipping past your lips. Before you’re granted your orgasm, Jungkook is pulling his fingers from you.

The second a whine attempts to bubble from your mouth, Jungkook leans over and plants his lips on yours. They’re just as soft as you imagined them to be and the taste he provides has you pushing your mouth deeper against his, kissing him back in desperation.

He shoves his head in the bend of your neck and reaches a hand down to spread your thigh wider; his other hand was busy with pulling the front of his sweatpants down. He chuckles at the sight of your cotton thong, that famous smirk plastered across his pretty face again.

“It’s almost like you knew you would be getting fucked, huh?” His tone is accusing, his face floating around in front of yours.

You just shrug teasingly, gently pulling your lip between your teeth. "As long as it's you, I won't complain.”

The feeling of Jungkook’s cock suddenly sliding in you has you gasping for breath. You try to keep yourself propped up on your elbows, the sight of his thick fingers holding the fabric of your panties to the side as he drills himself deeper in your body soon becoming too much.

His eyebrows are pinched together, his eyes completely focused on the vision of his dick disappearing inside of you. Your plump body was so warm and soft; he loved the way you felt under his fingertips.

Your mouth is slightly hung open, whimpers and moans escaping your throat like butter.

He admired the reaction he gained from your body, from the faces you made to the way your body twisted and turned in his grasp.

"Please, come closer to me." You're whining and reaching out to grab onto his meaty shoulders, pulling him closer against your body. He chuckles at your desperation; he found it quite cute.

"I'm right here, pretty." He whispers into your ear and increases the speed of his thrusts into your body. Your senses were on overload, he was driving you crazy; his scent, his touch, the smug look on his sexy face. You were a wrecked, soppy, dirty mess.

He leans back to sit on his knees and pulls you with him. He sits you in his lap, both hands on the fat of your hips, fucking into you like his life depends on it.

The force he used while thrusting into you had you gripping the man's shoulders, your loud moans in his ear only egging on his actions. His fingers made indents into your soft body; his grip so tight on you, you were scared of breaking. You would love to be broken by Jungkook, though. You would beg.

"Fuck, Jungkooo-" He performs a particularly hard thrust, momentarily cutting off your words and knocking the breath from you.

"What is it, baby?" He asks softly in your ear, his grip on you remaining as tight as a vice.

"You feel sooo, mmmmm so good." Your words come out in a mess due to your inability to really focus on putting them together in a sentence. He smirks as he watches you struggle.

You look down at him, watching the way his hair dangles in front of his eyes, his lip caught between his pink lips. His eyes were dangerous, looking at you with such hunger and intensity. The visual of him was enough to have you crying out, his name sticking to your lips.

"You're gonna make me come," You whisper into his neck, a whimper following close behind.

He reaches out to you and grips you by the throat, pulling you away from his body.

"Stop hiding from me," he grunts, his pace increasing to a brutal pace, "I wanna see your pretty face when you come on my cock."

His dirty words have you shaking like a leaf, your orgasm finally washing over you.

"Fuck, you're gripping me so tight." He groans and tightens his fingers around your throat, the pace of his thrusting not letting up.

Jesus, he's got some stamina.

He's wearing a cocky smile on his face as he watched the way your mouth hangs open, those cute little whimpers escaping your body.

The next expression to take over his beautiful features is one of bliss. His eyebrows push together and his mouth opens slightly, his eyes drifting down to the way his cock slides inside of you. "It looks so fucking good," he whines and pulls you closer to him by the back of your neck.

He pushes his forehead against yours and holds you there as you listen to the pretty moans release from the man. You bite your lip to contain your own sounds just so you could keep listening to him.

Followed by his moans is a warm feeling that suddenly washes over your lower half.

"I'm coming, baby." He's now holding your jaw with both hands, his thrusts growing harder so he can ride out his release. "Such a pretty little pussy to take my big load, hm?"

His words manage to have you moaning again, mixed between the feeling of his increase of speed; the feeling of his hips violently knocking into yours. You're coming...again.

The sounds roll off your tongue and Jungkook leans in to peck your lips. "What a good girl," he whispers, "coming for me twice. You're so good."

Once you've both come down from your sex high, Jungkook climbs off of you.

You hear the shower turn on once he enters the bathroom, only emerging immediately after. His eyes land on you and he grins. "Come shower with meee."

The whine in his voice has you giggling, until he leans down to place a warm kiss on your neck. You let out a small gasp and Jungkook just takes the initiative to bend down and scoop you up.

A few moments later, Jungkook has you giggling as he childishly rubs soap all over your breasts. He seems to be having the time of his life too.

"Are you happy now?" You just stand there, allowing him to finger paint on your body with the foamy soap.

He chuckles at your question and nods. Then he's reaching out and grasping a nipple between his fingers, walking closer to you. "Who knew this would be what I get for being such a disturbing neighbor."

You squint your eyes at him for his teasing and swat his hands away from you. You just roll your eyes and step around him to get to the shower door. "It's not my fault your charms and incredibly good looks took advantage of me."

You're reaching for the shower door and you're immediately interrupted with Jungkook's strong arms wrapping around you. "Come on, pretty, don't be that way."

You sink into his embrace, his close proximity already getting you cockdrunk again.

"I promise to never keep you up past your bedtime again," he pulls you into his chest and leans down to place a kiss below your ear, "unless I have the opportunity to fuck that pretty pussy again."

His vulgar vocabulary had your cheeks heating up and you playfully swat him away again and quickly exit the shower, not missing the teasing chuckle he lets out over your shy reaction.

That night, you stayed at Jungkook's.

And the night after that.

And the night after that.

He just loved to keep you awake.

Anything goes. Rough fights out of nowhere, car chases busting streets, or even random delinquents snatching food on the run, dust kicking up onto stock they left behind. 

And out of all the districts, yours is begrudgingly the second worst. 

Why? You still aren’t completely sure. But you do know that the darkest is reserved for the underbelly that only slithers in rumors. A place in which you will never find yourself. 

But you do wonder what must happen there to warrant the winning title because each day here is a battle to keep yourself afloat. 

All you do is sell fruit. Why are you fighting for your life every week? Why can’t you exchange goods for money in peace? If you could compare it to the movies you grew up watching on an outdated television, it’s a grungy reflection of the wild west.

But through all the shit you’ve chosen to endure, at least one person is always kind enough to buy his wares and go.

And today is no different.

You still don’t know his name. But you yearn to. Because his hair is the color of magic and rebellion, and his tattoos really set off that bright mop of locks. 

If those lethal, piercing eyes weren’t enough.

When he lifts three long digits, it takes all your strength to nod and get his purchase together. This is the part that never changes, either.

Just like always. One, three, or five fingers for tangerines. Never two, never four, and never any other fruits. 

It’s charming, in a way. As if he’s more particular than most about what he wants—a trait elusive to many.

Like clockwork, you would hand his order over in thin plastic, and he would walk away to hitch a ride on a passing cart. Just like he does right now with a lazy gait, white tee billowing from his jeans. 

Another day. Another exchange.

In the wavy heat of summer, you sigh. Wondering if anything is ever going to change, and if you would ever get to know more about your most frequent, most mysterious patron.

After a while, you do try talking to him. 

Those looks of confusion slowly turn into little hums or grunts, then into single words that keep you going for days. Even though you rarely hear it, his voice is just as attractive as he is. 

One day, you offer him a plantain, handing it over and telling him it’s on the house. 

“Thanks,” he says amongst the clinks and conversations of the street, pocketing the food away. 

When he does, you see a flash of black metal, and you already know what he’s carrying. You’re used to seeing all sorts of those around nowadays. In this district, you’d be shocked if he didn’t have an arsenal on his person while traveling through.

Besides. Even you have a couple collecting dust in your own flat, handed down by extended family but never used.

“If you ever need anything other than tangerines,” you start with a point to his pants, “Please buy those instead.” 

He’s unmoving. Blinks are all you get so you have no choice but to explain,

“I’m so tired of eating them with everything.” 

When he huffs in amusement, your heart flutters thrice. There’s no reason for a sheen of sweat and sticky mint locks to be so deadly. 

“Then eat something else,” is all the stranger advises before walking off. 

Well.

Even though you don’t have much of a choice, the guy does have a point. You wouldn’t be shocked in the slightest if his aim’s just as straightforward as his wit.

Once one exchange lasts longer than a sentence, the two of you start little conversations during his visits. Which prove more fatal than normal since he’d rest his tattoos on the top shelf of your cart. 

From what you can make out, there are creatures stretching in beautiful teal and vivid orange, and even striking white on his other arm. They ripple so well with his veins, a canvas that sways and hypnotizes with every drum of his fingers. 

You know what they symbolize, though it’s unique to have all of them together. 

Taboo, even. 

But you can’t hold back your admiration because of the sheer beauty. What would they feel like if you just… 

“You always stare this long?”

Shit. “Oh, sorry. I just… I rarely see anyone’s ink up close.”

To your dismay, he takes his arm back. “I don’t have a lot of time today, princess.”

“Right, sorry. Hold on,” you respond, cringing hard at blurting two apologies in a ten second span. 

Meanwhile, your way too handsome regular cocks a brow, clearly comfortable making you squirm as you hand over his bag. 

Effortless. In your chaotic life, It’s almost intoxicating feeling someone this resolute in their whole demeanor. If only you could be so commanding and assured one day. 

But here you stand instead, pretending to count fruit you one hundred percent know the stock of already. “Your art is really nice, by the way,” you admit to your inventory. “All the high-powers. I like what you picked.”

“Didn’t choose these.”

Ah. Way to assume things. 

Raising your head, you make to apologize a third time.

But he’s already retreating with his tangerines, hand stuffed in a pocket and beautiful waves a little less vibrant than you recall. 

“What.” 

“I worry sometimes.” 

His gaze lifts. “About me?” 

“Yeah.” 

You don’t know why you choose to say that of all things. But it’s honest. You always wonder about him and think about the weapon in his jeans. Does he use it? Does he ever need to? 

Maybe you should pick up a hobby or two.

Fingers resting dangerously close, he asks with a tilt of his head, “What would you do, doll? If something happened to someone like me.” 

Someone like him? What does that mean? 

Great. Now you have even more to wonder about, as if he knew that was your exact predicament.

You stare, roaming along his arms before meeting his eyes—almost. “Find someone else to buy my tangerines.” 

Huffing, his brows tick up with his mouth. “I respect that.” His attention doesn’t leave your face as he slowly takes his purchase. “See ya.” 

“Bye,” you whisper back, watching him go. More thoughts and concerns bouncing around your mind in the sticky heat of midday. 

These little nicknames he’s using also aren’t helping your issue in the slightest. 

It starts when you hear shouting from a block down.

“Here they come!”

“Bunch of idiots this time.”

“What do you mean this time?”

Rough raiders this early? They should know it’s almost time for Dragon’s sweep. Bold.

After you hear the telltale yells, clanks, and bangs, your section of the street braces for impact. 

And it swoops in like a whirlwind, ruffians tearing through, pillaging and stealing and swiping goods into thick woven baskets. 

Baskets? The usual suspects always carry leather bags. You assume because of their sturdiness and inconspicuous nature, but what do you really know.

Here it goes again. 

As your fruit is taken right from your cart, you sink to your toes, mourning the regular loss of your menu.

No use fighting. Like every other time, you all let it happen because there’s no point in trying to protect anything that isn’t valuable. Perishables and small homemade goods aren’t worth getting gutted over. Truly, the worst losses you suffer are when—

Your cart shifts violently before thieves topple it over, cracking one of your wheels and splitting the wooden boards in three places.

Springing to your feet, you douse the perpetrators in anger, “What the hell!”

“Oh, this was yours?” Someone chides while his cronies run past. “Thanks for the oranges, love!”

“They’re tangerines!” you correct at his retreating back, kicking your cart before yelping at your bad decision. “Damn it…”

Back to your knees you go. Head drooping, arms encircling, and disappointment pooling around like a shadow.

More shouts and feet in the road rampage through. Then it gets quieter. And quieter. 

Then it’s done.

After silence swells in the wake of chaos, groans start making their way down the street. 

“What’d they get from you this time,” you ask your neighbor, a charming old man selling anything from bowls to wide, round frying pans. 

Looking over his little wreckage, he blinks hard. “They got my woks. Nothing as bad as yours. You okay?” 

Walking over to help clean his mess up first, you bend down with a sigh, “I’ll be alright. But it still sucks.. My poor tangerines..” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Not much to do about it now,” you resign, all your energy taken from you, too. 

A little bit of time passes as you complete your usual round of help, though this raid was worse than others. As they all give their thanks, you keep thinking about how to make the whole situation better. Moreso for them than you because you’ve always been one of the least vulnerable ones on the block.

“You should find another place to sell, dear.” 

In disagreement, you slip into a saddened smile. “I can’t leave you guys,” you explain to the lady you’re holding pails for. “Who will help clean everything up?” 

“Don’t underestimate your elders now.” 

“Fair,” you respond through a chuckle, handing her one of the metal buckets. “If only better protection was an option around here.”

“You know the rules,” another shop owner drones through lingering spices, “Dragon won’t protect us if it isn’t in their own interests.” 

Unfortunately, he’s right. Every single raid that hasn’t coincided with a gang sweep goes overlooked. Even the city police don't bother coming down your street anymore, which is another issue in itself.

If only Tiger or Crane had been the high-powers in place instead. 

At least they seem to be more fair.

After you finish helping, you finally venture back to your own cart, realizing that the trek is a lot further than you thought. 

Did you really walk so far this time? The damage was dealt for much more than a block at this point. 

Not like you need to sprint back, though. What’s left to steal? Everything you got swept into those woven containers.

Still so odd…

But not as odd as the sight that greets you on your return. 

Because instead of seeing your wreckage of a cart tilted and abysmal, it’s upright and being mended.

By none other than your favorite set of hands.  

What the hell? What’s he doing here? You quite literally have nothing to give so there’s no reason for him to spare a second at your broken stand. 

Fast-walking, you hastily try to halt his help, “Oh, shit, you don’t have to—” 

“Course I don’t.” 

That shuts you up. In your split second of silence, you note with agony that his hair is messily tied in a minted bun. Are his sleeves bunched at his biceps, too? Great. What were you even telling him again? 

Ah, yes. You were telling this mystery of a man that he doesn’t have to literally put your stand back together. “Seriously, I got it.” 

“Don’t sweat it.” 

“But it’s my cart, I don’t need your—”

With one look over his shoulder, your mouth snaps shut. And suddenly can’t move to argue again. 

What the hell is up with today? 

Forget all that. What’s he doing? At least you’re familiar with all the shop owners and vendors on your block, though you can’t say you wouldn’t do the same thing for someone you don’t know. But this guy has always been so standoffish and barely approachable. So how is he lending both hands to help you right now? 

Whatever. If he’s gonna be as stubborn as this heat, you can be, too. 

Scanning the area for scattered tools, you find a sun-warmed hammer and get to work, fixing one end of the cart while he works on the other. When you feel his gaze on your working shoulder, it takes massive strength to ignore him—even if you wanna know what his issue is and why he smells really, really good this afternoon.

Looks like you need more nails for this board to fit. When your eyes find a couple on the ground, you clinch a second piece between your teeth while hammering in the first. 

Sounds stop at your side, but you wait until you pluck the metal nail from your mouth and stamp it in to look over.

Oh. He’s eyeing the hammer. Not you. Obviously. 

You wordlessly hand it over, arm slicked with exertion. Because after the day you’ve had, you don’t feel like everything needs a spoken sentence attached. 

It takes the guy a bit to take it from you, but when he does, he holds your stare. “Thanks.” 

You simply nod, eyes sticking to him as he works on the tattier side wait it looks almost new. Better than it has in a very long time. Did he really get that much done in the time you were gone? There’s been great care taken during his repair if that’s the case.  

Hmm. You finally learn something about your favorite customer. Maybe he’s just been a mechanic or carpenter this whole time? 

Contemplative, you get up on sore legs to walk to your cooler—something thankfully missed by the rough raiders. Digging through the clinkage, you retrieve a local beer you recently procured from the restaurant across the street. 

It’s not much. Absolute bottom shelf. But it’s all you got other than a few pieces of oni-coin, so he’s gonna have to deal with it.

When you offer the glass, your regular eyes it for a moment. More than enough time for you to get a good look at his striking floral top.

Well. Mechanic and carpenter are out of the question because that one piece of clothing looks more expensive than your entire apartment building.

Who even is this guy? Now you feel destitute handing him something so cheap.

Just when you think he’s gonna refuse, he takes the beer and smoothly shucks it open, suddenly making you wonder how a bracelet can do that and why it was so attractive.

God. You need to walk straight to the nearest inlet stream and dunk your head right in.

“Thank you,” you whisper, gulping at his full swigs. “You really didn’t have to do all this.” 

“Got some time to kill,” he shrugs. Standing, the man takes another sip, peering along the street with sunlit eyes. With the bottle near his mouth, he murmurs, “You really need to set up somewhere else, doll. This street’s turning into a hot spot.” 

Squinting up at the long lines of clothes and curtains floating in the breeze, you sigh at the building nearest. “I live close,” you sulk. “And this is the easiest place to get to.” 

Those are excuses. Just tell him the real reason you won’t venture out and plop yourself somewhere more profitable. Well, maybe not all of the reasons, but the main one. 

Leaning back on your cart, you stare at the loose dirt, swiping some with your shoes. “Maybe I’m just used to it at this point.” 

He won’t respond. Or he’ll respond in his own way, which is mostly silence. 

But a bright strand falls over his face before he hums, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

Many people have warned you at this point. It’s basically your stubborn and spiteful nature that’s making you stay in the first place. Why would you move when you chose to be here? Why leave a place you actively choose to call home? 

Fighting spirit quelled, you nod right to your stand as you count what’s salvageable. “I know, but I like it here.” When he lifts an unbelieving brow, you look away. “It’s true. But trust me, if there was a way to just make it all stop, I’d take it.” 

He takes another swig, both of you looking into the street and watching things slowly get back to normal pace. Adults and kids alike are back to wandering around, buying what’s left and offering condolences. 

“I’m not fixing another cart,” your patron turned repairman grunts, motioning to your wheel as he steps back. “So don’t fuck this one up.” 

Huh? It wasn’t your fault! All the accidents and chaos that blow through aren’t something you can control oh he’s grinning. Why is he grinning? Why do you feel hot all over? 

His teeth shine in daylight. “I’m messing with you.” 

Ah. 

This version of him is not good for you at all.

When he starts to walk away, you blurt out a quick, “Wait!” 

Shit! Why did you do that? What are you possibly supposed to say right now? All you wanted was to see him a little longer… And while staring at his backside would be more than enough, you kinda wanted to actually talk. 

What do you do? He stopped; he’s waiting. 

And he looks impatient as hell. 

Snapping into action, you round your cart and trot over, offering your name as if you didn’t just give up where you lived. 

Then—without thinking—you ask for his with the most curious, innocent, “What’s yours?” 

Silence has never been so booming.

In the dusty swirls of your street, you wait with a back that’s getting sweatier and colder with each passing second. 

Was that not okay to ask? Did you fuck up with a single question? 

Perfect. You just blew your one good thing about being out here. Wincing, you crush your words so hard you think your teeth will break into dust, drifting off into the very breeze wafting his striking locks. 

After a condescending puff, he only smirks.

Then he takes one step. And another. And another.

The air around you melts, weighing on your shoulders while lighting them aflame all at once. It’s a feeling you can’t describe to anyone else, because they would just need to stand next to this man to believe it. 

Checking to see if the street is clear, your best customer leans over. Slowly. Purposefully. “Yoongi,” he offers with a voice so handsome you’ll think about it for days. “But don’t fucking tell anyone.” 

Oh. 

Why did… you kinda like that? 

Blinking, you swallow. “I won’t.” 

This is when he’s supposed to just leave. He’d walk away, bag swinging with his strides. But ever keeping you on your sore toes, the man just chuckles low before rasping out the most devilish sentence in existence, 

“Always took you for a good girl.”

Then he backs away, turning on his heel and leaving you a statue in the street.

Yoongi. 

For a hardened soul, his name is so… 

Tender. 

For the next sixty days, you don’t get ransacked once. 

But there’s also been no sight of Yoongi. 

As the weeks trudge by, you can’t decide which outcome is worse.

The skies are magnificent today. But obviously at a molten price.

“Thank you for trying,” you say to a lovely wares owner before venturing back out into simmering streets. Exhaling, you wipe sweat from your brow, squinting before choosing to walk left or right. 

Left seems promising. 

You’ve been searching for hours now, perusing through shops, checking out vendors both nice and catty. But after a whole day’s search, you still haven’t found what you’re looking for. 

It’s nothing urgent or pressing. But you would at least like to be prepared. 

Since your initial mission is a bust, hopefully your next one makes up for it before you melt right into gravel and dirt.

Find a meal.

Walking along the busy roads, you pass a few options and keep them in mind, making sure to greet a fellow tangerine cart vendor with a smile. Hopefully they do well today.

A couple steps further, a giant cooler catches your eye. Seafood of all types lie inside along cubes of ice, and you weigh the pros and cons of smelling like fish just to have a cool head.

But before you can make any choices, the smell of spices and hearty soup softly pull your feet inside the restaurant nearby. 

What’s here? Noodles? You’re always down for that. Apparently even in scorching weather.

After ordering, you take your seat at a random middle table in a chair facing the entrance. 

Always facing the entrance.

Damn. You really need to accomplish what you set out to do. But sunset is fast approaching these days, and you aren’t anywhere close to home. All you have time for now is eating and heading out. 

The service here is quick, at least. You’re already thanking the owner for sliding a bowl in front of your sweaty form. 

With a head full of thoughts, you stare into nothing, stirring your noodles and waiting for the heat to die down. 

Maybe you should’ve just walked a shorter distance and checked the shops you originally wanted to browse. If things went to plan, you could’ve been back by now, freshly showered and curling up on a worn down bed. 

But instead, your feet are sore, your head is anything but washed, and you have to trek home empty-handed—on the first day off you’ve had in months. 

Defeated, you sigh, going back to your bowl and watching sliced vegetables swirl in aromatic broth. 

At least the food in this area seems good. And the fading decor really adds to the… 

Ambiance. 

Wait. 

Dragons. A lot of them. 

You can’t pull your eyes away from the crew walking in, bringing heat from the sweltering sun in their eyes and donning their telltale, striking teal. 

But you can only kid yourself for so long because the one that truly has your gaze tethered is the man in front. The one you haven’t seen in weeks. The one looking right back at you with a visage so shadowed you feel like moving tables to let him pass. 

…Yoongi? 

His jacket. The colors.

He’s in Dragon?

Suddenly his hair makes terrifying sense.

As his guys stalk through, you swallow hard, not expecting to see him and having no earthly idea what to do with this harrowing information. There are so many thoughts overlapping each other that they all amalgamate into one huge batch of sludge. 

Aren’t you smack dab in Crane territory? There’ve been white suits peppering the streets everywhere. 

So what the hell is Dragon doing here?

From the slight confusion pinching his forehead, you know Yoongi didn’t expect to see you, either. Which makes it even weirder when he slowly takes your chopsticks right from your fingers. 

Hold on, what—

“What are you—”

A lone, long digit over lips is the only response you get, silencing you immediately before you whip your head around to watch him rush past. 

All of them waste no time tearing up the stairs, a myriad of blues blending with gritty paint and smoke. 

And just like that, your reunion is over. 

Home. You need to go home. Leave, leave, leave, because something is bound to be going down upstai—

A thud faintly shoots out into the staircase, and you spin around again in your chair, eyes snapping to the ceiling. 

Shit. 

Even though you’re on high alert, you realize with a quick sweep that no one else is noticing. Or moving. Or even paying attention to anything else but their own company. 

Does no one else care about the commotion? Do hits happen in this area that often? 

Mind running, you can’t decide what to do. Because even though Yoongi’s guys have plenty of weapons, he clearly had nothing since he needed to borrow your damn eating utensils.

Another crash rains dust on conversations around your shoulders, causing you to look up one last time. 

Go home, go home, go home. In what universe would Yoongi himself ever need your help here? 

With one more look at your noodles, you curl your lips before biting a side. 

Already yelling at yourself for choosing to book it towards the back staircase. 

Shit shit shit this is so stupid. This is probably the worst decision you’re gonna make in your life.

But your gut is churning thinking about Yoongi. Even a seasoned swordsman needs expertise to wield mere chopsticks and win. 

Fuck, if you succeeded in your search today, you probably could’ve been a little more useful. 

Swiping your own set of red from a nearby cup, you hightail it up, slowing as you round a corner and immediately hear multiple clangs and scuffles beyond the last turn.

Stop. You can go back. You can still turn around and go home.

An inhale.

Your feet propel you up and into a dark hall. As you slowly slide along the wall, your gut churns and churns. At a bang, you crouch with a skipped beat of your heart.

This is really, really dumb. But you can’t stop yourself and you have no clue why.

Nothing happens around you. So you keep going. With each careful slide of your foot, you get closer and closer to the noise.

Approaching the corner, you very slowly stick your head out for a peek.

And it’s pure commotion. Pure chaos. Holy shit, what is going on? 

Fuck, there’s already a body lying limp on the floor meters away—

Your chopsticks. You wanna hurl.

But a man flies out of a room ahead before he grips and wrestles with another, and you reel yourself back to avoid being seen by either one.

Where is Yoongi? Is he okay? Did he leave already?

You give one more peek, scanning the long raucous corridor as swift as you can to see any sign of.. Mint.

He’s still here. How’s he just walking so nonchalant as his crew fucks shit up? Crap, he just went into a room and out of sight. 

“Where’d they go?”

“Upstairs!”

Fuck, that was in the restaurant! Get up get up you have no choice but to hide now. 

With pounding steps, you rush forward and book it, entering a large room to dive behind some steel shelving and large, woven baskets right as more Dragons come in behind with fists clenched.

Breathe. Steady. Calm the fuck down.

The grunts rush to the hallway to join the fray, and you wait in the now pungent solitude of your room. With only a still body to accompany you. 

What do you do? What even can you do? 

Just as nerves grip your stomach like a vice, Yoongi strides into the open area, heading right for the exit and not even sparing his kill a glance. 

Go. Go now. Why can’t you move? Why aren’t your hands letting go of your cold confinement? It smells like death and blood and you need to leave with the only person you know—or don’t—so why can’t your feet just fucking—

Someone else slithers into the room. A man in brown with a knife. A knife, a knife, a knife he’s getting faster and Yoongi doesn’t hear him the guy is too quiet fuck! “Yoongi!” 

It all happens before your brain can paint the bloody picture. Shooting out from your hiding spot, you race towards the assassin, slamming into their lanky build just in time.  

Both of you topple to the ground, your target roaring in pain and twisting like hell to fight back fuck you didn’t get him how you needed to he’s got you—

Pain erupts in your hip as you’re grabbed, the room spinning as you’re thrown to the side and your ear hitting concrete right before chopsticks ping down. Thinking quick, you knee the guy as hard as you can, scrambling to finish the job because if you don’t, you’re gone gone gone.

“Bitch!” Your opponent clutches your shirt right as you reach for the nearest red pair, seizing your throat right as you grip and swing them around to stab the other side of his neck with a yell.

Luckiest timing of your life. 

“Hng!” Fuck, he’s still holding down hard and choking, choking, squeezing. “Fuck you!” 

Fight back. Keep the weapon inside he’s too strong finish him finish him. 

Darkness. Ink drops in water. Your vision taints as your grip loosens, and you can only hope that Yoongi got away safe. He had to. At least you… Were able to do… 

This one thing… 

…

Oxygen and life rush back into your lungs, color burning through your esophagus as you gasp for sweet sweet air. Right as you come to, all you witness is the heavy heel of a boot twisting the forearm latched onto you. 

And when the shoe leaves your vision. Lifeless eyes stare back.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck that was close. Oh god. You actually did it. Oh fuck. 

Coughing, you rush up as you get tugged and pulled right against chains and embroidery, your ears ringing with a gravelly command and glass breaking in the nearby corridor,

“Don’t say my fuckin’ name so loud.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Yoongi roughly lets you go before pinning you with pure anger. Not to say thank you. Not to tell you any words of gratitude at all. The only other thing he finds the need to say is simply, 

“You shouldn’t be up here.” 

What the fuck. You just murdered someone for him and this is all you get? Eyes welling, you feel your body slick and sticky with crimson when you turn, coughing and spitting out regret before you wheeze, wheeze, wheeze, “That’s—that’s all you have to say?” 

Dread swirls around your stomach like poison.

But the sternness from before completely vanishes as Yoongi lifts your chin. His eyes scan your throat and chest, and you rip your head away from his touch because he is not excused just yet. 

“It’s not mine,” you snap, knowing exactly what he’s looking for and what you must look like to him. Dirty. Gross. Certainly a far image from the girl selling tangerines.

But your face is gently held again, and somehow this softer turn carries more strength to swivel you forward. 

Why is Yoongi still looking? Now he’s holding your gaze as if he’s never seen you before. What’s that about? You’re still the same, the same, the same.

…Are you?

More crashes and shots are heard down the hall, and Yoongi snaps his head up in an instant. 

God, you smell. You reek. Your nose is tainted and your hands even more so. There’s no way he’s gonna have anything to do with you now. 

But you get the shock of the century when the man commands you to come along. “Let’s go.” 

Absolutely not. This is all you got in you for a lifetime. “What? No, no, no. No way, I’m going home.”

“And they’ll follow you the whole way back.” 

“I—I didn’t mean to—” 

Shots ring out before grunts barrel out into the short hallway. All of them piling out from crevasses and hidden passages. 

You give one more look at the two men now crumpled on the ground, bile rising up and threatening to spill. 

“Tough shit, princess. You did, now live with it.” 

Live with it. How poetic. 

You were protecting him. You did what you had to do. But you have blood on your hands again and now Yoongi will see you as something else besides a fucking street vendor. 

“Are you coming or not?”

You’re gonna puke your guts out.

With a stilted cry, you bend to snatch your weapons up yet again—gagging at the squelches and much deeper red—before following Yoongi’s long steps. 

Your hands. They’re shaking so bad you can’t even pocket the chopsticks properly. But you finally get them down, crushing your palms and squeezing just to stop them from rattling. 

When you wait behind Yoongi checking the corner, you turn around to make sure you aren’t being followed. And seeing the hallway still a moving mass of broken glass and hard swings, you think you’re safe. 

The stairs feel so different on the way down. Is that because you feel completely changed? There’s no coming back from this. Another side of you died right alongside those two people upstairs. 

No time to think about that. You have to follow his lead. And he’s slowing down why is he slowing down? 

Oh. Normal. Be normal to not garner suspicion. You have to do the same. 

Wait. You can’t go down there with a shirt full of stained evidence! Grabbing him and pulling back, you whisper, “Yoongi—”

His growl is so fierce your head spins, “What the fuck did I say about my n—”

“My clothes,” you panic. “I can’t.” 

Yoongi gives you a quick look before gripping the duffle strap. Brows lowered, he grits out while dumping it, “Lose the shirt.” 

“What?” 

“Do it.” 

“Where’d he go?”

“It’s gone!”

Your heads snap up before you lock eyes. And he doesn’t need to say anything to show you what he’s thinking behind those minted bangs.

As you hastily strip, your brain works in weird ways. Instead of processing how you very much need to hurry the fuck up, you lament the bra of choice today. And how sweaty you look. Because of course those are your thoughts of choice right now. 

Something’s dumped on you before your shirt hits the ground, and you think about its warmth before you realize exactly what’s on your shoulders. “You sure?” 

He’s already heading down. Oh god. You’re really putting this on shit shit shit. 

You’re quick to slip into the material before checking for your chopsticks, rushing down the rest of the stairs to meet him. Nerves firing on all cylinders, you follow Yoongi out of the restaurant with a single, disturbing thought. 

This is going too well. 

But you’re passing tables, you’re walking by the fish display, don’t fucking sob you’re out in the street now. 

Relax. You’re walking. His white tee is flawless and people have no clue you left a bloody shirt on a stairwell. Don’t fucking cry.

But suddenly.

Shouting erupts behind you both, just as a cop car rolls past the restaurant only to get surrounded. 

And with one look back, your brain freezes. Right before Yoongi sounds a little too delighted to say something so foreboding,

“Looks like you’re in it now.”

Adrenaline spikes as you burst into motion. Hot summer air stings your lungs as legs propel you forward, with nothing in sight except for your partner in high crime. 

Yoongi’s right. 

You’re in it now. 

And just like the delinquents that you despise, the two of you both kick up dust on the run. 

You’re really doing this. 

Holy shit, you’re really doing this and there’s no waking up, no jolting awake, no pinching yourself to know that it’s all a dream. The only thing pinching is your sides, fresh stings of karma with each heavy footstep through crowded streets, buildings, levels, wherever the fuck you go. 

At least Yoongi is commanding as he leads you through the city—clearly from a heap of experience. Though rattled, you follow him with more adrenaline than questions. Because running is all you know. Run, run, run, escaping is your only objective and you cannot let up even once.

Your feet pelt down a staircase before you leap onto a disposal bin, impact denting as you follow Yoongi’s long strides across the colorful tops. Shouts and metal pings echo behind you as your chasers catch up, and you grit your teeth so hard they rattle as you jump to alley ground. “Fuck!”

Searing, searing pain rushes through your legs as you twist and wind through busy corridors, squeezing into the gaps Yoongi finds as he barrels in front. 

“Get back here!” 

“You fuckers!”

Who’s following you? Are they even Crane? You don’t see a shred of white on their clothes at all so are they working for some random guy Yoongi stole from?

When you watch him turn at the shouting, all thoughts vanish as your gut churns. 

He’s grinning.

You just killed someone for him. And he probably has more blood on his hands than you can imagine. 

And he’s… enjoying this? 

You feel sick, mind blazing with a million red warning signs. How could you ever have had feelings for h—

You bounce off a passerby as you run, grunting at the sudden pain in your shoulder when another person rams into your back and topples you over, dirt scraping into your palms and knees. 

Shit shit shit it’s so dusty on the ground and all you see are traveling shoes where are you? Where is he did he leave did he even see you fall? It’s too condensed here there’s no way he’s not taking the next chance to disappear.

Forget all of that, they’re coming. The chasers are coming and you see them see you down get up get up get up what the fuck get up now.

Ripping out a groan, you rush to your feet as soon as someone swoops in, bashing someone right behind you with someone’s crate of fruit. 

Yoongi? He waited for you?

“Go!” 

Both of you hightail it with you now in the lead, and your eyes buzz as you slip through holes in the crowd. Left, left, right, around, left again, between. 

An intersection ahead. Yes. Lose everyone in the vehicle traffic or hitch a ride with a stranger. Fascinating how the survival tactics that spawn from your block develop in real time on the run.

Almost there, almost there, almost there—fuck! 

Whiffing in front of your nose, a metal weapon smacks the ground at your toes. 

Flailing, you dodge the next swing, ducking before you see a black duffle smack your assailant in the face. 

Keep going. Finish him and get away. As Yoongi shifts left, you lunge forward, sending a swift punch to the guy’s ribs that hurt like hell goddamn oh fuck someone brought a knife!

“Yoongi!” Just as the surrounding civilians yell and clear out, you rush toward his aid before you’re tackled, air whooshing out of your lungs as your back pummels into gravel. Fuck fuck fuck this masked woman also has a dagger. A thick one. Don’t let her win don’t let her win hold on for dear fucking life. 

Did you think you’d find yourself in a grudge match to keep metal from sinking into your chest today? No. Ever? Also no. 

Your arms are shaking. Shots ring out. Sweat is your enemy. The street is in uproar. Where’s Yoongi did he hear you? Fuck, the metal tip is pricking you now this is— 

Mercifully, your attacker yelps as something slams into her side, dark brown clothes crumpling before you’re hoisted upward and dragged back into the crowd. 

“Let me go or I’ll kick your ass—”

“You good?” 

Oh, it’s Yoongi. Again. Okay. Eyes swirling, you lock onto the gun held flush in his other hand before you nod. “I—I think so—”

“Then keep up.” 

Winding between people, you’re only focused on getting away. But when you catch glimpses of him, he’s back to his glint. He’s exhilarated.

If only you were both doing anything else. If only you weren’t so queasy and guilty and loathing of your own self.

Right as you finally burst into bustling traffic, Yoongi boldly stops a taxi at its hood, motioning you to follow him inside. 

Shocked but head reeling, you open the door closest to your sweaty legs and slide in. 

And before you can even greet the shouting driver, Yoongi pulls you to his side and rushes something out in your ear, 

“Kiss me.” 

“I said get out!” 

“What?” 

“Come here.” 

You’ve kissed before. Not many times, but enough to know that this man knows what the fuck he’s doing because you feel like your soul just abandoned you to exist in this car forever. You don’t know why this is happening or where this came from, but his lips feel as soft as his name and as deadly as the gun he’s pulling on your driver—

“Han Station,” he drawls, halting time and space. “Or your papers are burned by morning.” 

Oh. 

You were just… Oh. 

Lips puffed and head swirling, you sit frozen in your spot, marinating in the realization that the best kiss of your life was a mere distraction. And as you watch Yoongi keep his aim straight, you assume he probably didn’t even think much of it, either. 

“…I thought you looked familiar,” the driver slowly grits, hands gripping his wheel before he shakes his head. “You’re a little far from home.”

You think that’s all he’s gonna say. But his eyes are sharp in the rear view mirror, knowing a gun is pointed straight at his dome. “Aren’t you.”

What is he getting at you need to leave fast—

“Agust.” 

…Huh? 

Agust? 

This is the first time you feel a heartbeat against your arm, and you hold a breath as Yoongi tightens his fingers on the gun. 

When he doesn’t reply, the car fills to the brim with tension, and you feel crushed by its liquid weight. 

Don’t you have to go? Aren’t you in a chase? Are you getting a little too hot?

When you go to slide to your own side of the car for some space, the hand around your shoulder squeezes. 

And you’re more confused, exhausted, and thrown off than ever. 

“Han Station,” is all Yoongi—Agust?—repeats, voice ice. “Now.”

To which the taxi driver stares, standing his ground until he breaks eye contact first to obey. 

“Fuckin’ Dragons and their useless whores.”

Oh, fuck that. 

Before you can lunge forward to outright strangle the man, Yoongi does something that has your eyes magnifying into saucers and hands shooting up to your mouth.

He fires the gun straight at the man’s thigh, yelps leaving both the driver's throat and yours holy fuck! 

“You bastard—”

“You’ll live. Drive.”

“Fucking—fuck!”

The car shifts through traffic, swerving left and right and cutting off slower vehicles. When force smushes you closer into Yoongi’s side, you can’t help but notice how fit he is, and how calm he’s being despite the whole chase. Despite that spike in adrenaline. Despite blowing a hole in a stranger’s leg for six words.

He also feels really, really good against your side, but you can’t let that matter anytime soon. There’s absolutely no way you can let this dangerous man in, especially after this entire nightmare of a day. 

So you swallow, trying to compartmentalize because you’ll reach insanity if you don’t.

Does anyone out there know you took a life minutes ago? Or hours ago? You just kissed a criminal five and a half minutes ago. Would they care about that, too?

The window is suddenly much more interesting than any of your wandering, slingshot thoughts. 

Wait. It’s very pretty in this area, and you finally can tell some semblance of where you are. Because you only know of one part of the city that looks like this, and it’s deep in Crane territory. 

Did you both really make it this far? 

Carefully tended to, it’s a lot greener on the sidewalks, and more open on the roads. And it’s on one of these roads that you finally notice the sunset, gold accents shining on sleek street signs and the tops of buildings that seem much more at rest than you do. 

Rest. Sleep. Home. 

With the luck you’re having, it would be a miracle and a half to reach even one of the three. 

Did you get followed? You don’t know how much longer you can run, so you really fucking hope not. 

“Almost there,” Yoongi whispers, voice scratching your ear in the worst and best ways. “When we get out, move your ass.” 

When you watch the wary, heavy breathing driver in his rear view mirror, you bite out, “I know how to get out of a car, thanks.” 

“Just listen to me.”

“Why?”

“Do you trust me?” 

“No.” 

That came out quicker than you could stop it. But Yoongi only lets silence come between you before he squeezes your shoulder. When he speaks, you can hear how carved out his smirk is without even seeing it, 

“Good girl.”

And you spoke the truth. It wouldn’t have come out so fast if it weren’t. But you know to at least follow his advice here because he’s kept you alive thus far. He didn’t need to drag you out and protect you the whole way, so it’s not like he would steer you wrong here. Right? 

Right? 

“Here,” Yoongi orders before the car slows to a stop. 

That wasn’t so bad. You can get out normally now so why did Yoongi say—

Right as your foot hits ground, the taxi peels out, forcing you to throw yourself out of the side before the rest of your body leaves with it. 

Fucking hell that hurt what the fuck was that for? 

Dirt and dust coats your tongue before you do anything to spit it out. Saliva rushes from your glands as you cough and hack, all while feeling every muscle group in your body begging to not stand up. 

But you feel rough, commanding hands on your arms. “You good?”

“Yeah—”

“Then get up. Get up.”

Straining and wincing like hell, you follow Yoongi’s lead yet again. Because you hear cars rolling up with bad intentions and that means you have to sprint again. 

What the fuck did Yoongi steal? And how the hell are these guys still on your tail? Their resources have got to be as good as Crane’s and yet, they don’t feel the same at all. 

You’re hobbling, but you’re going. You’re rushing. You’re going to get through this alive. 

Instead of heading into the underground, you find yourself ascending a flight of steps. Rumbles and rattles hit your ears as you realize exactly what kind of station this is—one you haven’t seen anywhere in your district. 

Han Station is a floating railway? 

Holy shit, where are you?

Yoongi skids around a corner before you plant hard to stop yourself, only to see him clash with someone before something connects right with your stomach, and you crumple before you feel a solid hit to your head. 

Oh.

The world spins and moves as you hear vibrations, slowed sounds that could be shouts. Gunshots? Or maybe songs? You don’t truly know but your head is aching—

Your arm rushes up to block something before your body follows, and you scream before gripping whatever you can and flipping a whole body forward. 

Reality crashes back into your ears as you snap out of your head. 

You haven’t had to do that maneuver in forever. Was muscle memory more than enough?

“Come on!”

Go. Go, follow him, both of you need to get to the rail shit it’s leaving!

The blaring reverberates through the air, pinging off metal and wheels screeching on the track lines as you bolt for the open doors.

Mid-stride, Yoongi swings to look at the people barreling up the stairs. “One more time: do you trust me?”

“No!”

“Good”—his hands grip your waist—“Jump!”

Head empty, you leap onto the railcar right as it starts to pick up speed, and you watch in horror as Yoongi empties his clip behind him until he can’t anymore. 

“Yoo—” Fuck, what was his name? He seems to not prefer the one you call him and that has to be for good reason. What was it?

You’re leaving. He’s gritting his teeth while hitting the bottom of his gun but he needs to get up! What was his fucking name! 

“Agust!” 

Yoongi finally whips his head around, dashing to the end of the train and straining to carry the duffle. 

He needs to launch it or leave it behind. There’s no way he’s not being weighed down so hard. “Here!” you yell, knowing that look is only reserved for people he doesn’t want to trust. It’s normal. But it still stings. “Hurry up!”

After one more second, he swings it around and flings, leaping onto the side handrail after you get blasted by the bag holy fuck that hurt. 

He was running with this the whole time? No wonder his shoulders are so cut this is heavy.

Straining, you peek out into the wind, seeing Yoongi holding on and scooting along thin steprails towards your awaiting hands.

Shit, this is dangerous. Buildings and the city below fly by, and a parallel train whooshes and roars past as you finally tug him inside with shaky wheezes.

Just like that.

You made it out.

What the fuck. You did it. No one else was able to get onto the train. You’re safe for now. 

Finally, finally, finally able to breathe. 

But goddamn, you both stand out like blood on a blank page.

As you struggle to fully stand, you notice everyone else on the train—well-kept, carrying themselves in sleek linens and lush outfits, hair done beautifully and to perfection. 

Which makes it unsurprising that plenty of them regard the pair of you with suspicion and morbid curiosity. While intrigue covers the one with an unfairly handsome face, zings of jealousy and judgment fire your way. 

You feel so out of place. You are so out of place. But that doesn’t give anyone the right to look at you like filth. The words from the taxi driver pierce your brain again, and you feel rage and pain bubble up to your tongue,

“Anyone got something they wanna sa—”

But Yoongi does something that has your brain chemistry altering because he casually bends a knee in front of you while holding the top rail, forcing you back into the side of the train car and only seeing his jewelry. 

When your eyes snap to his, he regards you before peering outside. “Stop,” he mutters. “You're causing a scene.”

“Me?” Oh, he has some nerve. “What did I do, you’re the one—”

“Quiet.”

Ridiculous. Huffing, you let disagreement tug your lips while joining him in watching the world go by. 

Realizing with a pang that you are probably never getting back home. You’re never gonna see your favorite neighbor with his woks and caterpillar eyebrows. All the produce you were planning to sell will only succumb to mold and time. 

Your tangerines… 

When a tear falls, it glints in your reflection before quickly being swiped away. 

No. Don’t do any of that here where people can see—where he can see. No one will know what the hell you just went through today. Be normal, strong, normal. 

The ride lasts a little longer, with people coming and going during each stop. When there are seats open, neither you nor Yoongi move to take them. The two of you stay glued where you stand.

Silent, together, and covered in hidden blood.

The next stop seems to be in a quieter sector of the city. All around you are buildings you’ve never seen before stretching miles into the sky, and the streets are so neatly paved you’re convinced they’re fake. 

“This is us,” Yoongi whispers, hand guiding your hip to move toward the doors.

Skin scorching under his touch, you can only nod.

Where are you now? Where are you getting off? 

You both exit the train with a few others, and you watch with heightened curiosity as they carry satchels and wear shoes that look horribly uncomfortable. As you move down the steps, you keep craning your neck to take everything in, and more questions fill your head than answers. 

But the truth remains even as you and Yoongi stop in front of your destination.

You cannot run anymore. Even if more of whoever those guys were showed up, you may just choose to sit down instead of take another stride. Besides, your body is still running a thousand steps even though you haven’t moved since getting on the train anyway. After today, the chase may never stop.

“We’ll stay here.” 

We? Stay? 

“Here? This place is…” You keep peering up and up, the top of the building so high your neck hurts. It’s so foreign and magical your only adjective is a quiet, “Nice.” 

At your side, Yoongi seems annoyed when he asks, “Expect something different?” 

“Yeah, like… I dunno, a secret lair or something.” 

Air whooshes from his nostrils, but there’s a stark absence of a smile. Looking up at the building, too, he explains something that you’ve never heard of before,

“We’re in a grey zone. No one will follow us here.” 

Right. Because that somehow makes sense to regular civilians like you. Because you are one, are one, are one. “Allegedly,” you scoff, not knowing what to believe anymore.  

Yoongi pauses before heading up, and his agreement makes you look. “Allegedly.” 

Mm. 

After taking the tiny steps to the entrance, you wonder what he must be thinking bringing your haphazard look in tow. 

Because he could’ve left you behind at any point in time. But he didn’t. What does that mean? Why is he keeping you alive and at his side?

While you’re taking in the opulent and vast lobby, Yoongi guides you toward the front desk, shifting the duffle on his shoulder. 

This place is gorgeous. Nothing like you’ve ever seen. How were they able to install a waterfall in a building? What kind of money does this so-called grey zone have? 

Yoongi nods toward the concierge, who quickly nods back and scurries away and into a room.

If you weren’t so tired, you could probably make something of that exchange. But you are very much exhausted so frankly, you don’t give a shit right now. 

Although. You do give a shit about the fingers suddenly interlacing with your own. As your hand is held, you shoot your best client a look so potent he stares back. “What now,” you snip, question low and dripping with distrust. 

Unfazed, Yoongi slowly pulls you into his side, a steady hand coming up to wrap around your tired hips. So nonchalant, so lax, so confusing as he murmurs,

“Just wanted to.”

Your heart trips into the next beat.

On sore legs, you wait until the concierge comes back with a key, eyes swiping over you as if they finally noticed your existence. Which seems to perplex them as they hand over the metal device.

And Yoongi just takes it, not a word said before he directs you across the lobby to what look like elevators.

Even these look fancy as fuck. Wherever you are and whatever this place is, you feel even more out of place than on that judgy train. 

A hotel worker bows before he motions to the opening doors. “Nice to see you again,” he murmurs to the ground, seemingly expecting the same non-response given to the front desk. “Would you like the usual, Mister—” 

“No,” Yoongi clips him off. “Not this time.” 

“Understood.” 

Brows pinched, you’re starting to get a weird feeling. 

How does everyone know Yoongi so well here? He said this was a grey zone, which you’d think would be akin to a neutral or non-threatening one. So why does it feel like he’s got this area on lock? Who exactly are you getting into an elevator with? 

…Who exactly did you save? 

Yoongi was right when he said you’re in it now. But faced with more questions surrounding him than anything or anyone else, you’re starting to wonder what pit of hell you dropped yourself into. 

Especially after catching the look of utter panic from the serviceman. 

Right before sliding doors shut the world out. 

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