#I can’t wait to finally get out the next chapters of for future reference though dude

[ilovebeingaturtle]

yooooo welcome back from the dead my guy!!! /lh super excited for fic updates <3 no rush tho take ur time

:D!! Ye thank you!!!!! I’m really excited to get back into it, the universe enforced a hiatus on me and it was so frustrating not being able to write during it AHA felt like I was clawing at the bars of my enclosure trying to reach google docs AHSKAH

Now I just need to figure out how to jump back on the writing horse after being off it for so long. I’ve actually started a short unrelated story that I might try post first just to get back into the swing of things and used to fic making again? So keep an eye out for that in hopefully the next few days! (Especially if you liked Mutant Mayhem…)

[petcr3]

something to rely on | chapter one

series masterlist (coming soon!)

summary: despite being separated, bob floyd is there to support his wife and their son after she sustains some injuries in a car accident.

word count: 4.1k

warnings: separation/divorce, reader is frequently referred to by she/her pronouns, is called bob's wife/ex-wife, mrs. floyd, etc. bob and reader have a son, but i have tried to be as inclusive as possible with regards to appearance and the type of family! (meaning, if i've done my job correctly, charlie can have been adopted, not necessarily carried by the reader, etc.) non-graphic reference to a car accident, non-graphic description of injuries. chapter one is set entirely in a hospital. readers parents are present in the story, still married, and have a good relationship with reader because this is fantasy lol

a/n: lads, it's here. some of you have been hearing me blather about this story for fucking ages and chapter one is finally done. i'm proud of it, i think, but if nothing else i simply cannot keep sitting on it, so here it is! very excited for this story's future <3 i hope you love charlie as much as i do lol

It’s a rare occasion that one hears Bob Floyd before seeing him, but you suppose your getting into a car accident is a special enough occasion. 

Things feel hazy–– with two broken wrists and a broken leg, you’ve been given quite the painkiller. You’re not sure how long you’ve been awake, exactly, but it can’t have been very long. There’s a digital clock on a small table next to your hospital bed, but your neck is too sore to turn far enough over to see it. A thick wooden door is shut against the buzz of the floor outside: the ringing of phones, the click of computer keys, and the clatter of patients being wheeled to and from scans and tests and specialists. 

Even amidst all that, the sound of Bob’s words cuts through. He’s raising his voice, you realize. That’s not like him.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the nurse says on the other side of the door, “but outside of visiting hours I can only admit family, and––”

“I am family,” he says, impatient. 

“I understand that, but when a patient is separated––”

“Separated,” Bob interrupts, “not divorced. That is my wife and the mother of my child, so will you please let me see her?” It sounds much more like a demand than a question. The nurse sighs, clearly frustrated. 

“Let me go speak to her.” She steps out from behind the counter and cuts Bob a severe look. “If she is awake, I’ll let her know you’re here. But given that rest is one of the most crucial things for her right now, I will not be waking her up. You can wait.”

“Thank you,” comes his clipped reply. The nurse approaches your room, only a few steps away from the front desk–– Bob would have just gone straight in, had he known— and when the door creaks open, he can be seen standing over her shoulder–– a respectful distance behind, at least.

“Ma’am, there’s someone here to see you,” she says. You can tell it’s taking everything Bob has not to run to you, but he’s smart enough to know that showing this nurse any more disrespect isn’t wise. “He says he’s your husband,” she continues, “but if you don’t want to see him, I can tell him to leave.”

“No, that’s okay,” you say, “he can come in.” She turns around only to discover Bob right behind her. He squeezes quickly past, murmuring a hurried thank you before practically flying to your bedside. All his frustration quickly dissipates as he leans over you, a deep furrow in his brow. Over his shoulder, you see the nurse shake her head, exasperated, and leave, shutting the door behind her.

“Hey honey,” Bob says, hand lifting to brush across your cheek, as if it’s two years ago and nothing has changed. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“I’m okay, Bobby,” you reply, tired. You surprise yourself, though, using his old nickname like that. Since you two broke up, you’ve only ever called him Bob. “Someone lost control of their car in the rain, apparently. You owe that nurse an apology.”

“And I’ll give her one later. First I need to know that you’re okay.”

“I just said that I’m okay,” you laugh softly. “Bob, I’m fine.” Reluctantly, he nods, leaning back to grab at a chair. He won’t even stand all the way up, refuses to take his eyes off you lest you run off somewhere else to nearly get yourself killed.

“How’s Charlie; is he with your parents?” You nod, heart clenching at the thought of your son, how distressed he must be right now.

“Yeah,” you say, voice getting a little watery. “Yeah, I got to talk to him a little while ago. He wants to come visit after my surgery tomorrow.” Bob’s brow furrows. 

“Surgery?”

“Just my left wrist. The right one and the leg only need braces, but,” you sigh, “yeah, the left one took the door pretty hard, so.” He nods.

“How about your head? All okay up there, no bleeding?”

“I have a concussion, but that’s all. They know what they’re doing here, Bob. Don’t worry. I’m gonna be just fine.” He studies you for a moment, then sighs, nodding his head again. “Not so fun being on the other side of it, huh?” you say without thinking. It isn’t meant to be cutting, but blue eyes snap up to your face, a faint expression of shock on Bob’s features. 

Still, you have a hard time feeling too guilty. How many times have the roles been reversed? How many times have you held your baby boy to your chest murmuring reassurances that you can’t promise are true? How many times has Bob been gone, unable to tell you he was okay or even alive? Or looked up at you under the harsh white light of a hospital room on base and told you there was nothing to worry about when you both knew that there was? 

Bob schools his expression into something a little softer and gives a curt nod. You can’t decide if that was over the line. But that had always been the problem, hadn’t it? 

Neither of you had known how easy it would be to push each other over their limits. You’d thought love and a thick skin would be enough to survive the looming fear of losing your husband. Bob had thought it would be easier to outrun the guilt he always felt leaving you behind, the way it weighed on his chest like an anvil. Eventually, your wounds were rubbed raw and his ribs began to crack beneath the pressure.

The times when he was home were supposed to be precious, but they had become tense, uncomfortable. It wasn’t good for either of you, and it certainly wasn’t good for three-year-old Charlie. Splitting up had been the best choice, even though it pained you both to admit it.

Bob had been adamant about a separation rather than a divorce. Ex-spouses of the military were still entitled to some benefits, but for Charlie’s sake and yours he wanted to remain legally married. You’d both agreed that if you met other people and got serious enough, a divorce would be back on the table. It hadn’t been the easiest decision, but now, laying in a hospital bed, you can’t help but feel grateful. And how many people can say their ex husband came rushing to their side in an emergency? 

Regret is already creeping up across your skin.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly, reaching to touch the back of his hand. Your fingers brush awkwardly against his skin where they protrude from your brace, but you can see the gesture means something to him–– his eyes shine a little sadly when he looks at you. He gives a faint shake of his head. 

“S’okay. Me too.”

Despite your best efforts to persuade him otherwise, Bob stays the night in your room, sleeping with his legs slung across a second chair the nurses had been kind enough to provide for him. (He’d apologized to the nurse he spoke to when he arrived, and she’d taken it rather graciously, all things considered. In her place, you’re pretty sure you would have had him thrown out.) You fall asleep fairly easily, exhaustion having taken its toll, but you wake up in the wee hours needing the bathroom. You press the call button, hoping it won’t wake your sleeping companion, but Bob rouses when Jermaine, one of the nurses, comes in. The whole bathroom song and dance is a process you certainly don’t enjoy, but you’ve gotten used to it over the past several hours. 

“Can’t get enough of me, huh?” Jermaine quips, walking to your bedside.

“I keep guzzling water when he’s not looking,” you say, nodding towards a still groggy Bob. Jermaine only laughs and pulls back the covers.

“All right, ready?” 

“Yep.” You grimace as he braces his hands beneath your armpits to help lift you up enough to get into your wheelchair. You sigh as Jermaine rolls you to the bathroom and braces an arm around your waist to help you onto the toilet. The door stands open, but you’re too drained to care–– besides, this isn’t anyone’s first rodeo.

You don’t see the way Bob’s eyes widen with worry. How he watches each maneuver carefully, filing it away in the back of his mind. The decision had been made before he walked through the door, really, but seeing you struggle only cements it. He doesn’t say anything as Jermaine helps you back to bed–– only a quiet thank you as the nurse leaves the room. He can talk to you about his plan tomorrow.

A low murmur of voices filters into your consciousness as you wake that morning, your eyes flickering open to see Bob standing with Dr. Alvarado, who will be performing your surgery. She notices you shifting in your bed and comes to your side, Bob following suit on the opposite, returning to his seat.

“Good morning, Mrs. Floyd,” she says warmly, “how are we feeling?” Your mouth is dry and you swallow thickly before responding.

“I’ve been better,” you rasp, wincing at the scrape of your voice. Bob is holding out a cup of water before you even have a moment to think, and you start to reach for it before faltering. In the fog of waking up, you’d almost forgotten.

“I’ve got it,” he says quietly, bringing it to your lips. You drink, far too worn out to protest.

“Your procedure is scheduled for 12:30 this afternoon. It’s about 8:15 right now. That’ll give you some time to rest before pre-op. I’ve also been told you have a special visitor, if you feel up for it.” Your heart lifts, and you can’t help but look expectantly up at Bob. 

“Charlie?” 

The hopeful lilt of your voice splinters something in his heart. He smiles, tight-lipped but genuine all the same, and nods. 

“Uh-huh. I know you said the plan was post surgery, but your mom called saying they were up and ready to go. I figured you’d want to see him.”

“Yeah,” you say, voice high and thin, “yeah I’d like that.” Dr. Alvarado smiles. 

“I’ll let them know. They’re all very anxious to see you.” You nod, tears slipping down your cheeks. Ordinarily, you try not to let Charlie see you crying. With the separation, you’ve been doing everything you can to be his rock. You remember how scary it was when you were a child to see your parents upset, or worse, hurt. But today, you don’t know if you’ll quite be able to manage it. Gracelessly, you swipe at the tears on your cheeks, but before long, Bob is at the ready again, tissue box extended toward you. You nod your thanks and clasp one in between your fingers. Blotting is much easier. 

You’ve just about gotten it together when the door opens again. 

“Mommy?” Charlie calls, and you hate how you can hear the frightened tremble of his voice. He makes it a few steps over the door jamb when he sees Bob. 

“Daddy!” For a heartbreaking moment, wide eyes dart between the both of you, unsure of where to run. 

“Go say hi to Daddy, sweetheart,” you say, heart swelling to see the reunion. Charlie beams and runs directly into Bob’s arms.

“Hey, big man!” he says, scooping Charlie off the ground in a strong embrace. “I missed you so much, little bear.” He presses a big kiss to your son’s cheek and is rewarded with a delighted giggle that has you crying again. Hurriedly, you dab at your eyes once more.

Your parents enter the room behind Charlie, your mother’s smile wavering and your dad’s brow furrowed. The braces make hugs awkward, but your parents’ presence is an enormous comfort.

“Charlie’s been very brave,” your father informs you. “And we’re all very glad you’re okay.”

“Me too,” you say wetly, wishing you could hold their hands. “I love you guys.”

You cast a glance over to your left, where Bob and Charlie are engaged in conversation, faces close together and voices hushed. Watching Bob parent has always made your heart ache, even now when things have fallen apart. He was meant to be a father, plain and simple. People who don’t know him might expect a Navy man to be gruff, tough on a child, especially a son. But Bob is all gentleness when it comes to your Charlie. He is patient and invested and even though you two aren’t together, it’s difficult to imagine parenting Charlie with anyone else. 

You tear your gaze away to talk with your parents, explaining what happened and asking about how Charlie has been coping over the course of the last few hours.

A few feet away, Bob has his son cradled close in his arms. 

“I was really scared,” Charlie confides in him, “but I gotta be brave for Momma.” Bob’s heart breaks just a little, and he smooths a hand over Charlie’s hair. Perhaps this instinct to protect is just built into the little boy– knowing you and Bob, that’s a distinct possibility. But Bob can’t help but worry it’s a result of the split. 

“You don’t have to be brave for Momma, honey,” he says softly. “That’s our job. Parents get to be strong for their kids, not the other way around. It’s okay to be scared when someone is hurt. And it’s also okay to express that. Especially with me and Mommy. And being strong doesn’t mean you can’t feel your feelings. In fact, being able to feel your feelings is a part of what makes a person strong, because some feelings are really hard.” Charlie listens to his father with rapt attention–– he always has. “But it’s important not to ignore them. Does that make sense?” He nods sagely when Bob is done talking.

Bob can’t help but smile, heart swelling with affection. It’s moments like these when he thinks he could leave it all if it meant getting to spend every second of every day with his baby boy. 

“Should we go say hi?” he asks, bouncing Charlie gently against his hip. Charlie nods, his gaze flickering over to you. 

Though you’re talking with your parents, you can’t take your eyes off of your son. Call it selfish, but ever since you’d been able to think straight you’ve wanted nothing more than to see him. You’re reaching out for him the second Bob starts towards you, but he gives you a look.

“With your leg?” he asks quietly, even though Charlie is right there in his arms.

“I still got one good one,” you quip,” and I think a hug is gonna help me get better much quicker. Besides, all my problems are below the knee— I’ll be fine.”

Bob has always had trouble saying no to you. 

“Be gentle, okay bud?” Charlie nods.

Carefully, he sets Charlie down in your lap, positioning him mostly on your uninjured right leg. 

“Hi baby,” you beam, the pain you’re in practically forgotten. “I’m so happy to see you!” Charlie snuggles immediately into your chest, eyes impossibly big when they look up at you. Tucking him under your arm is awkward, but you do it anyway.

“Hi Mommy,” he says quietly, like he’s afraid talking too loudly will hurt you.

“Hi,” you say again, matching his hushed voice, smile wider than it’s been for the duration of your stay. Bob stands slightly off to the side, feeling a little bit like an intruder. Still, he can’t help but watch the way your eyes sparkle when you look at your son. He’s never seen anything like it. 

A gentle hand on his shoulder catches his attention, and he turns to see your mother, her expression warm. He counts himself incredibly lucky that your parents don’t hate him. Sometimes he hates himself for what happened, and yet they still treat him like one of their own. The three of them exchange hushed greetings, each thanking one another for taking care of the two of you.

Over in your hospital bed, you’re playing with the ends of Charlie’s hair. He’s been telling you about everything that happened between yesterday afternoon and now, cheerily informing you of how much he cried and how he got to choose what he and your parents had for dinner last night. You drink in every detail with enthusiasm, grateful as ever for his enormous heart and his resilience.

“I was really scared,” he says softly after a moment. You nod.

“I bet. I was scared too.”

“Daddy says it’s okay to be scared.”

“Daddy’s right, baby. It’s more than okay to be scared. It’s important— it’s how our brains keep us safe.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. You know how I’m scared of snakes?” Charlie nods. “Well, not every single snake is dangerous, right? But there are some that are. And because my brain remembers that some snakes are dangerous, I get a little scared when I see them. That fear is my brain telling me to be careful and stay safe.”

“So I was scared because it’d be dangerous if you got hurt?”

“Kind of! It can also be scary to not know what’s happening, right? Because if you don’t know what’s happening, it’s hard to get ready to deal with it. And it can be scary to know that something sad might happen, because it’s hard to feel sad.”

“I don’t like feeling sad,” Charlie says, nodding his understanding.

“Me neither, baby bear. But today I’m not even sad, because you’re here.” Your son’s cheeks turn pink and he hides your face in his chest. Heart swelling with fondness, you cross your arms over his back in an awkward embrace and press a kiss to the top of his head.

“Is it okay if I’m a little sad?” he asks, voice muffled by your hospital gown.

“Of course it is, sweetheart. You gotta feel your feelings. And feelings don’t last forever; they change all the time, right?”

“Right.”

Out of sight, Bob swipes a few tears from his eyes. He’s always proud of Charlie, but he’s proud of you, too–– with three limbs freshly out of working order, you would be well within your rights to be out of sorts, but there you sit, still parenting admirably. Beautifully, even. Your father squeezes Bob’s shoulder and he looks up, almost a little startled. Your father smiles and the two men exchange a nod. 

Your mother steps over to your bed and pets a hand over Charlie’s hair.

“I think me and Grandpa are gonna go home for a little while, honey,” she says to him before looking at you and resting a hand on your shoulder. “Someone gave us a good scare yesterday and I don’t think either of us slept very well. We’re both a little worn out.” Suddenly, she seems to catch herself. “Unless you want us to stick around and––”

You shake your head and reach out an appreciative hand to cover hers.

“Go get some rest, Ma.” She nods.

“We will. But we’ll be back when you come out of surgery. Bobby told us he’d keep us updated.” Too tired to even think that far ahead, you nod. 

“Thanks for looking after Charlie,” you say, tangling your fingertips with hers.

“Well, that’s my pleasure,” she says, pressing a loud kiss to her grandson’s cheek. “And we can figure out next steps, we’ll find someone—“

“Mom,” you say softly, “let's just— can we take things one step at a time for now?” She nods–– the anxiety of it all reads clear on your face.

“You know, you’re right. Let’s get you through surgery first.” You nod, grateful. “We’ll see you soon, then.” Your mother smiles and turns to get her bag. Charlie giggles as his grandfather comes over to playfully jostle his shoulders.

“Be good for your mom and dad, okay kiddo?” Charlie nods eagerly.

“That’s my guy,” your dad says fondly, giving your son a hug before turning his attention to you. “You give ‘em hell in there.”

“What,” you laugh, “in surgery? Dad, it’s just my wrist; I’m gonna be fine.” He shrugs.

“Can’t hurt though, right?” he says lightly, but you can see a glimmer of anxiety in his eyes. He leans down to kiss your cheek and you return the gesture.

“Right,” you affirm, softening. “I love you, Dad. I’m gonna be okay.” Your dad gives a final nod and links arms with your mother as they leave the room. 

It’s so easy to forget that to him— to both your parents— you are still a child. Charlie is still so young, it feels impossible that he’ll ever be as old as you are now. Of course, you still marvel at the fact that he’s as big as he is; that he can walk and talk and do math equations and paint pictures. But it’s easier to manage how much he’s grown because you can still bundle him up in your arms and count on one hand how many birthdays he’s had. Maybe if you were having less of an emotional day, you’d be able to imagine what it’ll be like when he’s grown up, but you can feel tears welling up in your eyes again so you push the thought out of your mind.

“Mommy?” Charlie asks, bringing your attention back into the present.

“Mm?”

“Did Grandpa use a bad word because he’s very stressed?” Laughter sputters out of you before you can help it, and Bob raises an amused eyebrow.

“Yeah, baby,” you say, “I don’t think he was thinking very hard about which words he was choosing. He just meant that he wants my surgery to go well, that’s all.”

“It’s like telling someone to give it their all,” Bob explains, coming to sit down at your bedside again.

“It’s what Daddy does when he’s on a deployment,” you offer, curling your arm into something akin to a flexed muscle, “he gives ‘em heck.”

“And that’s what Momma’s body is gonna do when she’s in surgery. It’s gonna do everything it needs to do to keep her safe while she’s asleep.” Charlie looks between you two, worry creeping back into his features at the mention of the surgery.

“Hey,” you murmur, “I’m going to be okay, Charlie-bear. I promise. Sometimes things can go wrong during a surgery, but the likelihood of anything bad happening is very, very low.” Charlie nods, wide-eyed. “So there isn’t anything to worry about sweetheart. But it’s still okay to be scared, right?”

“Right,” comes his hushed reply. Your heart aches not to be able to soothe his anxiety, but you know there’s no sense in trying to talk him out of it–– especially in the wake of what you’ve been trying to teach him. Still, it seems to you that the rules shouldn’t apply to Charlie, with his delicate soul and enormous heart.

Bob lays a comforting hand on your son’s back and his little form immediately relaxes into the touch. The three of you sit in comfortable silence for a little while, but soon the door creaks open and Jermaine enters with a wheelchair.

“Is this Charlie?” he asks brightly. 

“It is!” you chirp. The boy in question looks up shyly. “Charlie, this is my friend Jermaine. He’s been helping me since I got to the hospital.”

“Your mom is a tough lady,” Jermaine says warmly, squatting to be closer to Charlie’s eye level. “I promise we’re gonna take very good care of her.” Charlie nods.

“Pinkie promise?” he asks, heartbreakingly earnest. Jermaine smiles.

“You got yourself a deal.” He locks his pinkie with Charlie’s and stands up. “I’ve gotta take Mom for a couple of tests before her procedure, and then we’re gonna take her off to surgery. But you’ll get to see her in a few hours when she wakes up, okay champ?” Charlie holds on to you a little tighter and peers up at his dad, who nods encouragingly.

“Okay.”

“Mom is very lucky to have people that care about her so much,” Jermaine says. “You should be proud.” A little divot of determination forms between Charlie’s brows and he nods. Bob starts to stand and Charlie clambers around to give you one last hug.

“I love you Mommy,” he says. You squeeze him as tightly as you can and press a big kiss to his cheek.

“I love you too, baby bear. I’m gonna see you so soon, okay?”

“Okay,” he says, a heartbreaking waver in his voice. You give him another kiss before Bob scoops him up again, and before you know it, Jermaine is wheeling you off into the hospital halls. 

Back in your room, Bob has Charlie wrapped up in a tight embrace.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, baby bear,” he coos, “everything’s gonna be okay.”

[katiexpunk]

28 Floors, Part 3 | Joel Miller x f!reader

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader Rating: 18+, minors DNI, don't make it awkward pls. Word count: 4.5K Series summary: You're a good girl. A senator's daughter who is always there to show your support to your father. What he doesn't know is that his best friend, Joel Miller, is practically the only real reason you show up to events to support him.  Series warnings etc: [NO OUTBREAK/AU] We'll call him dad's best friend Joel from his time in the Army, fairly soft!joel, age difference (28/47), alcohol, sexual tension, slow burn...and eventually smut, like shitttt that's smut. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 - You're already here Part ?? - Maybe some drabbles for these two in the future Read on AO3 Chapter summary: You and Joel share a passionate night together, only to wake up and do it all again. It was all perfect, oh yeah, until your dad figures out you were with Joel all night. Don't worry, though - this story has a happy ending. Chapter warnings: References to food and alcohol, oral (both male and female receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap it up, folks), creampie, praise kink, dirty talk, Soft! Joel, rough!Joel, rough sex...I mean, it's a lot of smut. A/N: Wowowowowow. When I set out to write my first fic, I really didn't think it would get any attention at all. To all of you who have read, reblogged, commented, and encouraged me along the way, thank you - ilysm. While this may be the end of the series for these two, I might still play around with a few drabbles. Thank you for letting me share my thoughts with you! It's been such a fun journey. Onward and upward (get it...elevators) to the next story.

The dimly lit hallway stretches endlessly in front of you. 

A nice seductive touch to the night, you think. 

With his large hand holding onto yours, Joel walks like a man on a mission.

His only goal is to get you tucked away into his room so he can finally have you, all of you. 

The patterned paisley floor swirls under your feet as you get closer and closer to his room. Maybe it was the alcohol, but you’re pretty sure it was the electric charge between you two causing your senses to blend and play tricks on you. 

You both walk fast, eager. 

Just like that, you’re at the door. 

Your breath comes out in ragged pants, and the heat between you two practically shimmers in the air. 

You think you hear a muffled ping in your purse, but you can’t be sure. You’re too focused on Joel. 

Joel, Joel, Joel, your mind thinks on repeat like a broken record, reminding you that you want one thing and one thing only. 

He places one hand on the doorknob and dips the other into his suit jacket pocket to reveal a white keycard. 

The beep the lock emits acts as a go-signal, like the sound of a shotgun at a race, and he’s pulling you through the threshold of the now open door to reveal a warmly lit and inviting space. 

As the door falls shut behind you, he pins you against it, your lips meeting in a clash of urgency. 

Your hands roam freely over his body, and you need more. 

You push off of the door and urge him back into the room, only slightly stumbling over your heels as you do. 

These things have got to go. 

Lips still locked on his, you briefly open your eyes to step out of your heels when you see it – a large ottoman, up against the back wall of the room. 

Suddenly, you’re the one in control. 

With a firm push, you send him sprawling back onto the plush cushions. He hits them with a faint oof. The breadth of him spans wide, as he drapes his arms along the back of the ottoman, waiting with baited breath for what you’ll do next.

His eyes watch your silhouette, a tantalizing vision against the backdrop of the room, as your fingers dance with bold assurance at the hem of your dress.

A smirk curls your lips, and it blows Joel’s pupils open even wider.  

You peel off your dress, and reveal yourself to him – braless, with only a thin scrape of fabric covering your lower half. 

You toss the dress into the air, a forgotten memory. 

You see lust flicker across his face as he watches the fabric pool on the floor. 

At that moment, it’s not just a dress you’ve discarded; it’s all inhibitions, all rules, and all pretenses. 

You walk closer to him, and lower yourself to your knees. 

You place your seemingly tiny palms on his very large thighs and glide them up to meet his belt. You watch his face as you make quick work of unbuckling it.

Pants next, you pull the zipper down with a potent zzzrrrrp and slip them off, flinging them to meet your dress on the floor. 

You pause to palm the length of him under the single piece of fabric left on him, before pulling his boxers down far enough for his cock to finally spring free. 

The length of him slaps against his soft tummy, leaving a little smear of pre-cum in its wake. 

You take his large member in your hand and begin to stroke it slow and rhythmically, admiring it’s size. Joel's head falls back as if to gaze at the ceiling – you’ve barely touched him and already he’s melting like putty.  

You wet your lips, duck down to the base of his shaft, and plant a small kiss at the base of his cock. 

“Don’t play w’me,” he torts. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you say with a wink. 

You hum as you flatten your tongue and lick a long, wet stripe up the underside of his dick and stop at the top with your mouth open wide. 

As you hold the tip of him in your mouth, your tongue darts out to taste the salty heady flavor of his pre-cum. You let the saliva pool and dribble out of your mouth for a moment, and then you finally take him. 

Joel lets out a small grunt as you unhinge your jaw further to open your throat and take more of him. You move up and down, and one of Joel’s hands meets the back of your head, and he grabs a fistful of your hair.  

With his grip on you, he begins to guide your mouth as he fiercely thrusts up. 

Your head bobs up and down, trying to keep up with the pace of him, and tears begin to prickle in your eyes. You can feel your lips swelling. With the tip of his cock reaching the back of your throat, you let out a small gag and he pauses at the hilt. 

“Fuck, baby,” Joel pants, “woulda put this mouth to good use long ago had I known you could do this.” 

His praise melts you like cotton candy on a warm tongue. 

He lets you continue to mouth fuck him just like that, lost in his own pleasure, when you reach up to cradle his balls. 

Ooo, he likes that. 

“Shit, gonna have to stop sweetheart or I’m gonna cum,” Joel huffs. 

You stop. 

You need him – down to the last drop – inside of you tonight.

You’d have to wait to taste him for another time.

Will there be a next time? 

You let the silent wish float away as you rise from the floor, knees cherry red, not much unlike the cherries from your whiskey earlier at the bar. He stands and pulls you up the rest of the way by the undersides of your elbows. 

He yanks your body to his, his wet and pulsing cock between you when suddenly both of his hands are on the underside of your ass and he yanks you up off the floor to straddle his ribs. 

You let out an excited little yelp, not expecting to leave the floor, and wrap both arms around his shoulders. 

Joel walks you across the room to the bed, planting kisses on your chest and breasts that rest so perfectly in his face as he does. 

He stops when the front of his legs meet the edge of the bed, and he releases you, your back hitting the mattress with a small thud. 

Joel crawls on top of you and pauses to momentarily hover over you. 

This is it. 

He’s finally going to fuck you. 

Wrong. 

He looks down between your bodies and begins to follow the path, using his tongue as a trail of bread crumbs back to your mouth all the way down your body, until he finds himself at the foot of the bed on his knees. 

They hurt like hell, but he didn’t give a shit. 

He grabs both of your ankles and pulls you closer to him. 

“Told you I was gonna take my time with ya,” he whispers. 

He plants soft kisses up your leg, your inner thigh, and finally pauses once he reaches your mound. 

His thumbs come up to meet your hip bones. They grip the skimpy piece of fabric, and he slides them down off your legs. 

He takes a small whiff before he throws them in the growing clothes pile. 

You blush, partially out of embarrassment, but by the look on his face it does nothing but stoke the fire within him. 

His tender tongue comes out to lap up your sweetness. 

He makes small licks towards your slick entrance, and he stays on the outskirts of your folds, just barely pushing past them to where you want him to be. 

Always such a fucking tease. 

You buck your hips up to his face, and you’ve made your point. 

He moves back up toward your clit, and begins to drag his tongue over you, working at you slowly, devouring every drop of you, igniting every one of your nerves down there as he does. 

You grab a fistful of his hair, alternating between closing your eyes in sheer delight and looking down at the sight of him between your legs. 

His grip on your thighs doesn’t relent. Neither does yours. 

You cry out his name, but it comes out weak and wet. 

Joel’s lips suck and lap at your clit, as he slowly begins to press one of his fingers inside. 

“mmm, feels so good, more, please,” you say. 

You know he loves his manners. 

One becomes two.

“You’re so tight, baby,” he admires, “Gotta stretch you out, get you ready f’me.” 

Two becomes three. 

Your back naturally comes off the bed in a graceful arch as you feel him move inside you, his fingers gently curled as he scissored in and out, his mouth still on your sensitive nub. 

He has you right where he wants you, on the verge of total release. You’re shaking, a woman drowning in the pleasure coursing through your veins. 

Holy shit. You’ve never orgasmed so much from one man in your life, and certainly not like this.  

A moan slips past your lips, and your mind goes foggy as your whole body stiffens. Joel rides out your orgasm with you and doesn’t stop until you totally soften under him, slightly shaking from overstimulation. 

Joel lets his grip on your thighs fall, as he rises up, smile on his face, beard glistening from your release. 

A devilish grin sweeps across his face. “Taste so sweet,” he compliments, before planting a kiss on your lips. 

His head falls to the side of yours in the crook of your neck, his breath heavy. 

The woody aroma of his cologne catches you once more, and you just can’t hold out anymore. 

“Joel, I need you to fuck me. I need to feel you inside of me, please, I can’t wait anymore,” you beg. 

You’re not one to ask for it so outwardly, not really, but Joel certainly has a special way of making you beg for it. 

“You’ve got me, sweetheart.” 

He takes his heavy cock in hand and notches his weeping tip at your entrance, and begins to push himself inside you. 

He pauses a moment to let you adjust, but not for long, his patience wearing thin – Joel has waited far too long to know what you feel like.

He slowly backs the tip out, and you whine, but before you can say anything, he buries himself in you in one strong push. 

Your face twists at the adjustment. 

“Joel, fuck,” you pant, “so big.” 

Joel loves the compliment.

He begins to fuck you in earnest, cashing in on his promise in the elevator to wreck you. 

“I know, Darlin’,” he pants – “but you’re taking it so good.” 

“Perfect,” he thrusts. 

“Fucking,” he thrusts again. 

“Cunt,” he slams into you this time. 

You swear you see stars.

He slightly pulls back, but not all the way, and flips your right leg over your body to the left, and you’re straddling his lower torso like some sort of sexy pretzel. 

He holds onto your right leg for leverage, as he begins to fuck you deep. 

The sound your bodies make with each thrust is filthy. 

You begin to bury your face into the bicep that rested on the bed, hands reaching for anything in their grasp as he stretches you out. 

He brings his thumb to your clit once more, and you flinch – part pleasure, part pain. 

You’re so fucked out already, but you can tell he isn’t going to let you off easy. 

Still fucking you, his thumb makes slow circles on your swollen clit, bringing you back to full pressure. 

“Fuck,” you cry, unable to finish your sentence before another intense orgasm hits you like a truck. 

Joel slows, “there’s my good girl, being so good, coming all over me, felt so good,” he praises. 

Joel flips you so you’re on your belly, and the he’s yanking you up by the creases of your hips into doggy.

His cock was fiercely hard, pumping in and out of you, just twitching with the need to release. 

“Where do you want me, baby?” he asks. 

“Inside me. I want you to come inside me. I want to feel all of you. I’m on the pill. Please.” 

You and your begging tonight. 

You don’t have to do much convincing. 

A few quick more thrusts, and Joel is coming hard and fast, your pussy milking him of everything he’s got.

He collapses onto you, breath and body tense, before you both collapse onto the bed. 

A long moment of comfortable silence passes, and he pulls out of you and rolls to his side. 

He lifts his head to scan your face. 

You’re a wreck. 

He’s a wreck. 

But you both look at each other like you’ve just seen the sunset for the first time. 

Your heavy limbs and sleepy eyes begin to melt into the mattress, your body warm and gooey from the buzz of the night. 

Joel collapses once more beside you, and his heavy arm drapes around your waist. He pulls you into his side and kisses your temple. 

Without saying anything, you both let your eyelids fall, the events of the night catching up with you. 

You both drift peacefully into sleep, only to find each other again in your dreams. 

** 

As dawn breaks, the first light of day slithers through the crack in the hotel's heavy curtains, refusing to acknowledge any societal norms of 'do not disturb'. 

You flutter your eyelids open to a mess of tangled sheets and scattered clothing, a testament to a night lived passionately and unapologetically, on your own terms. 

You stare at the ceiling, reminiscing about last night – you really fucked Joel Miller. 

God, his cock. 

You’re wet again just thinking about him.

You roll onto your side to face Joel and interlace both of your palms like a pillow under your cheek. 

Joel’s still deep in slumber, giving you a quiet moment to soak in and admire how beautiful he truly is – his aquiline nose, his soft lips, his sun-kissed skin, the little freckles on his neck and chest. 

The butterflies are back. 

Your eyes dance over him, taking in the visuals of the crisp white sheets draped over his chiseled features, revealing the truly physical nature of his job. 

Ugh, he’s so hot. 

Just the sight of him once again causes the chorus of electric tingles to erupt in your belly, you feel a familiar tug at your navel. 

You reach out to place your palm on his chest, and he emits a low grumble and stirs.

His heavy eyelids open and he notices you looking at - okay, eye fucking - him. 

“Mornin’ beautiful,” he says with a smile, “See something you like?”

Before you can even clock what he’s doing, he’s got your entire body pulled onto his – chest to chest, face-to-face, both still naked from the night before. 

“Yeah…you could say that,” you say as you greet his lips with your own. 

That gentle peck morphs into something wild and fervent. 

Your lips move in sync, parting and meeting in a rhythm that's as old as time and yet, so uniquely yours and Joel’s.

His massive cock throbs under you. 

Looks like you aren’t the only one with a need this morning. 

His hands move down to grip your hips, and he begins to grind himself against you. 

“mmm, baby – I need you,” he growls into your shoulder. “Need to feel this tight pussy wrapped around me.” 

God, you could hear him say that until the end of time and never tire of it. 

You happily oblige his request. 

You adjust your legs to straddle him and lift yourself up onto your knees as he lines himself up into your entrance. You sink down onto his length, your eyes falling shut as you do. 

He’s so big. You pause to give yourself a moment to adjust, and then you find yourself pacing on him, expertly rolling your hips against his. 

His hands hold you and he assists your rolls back and forth as you grind your clit against the coarse black hair surrounding his dick, teasing yourself with each move. 

Mmm, that feels good. 

Your slick makes his member so easy to roll up and down on, your tight walls squeezing and stroking him.

Joel watches you bounce on his cock, your breasts moving fluidly with the motion as one of his palms leaves your hips to grasp it. The added sensation of him playing with your nipple is intense. 

You tilt your head back and let out a moan. 

“Fuck,” Joel says, “Not gonna last much longer if you keep makin’ sweet sounds like that, sweetheart.” 

Joel’s hand sweeps down from your breast, over the softness of your stomach. How is every touch from him so electrifying? 

His fingers find your clit in the space between your sticky bodies. 

As you ride him, the pressure of his fingers on your clit relentless, you feel the heat rise in your body. Your stomach begins to tense and you can feel your own orgasm not far off. 

“Fuckkkkkk, Joel. I’m gonna co..” you trail off, and your vision goes white. You ride the wave of pleasure that extends from your head to your toes. 

Hearing – no, feeling – your orgasm sends Joel over the edge. 

As your walls pulse around him, his hands find a bruising grip on your ass. He begins to thrust hard and deep all the way to the edge of your cunt. 

Your name leaves his mouth in a deep growl, as he finally lets his thick, milky release paint your cervix. 

You fall forward, your body limp and sore, as he twitchs under you. Your combined heavy breaths begin to slow. 

You pull off of him, sad to no longer have the stretch of him, but satisfied to still have part of him inside you.

As you both lay there in blissful silence, a ping from your phone draws you back to reality. 

You lazily roll over and grab your phone from the nightstand. 

It’s a text from your dad. 

You hastily sit up, and a little rush of seed spills out onto the pristine white sheets beneath you. 

“Good morning — just checking in to make sure you’re safe. Tommy mentioned you never called for a ride home last night. Congressmen Allen’s aid also told me she saw you get into an elevator with Joel around midnight?” 

Shit.

Joel’s brows furrow as he looks at you, “What is it, Darlin’?” 

Words fail you, so you pass the phone to let him read the message for himself. 

It’s no use, he can’t read the screen without his reading glasses. 

Why is that so hot?

As he reaches for the nightstand to grab them, his phone lights up and emits a beep. 

He freezes momentarily, hand pausing right over the device. He takes a deep breath, grabs his glasses, then snags the phone. He unlocks it to find a text, also from your dad. His best friend. 

“Were you with my daughter last night?” 

Fuck.

Fuck. 

FUCK.

Joel whips back to face you, and your wide eyes lock in a death grip.

The air is thick with tension as a silent “what the hell do we do!?” fills the room. 

You sit there, facing each other, your faces a mirror of the other’s emotions.

But then, out of nowhere, you break out into laughter, letting a little snort go as you do. 

Yeah, a good old-fashioned, unsexy snort. 

It hangs in the air for a nanosecond, as does Joel’s confusion about your response. 

Then you both explode into laughter. 

You clutch your stomach, and tears stream down your face, and further little spurts of cum fall from your folds. 

All that tension? Gone. 

Because sometimes, life’s too short to take everything so seriously. 

Sure, Joel was your dad’s best friend, but he was also a good man.

You know that.

Your dad sure as hell knows that.

And even Joel knows that, despite what he might think sometimes. 

It’s not like you were a child, for fucks sake. 

You are a grown woman, with a life, a job, and responsibilities. 

You’re certainly old enough to know that good men are hard to come by in this city. 

Without saying a word, Joel seemed to understand that you didn’t really care if your dad knew. 

He didn’t care, either. Not really. 

A final little breathless chuckle leaves your lungs, and the joint laughter dissipates and is replaced with calm.

Joel looks at you, the hungry and concerned eyes have gone, only to be replaced by something warmer. 

With the morning sun shining through, you catch a different shade of amber you hadn’t noticed before. 

He pushes a strand of hair out of your face and tucks it gently behind your ear, leaving his large palm on your cheek. His thumb meets your chin, and he pulls you in for a kiss.

It was tender. Soft. 

No words were said, but it was in that moment that Joel knew that if he really were a smart man, he’d never let you go.

You’ll come clean to your dad. 

You know him – it’ll be okay. 

But first, you both need a shower. 

** 

For the first time, you don’t find yourself grumbling in the mirror as you get ready for another event. 

Sure, there would still be the mind-numbing conversation, that you could count on. 

But there would also be food, booze…and Joel. 

You dawn a pretty pink dress, conveniently forget your underwear, and slip into your heels.

As you’re applying the finishing touches to your makeup, you look in the mirror and a large figure is perched up against your doorframe. 

God, he looks good in a suit. 

“You know, I meant what I said on the elevator – your body is gonna be the death of me. Look at you," the words come out sweet like honey.

You walk towards him, taking his large hand in yours. You pause there to feel the thickness of his fingers and rub the pads of your fingers over the rough calluses. 

You drag his hand slowly up the top of your thigh, letting the dress gently bunch underneath his touch to reveal your smooth skin. When you reach the top, you hold him there and let him discover that you’re pleasantly wearing nothing underneath. 

You feel him tense and the tips of his fingers barely graze where you so desperately want him to be.

But that would have to wait. 

“Oh Joel,” you coo seductively, “I’m just getting started with you.” You say with a wink.

This time your words linger in his ears. A threat. A promise. A need. 

Joel moans, and palms his growing length to adjust. 

You both make a point to leave the apartment quickly, knowing if you stayed too long you’d both lose your resolve to attend the event.

** 

You arrive, and interlace your palm over Joel’s bicep as he guides you through the threshold of the space. 

You catch a few wandering, judgemental glances. You catch wind of hushed whispers as you begin to mingle.

Isn’t that the senator's daughter? Isn’t that his best friend? 

You don’t care. This feels natural. 

Just you and Joel. 

You both work the crowd as you normally do, mingling through a series of separate and boring conversations. 

Halfway through the night, your eyes lock across the room and Joel gives you that nod. 

You know it’s not for just a drink this time. 

Joel slips into the hallway.

You graciously excuse yourself from the dull conversation and set your champagne glass on an empty passed tray as you glide across the ballroom floor to follow him. 

There he stands, palms interlaced behind his back. 

Really pushing the fabric of that suit jacket to the limit, isn’t he? You think to yourself, already noticing a familiar stickiness between your thighs. 

Fuck. 

Joel's eyes are fixed on the elevator indicator on the wall in front of him as he patiently waits for you. 

His broad frame turns as he hears your familiar steps come closer, and his big brown eyes catch yours in a silent hello. 

Yeah. If looks could kill. 

You swallow and gently bite your bottom lip. 

The taste of the future, laced with sweet, raw, passionate love, is deliciously intoxicating. 

The corners of your lips lift in a smile and a familiar blush returns to your cheeks as you walk closer to him, knowing what’s to come. 

A soft bing echos through the lobby and the metal doors slowly open. 

People shuffle off, and the robotic elevator voice reverbs through the air. 

“In you go, sweetheart,” Joel says as he ushers you into the lift, his large palm once again finding its favorite resting spot on the small of your back.  

You step into the small box and wait for others to join. 

As luck would have it, once again, none do. 

You glance up at Joel’s face and see a familiar need. That hunger. Pupils blown. Jaw tense.

“My turn,” falls from your lips. 

By the time the elevator doors come to a full close, you’re already on your knees, ready to worship at the altar of the your gorgeous man. 

This time, Joel Miller doesn’t just have 28 Floors with you. 

He has forever. 

X X X

END

Back to Part 1 or Part 2

[campbyler]

i theoretically have so many deranged and wonderful things to say about 9.1 but i will try to be Concise and Normal:

1. i have synesthesia and ohhh boy did my weird little brain go nuts over another thea wiseatom chapter. picture the strawberry and cheese scene in ratatouille except instead of strawberry and cheese it’s the most delectable and exquisite ice cream.

2. knowing (and remembering !!) the Little Things about someone has got to be one of the best ways of expressing love to exist. i was physically giggling and kicking my feet over how sweet and thoughtful they are with each other.

3. i feel like i’m right there in the trenches with will my goodness. every little fluctuation of mike’s behavior or the vibe/emotions between them had my pacing the floor and tearing my hair out. i know we’ve established that neither of them are the most reliable of narrators but when it comes to will’s internal monologue, perception of events, etc. oh boy do i fall for it.

there are so many aspects of their relationship to tackle in this universe and i’m sure this goes without saying but the emotional “world-building” seems just as vast as the physical/geographical. this is an absolute behemoth of a fic and i don’t just mean because of its word count. will never not be grateful for the work that all of you have put in for this and for sharing it with us.

that was neither Concise nor was it Normal but i hope the rest of this year and the start of the next treats you well, can’t wait for 9.2 :)

ohhh i will also try to be so concise and normal and respond on each point even though this ask made me feel anything but Concise and Normal:

i am printing out this point and taping it to my wall. that is possibly theee biggest compliment i have ever received (i have never seen ratatouille all the way through -- i fell asleep watching it for the first time a few weeks ago bc i was so eepy and sleepy, but this made me inspired to finish the rest)

that's so real and also true. it's funny, because when i originally wrote the dialogue out, i forgot to include that bit about the callback to follow the sparks -- and then suni watched me write it in and was giggling and twirling her hair at the reference to her fic lol. but i agree that it is SOOOOO. SOOOOOOOOOOO. yeag .

i'm so glad that will being very analytical of mike's every move came across well because i was worried his behavior would read erratic and unrealistic. sending you and will both well wishes of getting out of the trenches soon <3

also printing out this last part and framing it even because THANK YOOOOOU SOOOO MUCHHHHHH. i think we are finally in the part of the fic where it really feels like everything is paying off, and i am beyond ecstatic that we are not the only ones who feel that way. thank you for your almost concise and normal comment!! feel free to make them unhinged in the future!! hope you had a happy holidays and that chapter 9.2 doesn't disappoint 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

Pulling on the Strings of Destiny: Act 2 Chapter 19

Summary: Four days pass for Japan, and everyone is on edge.  They wonder, and wait. What will happen next for them? Will Midoriya  keep rising? What sort of things would she face. They all turned towards  the screens, wondering. None more so then the future class 1-A, more so  as they get a glimpse into their first sports festival, first  internship and their final exams. Watch as Midoriya’s future continues  to unfold, as she learns more about her family, society and herself.

Warnings: References to underage pregnancy and the assualt of a minor. References to child harm. Toga Himiko to, she is her own warning.

On Ao3

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

 The break right after everything was very loud, with people talking about what they had just witnessed occurring. They were in awe at the fight between Midoriya and Todoroki, everyone talking about how they’d looked.

 “That sort of power!” An office worker named Kanjo Nioi said, his arms raised as his nose sniffed the air. Being able to smell emotions was difficult at the best of times, but he loved it. It helped cue him in about the thoughts of others.

 “They’re going to go far,” his cubicle neighbour agreed. Koichi Hotaru leaned back in his chair. “They also need to work on damage control as suggested.”

 “Eh, heroes,” Nioi said. “They always make messes.”

 “But that amount? If both went all out, nothing would be left,” argued Koichi.

 “Okay, point, but it’s gotten to the point where, frankly, as long as no bodies are lying around, do we care about the damage?” Nioi asked. “I mean, if it isn’t our places that got trashed, I mean.”

 “Well, no, but dude, I don’t want more property damage,” Koichi sighed. “Society needs to stop putting so much focus on the flashy side of heroics. We don’t need more property damage.”

 “...I guess. Wish we had more fights like that, though, that was awesome.”

 “Just watch this; I have a feeling things are going to get messy,” Koichi muttered. “Especially with the bomb kid.”

 “Oh yeah, man, that kid is a bit nuts. I thought he was a cool guy after the USJ, but this? How can you just attack someone because they beat you? And claim it’s cheating?” Nioi shook his head. “Mental.”

 Many others agreed with that statement, including Mitsuki as she pinched her nose. Katsuki responded, after his shock, with anger at the idea he would be getting a third strike.

 “He cheated!” Katsuki screamed. “It wasn’t a fair fight if he-”

 “Is it a fair fight when you have explosions for hands, and he doesn’t?” Masaru’s voice asked. He had come up to his son’s room to listen in and wasn’t pleased. “Is it fair you have training we paid for so you can use your Quirk effectively? Is it fair that you are stronger and faster than a lot of kids?”

 “It’s not the same!” Katsuki insisted.

 “How isn’t it, Katsuki, tell me? Because he didn’t fight? He did. He fought the same way you do, with his Quirk. You just hate it because it doesn’t match your worldview, and you lost. If this is your answer to the idea someone can be better than you, and we already know you apparently threw fits about not being top in English, how can we trust you not to be the next Endeavour?!” Masaru demanded of his son. Katsuki stared at his father in shock, turning to his mother, who shook her head.

 “Don’t look at me, I can’t trust you.” Mitsuki told Katsuki. “More so since your thoughts on Izumi sure show you would only be after her since she can have strong kids. How is that different?”

 “I’m not after her just because of that!” Katsuki shouted.

 “Wait, you’re still interested?” Mitsuki realized, staring at her son. “Are you serious?” Katsuki just glared back. Masaru sighed.

 “So we can’t trust you not to become the next Endeavour,” Masaru said. Katsuki looked to his father in dismay.

 How could he think that? He wasn’t Endeavour who beat his wife and kids! He was fucking Bakugou Katsuki, the next number one hero! He was the best! He wasn’t some loser so obsessed with winning he’d fuck everyone else over!

 (Katsuki ignored that Shinsou did the same as he did, trying his best with what he had. He ignored the fact that he was very much in the wrong. It was easier to focus only on his anger and the feeling of betrayal his father gave him.)

 Katsuki was the best of the best. The future number one hero, the strongest hero of all time. He did not lose, not to some Eyebags fucking idiot who couldn't get into the hero course! Katsuki was not the next Endeavour; he had a reason to be so angry! The fucker cheated! He cheated! It wasn't a fair fight. Hell, it wasn't a fight at all.

 “Being a hero is about beating villains!” Katsuki shouted at his parents angrily. “It's not fucking fair!”

 “He won fair and square; you just don't want to admit it, Katsuki.” Mitsuki sighed, not wanting the same argument again right after finishing the first one. Masaru shook his head, deciding to go a different way.

 “Not to mention you attempted to attack a fellow student outside of a match.” he frowned. “If we’re lucky, it'll just be a strike. You could be expelled for that.”

 “What?!” Katsuki stared at his father in shock, unable to believe it. No, no, that wasn't… no!

 They wouldn't! He was Bakugou Katsuki, future number one! They wouldn't do that! He knew they wouldn't!

 He'd be apologized to when Nezu saw the truth. After all, the fucker cheated! Okay, maybe the attack was an issue, but he was angry! It was Katsuki’s right to put Eyebags in his place!

 … okay maybe not. Thinking about it, the whole thing was bad to do on TV. He kind of got why they were mad about the PR issue. And maybe the physical stuff.

 The future would show Katsuki in the right, though. This wasn't the end. It couldn't be the end; he knew he was right. He had to be. He'd been right about Auntie, after all.

 He would prove himself. He would be shown with Nezu agreeing that Eyebags cheated. He would be on top. He would! He was destined to be the best of the best!

 He would not fail that. He’d show them all, and later on, he would get Deku. It was the perfect hero story.

-0-

 Entering the school, Shouta was alerted to something on his phone, frowning as he looked at it. “Apparently, Fatgum saved a kid who ran off from an abusive situation and got inspired by Limitless.” he nodded to Izumi, who flushed.

 Was she already inspiring people? Wow.

 “Aww sounds cute,” Hizashi said, grinning at his husband. “Let’s go meet the kid then!”

 “Might help, kid’s nervous,” Shouta said. Izumi followed the adults as Tomoe buried her head into Izumi’s neck, obviously tired of everything.

 The walk to the principal’s office felt long for some reason, and Izumi grew more nervous with each step. Would the girl like her? Was this her first fan? What was it?

 Reaching the office, the door opened instantly to reveal Nezu serving tea to Fatgum and Amajiki while a little girl with silver hair ate a cookie. The door opening had startled the child, causing her to jump up and turn. Her eyes widened.

 “Limitless!” the girl said in awe, her eyes shining. Izumi smiled back as her as Tomoe lifted her head upon hearing a child. The girls stared at each other before Tomoe pointed at the girl.

 “Pretty!” she smiled, and the girl blushed.

 “You're pretty too!” the girl exclaimed, and Tomoe beamed happily.

 Izumi decided then and there that she liked this child.

 “I Tom-o!” Tomoe introduced herself.

 “I'm Eri.” the girl said.

 “Eri!” Tomoe giggled. She yawned, blinking. She didn't want to sleep, but she was so tired. She wanted to know Eri better cause she was beautiful, and her horn was so cool, as was the girl's shimmering hair. She really liked it!

 “I’ll be here if you need to nap!” Eri said nervously. Tomoe nodded and rested her head back down. Mama would make sure Eri stayed around; she liked the girl.

 “It's nice to meet you, Eri,” Izumi told the child, who blushed, looking down. “I hear you escaped a bad man.”

 “Like Limitless,” Eri whispered. Izumi smiled, nodding.

 “Yeah, like me,” she said.

 The adults in the room watched as Izumi gently spoke to Eri, eventually sitting beside her on a chair with Tomoe dozing away. Shouta looked at Hizashi, who grinned.

 They would have to figure out where Eri could go now. Their apartment wasn't that big.

 Meanwhile, Eri was trying not to panic. This was Limitless and Tomoe! They were so nice! Limitless was smiling at her and talking to her and…

 Eri didn’t know how to react. It felt so nice and made her feel warm, like the tea that Mr. Nezu had given her. It wasn’t like the tea Overhaul had at his place, bitter and tasting a bit weird. It was delicious, and Mr. Nezu said it was apple cinnamon tea, which Eri was so shocked about. Apples could be tea?

 Limitless gave her the same warm feeling. A buzzy thing that made her feel safe. Limitless would be able to save her and be there for her. Eri just knew it.

 (She was worried about the two men with Limitless, but they seemed nice on the screen. Maybe they would be nice to Eri, too? She liked them… perhaps they would.)

 “So, Eri, can you tell us more about where you were?” Nezu asked the girl. Eri winced, deflating a bit, but she glanced at Izumi, making the girl lift her head.

 “Yes. His name is Overhaul. He says… he says my Quirk is a curse,” the little girl told the principal. “He… he wants to use me to make other Quirks go away.” The girl swallowed. “Like I made Daddy go away.”

 “What happened?” Izumi asked the child. “With your Daddy.”

 “He… my horn was glowing, and he grabbed me cause I was scared, but he started shrinking until he was my size and then smaller and…” Eri burst into tears, unable to continue as she shook her head. “Daddy…” Izumi looked panicked, glancing at Tomoe in her arms, but Hizashi stepped in. He knelt before Eri, making a soft whistling noise that distracted the child.

 “Hey, focus on me,” he said gently. “It’s okay.”

 “Daddy-“

 “It’s okay, Eri. Accidents happen. I deafened my Mother,” Hizashi said gently. “I know other people who hurt others badly with their Quirks to when they first activated, including killing them. You’re a child, Eri. It wasn’t your fault.”

 “Mommy told me it was. She left me with Grandpa and Overhaul,” Eri whispered.

 “It wasn’t your fault,” Hizashi repeated. Eri began crying again, putting her cup down and reaching out to Hizashi, who didn’t hesitate to hug her. Shouta hid his smile in his scarf.

 Hizashi was always good with child victims.

 “Overhaul is part of that Yakuza group Nighteye is looking into,” Fatgum said lowly. “I think he’s the leader after the old one just happened to end up in a coma,” he looked at Nezu after the last line. The stoat grinned in response. He’d do his hacking later, but he would figure out what exactly happened.

 “Mirio umm…” Amajiki squeaked, coughing before pressing on. “Mirio said he’d heard that they were dealing with Trigger. Not Quirk suppressants…”

 “It’s temporal,” Izumi said out of nowhere. She was squinting at Eri, who was finishing her crying into Hizashi’s arms. “Your Quirk Eri, it’s temporal.”

 “Huh?” Eri asked.

 “You said he got small? You… deaged him.” Izumi nodded slowly, her eyes narrowing in thought. “Making someone smaller isn’t the same as fading someone out of a plane of existence or that. Plus, if he was using you… oh umm…” she coughed, shaking her head. “It’s a lot of info and grown-up kiddo. You wanna hear it?” Eri bit her lip before shrugging.

 “I overheard a lot of stuff to grown-up some maids said,” Eri said. “Like how Overhaul has a Quirkless kink? He likes you a lot, and the others thought it bad touch creepy? Rappa said that. And said he wasn’t sure if he wanted to fucking follow a fucking rapist.” Eri frowned. “What does that mean?”

 Izumi’s face had gone pale. She stared at Eri in horror before she swallowed, shaking her head. “A rapist is what Yamanaka was to me, how he hurt me. And the rest is adult stuff I do not want to talk about with you.” She admitted.

 “Okay. What does temporal mean?” Eri asked, eager to avoid thinking of Overhaul as she stayed in Hizashi’s arms.

 “It means time based… ish? I don’t know the actual definition, but it’s related to time. I think you reverse time on things which…” Izumi hesitated.

 The pro-heroes knew what she would say, though. That was big. That sort of Quirk was incredibly rare; add in with the fact that it worked on people? If Eri could control it, there wasn’t a doubt the child would become an incredible healer if she chose to. But there were the dangers.

 Trafficking. Quirk marriage proposals. Forced recruitment into gangs or even by the Commission if they chose.

 Hizashi glanced up at Shouta, who nodded. They had even more reason to take Eri in then and the ability to protect her if things went to hell. And they would protect her. She was so young, and having this on her shoulders…

 They would protect her.

 “I like time,” Eri said softly. “I… Overhaul doesn’t care what I watch, but he hates new stuff, so it’s all old stuff like Doctor Who…”

 “Oh!” Izumi smiled. “I watch the old episodes too.” It was the only show that still had original episodes that were findable. The joke was that the Doctor had come to make it happen, and Izumi half hoped it was true. “The new seasons are good too.” There was no focus on Quirks; rather, the Doctor was the star without a Quirk, though given he was an alien, the debates from the fandom got loud.

 “I like the Lady Doctor, but I like others too,” Eri said.

 “Ooh, the original female Doctor? She’s cool. They had a recent female play the role,” Izumi said to Eri, who smiled happily up at Izumi.

 “I’ve always enjoyed the Tenth,” Hizashi said, looking at Shouta, who sighed.

 “I like the Thirtieth.”

 “You just like that 'cause they have a talking cat in the show.” Hizashi accused.

 “And?” the group laughed, with Fatgum quietly reporting things to Nezu and the others debating over the old show. Eventually though, Izumi ended up speaking with Fatgum about possibilities for Overhaul, the man deciding after seeing Izumi theorize about Eri’s Quirk (with no proof yet they would need to double check themselves) while Eri spoke with the adults.

Nezu sipped his tea as he watched Shouta and Hizashi coax Eri into talking to them. Good, it would be best for them to get Eri to trust them as soon as possible, given that Nezu would pull more strings to give them custody. How the child described her Quirk was worrying. Not even just the worries raised by Izumi’s hypothesis. But saying it was called a curse.

 A curse for what was most likely a temporal Quirk? Preposterous! Ridiculous and outright vile for this Overhaul to do that. Not to mention how Eri mentioned one of his men being concerned about how the villain spoke of Izumi.

 A villain who said concerning things about a young teenager while said villain was obsessed with Quirks? Nezu felt his fur bristle and his jaw want to bite.

 He watched as the little family began forming, with the adults as Eri’s parents. Good, young Izumi had enough with Tomoe as her child; Eri would be just another burden, even if Izumi refused to admit it. Perhaps if Tomoe was not around, Nezu would let it be, but… well, Nezu wanted all his students to succeed. Adding another child for Izumi to raise would only lead to more pressure she did not need as the future number one.

 Which reminded him. Bakugou, Monoma and Shinsou. He already okayed the idea of Shinsou being given a place in the hero course as long as he put in effort now, similar to the other members. Monoma would be put into 1A now instead of 1B, and Nezu would watch how Kendo grew on screens. But Bakugou…

 His future self would hold on for as long as he could but with an attack on public television for such a reason… Nezu would face some pressures. Another strike would be waiting for the boy and a suitable punishment. Usually, a third strike resulted in suspension, but given it would be his internship week… Nezu figured his future self would pick the boy’s mentor. It would most likely be one of his teachers who would keep him out of sight. He was already on the protocol which would protect him and UA from the nastier media demanding a reason why the boy was not expelled in a second. It would also be an issue with people demanding a reason why Bakugou had been allowed to participate and why he was on the flag policy… ugh, the thoughts and PR concerns were endless there.

 Nezu sighed, shaking his head. He wanted all his students to succeed. He would never allow this version of Bakugou into his school. The boy had already tried to assault a random civilian, so they couldn’t anyway, but Nezu could somewhat hope the boy would do better in the future. Even if this version would never be his student… he still wanted the future version to shine. If not, if they saw the boy removed from his school… well, he would accept it. Perhaps he would go to Second Chance and do better. He could hope.

-0-

 “How can you think about talking to them again?” Tenya asked Tensei over the phone, anger evident in his tone.

 “Tenya, there is a lot you don’t know about my relationship with ID, and one of them is how we broke up,” Tensei warned.

 “You broke up because they left, and they instantly found a new partner!” Tenya shouted. “I saw you crying all the time, Tensei. I-”

 “They found a new partner so fast to hurt me, yes, but I hurt them first by cheating on them!” Tensei snapped. Silence answered him. “I got drunk and stupid. I was angry they were leaving. We hadn’t broken up yet as I was trying to convince them that we could still do long-distance or something. A woman walked up to me, hit on me and then… I slept with her. I cheated on Info Dropper, and they found out because they know everything. It was a nasty breakup, and I regret what I did. They hurt me just as bad with their insults and name-calling, instantly moving on to a new person, knowing it would hurt. But you can’t just claim I was the only one hurt Tenya.” Tensei said softly.

 “I… I have to go.” Tenya hung up, and Tensei closed his eyes. Shit. His parents made noises about letting them calm down before hanging up. Good, Tensei didn’t… well, he didn’t want to remember exactly what happened with ID right then. Too bad he was going to.

 “Wow,” Native said. “Never knew that’s why you broke up.” His voice didn’t hold judgment. Some disappointment, but no anger or him judging Tensei’s choices. And he didn’t hit him like Nemuri did when she found out. Or refuse to speak to him for a month like Hizashi or give him looks like Shouta. Maybe because it was years ago, and Tensei regretted it.

 (He really did.)

 “I fucked up. Bad with that,” Tensei sighed. “Then ID went off and met Sara,” he snapped out the name, thinking of the villain who’d betrayed ID. Sara had seemed nice enough, a Quirkless woman who was sweet and thoughtful. Who loved ID fiercely and never shied away from Squirt’s Quirk. Then she’d shown her true colours.

 (It was one of the last times Tensei saw ID. The funeral of their parents dressed all in black with their brother Squirt beside them. ID blamed themself, hating how their choice of partners led to this. Tensei wished he could have done something to ease their burdens.)

 “And they got fucked over again,” Native said. “I was part of the task force taking down that organization,” Native explained to Tensei. “I saw what Sara did to Squirt. No wonder he went mute after that.”

 “He’s a good guy, didn’t deserve the bullshit in his life.” Tensei sighed. “Born with a puppeteer Quirk, voice-activated… huh, think they’re related to Shinsou?”

 “It’s ID; I wouldn’t be surprised if they said they were All Might’s nibling.” Native snorted. “I’d believe it, too.”

 “They convinced us Nezu was their father for our entire UA career. They would.” Tensei laughed before he sighed. “The cheating wasn’t even worth it.”

 “Not a fun time?” Native asked.

 “She was a fangirl in the rabid, oh I can see us having a million babies and running off into the sunset with all the money you make way,” Tensei said. “I think she works for the Commission now.”

 “Ick, that sucks.” Native sighed. The two stood there a little longer. “So I know you being hurt by Stain sucks, but what about the sports festival so far?”

 “I am immensely proud of my little brother, and also, the crush he is totally developing on Midoriya is both cute and a little sad,” Tensei said. “He won’t do anything because she’ll be uncomfortable, and nothing will happen unless she realizes she has feelings for him.”

 “You think she has feelings for him?” Native asked in surprise.

 “Eh, not yet. But I think it'll be him or Uraraka she’ll fall for. She bonded with them quickly,” Tensei shrugged. “Plus, I think she needs someone who doesn't have too much baggage on their mind.”

 “I can see it,” Native allowed. Tensei laughed as at UA, Tenya stared at his phone.

 His brother… cheated? His brother didn't… His what…

 It felt like a hundred thoughts were occurring in his mind at once, with none actually clicking.

 Tensei cheated.

 Info Dropper got a girlfriend barely a month after the breakup.

 Tensei slept with someone else while in a relationship.

 Info Dropper broke Tensei’s heart.

 Tensei betrayed his partner.

 Tenya felt his breath quicken as he tried to think. No, this couldn't be happening. It had to be fake. It was a lie; there had to be a different explanation-

 “Tenya!” a feminine voice said. “Tenya, it’s Nemuri. Breath with me, kid.” dramatically loud breaths echoed around him, letting him breathe with his teacher even as his mind spiralled.

 “Tensei cheated,” Tenya breathed out.

 “He told you,” Midnight sighed. “We’re going to step outside for a bit, okay, kid?” Tenya followed her out of the common room, moving so they would sit outside in the grass. She didn't speak, letting Tenya go first.

 “I don't understand,” Tenya said after a moment. “Why… why would he…”

 “Tensei was feeling betrayed and lonely. That's what he told us, and it's bullshit,” Nemuri said. “He made the choice to sleep with someone else. He was drunk, but he still did it.”

 “I… he's better than this!” Tenya said angrily.

 “He is now. But he was a very angry young adult,” Nemuri said wisely. “He was hurt ID wanted to join the Court and angry that they didn't want him to follow them. ID was angry he didn't understand how much it meant for them to be offered the position and that he didn't understand they needed to be able to spread their wings as it was.” Nemuri sighed. “Frankly, I thought they'd break up anyway, even without the offer. ID is aggressively independent, and Tensei has his family. I think he had ideas of ID using his agency as a paper agency to work from and using the prestige of the Iida family.”

 “Paper agency?” Tenya asked.

 “Underground term. Paper agencies are where underground heroes can join up and have a fallback if needed. ID would never go for it even then, but I think Tensei hoped. Said hope was dashed, though, making him bitter. Hence why I thought they would break up anyway, since ID would never choose to go to work at the agency. Wanted to make their own name as a hero and not just the partner of a legacy.” Midnight sighed. “It happens a lot, kiddo. You’ve heard stories, I assume?”

 Tenya nodded, thinking of the stories he’d heard from eavesdropping on his family. Young heroes who rose quickly were called gold diggers for marrying or dating legacy heroes; their success was always attributed to their partners and not themselves. Legacy heroes using their influence to keep partners with them or control them. Info Dropper would have worried about the rumours. Hell, Tensei actually dated a hero who was like that, grasping for influence, and he hated it.

 (Tenya remembered how happy Tensei was with ID and how broken his brother had been.

 Did Squirt remember the same? Tenya dimly remembered the older man, the younger brother of ID. But he wondered if Squirt hated Tensei the same way Tenya hated ID before.)

  “He made a bad choice. And he hates himself for it, even though I know ID has forgiven him.”

 “They forgave him?!” Tenya asked in bafflement. “How?!” cheating was horrible, disgusting. How could ID forgive Tensei? He was Tenya’s brother, but he couldn't bear the thought of seeing him so soon, not after learning how badly he had betrayed his partner.

 “ID went through a worse hell with Sara. I don't know if you remember this, but Sara murdered ID’s parents.” Midnight said bluntly. Tenya looked at his brother’s friend in horror, mouth open in shock. “Plus, ID fucked up too. They never told Tensei about the offer; he found out through a third party. Never hide that kind of stuff from your partner. I'm aromantic, and I know that.” Midnight shrugged. “The two worked through it even if they aren't dating right now.”

 “… they'll get back together,” Tenya sighed. He did not know how to handle that. For years he hated ID, seeing them as the person who broke his brother’s heart. He understood why no one told him the whole story, but it still threw him off. It felt like something broke when he learned that.

 How could he look at his brother the same?

-0-

  Hitoshi’s dad had shown up at the school. Hoshi waved at the principal, not moved by the man’s simpering about honour or whatever the slime ball wanted to discuss. The man only wanted to make himself look good by having Recovery Girl’s grandson at his school.

 “Where are we going?” Hitoshi asked his father.

 “To our place. Your grandma texted saying she’s fairly certain Nezu will offer you a place, but given you need more time to get in shape, it’ll be conditional as long as you can hold up on working out.” Hoshi told his son.

 “I can do that,” Hitoshi grinned. “I can’t believe I beat that bastard.”

 “You did good,” Hoshi told him. He reached out to ruffle his son’s hair, making Hitoshi whine playfully. “And you get to fight a cute girl next.”

 “Oh, yeah, no. She’s gonna kick my ass.” Hitoshi said wisely. “I’ll take the hits.”

 “Not denying she’s cute?”

 “I think she’s not ready for any sort of relationship right now, and I’d let her approach me,” Hitoshi said.

 “Smart, though she may never approach you even if she was interested.” Hoshi hummed. “Though that’s in the future.”

 “Where I’m a hero,” Hitoshi said in quiet awe. His father chuckled, happy his son’s dreams were being realized.

-0-

 He used his fire.

 Shouto didn’t know how to feel about that, the knowledge he chose to unleash those flames. But he’d done it because the fire was his own. Not Endeavour’s. Midoriya reminded him of that. The dual-haired teen focused on his school work, mimicking the more studious members of his future class other than Iida, who had an unpleasant call with his brother.

 Shouto used his fire and lost the rock-paper-scissors. But he also gained friends? Uraraka seemed worried about Iida, which made sense, and Asui was working on the schoolwork, while Aoyama seemed torn on something. What exactly, Shouto didn’t know. But he was laser-focused on thinking about something.

 It was for the best; Shouto didn’t know what to think.

 The fire he hated (feared). The fire that hurt him (mom hurt him because of it).

 He’d used it in the future, and… he should use it now. Endeavour couldn’t hurt him here at UA. He was safer, right? From the sounds of things, his father wouldn’t be able to get him back. Shouto liked the sound of it but was worried. What about Fuyumi? Would she be okay? Natsuo? (Mom?)

 He was safe. That was important. He… he had to save himself first, didn’t he? He had to focus on making sure he was okay. He thought Burnin’ told him that once when the sidekick was teaching him things. She’d told Shouto the first priority in a dangerous situation was yourself. Focus on making sure you live, then worry about people around you. Shouto…

 Shouto never used his fire because of his mother. He resented Fuyumi when she spoke about Endeavour being their father (she stopped after the first episodes. Her face grew tight, and she stopped smiling as much at the man. What did it mean?). He barely knew Natsuo due to them being kept apart. He hated his father and never wanted to be near the man if he could help it.

  Shouto… he didn’t know what to think. He felt lost and confused. He could use his fire. Midoriya showed him that. She showed him by kicking his ass and being so powerful, so amazing it was like seeing a goddess brought down to the mortal realm. She was beautiful, deadly, untouchable.

 He would never chase her. Endeavour’s words were in his ear, and he couldn’t do it. He told himself he wouldn’t. He would never go for Midoriya when she would be someone Endeavour approved of. He stuck by that, even as he remembered that feral smile she gave, surrounded by lightning.

 Shouto would use his fire. He wouldn’t hurt himself to spite Endeavour. But he would not be more than a friend to Midoriya. Maybe it was hypocrisy or a double standard, but he already would be using fire. Giving in to date Midoriya wasn’t something he could do.

 He hoped she understood.

-0-

Ochako was worried about Tenya. Whatever Tensei told him was obviously BAD or like at least hard to hear. Probably something about the breakup. That kind of drama was always about horrible personal stuff. Ochako wanted to know so badly, but she reminded herself of her small oath. She would stop going after secrets like that. Not her business, nothing she needed to know.

 So, instead, Ochako thought about the future. Seeing Midoriya like that, the other girl that powerful and strong was… oof. Ochako didn’t have words for how her heart leapt or how the other girl made her feel like she could take on the world. It was just… the spark of Midoriya. She inspired people and made them feel hopeful the world would be better.

 Plus, the whole mom thing? Inspiring, beautiful. It felt like a freaking anime at times, Midoriya getting a superpower from the greatest hero, being a teen mom, and her own bio dad being some big-time villain. Hell, Ochako was pretty sure she’d seen the same plot before.

 It was… just amazing. Ochako felt so lucky to know Midoriya, to be friends with her. And the crush was… again, no words. Ochako didn’t know what she would do. She told herself no dating while in school, wanting to focus on heroics. But… Midoriya made it hard. Tomoe made it hard.

 Ochako imagined, guiltily, a future with Midoriya. Being a hero couple together, Tomoe as their daughter. Rising the ranks, kicking ass and taking names together. Being extraordinary and strong women. Tomoe becoming a hero…

 It felt amazing.

 God, why did she have to develop feelings for her best friend?

-0-

 Enji, because he could not be Endeavour now and must think of himself as a civilian as much as it galled him, glared at his supposed ally. Nara ignored him, instead letting his agents work. Once they were finished, Nara sent them away to face Enji alone.

 “What the hell are you doing, Nara?” Enji demanded.

 “Saving my ass.” Nara snapped. “You fucked up big time here, Todoroki. I don’t care you beat your family but fuck, it got out, and now we’re going to have to make sure you don’t ruin everything.”

 “It’s training!” Enji snapped. “I did what was necessary; it wasn’t abuse!” Nara paused, staring at the man before he burst out into a loud laugh.

 “Oh, you ACTUALLY think that? Really? You believe that you aren’t abusive? Wow, how delusional can you be?” Nara laughed a little more, shaking his head.

 “I’m not. I-”

 “You smacked your wife, you tormented your youngest, you ignored your middle children, and your eldest is dead. That’s not a good father,” Nara said coldly. Enji opened and closed his mouth, trying to refute it.

 “When you just say it like that-” he began, but Nara cut him off.

 “Then explain how you aren’t,” Nara said coldly.

 “I allowed Fuyumi and Natsuo to go to university!” Enji said.

 “Do you know what they studied or are studying?” Nara asked. Enji paused.

 “...Fuyumi is a teacher,” he said, trying to remember what Natsuo was in school for. He knew it; he approved, but… he couldn’t…

 “Medicine, specifically, he wants to work with psychiatric patients. The fact I know this because I read the file on the way here, but you don’t, is pathetic. And Fuyumi is a teacher, but she did a double major in psychology and teaching.” Nara sniffed. “You ruined the plans, Todoroki. The rivalry we hoped to continue between Hawks and your youngest isn’t possible now.”

 “Rivalry?” Enji asked, confused by that.

 “Hawks will make a fantastic number one, and we hoped Shouto would be like you, desperate to be on top so he would draw viewers to the stations and cause mountains of merchandise to be sold,” Nara sighed. “Pity it’s no longer possible.”

 “...What?” Enji stared at Nara, who ignored him, instead turning to leave.

 “Have a good day, Todoroki. We’ll update you when we decide your punishment,” the commission agent said before he left. Enji stared after him, unable to move.

 What did… did… Nara hadn’t wanted Shouto to beat All Might? But… Enji looked at his hands, confused.

 What the hell was going on?

 Outside the office, Nara made plans. Midoriya would be the number one; the future showed it. But they could get Hawks close to her. Nara felt annoyed Hawks was gay, given how perfect that relationship would look if they played it right, but they all had to make some sacrifices.

 With Info Dropper back in Japan, though, they would need to tread lightly. All it took was one name, and that hero could learn everything about Hawks, which wouldn’t be a good thing.

-0-

 Kai snarled, looking at the bitch who let Eri get out. The maid stared back, her hands twitching. The prototype of Quirk suppression bullets caused pain, and this scum was perfect for human testing.

 “You let her go,” Kai snarled.

 “Go fuck yourself,” Kuira said. “What you were doing to her was the most disgusting horseshit I have ever seen, you bastard.

 “I’m saving humanity,” growled Kai. “Quirks are a disease, a blight on our history! They are-”

 “You’re crazy,” Kuira said, closing her eyes. “Just fucking kill me already, there’s no point in trying to convince me of shit.” Kai scowled and stomped away. She would be used as their human testing subject. See how long she would last.

 “Overhaul,” Chronostasis said to him, but Kai ignored him. Eri was gone; without her, they couldn’t continue their mission. They needed her blood to make the bullets! There…

 There could be another answer. It occurred to Kai as he walked, making him pause. Midoriya Izumi. The beautiful Quirkless woman who he needed to save from the disgusting disease around her. Quirks would only ruin her, and that One for All was the worst of it! He would not let her tarnish herself with it, but her blood…

 Could she replace Eri in their goals? Could her blood be used? Why… he thought she could. Kai smiled to himself. It seemed there was more than one reason to get Izumi.

 -0-

 Civilians around Japan discussed the future. Many were still raving about the fight between Todoroki and Midoriya, all in awe at the amount of power thrown between them. The brilliance shown in their faces and how they worked. Future titans of the Quirked world are being born in front of them. It was impossible not to feel awe.

 Some, though, spoke of the Bakugou fight.

 “That boy doesn’t seem to know how to deal with losing,” one old woman said. “Schools pampering him plus over permissive parents.”

 “I don’t think they’re permissive,” argued her grandson. “The few scenes didn’t show that.”

 “Hmm, permissive ain’t the word then. Perhaps those folks are more the ‘oh boys will be boys’ types who give their child whatever he wants. Think I recognized that woman; she a model, ain’t she?”

 “...I think so, yeah,” her grandson said.

 “See? Too much money, schools thinking they can ride the coattails and a nasty personality no one stomped out created that boy. He’s the type of hero we don’t need, someone I wouldn’t trust.” the grandmother nodded.

 “Think he’s a lost cause?”

 “Few people are, and he’s young. Needs a really good humbling, and to get it through his skull, he ain’t all that, but he can get it.” the grandmother said.

 Elsewhere, Spinner was speaking with Liam.

 “I don’t really get why he was so mad,” Liam said. “He lost, why call it cheating?”

 “Probably cause Shinsou used his brain rather than his fists, and Bakugou doesn’t understand you can fight without beating someone up,” said Magne, who had overheard them.

 “He is very much that type, reminds me of a former classmate,” Spinner said. “Guy was convinced being a hero meant beating the shit out of people, not protecting them or being good people. He failed the entrance exam to every hero school because he never studied, thinking they just wanted strength. The guy tried to go vigilante and got killed.”

 “Ha!” another worker said. “One of those stories, yeah, I knew a guy like that. Hell, I think I know where he is now if I’m right about Stain.”

 “Stain?!” the rest of the group demanded, staring wide-eyed at the woman who scoffed, tossing down the building materials.

 “Yeah,” said the woman, tucking a lock of pink hair behind her ear. She’d only introduced herself as Hanako, staring down those who tried to pry. “I think I went to school with him before, bit of a fucking weirdo. Not too sure. If he is, I’ll be going to the police. He was obsessed with heroes and had a huge hard-on for All Might. He got into the hero course, but I hear he became so butt hurt no one was there for a noble cause, so he dropped out to be a vigilante.” Hanako rolled her eyes. “He’s got a big black-and-white view of the world. But I honestly think he wants to go down in history himself as some sort of great person who realized the hero system is corrupt or something like we don’t all know that.”

 “Oh, one of those guys?” Magne asked. “Who wants to get the shiny gold star for being a decent person or something?”

 “Pretty much,” Hanako sighed. “He got a lot of shit for his Quirk when we were in school, given it’s blood-based, and I think his parents let him run wild because they felt bad for him. Inflated his ego and let him think he created this revolutionary idea when anyone with two brain cells can figure it out. Issue is he puts heroes onto a pedestal and hates when people shake his little dream of heroes being perfect beings.”

 “No one is perfect,” Spinner said dryly.

 “Nope, he’s just dumb enough he thinks heroes need to be held to a perfect standard. Frankly, I don’t care if the hero saving me just wants a paycheck. I want to be saved.” Hanako said. “That’s what matters; he’s not going after doctors who want the money. It’s heroes he hates. That should tell you all about his ideals there.”

 “He wants fame himself but pretends otherwise. Hypocrite,” Magne sneered. Spinner shook his head in disgust.

 Maybe he once would have liked Stain, but hearing this while seeing Midoriya fight so hard…

 Spinner knew who he found more inspiring.

-0-

 His sister was amazing. Tomura couldn't stop smiling as he thought of how fantastic she’d been, kicking the ass of that stupid hero brat. He did not like that boy. He would stay away from Izumi if he knew what was good for him! Izumi was Tomura’s sister, and Tomoe was his niece. Only trustworthy people deserve to be around them.

 Tomura hummed as he pulled out his DS. With an hour, he could get some grinding in with his games. Sensei told him he would be busy during this break with something. Tomura was very interested in knowing what the man planned.

 In his lair, Hisashi listened to Dr. Garaki as the man listed various people they could use. Hisashi had plenty of shell companies and hidden funds that All Might missed in his purge. It was child's play to use them.

 Izumi would be his successor over Tomura, her bodyguard. But she would need a group of people she could rely on, meaning they needed to be people she could see herself in.

 “Toga Himiko,” Garaki said. “She's a serial killer who goes after people she is attracted to. She has a blood-based transformation Quirk and a need to have around 20 ML of blood a month. Her parents believe in Quirk suppression so they refused it before.”

 “Is it starvation that made her this way?” Hisashi asked.

 “Highly unlikely. 20 ML isn't much, and she would get from having a rare steak if needed,” Garaki disagreed. “As well she displayed sociopathic signs early on as a child, even before her parents forced her to go without blood and act normal. I believe though it is easy to concoct the idea she did suffer from it given her attitude.”

 “Send out feelers to lure her in,” Hisashi decided. “She will be perfect as a show that society harms certain Quirk types. Maybe mess with her mind, too, so she doesn't mess up and clue Izumi in. Who else?”

 “There is the eldest Todoroki, the one we saved? He'd be a good choice given how your daughter empathized with the youngest,” the doctor said. Hisashi nodded. He would be a good choice, yes. “We also have a Quirkless mercenary to consider, sir.”

 “Oh? Tell me more.”

-0-

 Z checked her gun, ignoring the screaming of civilians on the street. A simple headshot took care of her mark. Sweet and simple. She let out a long breath, putting the gun into its case. Sneaking a military-grade rifle into Japan had cost her a lot. But it was so worth it, given she could do hits easier.

 The blue-haired woman slipped the gun into her case, which looked like a backpack. She walked off the roof to the door, pulling on a wig from her bag giving her red hair. A pair of fake glasses, stick a mint into her cheek to have her speech slurred if she was spoken to and slip a rock into her shoe to hobble. Add to the fact she was dressed like any college kid; she would be good.

 As Z walked, she checked the floating screen. She felt a bit proud of Midoriya. She'd never tell anyone but as a kid, she would have jumped at the offer of One for All. She would have done anything to get it. Now, Midoriya was using it while gaining a good degree of fame.

 Proved all the Quirkless equals weak fuckers wrong. Z had carved out her niche in the underworld, and maybe Midoriya would have been more impressive if she had stayed Quirkless, but Z respected the hell out of the kid. From one Quirkless woman to another, watching the kid claw her way up after what happened to her had been fucking impressive. Z wasn't as strong when she'd been a teenager.

 (Then she was eighteen and screaming because of her fucking father’s friends. Her own father said the men could use her as a broodmare. It was a blur, and she suddenly had blood on her hands from smashing their heads in.

 She got strong then. She'd been weak before.)

 Z hummed as her phone rang. The money. She acted like the college kid she was supposed to be posing as she checked her phone. Only the fact that she had years of experience kept her from reacting too heavily.

 I have a job for you. The Boogeyman wants you. -Giran

 Why the fuck did he want her?

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

FlammenTaenzerinSuzaku gave us Kanjo

Hotaru Kokichi came from ArcticWolfPlayz

-Tensei’s situation with cheating was a really messy one, with Tensei feeling angry ID was leaving and not considering stating (to his mind, ID was seriously debating it at the time because they loved him) and getting drunk where someone could take advantage of his anger. It wasn’t assault, Tensei was not that drunk. But he wasn’t thinking that clearly. ID’s reaction to find a rebound instantly isn’t great either. Basically, both hurt each other badly and regret it. They still love each other and yeah, they’re slowly gravitating back to each other, but they have some shit to go through.

-Tenya wasn’t aware cause he was a kid, and Tensei was ashamed. He’s now being forced to see Tensei isn’t this perfect person. I also kind of wrote my own feelings about when I discovered my father’s affair and then learning my mother did the same. I was just shocked. Confused. And I also came to the realization I lost respect for them. I love them but knowing that kind of broke a lot of trust in me.

-this entire chapter became just bits of everyone and their thoughts cause I had no idea wtf to do and went: hey let's talk about why Tensei and ID broke up. Then it became this.

-I debated about saying this but to not get peoples hopes up: I am 95% sure TodoDeku isn't going to happen in this world. I do have a pairing in mind, but I'm not… 100% certain. I'm letting the story go where it wants. But I Don't think they would do well together. Both have so much trauma they're healing from and I think if They date each other they may ignore their own trauma cause its easier. But I dunno. Izumi thinking Todoroki is hot is one thing, dating another.

-Izumi will not be Eri’s mother. This is something I decided on ages ago because as Nezu points out: she has to much on her shoulders without Eri, and adding more isn’t good.

-Without Spinner or Magne, we need another villain, don’t we? There’s a reason I introduced Z.

[perexcri]

Fannon here for one last review for THaBA😭

I’m sad it’s over but happy it happened and that you gave us so so many wonderful wonderful chapters.

Officially officially, definitely top two, in the type of way where it’ll switch places with the number one spot every other day. I love this fic so much I want it on a bookshelf or something, so I can bring it out whenever I want and just reread it and I Will be rereading this, I’ve got it bookmarked and everything.

I’m so happy Mike and Will got their kiss(es). And thank goodness that Jonathan is a byler enabler. He’s deffo caught between being a protective older brother and being happy Will’s happy.

And I’m just. So happy for them. Your Mike and Will specifically deserve the world (esp bc they’re written so well that I want them to be so so happy)

rhejdhejdhehd Dustin and Lucas knowing makes me so. Good good epilogue thank u for the gift of Lucas pov

I love love love this fic and you are great author and I can’t wait to see what you do next!! I hope you are doing so very wonderful.

Ahh hello fannon!! Your words are always appreciated :] now please forgive me because I will probably respond with twice as many words because I don't know how to shut up when I'm in front of a keyboard, so I'll put most of this response under a cut lol

I'm genuinely honored that this is one of your favorite Byler fics T_T there are so many good writers for this ship that it's insane to me that something I wrote would be in anybody's top two or three. It also makes me happy to hear it's one you'll be rereading!! I know it's different for lots of people, but for me, I have to really like something in order to reread it, so I take it as a very high compliment that you like it that much!!

Yes!! The dorks finally got to kiss, and it only took like 135k words :'D But also - I read your message last night but hadn't gotten around to answering it until now, but the phrase "byler enabler" in reference to Jonathan has already entered my vocabulary with full force lol. I love it so so much

Overall, I'm glad I could give them a satisfying ending and bring them the resolution they needed after everything they went through in this story. I was pretty much settled on how I felt about these last chapters when I posted them, but I was still a little nervous that they wouldn't quite stick the landing. I'm glad they did, though, and I'm glad Mike and Will get to be happy :D

And I'm glad you liked the very last chapter!! It was so much fun to write. Fun fact: it was originally supposed to be from Dustin's pov! About a couple weeks ago I decided I liked Lucas too much and had to make it from his pov (no offense to Dustin - he's great, but he doesn't capture my attention quite like some of the other characters)

Anyways - thank you once again for your kind words!! I'm glad you enjoyed my writing and you like this fic so much. It means a lot to me, not just because I put a lot of work in it and like that that's being recognized, but because something I made was able to give you a little happiness? Idk it's a great feeling and yes hopefully in the future I can provide more little stories for you to enjoy. I gotta take a little break though because my brain feels like mush (and I have so many fics I need to read it's insane)

Thanks again for stopping by fannon!! I wish you all the best as well :] 💜💜💜

[skyeet-the-writer]

The Love Among Us

Chapter 1-- I’d Never Snitch On Daddy

so i haven’t seen many corpse husband x reader stories on here, so i decided to upload one myself. i’ve been watching jacksepticeye’s among us videos and when i heard corpse talk for the first time, i was like, “hol up” and now i’ve been obsessed with him. also, go stream his music on spotify, it’s amazing. enjoy! x. 

 corpse husband x female!reader

summary: while playing among us, y/n watches corpse kill felix in o2. when his body is reported, however, she doesn’t tell who killed him. 

 word count: ~3.6k

warnings: swearing, mentions of death (not real death), mentions of murder (not real murder)

EDIT: before i wrote this and after i published it, i did not know that corpse did not like to be referred to as “daddy”. had i known this, i would have not even thought of posting this. and since i know now, i won’t refer to him as such in the future. thank you. (10/19/2020)

EDIT 2: this is the first part to my corpse x reader series. i will be adding chapters as we go!

next>

4 rounds before the incident

“I was in coms with PJ!” Sean exclaims. 

“He is doing the liar voice!” Felix shouts with a laugh. 

“I’m not,” Sean tries to say, but everyone talks over him and the voting time ends. Everyone left alive, though it was only four people, had all voted for him and he yells at them as he gets ejected. 

stinky was not the imposter

2 imposters remain

The round ends and everyone unmutes themselves. 

“Lizzie, you saw Felix kill me and you did nothing!” Roomie yells as soon as the round ends and the imposters are revealed. 

“Yeah, because I was the other imposter.”

“Oh. Okay, well that makes sense.”

Everyone laughs and Ken starts the round again. 

“Wait, can I invite y/n to play? She’s doing her twenty-four-hour stream and she just finished playing Monopoly with Mark, Bob, and Wade,” says Lizzie, looking down at her phone as they all appear back in the waiting room. 

“Yes,” Corpse blurts out and there are a few laughs and chuckles. 

“You were quick to answer, Corpse,” Sean teases. 

“Shut up,” Corpse mumbles and there are even more laughs. 

Lizzie smiles and taps into her phone. “I’m gonna invite her.”

~

“I can’t believe that you actually made that deal, y/n,” Wade is telling you after ending the second round of Monopoly that you’ve played with them. 

You smile and cross your legs on your chair. “Look, I was going bankrupt and it seemed good at the time. Besides, Mark was going to win anyway, he owned half of the board.” Your phone buzzes beside you on your desk and you pick it up. “Lizzie texted me.” There’s a sound effect that plays in your headset and you look up at your screen and smile. “Thanks to _lorieplays _for donating a hundred dollars, that means a lot. Thank you so much.”

“Do you want to play another round?” Marks asks. 

You shake your head, reading the text from your friend in England. “No, I don’t want to lose to you again.” You laugh. “Nah, Lizzie wants me to play Among Us with her and a few others. It was fun playing with you guys.”

“It was even though you took all of my money,” Bob snaps. 

You laugh. “Yeah, yeah. See you guys later.”

“Bye,” says Mark.

“See y--” Wade begins but you cut him off when you disconnect from the call. 

“Oops.” You put a hand over your mouth and laugh. “Sorry, Wade. Okay.” You straighten up and glance over everything, making sure it’s all working properly. “I have to pee and I think my roommate ordered pizza, so we’ll be back after this short break. Enjoy this live feed of my pet rats.” You giggle and switch the stream over to a view of your two rats in their cage where you have a camera set up. You take your headset off and head out of your recording room. 

Every two months, you have a twenty-four-hour livestream where you play games with your friends from all around the world. Despite being only twenty-five, your Youtube channel had grown exponentially in the past three years and you’ve had the chance to meet lots of other Youtubers like Markiplier, PewDiePie, and your close friend, LDShadowLady. 

Currently, you’re on hour twenty of twenty-four and you’re beginning to feel the effects of not sleeping for a whole day. You had been drinking coffee and energy drinks for the past four hours and that seemed to perk you up for two hours max. But your roommate had ordered pizza and that would hopefully wake you up. 

After going to the bathroom and grabbing an entire box of pizza, you return to your recording room and sit down. You put your headset back on and eat a slice of pizza before switching the views back to you. “And we’re back. I hope you guys enjoyed my rats because I don’t. They keep me up at night.”

You read a comment while loading up Among Us and laugh. “No, they’re not dead. They’re sleeping. They do that a lot when they’re not fighting.” 

When you finally get into the game and entire the code, you spawn in. You also quickly join the Discord chat and wince when nearly ten voices hit you at once. 

“y/n!” exclaims Lizzie and the other voices die down for a moment before rising to greet you. 

You wince again but laugh. “Jesus, you guys are loud. Hey, Lizzie.” You move your character to the customize tab and go to try and switch your color. But then you frown and realize that you’re stuck with being dark blue. “Damn, I wanted to be white.”

“Do you want to switch?” Corpse asks. 

Your eyes widen you your stomach flips. You hadn’t noticed Corpse was in this game. Immediately, your chat became flooded with keyboard smashing and lots of “omg my shipp” and “y/n rlly said ‘anna oop-’” 

“Uh, yeah, if you don’t mind,” you manage to stutter out and take a bite of pizza as Corpse’s player comes over and the white option becomes available. You select it and also select the goggles in the hats menu. 

“How’s your stream going?” asks Sean. 

You shrug. “Pretty good. I’m super tired, though. I literally almost fell asleep while playing Monopoly with Mark, Wade, and Bob.”

“You went to college, right?” You’re pretty sure that’s Roomie. 

“Yep,” you affirm with a nod even though they can’t see you. “You’d think that those all-nighters writing papers and studying for finals would make me able to do this.”

There’s a laugh in the group and the round starts.

3 rounds before the incident

You scratch your eyebrow and sigh in relief when you’re the crewmate. You mute yourself and slide up in your chair. 

“I like being the crewmate,” you say, heading towards admin as a habit. “It’s a lot less stressful than being imposter.”

After doing your tasks in admin and fueling the engines, you stumble across a dead body in the lower engine and a vent closing. 

“Oh,” you say, and press the report button. You unmute yourself and begin with, “So I saw a vent close but I didn’t see who went in.”

“Who died?” asks Lizzie. 

“Felix,” says Sean. 

You smirk. “It’s always yellow that dies first.”

“Where was the body?” Ken asks. 

“Lower engine,” you reply. 

“I was in medbay with Corpse doing the scan so it wasn’t him,” PJ says and Corpse makes a noise of confirmation. 

This makes your cheeks heat up and you smack a hand over your mouth. Your chat explodes again but you decide to ignore it. 

“And I was doing wires in cafeteria,” Lizzie says. 

“Sean, where were you?” 

“I was in reactor doing the simon says thing,” he answers. 

You sigh. “I hate that one. What about you, Ken?”

“I was with Roomie in electrical doing the power thing. You know, the one where you have to divert it somewhere else.”

“So do we skip then?” asks Lizzie. 

“No one is super sus, so I’m going to skip,” you answer. 

When no one is ejected, you mute yourself again. “I dunno why, but Sean seems pretty sus. Because I didn’t see him on the way down from upper engine. But I guess he could have gotten there in time.” You shrug and run over to the trash chute in the cafeteria. “RIP to Felix, though.”

After doing the trash there, you head down to storage, running into Corpse doing the wires in there. You wait there to clear him and once you do, you run a few circles around him to get his attention and he follows you over to the trash in storage and watches you do that. After that, the two of you head over to electric together and do wires there. 

Suddenly, there’s a body reported and you unmute yourself. 

“Sean just killed Lizzie in front of me!” exclaims PJ. 

“PJ killed Lizzie,” Sean retorts, flipping the blame. “I watched it, he didn’t realize I was there and murdered her.”

“I watched PJ do the scan in medbay, he’s cleared,” Corpse says and you find yourself smiling for no reason. “Sean, you killed Lizzie.”

“I knew he was sus,” you say, grabbing another piece of pizza. You look at the box and your eyes widen. Had you really already eaten half of it?

“Wait wait, how am I sus?” Sean asks. 

You take a moment to swallow. “Because when I was doing fuel earlier, I was running down from upper engine and didn’t see you in reactor. Sure, maybe you could have gotten there earlier, but it was super weird.” 

The discussion time ends and PJ immediately goes to vote for Sean as well as you, Corpse, and everyone else still alive. Sean ends up getting ejected. 

stinky was an imposter 

1 imposter remains

“You’re such a detective, y/n,” Sean says when he gets ejected. 

You laugh. “I just play this game too much.” You then mute yourself and smile. “I am a genius.” 

You end up finishing your tasks quickly after that and then stand in the cafeteria and eat another piece of pizza and read some of the chat. 

“’ What am I going to do after this?’ I don’t know. I might play some Minecraft. Should I have a poll on Twitter? I’m stuck between public Among Us games, Minecraft, and taking random quizzes on Buzzfeed.” You smile and hear another sound effect and something pops up on the screen. “Thank you to coochie man for donating a hundred dollars, that means a lot.” You laugh at their name. “I love your name, by the way.” 

There’s some rattling in the cage behind you and you turn around to see one of your rats drinking water. You turn back to the chat and read another comment. “’ Do you have a crush on Corpse?’” You blush and smile, biting your lip. “I mean, his voice is hot. I’ve never met him since he lives in San Diego and I live in h/t, but yeah, I guess I do. I’ve been listening to his music for the past few days and it’s really good, you guys should go check it out.”

You look up and unmute yourself when a body is reported. “Who died?” you ask. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Are you already done with your tasks, y/n?” Corpse asks. 

God, even the way he says your name is making you blush. “Yeah, I get them done quick.”

“She does that,” says Lizzie, “She always gets her tasks done quick.”

“Ken is dead by the way,” says Roomie and your snort, smacking a hand over your mouth. “I found him in the hallway by navigation. Where was everyone else?”

“I was in cafeteria doing nothing,” you say, leaning back in your chair and spinning around just a little. “I think I saw PJ downloading while I was in there, but I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Yeah, I was downloading,” says Ken. 

After more discussion, Corpse points out that Jaiden had been following him and it looked like she had been faking tasks. 

“No I haven’t,” she says. 

“That sounds like something the imposter would say,” you hum with a smirk. “That’s pretty sus, Jaiden.”

Everyone else agrees and you all end up voting Jaiden out. 

jaiden was the imposter

0 imposters remain

You cheer as the round ends and a blue victory screen pops up for the crewmates. “Good game, guys,” you say and play again, waiting for the host. 

~

1 round before the incident 

“Oh my god, I’m imposter again?” you groan and sigh when you spawn back in. “I was just imposter, I don’t want to be it again. I’m so bad at it,”

After another short round of you and Felix losing to the crewmates, you all agreed to play two more rounds before Sean had to leave. So you move your character to admin where PJ is and fake the card swipe before moving over to the admin security thing where you could see who was around where. Luckily, no one appeared to be near admin, so you quickly kill PJ and escape through the vent and come out through medbay. 

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” you whisper over and over, running down to storage. “That was clean.” You fake getting fuel and go back up to the upper engine. 

When PJ’s body is reported, you see that your fellow imposter, Sean, had reported it. You stay silent for most of the round and only say that you were in the fuel area when it was reported. 

“Yeah, I saw her run past electrical earlier,” Corpse says. You blush and glance at your exploding chat and shake your head. 

After everyone skips the round, you mute yourself once more and head towards navigation. “I hate this.” You drag the last syllable and watch Lizzie enter the room. You wait a moment before walking towards her and killing her, jumping into one of the vents. You let out a sigh and flex your fingers. “I’m so stressed.” You exit out of the vent into shields and your heart stops when you see someone else in there but you realize that it’s the other imposter, Sean, and you relax. 

You run past him and go to the trash compartments and pretend to unload those. And that’s how the rest of the round goes. You kill someone, someone reports it and you vote someone off. Eventually, you and Sean do a double kill and end up winning the round.

You unmute yourself. 

“Let’s go!” Sean exclaims and you smile. 

“I can’t believe you killed me, y/n!” shouts Lizzie. “I thought we were friends.”

You laugh. “There are no friends in this game. I’m not loyal to anyone in this game. You could be my best friend and I would fucking murder you.”

“That’s cold,” says Roomie as everyone else spawns back in. 

“Yeah,” you nod. 

“Wait, PJ disconnected,” says Sean, and you all end up waiting for him to rejoin. 

In that time, you look at your chat and say, “Hey, do you guys have any questions for who I’m playing with. I’m asking you, chat.”

“I swear if someone asks about my hands, I’m leaving,” Corpse says and everyone laughs. 

You laugh louder when you read a comment and read it aloud, “_Ironlady _says that you should be a hand model, Corpse.”

“Okay, I’m leaving,” you hear Corpse say over everyone laughing. 

“No, stay!” you exclaim, trying not to laugh. “C’mon, don’t leave.”

He sighs deeply and your brain goes fuzzy. “Fine. I’ll stay for you.”

You beam and your tummy turns. You ignore the whistles and remarks from everyone else and stand beside Corpse. You suddenly wish that the little bean characters could hold hands. 

When PJ joins the server again, Ken starts the round and you cross your fingers, hoping to get crewmate. 

0 rounds before the incident

You mute yourself and sigh when you’re a crewmate. “Thank god.” You let out a breath and go over to admin with everyone else. You swipe your card and go to the cafeteria to do some wires there. 

The game turns out to be rather uneventful. A few people die and two people are voted off before the game gets truly interesting. And that happens when you walk in on Corpse and Felix. 

“I’ve had this song stuck in my head for days,” you’re saying, walking from electrical over to O2. “And I can’t get it out of my head. Maybe singing it will help.” You hum the first part. “Don't go in there, you'll become one. Freaky creatures, monster party. Eyes of yellow, scales and feathers, tails in tethers. Turn the lights off. Bend the nightmare, you control it. Artful dodger, easy does it. Shut the closet, get under the covers. Snakes and lovers. Turn the lights off.” You do a little dance for a moment and continue hum the song, glancing at the chat as you go towards O2 after doing wires in storage. 

“Like, I know the song, it’s just been stuck in my head,” you explain. “And it kind of annoys me--”

But you stop as you enter O2 and watch Corpse murder Felix. Neither one of you move and you don’t know what to do. “Uhhh.” 

Then, without thinking, you turn straight around and make your way away from the scene of the murder. “I didn’t see anything!” you shout to no one. “I suddenly can’t see who murdered Felix.” You smack a hand over your mouth and stand in the middle of a hallway. “Oh my god, what do I do? I don’t want to snitch on Corpse, he’s hot.” You scratch the back of your neck and shrug, continuing on to reactor. “I didn’t see anything.”

You’re in the middle of doing the simon says in reactor when Felix’s body is reported. You unmute yourself and fidget with the sleeve of your hoodie. You know exactly who killed Felix. 

“--was in O2,” says Jaiden and you focus back into the conversation. “And I didn’t see anyone around.”

“I saw you heading that way, y/n, but I know it wasn’t you because I saw you do the trash in storage.”

You look at the screen when Sean talks to you and you chew your lip. “I know who killed Felix.”

“Who?” asks almost everyone at the same time. 

You close your eyes and swallow. It’s just a game, why are you taking this so seriously? Suddenly, a song lyric pops into your head and your stomach flips. You imagine yourself saying it and no one knows who you mean except for him. 

You open your eyes. “I’d never snitch on daddy.”

There’s a laugh in the chat and you blush fiercely, your livestream chat blowing up once again.

“I think we know who it is, then,” says Sean, laughing. 

“Yeah,” agrees Lizzie and your eyes widen. 

“Wait, what?” you ask, watching everyone vote almost as soon as the discussion time ends. “Wait, hang on, who--”

“We know who you’re talking about, y/n,” PJ tells you. 

You vote for yourself and your brain goes blank as you see that everyone voted for Corpse. He even voted for himself. They knew. They all _knew _about your feelings for Corpse. 

The round ends with Corpse being voted out and the crewmates win. There’s some talking, but you stay on the victory screen. You’re trying to decide if your mad or embarrassed or both. 

“I didn’t know you’d say that, y/n,” Corpse says, effectively breaking you out of your trance. “I thought you were gonna snitch on me.”

“You heard her,” teases Lizzie and you can tell she’s grinning. “She’d never snitch on you, Corpse.”

He laughs and you feel something in a certain place. “Oh my god, I’m gonna die of embarrassment.” You put your face in your hands, listening to your friends tease you in the chat. You suddenly want to jump out your window and run into traffic. 

“Don’t die,” comes Corpse’s voice through the onslaught of teasing. “I’ll be sad.”

“Fuck!” you shout and slam your hand on your desk, shaking your equipment and scaring your rats. “I’m so sorry, Corpse, that was really weird, I--”

“Stop.” He interrupts you and the chat goes silent and you look up at the screen even though you can’t see him. “It’s okay. It was funny.”

Your eyes widen and then narrow. Funny? He thought what you said was funny? How could he think it was funny?

But then he speaks again and he sounds oddly flustered. “Uh, I gotta go. Um, it was fun playing with you guys. Bye, y/n.”

“Bye Cor--” but then he disconnects and you’re left talking to no one. “--pse.”

There’s a long moment of silence until Felix breaks it. “I can’t believe you just watched me die and didn’t do anything about it.”

There are some laughs and you smile faintly, rejoining the game. “Yeah, uh, sorry about that.”

“Are you okay, y/n?” asks Lizzie. 

You blush and swallow. “I don’t know. God, I’m so weird.” You run a hand through your hair and adjust your headphones

“No, you’re not,” Roomie assures you. “He has a crush on you, too.”

Your eyes widen and you scoot up in your chair. “He does?”

“I mean, he called you pretty once during a game and said that he watches your videos a lot, so maybe.”

You groan and sink in your chair. “I’m gonna go, I need to run into traffic now.”

A few people laugh or chuckle and Lizzie asks you if you’re actually going to leave. 

“Yeah,” you tell her. “But not to run into traffic. I’m going to go play Minecraft to soothe myself.”

“Aw.” You can practically hear her frown. “Okay. Bye, y/n.”

“Good luck with your stream,” Ken tells you. 

You grin. “Okay, thanks, bye.”

When you exit the game and leave the chat, you scream. You actually scream and it’s loud. Your roommate even knocks on your door, asking if you’re okay. 

You look at them and nod. “Yeah, totally fine. Probably about to have a mental breakdown, but I’m fine.”

“Okay,” they say and lean on the doorframe. “But I’m not cutting bangs for you again.”

You laugh and nod. “Yeah, okay, fine.” They leave and you turn back to your stream, feeling like you’re about to cry. Corpse knows you have a crush on him. And it seems like he has one on you as well, but now you’re embarrassed because you called him ‘daddy’ on stream.

You rub your eyes. “Well, now I know what’ll be streaming on Twitter tonight,” you tell the chat. 

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 40

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ word count: 22.8k (this will crash ur phone so pls read on desktop) ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba chapter specific warnings: violence, blood/injury, choking, brief depiction of a panic attack ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

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✧✧✧ act five ➻ part seven

The stench in the air is some cross between smoke and rotting food. It’s enough to make your nose wrinkle in disgust, something you’ve done several times over the past twenty minutes since getting here, but Hongjoong is still sitting beside you and tinkering with his wristband in the same position he’s been in since arriving. A chain-link fence and a row of boxes are all that separate you from your target — the military complex in the Upper Echelon just as Jisung detailed to Hongjoong the day before. It’s closer to the thickest parts of the Smokehouses in the lower area, which is no doubt what’s causing the smell and, in turn, your misery.

“The outside security is a combination of motion sensors, cameras, and guards,” Hongjoong notes, not looking up from his forearm. “Keep monitoring the guards’ patterns for now while we wait. My techie here in Lynder is working on hacking their surveillance systems remotely.”

“Anything specific to look out for?”

“Just their patrol patterns. Once we get the cameras and sensors down, we can sneak in the side. On our initial patrol, I saw a spot in one of the left alleys where the fence bends up. We’ll slip under there and infiltrate through the trash chute.”

“The trash chute,” you echo. You tear your gaze off the courtyard beyond the fence to peer at Hongjoong with question in your eyes. “How will that help?”

Hongjoong looks up from his wristband at long last, only to stare directly forward and jab a finger at the building before you two.

“Trash chute wraps down to the basement. They use air turbines to push trash up and out of the building, so it will be easy for us to slip down. I just got a blueprint of the building from my hacker. It’s not enormous but it’s big enough for us to need to stick together. No booby traps waiting inside either, since they don’t really expect company like ours, but there are a few single or double guard patrols to watch out for on each floor. This is more of a scientist and doctor facility, so we shouldn’t be seeing anything in the way of large squadrons.”

“Then couldn’t we just walk in the front door?” You ask, head tilting to eye the guards once more.

“With this pretty face on display? I think not. They might not recognize you since they have no image data on you, but me? They’ve got all sorts of image references on me that could cause lots of issues for both of us. It’s best if we avoid whatever confrontation we can.”

“How are we meant to avoid confrontation when moving from level to level?”

“The trash chute leads down to a maintenance area, so there will be workers bringing trash in the basement. We knock them out, put them in a safe and secure location, and take their uniforms. Their keycards will grant access to each level so we can move almost freely around the building. Chances are San will be behind a door that those keycards can’t grant access to.” Hongjoong motions forward but you keep your gaze firmly set on him. “That’s where my techie comes in handy again.”

“You’re relying a lot on this friend,” you mutter, finally dropping your eyes to the chain-link fence before you once more.

“I happen to trust him quite a bit, yes. He’s a bounty hunter, so we’ve had plenty of run-ins with each other over the years and he’s always helped me in many ways. Meeting him here on Dorado, though, that was planned. I asked him to come because I knew the chances of needing a techie like him would be high, and he was in the area. After the mission with Seonghwa tomorrow, we’ll be dropping in to visit him for payment too. Bounty hunters never work for free after all.”

“Makes sense,” you hum. A guard passes. One, two, three seconds, then he wraps around the side of the building again. “I considered working as one for a short period of time but it never came to fruition.”

Hongjoong’s eyes snap over to you.

“Why did it fall through? I would have pinpointed you as the type to be very good in that line of work. All things considered, I mean.”

“Hm, yeah, I suppose I would be. I did a few odd jobs here and there.” Two guards walk in tandem across your line of vision. They split after five seconds this time, one falling back and repeating his path in the opposite direction and the other continuing to walk straight ahead into the courtyard. “I had to kill a few people, but every time I shot someone, all I could see was the teammate who died in my place. At least that’s the memory I had for years. After seeing my teammate in the brother, I’m not even sure that’s what truly happened anymore.”

“What is it you remember then?”

“Him being publicly executed while I couldn’t pull the trigger fast enough.”

“What was his name?” Hongjoong asks all of a sudden, and it startles you enough to rip the focus from your bones. You jerk to look him in the eye, finding him staring right back at you from where he’s crouched not even a foot away.

“Why is that important?”

“Maybe it isn’t,” Hongjoong shrugs. “Maybe it’s better to bury your memories with the dead. I think you believe that yourself. Yet seeing as you still haven’t buried the thought of him after all this time, something tells me you never buried him. So… I’ll ask again, Y/N, what is his name?”

“Hyunwoo… his name is — was Hyunwoo.”

Hongjoong lets out a barely audible hum.

“I’ll ask my hunter about it.”

“Why?” comes your immediate response.

“If he’s the one who died, then he’s the one your pardon papers are meant for, no? If he’s not truly dead, then would you not want to hand those papers over to him anyway? The military still blames him for taking part in the king’s death even after they learned who truly did it, don’t they? Since Jisung’s fate is in your hands, you’ll have every opportunity to ask him what the truth is. Consider this to be a safety net to be sure he’s telling the truth.” Despite the weight of his words and how much gravity they hold, Hongjoong doesn’t so much as blink an eye at anything he’s just promised to you. The level of nonchalance should be infuriating at best, but you find yourself looking down at the ground with an odd weight on your shoulders now.

“Thank you,” you whisper under your breath.

“Pay attention,” he replies just as quickly, jerking his head towards the courtyard.

You do as asked without complaint or question this time. The patterns aren’t hard to follow or anything out of the ordinary. Nothing more than a simple back and forth around the perimeter of the building, one guard to cover each side. The one along this back wall you’re eyeing meets up with the guard at the left side, pauses to talk for a minute or so, then turns back to do the same with the guard at the opposite side when he reaches it. From the looks of it, there’s a significant gap in the patrol when the guard turns, which is no doubt meant to be covered by the motion sensors and cameras, but once those are down, you’ll have an easy opening to get inside.

“Alright, Nightingale is in,” Hongjoong announces after several minutes have passed. “Surveillance is down.”

“Nightingale? As in…?”

“Hacker, techie, bounty hunter — whatever you wanna call him. No time to stop and chat about him right now though, let’s get moving. You lead since you’ve been keeping track of the patrols. I’ll be right behind you.” Hongjoong pushes up from the ground, and you mirror his movements only to step around him in search of that alley he mentioned earlier. The silence that falls over the two of you is nothing if not terse, a wariness of your surroundings that has been unfamiliar for a while now. You can’t remember the last time you went on a mission that required this of you — even the first mission Hongjoong sent you on wasn’t as life-threatening as this one is. In a way, the risk offers a level of adrenaline that helps keep you focused and honed in on every shifting sense. Knowing what lies at the end of the line also helps. If you keep San at the forefront of your mind, getting through this should be far from worrisome.

You don’t need to explain your plan of action to Hongjoong when you reach that gap in the fence. He merely squats down and pulls the wire up so you can slip through first, and you do exactly that, pushing under the prongs and slipping into the base with no issues so far. It’ll be thirty seconds before the guard turns and starts heading back this way. That only gives Hongjoong half that time to join you on this side of the fence and duck behind the nearest row of boxes. You crouch beside the fence and pull up just like he did for you, eyeing the area over your shoulder just in case the guard decides to move sooner than expected. You’re safe from that for the time being; Hongjoong slides under to join you then the two of you split in opposite directions for cover.

“I’ll take the lead to the chute.” Hongjoong’s voice crackles through your earpiece and it resounds with a bit of static against your eardrum. You know Yeosang is on the other side of this call as well, monitoring what he can from the ship where the others also remain for the time being. “How much time until he walks back?”

“He just started walking this way. 23 seconds for him to reach the other side, then he’ll stop and talk to his friend for a bit. Anywhere from 60 to 120 seconds.”

“Stay put for now then. We can’t afford to risk it.”

You nod rather than responding verbally, eyes darting over to the side as the guard enters your field of vision. You drop your head further behind the boxes and splay your shoulders flat against their weight.

“Forward me the blueprints, Captain.” Yeosang is the one to speak this time. He cuts through the silence with such suddenness that you nearly jolt forward, barely holding back to flatten yourself as much as you can without causing a ruckus. Hongjoong fiddles with his wristband across from you. These two minutes could be the most crucial ones of the whole operation, and it’s only just the beginning. You’re silently begging that Hongjoong’s hacker keeps those cameras down as long as possible because one is staring you down at the corner of the building, just high enough to peek over the lip of the boxes and into your hiding spot.

“Shift’s almost over, eh?”

“Just about.”

They’re just loud enough for you to overhear, a quick way to keep track of where they are and how long it will take for you and Hongjoong to safely move out.

“Need a more honest job than protecting what’s going on down there in those labs. It’s inhumane honestly.”

“Most people they drag down there are criminals. I say reprogramming their heads is better than clogging the prisons.”

One guard snorts at that.

“Trade a life of crime for a life of legalized crime? I’m gonna be a father soon. I’m not sure I want to tell my kid and wife that dad is guarding doctors like that.”

“Yeah well, tell your kid that you’re bringing home the big bills and your dame won’t care one bit. As long as I don’t hear the screams of those poor souls, I’m content to live like this.”

“Calm down.”

The voice hisses through the white noise that rises in your ears, and you jerk your head to look in Hongjoong’s direction. He levels you with a sharp and piercing stare that has you gnawing at your lower lip. He must have noticed something you didn’t because you glance down to see your fists curled into such tight fights that your knuckles bleed pure white from the pressure.

“Don’t listen to what they’re saying. Stay focused on the mission at hand.”

You release the tension in your hands. The conversation behind you dies down, then you hear a slight shuffle. In the next moment, the guards are peeling apart and your target of interest is moving back in the opposite direction. Go time. You move when Hongjoong does, following his quick nod with one of your own then slipping out from behind your cover as he does. The guard is halfway to the other side, the other one already disappeared around the corner without a trace. It leaves the perfect opening for you two to get to the aforementioned trash chute, and when you reach it, Hongjoong lifts the cover to slip inside first. He turns just before jumping down.

“Be careful on your way down. It’s wide so you’ll need to mind your step. Wait a few seconds then follow me down.”

“Noted, Captain.”

Hongjoong dips into the opening of the chute, falling out of your sight in mere seconds, and you blink at the spot where he just was until the sound of him sliding down fades some, then you climb in behind him. There’s not an infinite amount of time for you to get in and out of sight before that guard turns around and spots you. It’s enough time for you to do a doubletake at the top of the tube because it is indeed wide, and you nearly fall into the chute headfirst. There’s no lighting whatsoever inside either, leaving you to guess where Hongjoong is. And on top of that, it’s both cramped and slightly claustrophobic despite being moderately wide. It takes having your feet firmly planted on one end with your elbows supporting your awkward and stilted shimmy down on the other to start moving downwards, but once you find a somewhat steady rhythm, you catch up with Hongjoong in no time.

You find the captain at the bottommost portion of the chute, feet finally reaching a solid landing place and getting you back upright, even if you have to squat to fit beside Hongjoong. The faintest blue light emits from his wristband and it highlights the path, or rather paths, ahead — a branching chute that splits in three directions. Hongjoong is reviewing the blueprint on his small band’s screen religiously when you land beside him. He doesn’t spare you the slightest glance until he seems to figure out which direction he wants to go next.

“Right tunnel will take us to the nearest maintenance room.”

Hongjoong slots himself into the opening, flattening all the way to his stomach to fit in the space, and you follow suit as best you can. It’s a deceptively wide space, one that makes you think the fit will be easy and comfortable. You are, however, quickly proven incorrect once you start moving. It also proves difficult to see what you’re doing and what Hongjoong is doing too. When he comes to a halt, you have to bring yourself to a sudden stop behind him before you take a heeled boot to the nose. He shifts just enough to let you see past his body and directly through the slats of the grate in front of him. A pair of legs clad in what seems to be a thin plastic material waits on the other side, unmoving and daunting to say the least. An itch touches the back of your throat. You resist the urge to swallow.

There’s an unspoken command from Hongjoong that says ‘don’t make a fucking sound’ and you’re more than happy to follow that command without complaint for now. You suck a breath in through your nose, willing the air to not whistle as it enters your system. The silence hanging in the cramped space is deafening and more than a little intimidating, to say the least.

You don’t count the seconds until there’s finally movement on the other side of the vent. The rustle of plastic rubbing against itself resounds; it pulls a pit more anxiety into your body and you only let yourself relax a hair when steps begin to echo through the room. They grow quieter with each passing moment, leading further and further away from where you and Hongjoong are hidden. Then — a whoosh, a sigh, and a slam.

Silence.

Two seconds pass, then another five without a sound.

Hongjoong moves first, although you couldn’t move much even if you wanted to, and he pushes forward through the grate until his feet find solid ground at last. You follow suit as quickly as you can, shimmying yourself through the chute and to the now-empty maintenance room alongside Hongjoong.

“The maintenance group should be back in a few minutes with a new batch of trash and to restock on supplies. We’ll need to hide on either side of the door and be ready to knock them out when they get back.”

“Will there be two workers?” You inquire. Your gaze finds Hongjoong out the corner of your eye, switching between taking in your new surroundings and examining the captain as he does the same.

“Yes, two workers per floor. That’s why I didn’t let you take this as a solo mission. Two people would be ideal for getting in and out without unnecessary suspicion.

“How exactly are we supposed to pull a whole prisoner out of here without suspicion?” You counter. Hongjoong twists at the neck to regard you with a rather demure stare.

“That’s the hard part. We don’t know what physical condition San is in yet. He might not be able to walk or stand on his own. Could be unconscious for all we know. But if we have to, we’ll fight our way out. Nightingale can only do so much to their systems; he can’t take down the guards for us.”

“The fighting won’t be an issue,” you mutter. Your hand moves around to your back on its own accord, feeling for the pistol tucked away under your jacket there, and your nerves settle a tad when your fingers close around the grip.

“Except fighting is loud, and it draws far too much attention. We’re trying not to pick fights here. San is the priority.”

“His safety is as well.”

“And putting him in unnecessary amounts of danger by picking fights with these fools is almost more of a risk.”

That is enough of a reality check to shut you up, and your jaw aches a bit as you clench your teeth tight. Hongjoong’s stare lingers a while longer, as though he’s regarding you with some sort of unknown perception and sees something you don’t in your own wall of emotions. Then he turns with nothing more than a huff and heads for the doors leading into this maintenance room.

“They should be on their way back by now. Get on the other side of the door and be ready to strike.”

You do as told, acting the part of the perfect soldier you need to be right now, and line up opposite Hongjoong just beside the doorframe. There isn’t time to contemplate who these people are, what their stories are, what secrets they hold — they could be the most innocent people in the universe for all you care. The fact of the matter is that they are about to be in the wrong place at the wrong time by their standards. By yours, they’ll be in the right place at the right time and fall perfectly into this plan Hongjoong has constructed. Contemplating the intricacies of morality at a time like this while San’s life could be hanging in the balance? You already know what side of the scales you sit on and that’s the one that favors San’s life over a stranger’s.

You blink over at Hongjoong, finding a similar steely resolution on his features, although he doesn’t seem nearly as bothered about the idea of harming an innocent in the crossfire while this all goes down. And given his track record, that does nothing to surprise you in the slightest.

It does, however, leave you a bit curious. Seonghwa claimed that the side of himself he dislikes — the Lieutenant of Death, that is — erases the lines between good and bad, the moral compass becomes skewed and stilted, and he can’t tell whether what he’s doing is the right thing or not. Looking directly in the face of the Scourge of the Black Sea right now, you can’t help but wonder if, at some point down the line, the person who made Seonghwa who he is today stands right across from you. Hongjoong would never take the blame, nor would Seonghwa ever pin it on him. The only person you can think of who could answer that question for you would be Yunho, and god knows if he would ever divulge that information to you of all people.

That line of thought is brought to an abrupt halt in the next few seconds. The doors before you slide open all the way, and the only thing to mask your sharp inhale is the loud and rumbling noise of plastic wheels rolling over the floor. Warm-toned voices lift above the wheels as two custodial workers dressed in their plastic suits stride into the room.

You and Hongjoong exchange one glance before bursting into motion. The captain moves first, arm slinging out and wrapping around the throat of the one closest to him. You follow suit as quickly as you can; it only takes a quick jab with the butt of your gun to take him out. You catch the body before it slumps to the floor and causes more noise, eyeing Hongjoong while he lulls his victim into unconsciousness.

“Take the outer suit and put it over your clothes,” he orders once both are out cold. “Bodies in the bins at the back.” You work in haste to strip the outer suit off and haul the body over to the bins in question — the ones closest to the vent you slipped in through — and by the time you turn around with your new suit fully on, Hongjoong has already done the same and hooked a mask over the lower half of his face. He tosses a matching one your way, a simple white surgical mask to help mitigate the cleaning supply fumes. “Alright, go time. Keycard should be in your pocket but double-check before we go.”

You pad over the wrinkled pockets and catch hold of the keycard, flashing it in the captain’s directions with a sharp nod.

“We’re heading out of the maintenance room and going for the elevators. We’ll update you on which level we’re on there,” Hongjoong says into his wrist before tucking it under the plastic sleeve of his new suit. It only takes a quick motion of his index finger to summon you to his side. You fall into step beside him and match his moderate pace as he takes the trash cart left abandoned by the workers you just took out. The snort that escapes through your lips is suffocated by the mask, but Hongjoong hears it nonetheless.

“I never thought I would see the Scourge of the Black Sea pushing a trash cart in a plastic janitor outfit,” you explain in a rush when his glare falls on you.

“Then you wouldn’t believe it if I told you I wore a corset and dress for a mission once.”

Your shock is both immediate and evident in your wide eyes, but Hongjoong pays you no mind and instead nods down the corridor.

“We need to move up to Level 3. That’s where San should be according to the blueprints and Nightingale’s intel. Rehabilitation and reprogramming happen there. Han didn’t provide us with much on this side of the walls, so things are going to be more difficult from here on out.”

You manage to stay quiet and mind your own business for a grand total of two minutes. In your defense, the silence is deafening and no one is around to eavesdrop on a hushed conversation anyway, so you have no issue speaking up while neither of you is speaking into your wristbands for Yeosang or the bounty hunter to overhear.

“When can I address the elephant in the room?”

“What would that be?”

It’s enough of an affirmation for you to clear your throat and speak your mind further.

“Seonghwa, of course.”

That has Hongjoong shaking his head a few times.

“Whatever happened between the two of you after I left the brig is none of my business.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” you protest without missing a beat. “Him being afraid of me. That part.” If the words contain a bit of bite to them, that’s not your fault; it’s enough to spur Hongjoong to sigh deeply into his mask.

“You truly pick the most inopportune times for conversations like these.” When he says nothing more than that, you think you’ve poked and prodded too much for his liking. Looking ahead of you again only shows that you’ve reached an elevator, and Hongjoong has simply paused to fiddle with the buttons. “Heading up to Level 3, we’re sitting at G8 below ground right now. The ride up will probably be slow and take a few minutes.” You at least have the decency to wait until he pulls his wrist away from his face before you speak again.

“This is the perfect time for a talk then, isn’t it? A long and silent elevator trip?”

“My stance hasn’t changed,” Hongjoong replies as he pushes the supply cart into the elevator. You follow close behind, eyes focused on the back of his head despite it being hooded in plastic. The doors slide shut behind you, then the captain fiddles with the metal buttons on the inner panel.

“What did I do wrong? Genuinely and honestly tell me what I did wrong without bias affecting your stance.”

“Besides threatening to take your own life?”

“That was merely an intimidation tactic! Surely you have used something similar in your line of work.”

Hongjoong’s gaze flits down to the floor as the elevator lurches into motion.

“I have, of course, I’m no stranger to such a tactic. But there are — there are lingering traumas from such methods for Seonghwa… as well as myself.”

“And I suppose I’m supposed to simply accept that without asking you to elaborate?”

“Why should you need to know anything beyond that? You asked for an explanation, and there it is.”

“I can tell it has something to do with the crew,” you persist, “the crew I am now part of, so it doesn’t seem fair to hold that information back when I’m sure everyone else knows as well. For fuck’s sake, we’re pirates. We lie and kill and threaten people every day while stealing and letting innocent people come into harm’s way. What was different about what I did?”

Hongjoong’s initial response comes in the form of a hiss then he swings the side of his fist into the wall of the elevator. You bite back the instinct to flinch into a fighting stance.

“San did exactly what you tried to do once. Brought a knife out and took it to his own arms and legs out of a sick and desperate attempt to bargain with someone. It was early on when the crew was made up of only myself, Seonghwa, San, and three other pirates who didn’t survive the mutiny. Yunho hadn’t joined us yet, and we had no doctor on board so when… San went on a rampage trying to do what you did, and he succeeded at getting a lot more then. And no matter how hard Seonghwa tried, he couldn’t fucking stop San, nor could I succeed in apprehending him when I tried getting him under control. Just like you, he was insistent that he get this one bit of crucial information out of the target. Wasn’t even anyone important or someone who cared about San the way Han cares about you. The man couldn’t stomach the sight of blood or wounds though; both made him sick to his stomach. So San’s solution was to not only torture the target but also himself — for every cut to the other man, he would inflict one on himself. When San finally got fed up with Seonghwa’s attempts to stop him, San knocked him down and tied him to the door handles so Seonghwa couldn’t interrupt anymore.”

Hongjoong pauses to release a deep exhale and pull his hand away from the wall. There’s an eerie sense of calm to his movements despite how full of rage he seemed before speaking. All you can do is stare at his side profile out the corner of your eye, the plastic wrapped around your body suddenly seeming a lot more suffocating than before.

“Witnessing something like that… being unable to stop something like that from happening and watching a person devolve into some form of insanity — it’s a hefty burden to bear. And when Seonghwa saw you begin to do that, it took him back to that place, that memory, where he was when it happened before. He carried that burden with him for a long time, to a point where he didn’t trust himself to protect the crew because he couldn’t stop it before. But back then? Then he could at least try to stop it because he wasn’t locked up the whole time like he was when you started spiraling. With you, he was completely and utterly powerless to stop you, which is why he pinged my wristband and asked me to come down to the brig.”

“I didn’t realize you let him keep his wristband.”

“I didn’t put him in the brig to punish him. And you… it’s not that you aren’t allowed to have your moments like that. We’re all killers, we all have some loose screws, hardly anyone on the crew is perfectly put together and sane. It’s that you exercised a lack of control and stability that we need to see from you. The bare minimum, Y/N. That’s all we ask from you.”

You stare at the wall of the elevator without saying anything for several tense seconds. Your teeth worry your lower lip, rubbing the skin raw and red under your abuse, and you only pull away when you taste something metallic hit your tongue.

“Back then… what was so important that San would do such a thing?”

Hongjoong shakes his head twice.

“It doesn’t matter. It didn’t matter back then. He cared so little about himself that he would throw himself into the worst situations. Didn’t care one bit about living for anyone, not even himself. Besides, those scars aren’t my stories to tell.”

“He told me once that he wanted to die in his face-off with Cara,” you whisper, not daring to raise your voice any higher than that even though it’s just you and Hongjoong in the elevator.

“He’s come a long way since then,” Hongjoong says back in the same hushed tone. “Most of the crew don’t know about that incident, or even about that part of him aside from Seonghwa, Jongho, and myself. I don’t think he’s ever brought it up with Yunho, but that’s not any of my business anyway.”

“Right because your business is just to make sure everyone does their job, isn’t it?”

“My business, Y/N, is to be a leader. Not to coddle you or treat you like a weak link for any past traumas. You were punished for making a mistake, not for being damaged.”

“You seem to coddle Seonghwa just fine.” You don’t look back at the captain but you can all but feel the heat of his stare on the side of your face after you speak.

“If you paid any attention to my actions, Y/N, you would see I coddle other members of the crew just the same. You’re simply hyperfixating on how I treat Seonghwa because that’s who you see me interact with the most.”

“I see more than enough of how you and Yunho interact as well,” you retort through a soft scoff. Your eyes dart up to the elevator panel, watching the number slowly inch onwards to your destination.

“Oh, we do a lot more than coddle each other when you’re not around.”

“I don’t recall asking for details.”

“And I don’t recall offering any details.”

You finally look over at Hongjoong. The moment you do, your eyes find his dark ones, the playful smirk curling over his lips once more with no sign of relenting, and that’s the instant you realize you are most definitely in over your head when it comes to the Scourge of the Black Sea.

“Despite what you might think, Y/N,” Hongjoong starts again, his voice carrying more gravity to it than before, “my intention has never been to put you down for what you’ve been through in the past. I would not offer my help in restoring your lost memories if I did not care just a little bit. Beyond your importance to San… to Seonghwa… to the crew, you are a valuable asset. I’d like to see how valuable you can be at your full potential.”

“Perhaps my value only lies in being broken,” you counter. You twist your neck to look at the captain more directly. He stares back, mirroring your blank stare with one of his own.

“Or perhaps those walls are holding you back. I guess that’s for us to discover, no?”

You bring your chin forward once more and avoid his stare for the rest of the long ride up to Level 3. You can’t keep yourself from thinking about what he said though. It leaves you with more than you want to think about right now, and yet the truth of the matter lies directly in front of you. Whatever special Siren abilities you have are not reliable enough to be drawn out on command. Like there’s an invisible collar around your neck threatening to hurt you any time you use them. And like Wooyoung’s dead collar that keeps him from tapping into his abilities, the only thing holding you back is your own head. It’s more than likely that whatever happened to your memories and however Jisung fucked them up is the reason why you have so much trouble with it to begin with.

A lurch in the elevator’s movements pulls you from your thoughts. Moments later, it screeches to a halt that has your balance wavering, and the doors slide open to expose a deceptively similar corridor. You move to step out but Hongjoong grabs you first. His fingers crinkle around the plastic.

“We have to make this believable, so for the love of god, please behave.” The words are hissed through gritted teeth, but even if he hadn’t spat them your way, you would have caught the emotion in his eyes that matches the intensity of his tone.

“I didn’t take you to be a religious man,” you quip back if anything just to deflect the seriousness of the situation looming over you. Hongjoong seems rather amused by that, in the very least, as he huffs through a smirk and steps away to push the cart into the hallway. You fall into step beside him, matching the pace he sets in a few seconds while scanning the monotonous greys and whites surrounding you.

Given what this place is supposed to be, it’s painstakingly clean, although you don’t doubt that the maintenance crew you took out factors into that. Hongjoong keeps his gaze forward, occasionally flitting between his wristband and the area ahead. You’re walking blind beside him with just hope and trust guiding you through the floorplan. Hongjoong is good with directions thankfully because he leads both of you through the halls without hitting a single dead end.

That, however, proves to be the least of your worries.

The guards milling about the corridors with rifles strapped to their backs are your primary concern. It would be no issue if they simply passed by the two of you. But instead, you see the military in its full glory: each guard you pass either kicks the maintenance cart and tries to topple the cleaning supplies or goes for a cheeky shoulder check to knock you or Hongjoong off balance. The temptation to fucking clock them between the eyes each time it happens is simply overwhelming, but Hongjoong’s voice is ringing in your ears along with the reminder that if anything goes wrong now, it could cost you San’s rescue. That thought makes it easy to swallow your pride and push forward with your chin tucked to your chest.

You quickly lose track of how many twists and turns Hongjoong guides you through. The floor seems to go on forever — a white labyrinth that stretches into eternity — and when Hongjoong finally comes to a halt, it’s in the middle of an empty corridor with no end in sight. Your lips part to speak but the captain seems to sense it and lifts a hand to stop you. His finger twitches against the air, a surprisingly steady pattern of jerks that confuse you until you realize he’s counting seconds with each invisible tap.  

“Nightingale hacked the cameras on this floor. It may not last long depending on their security system, so we’ll need to move fast, understood?”

“Aye, Captain,” you echo back.

“We need to cut through these rooms to get to the corridor on the other side. That one will lead to the holding rooms. Maintenance cards don’t allow access to this division though.”

“So we’re at an impasse? Or does your bounty hunter have a way out of this one too?”

“No.” Hongjoong glances over the wall of metal before him. He runs a hand across the seam in the metal and brushes down to touch the handle of the door. “This is where you come in.”

“I need you to phase through the door and flip the lock.”

“You planned for this?”

“Yes, of course, I did.”

“Even when Wooyoung was originally supposed to come with?”

Again, Hongjoong affirms it, this time with a sharp nod of his head.

“I don’t even know how to do that.”

“You know it’s a Siren ability though, don’t you? You mean to tell me you’ve never done it?”

“I—”

“Did Seonghwa not teach you anything?”

“I’ve done it out of instinct when my life was at risk, not because I knew what the hell I was doing.” And once when San’s life was at risk but that’s hardly important and not something you wish to admit aloud right now in this very instant. “It was like — like a subconscious need to do something, and that’s how my body reacted.” Hongjoong hisses something inaudible under his breath, and you’re certain it’s nothing short of scathing.

“If we can’t get through this door, then we can’t recover San. So guess what? It may not be your life at risk, but it is San’s. I’m telling you what I need from you right now, Y/N. It’s on you to deliver it.”

“And I’m telling you that this isn’t something I can simply control. Last time I tried to bring out any semblance of my oh-so-great ‘abilities’, I fucking failed.” Hongjoong darts a hand out to grip your bicep, crushing your muscles under the plastic covering of your disguise. You lurch forward as he tugs you to the wall. It’s quick and messy, a stumble here then nearly face-planting into the metal without warning, but you brace yourself against it with your free hand.

“Don’t make me regret bringing you here, Ghost. I trust you to take whatever risks you have to when it comes to saving San. You either prove that trust to be misplaced right now, or you give me a damn good reason to put some faith in you.”

You flatten your palm to the cool metal. Hongjoong stares you down from your peripheral, eyes tracing the side of your face rather than where your hand touches the door.

Just a little push. In three, two, one —

You shove against the surface with all your might.

Only for nothing to happen.

You give another shove, this time pushing all the force you can muster into it.

And again, nothing happens. The door doesn’t budge, nor does your hand against it. Bile creeps up the back of your throat as reality sinks in.

“Fuck,” Hongjoong spits through his teeth. “We don’t have time for this. A guard will come around this hallway in two minutes.” Then, all of a sudden, he reaches across the space between you and the door. His hand closes around your forearm, fingers splayed over the plastic.

And just as he does that, your hand begins to sink through the metal of the door as though it’s nothing but opaque water with no resistance. Panic sneaks up on you out of nowhere as you watch your hand dip further into the surface. You startle and stumble forward like you’re going to follow your hand through, but Hongjoong slips between you and the door before that can happen.

“Unlock it, Y/N.”

The order barely processes in your hazy mind. The space between your bodies is minimal at best, but the more frightening fact is that your whole hand is currently pushed through a previously solid surface. You can’t imagine it would be pretty if the door suddenly decided to close around your limb. Hongjoong’s grip on your forearm is the only thing grounding you to reality at the moment, and you frankly have forgotten how to breathe in your state of terror. The only thing you’re vaguely aware of is how cold your right hand currently is on the other side of the door.

It takes you a moment to gain the courage to actually move your fingers, flexing and twisting them a little without issue. You fumble around blindly in search of the lock to no avail. And by pure instinct, you stretch your other hand out to the door like you’re going to brace yourself without thinking twice. Again, it’s Hongjoong who stops you and catches your other wrist before you can touch the door.

“You’ll just go all the way through if you do that. I need to keep a grip on you if you don’t want to end up losing an arm.”

“H-How the — what did you do?” You stammer. His answer never comes though because your fingers finally fall over something cool to the touch. You snap the lock, listening to the clear click that follows, and relief overtakes the panic. Hongjoong pushes against you and effectively pulls your arm out of the door without issue.

“Let’s go, we don’t have much time.” You don’t have time to do anything more than rub at your wrist and flex your fingers before you’re following Hongjoong into the dark room ahead. The cleaning cart rattles over the lip of the threshold once. The door slides shut with a whoosh of air. Then silence overtakes the two of you.

Within seconds, the room is hit with fluorescent white light. Hongjoong appears beside you, illuminated by the glow with his hand on the wall. When he drops his arm, he reaches for the zipper of his plastic suit. You watch on with apprehension to your gaze, still clutching your own hand to your chest as he pulls his left arm free. Whatever he’s doing is unbeknownst to you. Confusion still rings across your features when he waves his hand before you.

“The ring on my middle finger — this is what’s called a conductor.” You blink between his features and the band, catching sight of the simple silver ring around his finger that holds nothing more than two white gems laid side by side across the front. “It amplifies class abilities for the wearer, but it’s also strong enough to conduct the wearer’s energy through another person with physical contact. Which is why holding your arm allowed you to slip through the door with more ease since the ring was touching you.”

“You don’t keep it to be fashionable?” You mutter back. Hongjoong huffs and slips his arm back into the plastic suit.

“It’s San’s ring, actually. He gave it to me prior to the mission on Kebos. I didn’t think I would need it, but he insisted. Turns out that was a good idea after all.” Even after his hand is covered by the plastic again, Hongjoong won’t quit rubbing at the place where his ring is. The motion is almost obsessive, like he can’t gain peace just from touching it. You blink between his hands and the side of his face several times before pulling yourself free of your thoughts. You drag your tongue over your lower lip in a quick flick.

“Wait a moment, please. I have a question.”

“Again?” Hongjoong retorts. “Walk and talk. Standing around won’t save San.” He heads for the opposite side of the room, leaving the cleaning cart where it stands by your entrance, and you assume he intends to leave it there so you simply follow after him.

“Wooyoung said — he said that San is a ‘special case’. What did he mean by that?”

“Why are you asking me and not him?”

“Because it was about you. That San is a special case to you.”

“Again, Y/N, why do you want to know? What’s the importance of it? You’re awfully nosy when you want to speak.” You ignore the quip in favor of shaking your head. No response comes, and frankly, you aren’t sure what sort of explanation you have for him because it’s simply a flame of curiosity burning in your gut. Hongjoong slaps a hand down against the wall, right over the lighting panel, and the room returns to its previous state of enshrouded darkness. You blink against the sudden change in an attempt to find his figure standing out in the shadows. The only light filtering into the room comes from the door Hongjoong has stopped beside: a small rectangular window tinted almost black cut into the top half of the door sheds just enough light for you to find where Hongjoong is.

“Back on Echidna, you mentioned San being important too,” you continue, finally finding some semblance of an explanation. “I know he’s not a Siren; I’ve seen his back and there are no tattoos there. Even without that though, I’m certain I would have learned by now given how we slept beside each other during that mission.”

“He’s certainly not a Siren,” Hongjoong scoffs in reply. “He’s proved himself to be a Spectre more than once. That’s not up for debate. Nor is it important right now, because I gave you the answer you’re looking for while we were on the elevator. It’s as simple as that.”

“Fine, I’ll change the topic then. What the hell was I supposed to do if Wooyoung did come? Had it just been the two of us then what? Was I supposed to just out myself then and there?” It’s a purely rhetorical question in theory, however, because Wooyoung does know of your identity, and you know of his. As far as you know, Hongjoong is none the wiser to that, so this is also a way for you to weed the information out of him to see what exactly he knows.

“Yes. Yes, the plan was for you to use your Siren abilities in front of Wooyoung. The plan was also relying on your ability to phase through one door without issue. I expected Seonghwa to teach you that by now but apparently the two of you were busy doing… other activities.”

“Bullshit,” you snap back, partially due to your embarrassment at his blatant callout. “That can’t have been your plan!”

“I relied on Seonghwa for part of the planning for this mission. He told me you were able to do that much, that you had done it in the past, and he had seen you use a bit of telekinesis too. Even if I didn’t trust Seonghwa’s word for some odd reason, I would have given Wooyoung the conductor as a last resort. I always have a plan b and a plan c after that.”

Words fail you. As much as you want to call him out, the logic and reasoning are there. The only thing that still nags at the edge of your thoughts on the other hand —

“Why would you have outed me to Wooyoung like that?”

A sigh escapes the captain, and he reaches up to tug his mask down so that it hangs loose about his neck.

“It wasn’t an ideal situation to begin with, but since — since Seonghwa couldn’t in any way go on this mission, it had to be you. The doors aren’t on the same power grid as the surveillance system so Nightingale couldn’t have done it.” Hongjoong hesitates for a breath of air. You see him shift on his heels then step into your space. The light from the door hits the side of his face. It’s an eerie and unsettling sight, to be honest; the only features that truly come through are his eyes and nose. A band of dim light stretches over that top half of his face. Without seeing the rest of him, it’s hard to even recognize him like this. He appears far too delicate and soft to be anything like the man with a broad nose and narrowed eyes on wanted papers all over the galaxy. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice pipes up to note that the artist got his nose and eyes wrong.

“Scourge of the Black Sea. What a gaudy name.”

Someone snorts beside you. You twist to glance to your left, finding your companion standing there with his arms crossed over his chest as he examines the bounty paper you just ripped from the wall.

“One day it’ll be our job to kill him,” Jisung mutters under his breath. He doesn’t look at the paper for long — enough to roll his eyes at the almost cartoonish depiction of the criminal on it.

“No, that will be someone else’s job.” You let your arm fall from the wall but can’t quite release the paper from your grip yet. “Besides, it’s all pointless anyway. The military does nothing to scare these citizens. Nothing to encourage them to turn criminals like this man in beyond offering money. Those criminals on the other hand? They earned their reputation somehow and somewhere. People fear them, the sight of their names, and the whispers of their presence. Fear… fear is a god’s most powerful weapon, and this man holds it at his fingertips. Strange, don’t you think?”

“Fear is only useful in corralling believers. Those who choose not to believe — what need do they have in fearing a pretend deity?”

“You’re saying this Scourge isn’t real?”

“I’m saying that once we take down the figurehead king at the top of the pyramid, things will change. We’ll see what good faith and fear do for these people then.”

You glance down at the bounty once more. Then, you take it between your fingers and rip it clean down the middle, straight through the face printed onto it.

A sudden grip on your arm brings you back to the present, tearing you from the hazy memory that now swiftly fades into nothingness before you can try to remember more. You have half a thought that Hongjoong is going to attack you or something similar with the pure fervor in his hold on you. Instead, his gaze remains just as firm as before, but far from cruel or harsh.

“I apologize for making this decision without you and your permission. And I apologize for being harsh with you recently, as well as how I’ve treated you since you joined the crew. I didn’t like the situation we were in at first, couldn’t trust you or your motives, but I know now. I know that I need you as much as any person on the crew. My crew is not complete without you. There is — I put so much faith and trust in Seonghwa, and admittedly some of it is blind and unknowing. I expect him to do anything asked of him, but I realize now that I cannot ask that of him any longer. We have made it this far without revealing his identity to the crew, as well as you for that matter. But now? Given what has happened recently? I cannot ask either of you to hold back in the presence of the crew any longer. If it comes down to life or death, you have to be able to protect yourselves the best ways you know how. And if that includes using whatever abilities you have been granted as Sirens, then so be it.”

“Those ways are unbeknownst to me too,” you snort. It’s too much to consider the gravity behind Hongjoong’s words right now, not when there’s still a mission to accomplish later on. Whatever meaning his words hold — you can think back on it later once San is safe and sound. “Seonghwa hasn’t taught me much. I don’t know anything of what I’m supposed to know. At one point in my life, I had to have been aware of it all, either before joining the military or before Jisung fucked things up in my head. He wouldn’t have needed to keep those memories about Sirens because he didn’t know to look for them.”

Hongjoong’s grip falters. His eyes flash with an emotion akin to shock.

“How can you be certain?”

“I suppose I can’t truly be certain without him telling me directly, but if he knew, why would he purposefully take those memories away? Especially when he could have used me as a weapon with my abilities fully at my hands? As far as… as far as I remember, you are the only person I have told myself. Seonghwa knew long before I said a word.”

“If it means anything to you, you are free to tell whoever you wish on the crew. They’re the ones who stayed with me through a mutiny after all.”

You sink your teeth into your lower lip, mulling over what he’s said for only a few moments, then you offer a small nod.

“As long as it gets to be my own decision, I’m okay with that.”

Hongjoong returns your nod with one of his own as he pulls back to increase the space between your bodies.

“If you wish to learn more about what you are beyond simply talking with Seonghwa — which I highly encourage if that means anything to you — I have plenty of books at my disposal in my quarters. And once this mess is all over, I can put you in contact with a scholar who specializes in the Siren race. He and Seonghwa have spoken many times over the years.”

“You have a contact for everything, huh?”

Hongjoong tries to bite back his laugh but ultimately fails and lets the sound tumble out. The smile that graces his lips is truly a rare sight to see. It’s possibly the first genuine smile you’ve seen from him since telling him of your identity. The gesture falls almost immediately, but just seeing it for the brief time it was there is enough reassurance for you.

“I have wished to forget my past time and time again,” he admits through the quiet of the room. “There are parts of my past I wish to hack off and throw to the dogs if only to spare myself the pain of what I must witness at night in retribution for my crimes. Yet seeing how it affects you and the pain Jisung has subjected you to out of a sick claim of love… I would only wish such a fate on my worst enemies.” There’s a whisper in the silence. You inhale so sharply that your chest aches and burns. “You are not my worst enemy, Y/N. Not by a long shot.” An exhale on your part, but also on his. “I will do my job as a captain to ensure your safety. You know what I ask for in return.”

“G-Good to — to know,” you stutter back as quickly as you can. The tension lingering in your chest is tight, so prominent that it feels like someone has a tight grip over your heart. There are unsaid words as well, things you wish to say but cannot find it in you to vocalize right now. You’re grateful, in a way, to see a tiny shred of humanization from Hongjoong. “If I ask, would you help me find a way to recover those lost memories?”

Hongjoong approaches the door and lays a hand on the latch keeping it shut. He sends a glance back at you over his shoulder, a motion you only catch because of how the light through the door hits the side of his face and reflects off his eyes.

“Prove yourself first.”

The next corridor you step into looks eerily similar to the last, and it’s almost as though you didn’t go anywhere different because of how stark the similarities are. There’s not a guard in sight, thankfully for the two of you. This time, Hongjoong doesn’t stop to check his band; he steps to the right and walks directly down the hall without a breath of hesitation. It leaves you to play catch-up, a little jog to your step as you try to match his quick pace.

If an immediate fight lurking around every corner is what you’re expecting, you receive the opposite in return. Should the two of you get caught off-guard or jumped all of a sudden, you’re in for some trouble because your gun is hidden underneath the plastic suit. This time around, however, there are far more doors lining the hallways. Some have lights brightening their rectangular windows in the doors, but almost all of them are dark with no signs of life in them. As much as you hope to find San in one of the lit rooms, each peek only shows a stranger tied to a metal chair with a blindfold over their eyes. (It doesn’t stop you from checking each and every single one of them, even if Hongjoong keeps his eyes forward).

You lose track of how many turns you’ve made by the time Hongjoong stops you with his arm. With a quick yank, he pulls you back around a corner and up against the wall.

“Guard ahead. Just one. According to our floorplan, there’s a storage closet along each corridor too. Let’s grab him and shove him in there before moving forward.”

“How far to San?” You ask before you can stop yourself.

“We’re almost to the rehabilitation sector.”

“We haven’t gotten there yet?” The number of doors behind you is borderline countless, and the ones that were lit were still a significant number even if not the majority. If none of this has been the rehab section, you can’t imagine what they would possibly be.

“No. Now let’s go.”

You follow Hongjoong’s lead, shifting your mask on your face like it will help you quell the surge of panic in your gut. Seeing the guard in question — with his black fatigues and gun slung over his shoulder — turns that panic to adrenaline in a breath. It’s not an immediate attack; Hongjoong ducks his head to his chest and continues walking forward, and for a moment, you think the man is going to let the two of you simply walk past without issue. Then —

“Hey, there were no names on the sign-in sheet for this area today. Where’s your authorization?”

Hongjoong pauses and glances up at the guard with wide eyes. His acting would fool you if you didn’t know better.

“A-Authorization?” He stammers back. He reaches towards his pocket, head twisting a bit more than necessary. You take it as a cue and step to the right just a hair. “Of course, sir, it’s right here.”

Just as Hongjoong pulls his keycard out of the pocket of his suit, he lunges towards the guard with the card extended towards his neck.

Yet somehow he doesn’t move fast enough, and the card glances off the expanse of skin exposed at the man’s neck. It leaves nothing more than a thin scrape. You lurch forward to block an oncoming hit only to be hit by the full force of the guard’s weight. Blood pumps in your ears as they ring with impact. Your vision goes blurry and black for a fraction of a second, and when you recover your senses enough to see again, you find yourself flat on your back under a heavy body that now has hands closing around your neck. Hongjoong is just past the man’s shoulder with his own arm blocking his mouth and airways. Instead of letting up, the grip on your neck only grows tighter, like the guard is pushing every last bit of energy into crushing your throat under his bare hands.

It’s the fear that he might actually succeed, and the fear of failing San that drives your next actions.

You throw a shaky hand up between your body and the enemy’s, fingers scrambling to latch onto something that will help you push his weight off you. In your moment of frantic panic, something else happens. Your hand doesn’t find solid flesh and instead pushes through the wall of skin and bone before you. The first thing you feel is an uncomfortably warm sensation. Then it morphs into a horrible wet and thumping mass under your fingers. Your body moves as though controlled by something else, but you have a sense that Wooyoung has nothing to do with what is going on right now and that he is nowhere to be found in your consciousness. If you could gag, you most certainly would because your hand clenches tight around that throbbing organ until it stops thumping altogether. Only when the grip on your neck loosens enough for you to escape do you pull your appendage free. In between your gasps for air, you heave like vomit is about to come up.

There’s a phantom sensation of a beating heart at your fingertips.

A thud resounds beside you, and you dare to glance over to find Hongjoong dropping the body of the now-dead guard to the floor in equal parts shock and horror. The quickly cooling wet sensation on your hand tells you that indeed just happened; the blood dripping from the plastic is too real to ignore as much as you want to, and you truly just put your hand through a man’s chest like it was child’s play.

“Y-You…” Hongjoong has garnered all the fear in the universe with mere whispers of his reputation as a pirate, and yet looking him in the eye right now is like staring at nothing more than a child who has witnessed the monster under his bed crawling out to daylight. Bile rises in your throat. You never want to see that again. You never want to see terror cross his dark eyes when looking at you again. “You couldn’t have done that with the fucking door earlier?” He manages after a few heaves of breath. It’s evident that isn’t what he originally intended to say. You don’t think you can handle hearing whatever is on his mind at present.

Hongjoong makes quick work of the body, not bothering to get your help and leaving you where you’re still slumped against the wall while he drags the guard to the closet he mentioned previously. You can’t bring yourself to watch the process. As many people as you’ve killed, as much blood is on your hands, as high as your kill count is — you’ve never done something as inhumane as what you just did. It’s not something you imagined being capable of in the slightest. You’ve heard rumors in books and military records about some Sirens being able to do such things; some military plans even called for Siren collection so that they could be used as torturers or weapons with that specific ability. Maybe if you had stayed any longer in the military, that’s what you would have become.

But to hold the weight of a life in your hands so literally is a hefty cost to pay.

That heartbeat is still drumming at your fingertips.

“Y/N.”

Hongjoong shakes you free of your thoughts. His tone is uncharacteristically gentle. You blink forward at him where he now squats in front of you, hand outstretched to your bloodied one. His surgical mask is gone and forgotten, along with the translucent plastic suit that covered his body before.

“We won’t be needing disguises anymore.”

You manage a shaky nod and peel your mask away from the lower half of your face with your clean hand. You don’t grab hold of Hongjoong’s yet, not until you toss the mask to the floor and can freely set your unbloodied hand atop his. He tugs you to your feet, and despite the wobbling of your knees, you stand on your own enough to pull the rest of your disguise away from your body. Your hand underneath the plastic is pristine — clean as ever without a drop of blood on it. Scarlet still flashes across your vision even as Hongjoong takes the remainder of the plastic suit and throws it into the closet as well.

“Y/N,” he repeats. You can meet his eyes. If there’s fear there again, you know you won’t be able to finish this mission as you need to. “I don’t know what the fuck that was, and it’s clear you don’t either, but I need you to forget about it. Put it in the back of your mind right now. Shake it off and don’t think about it.”

“It’s—” you pause to lick over your lips “— it’s fine.” Lie. “I’m fine.” Lie. “I won’t let it bother me.” Lie.

You know it’s an easy façade to see through despite your insistence. Hongjoong doesn’t comment on it and opts for a hasty nod in reply.

“Good, because I think San is not too far ahead.”

There is a certain weight in the air as you begin walking again. While it could be because you’re so close to getting to San, you know that’s not truly the case. Hongjoong finally starts glancing into each of the lit rooms as you pass them. You do the same even as Hongjoong walks by, unable to keep your curiosity at bay. The next guard you come across is much easier to dispose of — well, you don’t actually do anything but stand next to Hongjoong because you sneak up on the one-man patrol from behind this time, which lets the captain knock him out without issue. Hongjoong uses the same method as before and stuffs the body in the nearest storage closet.

Even with your occasional company that could seriously risk the success of this mission, the floor is eerily quiet and undisturbed for a military facility. And given what the guards outside said about the screaming… you half expected to hear such screams resonating off the walls without ceasing. Instead, all you’re met with is the echo of your own footsteps and the hum of the air conditioner.

“Eyes on target,” Hongjoong exhales. You snap your attention forward, thinking he means an enemy ahead at first. But Hongjoong isn’t looking down the hall, and there is no one in sight. “Eyes on San. We found him.”

“No time like the present, Captain.” Yeosang’s sudden intrusion startles the fuck out of you. He’s been so quiet for so long that you honestly forgot he was there, patiently waiting for an update at you and Hongjoong milled about each corridor for what felt like an eternity.

“There’s a doctor in the room with him. Seems to be standing at a counter at the opposite end.” Hongjoong draws back to look at you. “I’m giving you five minutes to get in there and get him out,” he says under his breath. “Kill anyone inside who isn’t San. I’ll guard the door and make sure our exit is clear as best I can. Nightingale, do you have eyes on the emergency elevator?”

“Yes sir,” a garbled voice echoes back. The taunt in his tone is impossible to miss even with the static. “You’ll have a few customers along the way, but nothing you can’t handle.”

“Get him back,” Hongjoong whispers, this time just to you and not with Yeosang or Nightingale listening on the other side.

“Aye Captain,” you reply. Approaching the door doesn’t take more than three steps, and Hongjoong is waiting with his hand on the door panel. You don’t let yourself look through the slot of the window, too afraid of being distracted by whatever sight lies on the other side. All you need to know is that San is inside and your only obstacle is a doctor on the other side of the cell.

The slide of the door is nearly deafening with how loud the whoosh is. You don’t have time to look at San or even blink down at the chair he’s supposedly sitting in; the doctor opposite you spins on her heel upon hearing the door open.

“This is a restricted area. Unauthorized access is strictly prohibited unless with direct orders from—” You cross the room in a record-setting three seconds, dodging the chair in the middle to reach the woman in a pristine white lab coat. Her words fall short when you grip her lapel and yank her forward. You debate saying something — some witty comeback to shut her up further — but it’s pointless in the long run considering what you do next.

It only takes a quick jerk for you to twist her forward and slam her head down against the counter so hard that the impact rattles everything scattered across the surface. Her body doesn’t fall completely limp then though, so you repeat the motion once, twice, then one last time for good measure before she finally slumps to the floor. Either unconscious or dead — you aren’t sure, and you don’t want to stick around long enough to find out. When you turn back around, the door has slid into its original position, leaving you alone with the body on the floor and the man on the chair before you.

It’s almost poetic in a way; the way time feels like it’s screeching to a halt so quickly you forget how breathing works, how heavy your arm feels when you lift it to touch the side of the chair, and the emotion clawing it’s way up to your throat as you finally finally set your gaze upon that familiar side profile.

The blindfold hovering over his eyes does nothing to conceal his identity, although you think you might recognize him anywhere at this point.

You aren’t sure what to do first. Shackles are binding his wrists and ankles to the chair alongside the blindfold, then another thick band of metal strapped over his neck to keep him in place. The locking mechanic is nothing more than a simple latch contraption — obviously, they don’t plan for break-ins or breakouts for that matter.

There’s a lingering burn on the back of your tongue, one that is afraid to pull the blindfold away and see eyes that don’t recognize you. So you get to work on the bindings first and snap each one open starting at his ankles.

San remains deathly still throughout the whole process you can’t figure out whether he’s going to jump you the second you snap the final latch on his neck or merely lie there for an eternity until you do something. Your answer comes soon enough, because the moment you tug that last latch away and free San’s body from the cold metal, he bursts into action with an energy you didn’t know you had. The blindfold keeps him from doing any real damage, but he manages to shove you to the ground and land atop your chest. It fully knocks all the air out of your lungs, and the sound that was meant to be a cry of San’s name only comes out in a huff of oxygen with no intelligible sound in it.

His knee presses into the inside of your bicep on one side. On the other, he uses his right hand to keep you pinned to the floor. (Not that you’re putting up a fight anyway). His free hand stretches upward. You prepare yourself for the painful moment of truth. The black fabric over his face slides down and flutters to the floor. You see his eyelids match the motion as he blinks against the sudden light in his eyes.

And then he sees you.

Perceives you, really.

It’s a calculated gaze for only a fraction of a second, then it blossoms into one of utter shock and surprise.

You brace yourself for the nightmare to become reality.

“Y-You…” His hold on you loosens to a point where it’s near nonexistent.

“H-How do you know my name? Who are you?”

“Tell me this isn’t real. Tell me you’re not truly here and just some hallucination,” San breathes out. His hands tremble — either from exhaustion or true fear you don’t know — as he reaches out for your face. The pads of his fingers are rough against your cheeks. “Of all the tricks you’ve pulled on me… this has to be the cruelest.”

“It’s Y/N, San, don’t you remember me?”

“It’s real. I’m here. I’m real.”

San’s expression falters. His face twitches and contorts, a visual representation of how conflicted his head must be.

“There’s one memory I didn’t let them touch. One thing I refused to let them even glimpse at.” San’s hold on your face tightens a hair. It’s nothing violent or painful, only a touch that seeks to confirm your presence before him. His brows draw together as he squeezes his eyes shut as tightly as possible. It’s almost as though he’s fighting something back, preparing for the worst, or even just trying to hide the emotion in his eyes when he speaks next. “Back on Echidna, during our mission there, what did you tell me at the end of that first night there? Before I first fell asleep?”

It’s a tough question. You don’t have an answer off the top of your head; that mission on Echidna was some time ago now and you haven’t thought about that night in particular in a long while because of how terribly things went afterward.

“When you first fell asleep?” You echo, head tilting a little under San’s hands. “I think… I think I told you to get some rest?”

“And?” He prompts. One eye cracks open to look at you. “Did you stay the first time I fell asleep?”

Ah…

“No, no I — I said I would but then tried to leave.”

“What did you say when you returned?”

That one is much easier to answer. It’s been at the forefront of your mind every time you ponder the topic of staying versus leaving, that lingering conversation with San and what you said to him then. You can’t piece together why it’s so important now but you aren’t about to deny him.

“I told you that I couldn’t leave yet.”

“Yet…” San repeats, tone almost wistful in how breathy it sounds. Two seconds later, he’s leaning off your body, and his hands are sliding down to your shoulders only to pull you up into a kneeling position before him. You blink back in wonder for several seconds. “I couldn’t leave yet either.”

It should sound entirely stupid given the context of the situation, and yet those five words hold more weight than you thought possible. It’s more than just a dumb allusion to what you said before or some cliché one-liner that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. In saying that he couldn’t leave yet, you know what he means because it’s the antithesis to all your nightmares and the thoughts that haunted you the entire trip leading up to this point.

You feared he would readily leave his memories behind even through all your insistence that he could resist it. That lingering terror ate away at your thoughts and heart until you believe it to be true. You wonder if in the short period of time while you were away from him on Echidna, this is what he thought of before hearing those words on your lips.

But then again, it’s more than a matter of leaving the crew or staying to see things through.

San couldn’t leave all the memories of you and the others yet.

The happiness swelling in your chest is hot, a scalding fire that consumes you in mere seconds, or it’s the heat of the arms curling around your waist and tugging you into a warm torso, head tucked into a freckled neck that maps the way home.

“You came for me.”

“I couldn’t leave you alone.”

I won’t leave you alone.  

That sentence doesn’t make it past your throat or onto your lips. You don’t feel that it really needs to anyway.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get to you,” you whisper against the skin of his neck.

“It’s okay. I knew you would find me eventually.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”

At that, San pulls you back just a bit, hand resting at the base of your skull and tangling his fingers in the hair there. His face won’t come into focus even as you stare directly at him. You don’t realize tears are falling until they drop to your thighs.

“It’s okay,” San whispers. His lips pull into a tight smile, but it holds all the warmth and comfort in the universe. “I wasn’t ready then.”

“A-Are you… are you ready now?” You stammer, almost choking on the words. San stretches his other hand up to brush the tears away from your jawline.

“Are you?”

“Yes, y-yes, I am, I truly am this time.” San tucks you closer to his body; he pulls you forward and props his chin atop your head, hold so tight that you can barely breathe but that hardly matters in the slightest. You squeeze him back like he might disappear if you let go. “I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”

“I would wait a thousand lifetimes if that’s what you asked of me.”

“I won’t ask that of you,” you murmur. A sob threatens to choke you, and you curl your fingers around San’s bicep. “I won’t make you wait for anything from now on.”

“I would gladly do the same for you in return. You know that. You may not believe it quite yet, but I’ll prove it to you as best I can.” If you let go of San now, what would happen? How much time do you have left before Hongjoong busts in? How are you going to get San out of here without trouble? There’s a sense of security in this moment that you don’t want to disrupt, like letting go will only bring reality back down on your shoulders and time will continue to spin on and on around you. If time could wait, you would certainly make it do so. “We can talk more about it later, yeah? When we’re all back safe and sound.”

“Are you hurt anywhere?” You inquire, finally pulling away to look at him properly. His hair is a bit of a mess — out of place and a greasy mat that doesn’t sit flat on his head — and you can’t resist the urge to comb a hand through it even if it does nothing.

“I’m nursing a broken rib that hurts like a bitch, but I’ve had worse,” he huffs out, almost laughing into the statement, and you return it with a smile.

“One brush with death is enough. Let’s not ever do that again.” As you’re speaking, your earpiece crackles to life and Hongjoong’s voice filters over.

“What the hell is taking so long in there? We need to get moving.”

San can’t hear the voice, but he does see the name that flashes over your wristband, and the mere sight of Hongjoong’s name has his eyes lighting up with unrestrained joy. He doesn’t wait a second before reaching for your wrist and pulling your whole arm towards his mouth.

“Hi, Captain.”

“You nee— San.” Hongjoong’s thought dies on his tongue as he processes that it is San talking to him rather than you.

“Don’t sound so excited, I’ll fall over and die,” San bites back, all smiles and joy when he speaks.

“…Right, yeah, I’ll be sure to lecture you first thing when we get back.” Perhaps to anyone else, it would be nothing, but San smiles wider than before like it means everything to him. You don’t hear any gentleness or affection in Hongjoong’s tone; the radio noise crackling alongside his voice doesn’t help in the slightest. San must pick up on something no one else does though because he hums a little and slides his hand up your wrist until your fingers meet.

“Let’s go home,” he says under his breath. Again he sounds a little wistful, mostly tired but also content, and you think it’s entirely unfair of him to be comforting you with such words when he’s the one who has been gone all this time. You’re the first to stand but San doesn’t let go of your hand quite yet, still clinging to you and lacing his fingers through the gaps between yours. When he doesn’t move to get up with you, you blink down with a question on your tongue. He doesn’t let you get the words out; not two seconds later is he pulling your hand closer and laying his lips against the back of your hand.

Some voice in the back of your mind reminds you that it’s the same hand that was buried in a guard’s chest and squeezing around his thumping heart not too long ago.

San doesn’t even know that you did such a thing yet he kisses you so gently and softly. You almost feel as though you don’t deserve such a loving touch from him. The urge to yank your hand away from his is strong, and it’s an impulse you almost follow up on but the warmth of his lips keeps you in place.

How long ago was it that you were running from planet to planet, picking up odd jobs wherever you could just to get by? All with the hopes of lifting some pardon papers for Hyunwoo off a military ship? Back then, home seemed like an impossible dream to achieve, a physical place you could never reach because you neither remembered it nor did you think it could be anything you deserved in the slightest. If it is indeed a place… you still don’t know where it would be for you. You aren’t one to find a home in people after being burned so badly in the past and hurting the ones you thought to be your home then, yet San seems quite certain.

Home.

An odd concept with an even stranger connotation to it. You aren’t ready to face the music yet.

San gets to his feet with a smile painting his lips. You’re still a little dazed and can’t return the gesture, but he doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. He’s the first to step towards the door, hand finally falling away from your wrist. You don’t voice it right then but you miss the touch the second it leaves you, and that’s a startling realization in and of itself.

Hongjoong stands on the other side of the door when it slides open. He and San merely stare each other down without speaking for what feels like hours, then you see Hongjoong reach out to take one of San’s hands in his own. He presses something down to his palm then draws back with a faint smile.

“Welcome back.”

Right in the center of San’s palm lies that ring from before, the one Hongjoong wore and used to help you get through the door. San closes his fingers around the band.

“Thank you for getting me.”

“It’s not over quite yet. We still have to get out of here in one piece,” you chime in, glancing down the hall past Hongjoong’s shoulder. The captain folds his arms over his chest and gives a sharp nod.

“We certainly can’t leave the way we came in. Blueprints told me that they’ve got a garage full of transport vehicles on Ground Level 1. If we get up there, we can take one of the cars and leave with no issue. They’ll let us right out.”

“What’s the catch?” You ask. It’s either paranoia or pure reason that drives you to ask because you can’t accept that it would be a simple as ‘one, two, three, leave’ without any issue whatsoever.

“The catch? Well, there isn’t one really. Unless you count actually getting up there with a prisoner and no more disguises a catch, in which case I’d say that’s a rather large one.”

San blinks between you and Hongjoong.

“Then we’d best get going, no?” He offers, but there’s a faint flush to his neck that implies that he’s almost embarrassed about the situation. Before you have the chance to ask him anything, Hongjoong takes off without anything more than a quick hand signal. San keeps up rather well with the captain; his injuries don’t seem to be holding him down or back for the time being, although you know from personal experience that moving with a broken rib can be excruciating over prolonged periods of time.

“How many guards should we expect?” You ask, calling forward to Hongjoong from where you bring up the rear.

“No clue! Nightingale is keeping the cameras down for as long as possible so we can reach the elevators.”

“Nightingale?” San echoes. “Nightingale’s here?”

“Not — not physically no, he’s in a remote location at the moment,” Hongjoong explains over his shoulder. “I’ll see if he can drop by the ship before we depart for a quick chat with you.”

So San has history with this Nightingale figure too? For every crumb of information you learn about San, he seems to drop whole pieces of food on your head moments later. There’s no telling how deep it runs exactly, or how much you don’t know yet. Logically, it would make sense for him to feel the same way about you, but if you were to protect your pride, you would merely say that it’s because you cannot recall much of that past. (How much would your pride suffer to admit that the only person holding you back from being open and honest with the people around you is yourself?)

“Look alive! Guard ahead. Don’t let him trigger an alarm,” Hongjoong barks out, reaching out behind his back to touch San’s arm. He pulls the man forward a hair, enough to shroud his body from sight as much as possible even though San’s much broader form still sticks out. You take the opportunity to dart around them in a rush and throw yourself at the guard. You won’t let this one get the upper hand like the last, at least not to a point where you have to stick your hand through a chest again. The man turns at the sound of quickly approaching footsteps and most likely Hongjoong’s hissed order, but it’s not enough time for him to prepare for a fight of any sort.

You swing a leg out with enough force to bring him to his knees, hands scrambling for purchase on his uniform as you throw him face-first into the tiled floor. A crack resounds — his nose most likely — then the thud of his forehead hitting the floor. You don’t take any chances with him though; it takes less than two seconds for you to pull your pistol from its holster and put a bullet in the back of the guard’s head. Once the body under your knee goes still, you flick your gaze up to the pair across from you.

“No time to hide the body,” Hongjoong says, barely making eye contact. He steps around you, but San pauses to help you get back to your feet before following after the captain once more. “From now on, the only goal is to get out with no issues.”

By a stroke of sheer luck, it turns out that the room San was being held in was rather close to the exit elevator. You can’t count on an easy path out, but for the time being, you can at least guarantee one more step to safety. Hongjoong punches one of the buttons on the keypad, doors sliding shut painfully slow before it lurches into motion.

“Short trip up this time. Be ready for a fight. This will take us up to the main corridor on the ground floor, but there’s no telling how many guards will be stationed up there. Watch your backs and corners too; the whole floor branches out into lots of hallways. I’ll get us to the garage if you two just stick close and follow me.” Hongjoong’s foot taps against the metal flooring incessantly. It does nothing but add to the anxiety of the ride upwards. San wets his lips, eyes trailing along the side of the young captain’s face, but he doesn’t speak whatever is on his mind. The urge to reach out and hold onto his hand in some mockery of an attempt at comfort comes over you. You close your fingers tighter around the grip of your gun instead.

You leave the elevator first when the doors slide open, the sole reason being to make sure the path is clear enough for San and Hongjoong behind you. Hongjoong steps out soon after, and he has his own gun out as well, one of the two pistols he keeps strapped to his thighs at all times.

“Clear,” you announce under your breath.

“Take the rear and watch our backs.”

You step to the side to allow San to follow Hongjoong more closely, not moving until you see Hongjoong check the closest set of branching hallways. The whole atmosphere is tense in a way that disturbs you. Normally, this sort of pressure would bring a heightened sense of adrenaline to your veins, yet now it only makes you fear what lurks behind each corner more and more.

“Wide hall ahead. We’ll pause to scope out our surroundings there.” Hongjoong’s order comes out in nothing more than a whisper. You don’t settle yet, not even as he and San press up against the nearest wall and make themselves as flat as possible. The barrel of your gun stays up and at the ready, checking the corridor dead ahead for any signs of movement. Out the corner of your eye, you see Hongjoong lean forward a hair. “Enemy ahead. We’re gonna have to cross his line of sight to get across. Our destination is further along the hall he’s staring straight down.”

“Do you want me to take him out?” You offer, letting your focus fall for half a second.

“Not until we’re clear. If he has backup, it’ll make it harder for us to cross with no issues. You go first, Y/N. Right around that corner, about midway down the corridor, there’s a cart that can provide some cover for you. Get there and keep that guard in your sights. Take a shot if you can, but don’t start firing like crazy because that’ll only draw more attention. The fewer bullets that fly, the greater chance of us getting out without issue. Once you’re clear, I’ll send San down to join you then I’ll follow when it’s safe.”

This is what you’re good at: getting the job done. You may not have your typical sniper rifle on hand, but a short distance shot down a hallway should be child’s play at best.

At Hongjoong’s signal, you round the corner to the right and break into a sprint. As he mentioned, there is a cart off to the left, and you dart for the cover like your life depends on it.

“Hey, you there! Are you alright? Is something chasing you?”

You don’t stop to focus on the voice at all, still running at breakneck speed until you reach the cart.

“What the fuck? Am I seeing shit again?”

There’s just enough of a gap in the metal for you to peek through, and the enemy is much closer than you anticipated. He isn’t moving at least, so you won’t need to worry about that when firing, but even if he were, running straight at you makes for an easy target. It took three seconds for you to cross the corner and reach this point of cover. Surely both Hongjoong and San counted those seconds and measured them themselves. That gives you three seconds to leave cover, aim your gun, and take the enemy down in one shot. He hasn’t pulled his gun up yet; it’s still in his holster, and if you account for a bit of fumble time to get the gun out, you should be set with an easy kill.

When San moves, so do you.

Three seconds to fire.

San is at the corner of your vision.

Three seconds until he's safe.

You cock the hammer back and hone in on your target. One soldier, face shrouded by a mask and helmet, stands at the other end of the corridor.

Two.

Your finger itches on the trigger, begging to pull it, but you need San safe first, you need him to be safe before you fire. If you misfire or cause the soldier to start raining down bullets, it won't be safe for San anymore.

One.

Bang!

Your finger jerks.

It wasn't your shot.

"San!"

It’s not your voice.

It wasn't your shot.

San is no longer on the edge of your peripherals. Hongjoong darts out of his point of cover but it’s too early, San isn’t completely safe yet, he hasn’t finished his path to you.

“Take the fucking shot!” He hisses as he passes into the hall.

Your finger moves on the command, but your brain doesn’t process it in the slightest. The noise rings through the hall, a sharp whizzing before impact is made, then the guard crumbles to the ground with a bullet between his eyes.

“C-Captain, I—”

It’s not your voice.

“Are you hit? Are you hit, San? Where? We need to get you out of here. Can you move? San, can you hear me?” Hongjoong sounds so panicked it startles you. He shouldn’t sound like that. The infamous Scourge of the Black Sea should never sound so afraid. Your arm is still outstretched with pistol in hand like that soldier didn’t fall. Despite every insistence of your mind telling you to move, you feel absolutely paralyzed.

How the fuck did that soldier pull his gun out so quickly?

You had him in your sights, you were ready to fire, it was merely a matter of one second. It was a single second counting down to San’s safety, so why was he not safe in that moment?

“Cap… Hongjoong, Hon-Hongjoong, I—”

Please why is this happening? This wasn’t supposed to happen, this can’t be happening, this was supposed to go right for once. It was supposed to be okay, god fucking damnit.

San doesn’t sound afraid. His voice is wavering and shaky but not because he’s afraid.

“Fucking shit!” Hongjoong exclaims, and you see him hang his head in his hands. It feels so wrong to see him like this. “Is it in your back? I’ll get the bullet out, okay, we just need to get somewhere safe first. Come on, let’s get up. I’ll help you walk, San, let’s go.”

San is crumpled on the ground with his right arm supporting most of his upright weight. If not for the slightly pale sheen to his skin, you would think he’s simply tired. Hongjoong leans closer to hold his face up between his hands.

He’s just tired. It’s okay. He’s okay.

San heaves out a deep breath. Hongjoong is still trying to urge him to his feet. The dread is creeping in, and you lower your arm as that dread drains you of your strength.

“I-I can’t move, Hongjoong,” San exhales. The shock of the impact doesn’t seem to have hit him in full yet. “…I can’t f-feel my legs.”

“Hey, hey, hey, stop that.” Hongjoong grabs his face tighter. “Can’t feel them or move them?”

“M-Move, yeah, sorry, I c-can’t move them. I feel them — god, they fucking h-hurt, Joong.” San’s voice breaks for the first time. His eyes carry a sheen that you truly despise to them.

“Okay, we’re gonna get you out of here, San. I promise. You hear me? I promise,” Hongjoong says with a new resolve creeping into his tone. San huffs out a drained laugh.

“You make a lot of promises to a person who doesn’t deserve it, Hongjoong.”

“I’ll be the one to decide who deserves my promises and who doesn’t,” the captain whispers back before getting back up. “I can’t risk moving the bullet around too much by throwing you over my shoulder or carrying you in my arms. We’ll have to get you on my back for now. Once we’re out, we can see to getting the bullet out but this is not a safe place to do it. I can’t — jostling you too much could severe more nerves, and that’s the last thing I want. Y/N, help get him on my back, then watch our backs for more guards. Yeosang, come in.”

“Here, Captain,” Yeosang answers within a second.

“Get Yunho on the fucking line right now and tell him to make it snappy.”

“Did something happen?”

“San got shot, it’s not pretty, I need Yunho to guide me through getting the bullet out without hurting him more.”

“I — how bad is it, Captain?” Something in Yeosang’s tone shifts. In that brief moment, you hear the panic in his own voice, the wisps of worry curling there in a way that has your own stomach churning.

“It’s bad, Yeosang, just hurry the fuck up and get him on the line!” Hongjoong sounds too frantic for your liking, and San’s body feels far too heavy as you help him settle against Hongjoong’s back. San doesn’t respond as you loop an arm around his back. You can see the blood seeping through his thin tunic like this, the hole in the shirt near his tailbone. It’s so close to where his spine lies — too close for comfort and too close to severing his spinal cord completely. Is this supposed to be considered luck? “Legs, San.”

“C-Can’t, Joong.”

“…Right, sorry, hold on.”

Did you get lucky?

This feels so far from luck that it’s almost laughable.

Hongjoong hooks his hands around the backs of San’s knees then heaves the both of them upwards. Despite his small stature, he’s much stronger than he appears because he doesn’t even flinch under the weight of San’s body around him. San seems more affected by it, in fact, although it’s not in a good way at all because the sound that escapes him is nothing if not horribly pained.

“Hong — Captain?” New voice, Yunho this time, tone laced with no shortage of panic. “Where did he get shot?”

Hongjoong can’t lift his wristband to his lips to respond, however, and he gives you a pointed look around San’s form that tells you more than enough. You bring your wrist to your mouth as the captain begins to lead the way out of the corridor.

“It’s in his back. Lower back, just shy of his tailbone, a little to the left,” you whisper. Your duty is to check for any further guards but you find your stare lingering on that patch of blood and the hole in San’s tunic instead.

“Fuck, can he feel his legs? Move them? How badly are the nerves damaged? Can you tell?”

“I…he can feel his legs, he said. But not move them and they — they hurt badly.”

“Thank god, that’s better than nothing. You guys are too far from the ship though; he’s gonna need immediate help. And I mean professional help, not you fishing the bullet out yourself, Joong. Even the smallest twitch of your fingers could cost him full use and functionality of his legs.”

“Ask him if his contact here is still in business,” Hongjoong hisses to you as you round a corner.

“Hongjoong wants to know if your contact is still here? Still in business, I mean.”

“Who, Hyunjae? He should be, yeah. It doesn’t hurt to check. He’s in Upper Echelon too, so his clinic will be your best bet for now. You still remember where it is, Joong?” Hongjoong gives a series of nods, and you confirm it for Yunho through the comms before turning back to see if anyone is coming in the opposite direction. “I know he must be in a lot of pain right now, but it’s imperative that he doesn’t move around too much. Using any of the muscles in his back is too risky. J-Just be sure he… be sure to keep a close eye on him. Don’t let him stand or sit upright on his own while that bullet is there. If his body pushes it any closer to his spinal cord then — then it’ll be near impossible to get it out without damaging nerves, and I don’t trust anyone but myself to pull an operation like that off.”

Funny how San was the one shot yet you’re the one feeling numb in this very moment.

The fear crawling up your gut is about to eat you alive, a thumping in your veins that you can’t ignore, and the only thing running through your mind is how terribly wrong this turned out right when you thought it was going well.

“Y/N, get this door.” Hongjoong cuts through the thoughts threatening to swallow you whole. He turns his back to the turn when you step closer, eyes immediately flitting towards the hall you were just watching moments ago. That silence from before has returned — the one that made your skin itch and crawl with unease — but you continue with your task until the slide of the door interrupts the quiet.

“Good to go.”

When the captain turns to face you, you catch a glimpse of San’s sweat-slick face and pale skin just past his shoulder.

Should’ve taken the fucking shot. Why didn’t I take the fucking shot? He was safe, why did I not believe he was safe? If anything I —

A hand cups the curve of your jaw, and you startle against the sudden touch as though burned. Hongjoong’s confused expression tells you it wasn’t him who touched you, so your gaze instantly settles on San instead where he stares back with a quivering smile.

“Stop that,” he murmurs, and the words come out a little slurred. You don’t have time to ask what he means by that; Hongjoong pushes into the newly opened room without waiting for you to catch up. The reason for his rush is evident in what awaits you on the other side because the garage, full of rows of military vehicles lining the floor, now lies before you. It only makes the bitterness burning the back of your throat stronger. You were that close to getting away unscathed, that close to safety, and all you had to do was make one shot.

“We’ll set you down in the backseat, San, but you gotta lie face down for the ride. I’ll try to make it a short trip for you.” Hongjoong stops at the nearest car with a clear shot out of the garage. You take it upon yourself to open the doors again; it’s no surprise they’re unlocked since the vehicles are supposed to be safely tucked away in here, but the garage will be a different story no doubt. Moving San into the backseat is a struggle in and of itself because of how afraid both you and Hongjoong are to cause him any more pain or damage to the wound. He’s visibly hurting — muscles in his shoulders and arms tense to the point where it hurts to look at, expression drawn tight as can be, and that bloodstain on the back of his shirt spreading more by the second.

When you pull yourself upright and close the door behind San, you finally notice the tremble in Hongjoong’s hands. He rounds the front of the car, leaving you to take up the passenger seat as he climbs into the driver's.

“Have you ever driven one of these?” You ask to break the tension hanging about the car’s interior.

“Once or twice. Briefly.” Those are the furthest things from words of encouragement. He fiddles with some buttons, pressing them here and there like he’s trying to get a feel of the vehicle. You almost don’t believe he’s gonna pull anything special off in his supposed inexperience, but seconds later the car revs to life, and after another flip of a switch, the garage doors screech open.

Please hang in there, San. Please.

If you close your eyes now, you’re certain you’ll see glimpses of your time on Echidna, or even as far back as your time on Eros and all the failures you suffered there. But the one thing that’s going to be on your mind for the foreseeable future is your delayed shot, the failure that almost cost San his life and possibly the use of his legs, and you aren’t sure how you’re going to come to grips with that. And obviously, San wouldn’t want you to blame yourself for that blunder, but you aren’t San, nor are you as forgiving and gracious as he is because it was your shot to take and miss, but you didn’t even take it until it was too late.

You move to look over your shoulder and into the back seat, but a hand comes up between your line of sight and San’s reclining body. Hongjoong keeps his gaze set on the road before you despite the movement.

“He’s made it through worse,” he mumbles. The fingers gripping the steering wheel tighten a hair. “Let’s not focus too hard on it right now.”

The knot in your stomach refuses to unfurl despite Hongjoong’s reassurance.

...

“Hey bread boy where ya been?”

“Umiko! I’ve missed you too! No bread this time though, Mother and Mama haven’t been working in the bakery these days!”

“You’ve been gone for so long! It’s been so boring around here without you.”

“Ah, Mother has been making me help her with the garden. We’re prepping for winter!”

“What about your papa? Is he back yet?”

“No, he’ll be gone for a while, I think. That’s what Mother said at least. He went to visit Father in the eastern villages.”

“Oh, wow, really? Aren’t they like, super far though?”

“Yeah, about sixteen kilometers to the northeast according to Mother. When he gets back, I’ll get to train some more though! Papa promised to show me some cool new tricks! What about your grandpapa and mama? Are you gonna see them soon?”

“No, my mother doesn’t want me to. She said she wants me to stick around the church. But the priests are so raggedly and cranky! Old stuck-up men!”

“Ha! The Lunar priests are all women! The head priestess always brings me rock candies and plays games with me in her free time!”

“Ugh, my priests are so boring. I don’t see why I can’t have been born a Moonchild like you! All the priests talk about is Sea Goddess this and Sea Goddess that, praise be her name or whatever they say.”

“I don’t know. At least the sea goddess is pretty cool! I’m the child of that ugly red moon up there. Not very fun if you ask me.”

“Yeah, but at least you don’t have to grow up to be a priestess like I do… I don’t see why they don’t give us a choice at least.”

“Umiko!”

“Ugh, it’s time for my classes. They’re gonna make me speak Manko again!”

“Oh come on, Umiko! It’s your first language, shouldn’t it be easy for you?”

“I like normal talk a lot more. It’s easier than all the weird grammar in Manko. That’s all they speak in the Church though so I have to get used to it.”

“Next time you come over, I’ll help you practice! My mama says that I’m getting super good at my words and syllables.”

Throughout your restless sleep, that hazy dream is the only thing you can recall, and even so it was nothing more than raucous conversations around you while you floated atop a lake of black water with a red moon staring down at you from above. Both voices were that of a child’s tone, very young but old enough to speak decently well without stammering through syllables and fumbling with sounds. No faces or clues as to who either child was, although you have a sneaking suspicion that one of them was supposed to be yourself. Whether truly a memory from your child that has been repressed all this time or just an odd message from Daichi himself, you have no way of knowing right now.

“Could do without the weird-ass dreams, Daichi,” you grumble to yourself as you tuck the flimsy cotton towel in your hands further around your body. The steam from your shower is still rising, and you have yet to step out of the porcelain box. It’s still rather early in the morning; you and Hongjoong arrived at the clinic with San late in the afternoon, where the doctor Hyunjae demanded you both stay overnight while he operated on San. You haven’t seen San since he was taken into the back part of the clinic, which had to have been over twelve hours ago by now. A long and silent dinner followed his departure into the operating room, where you and Hongjoong sat across from each other with barely-touched food and no words to share until the young captain bid you goodnight sometime later.

You know you should be counting your blessings right now. You got out of that military base with no interruptions and no trouble, Hongjoong got you all to the clinic in record time with no issues, and the doctor was both present and available to help San at a moment’s notice. The lack of an update from Hyunjae, as well as the lack of anything from Hongjoong about San’s condition, isn’t ideal but at least the situation isn’t dangerous anymore.

And yet… and yet… your heart won’t settle and neither will your nerves.

You yank the shower curtain to the side only to nearly jump out of your skin when you find Hongjoong standing on the other side of the opaque plastic. Your fingers tighten around the towel keeping you mildly decent.

“Um… how long have you been there?” You inquire, eyes blinking like mad as you fight embarrassment in the face of the captain. Hongjoong releases a sigh and glances down at his wristband.

“7.8 seconds. I didn’t think it fit to interrupt before you left yourself.”

“R-Right, sorry, um, can I help you with something? Or are you just here to be a voyeur?”

“If I were a voyeur, I would’ve interrupted,” Hongjoong argues back. He continues speaking before you have the chance to tell him it was merely a joke, and you can’t find the energy to interrupt him in return. “Thought you should know… Seonghwa is almost here. We’re going to go take care of our business here then come back to the clinic after. It could be a short trip or take all day. Either way, it’ll just be you and San here for the time being. Hyunjae and his assistant will look after both of you. And — Seonghwa wishes to talk to you about something before we head out. Join us in the lobby when you’re ready.” Hongjoong doesn’t look at you any longer, turning on his heel to head out of the bathroom, but you call after him to stop him in his tracks.

“Why didn’t you just tell me all that over comms?”

“I would have, had you not taken your earpiece out and left it on your bedside table.”

“A-Ah…” Next thing you know, Hongjoong is out of the tiny bathroom and you’re left alone with your thoughts once again. This time, you don’t stay that way for long; it takes a grand total of three minutes for you to dry off and pull the spare set of clothes Hyunjae set on the counter for you on, and even less time than that to go out to the lobby where Hongjoong is waiting for you. Seonghwa, too, stands in the blindingly white room, standing out dramatically in his all-black garb. He almost looks worse than both you and Hongjoong combined simply because of how stark the dark circles under his eyes are. Hyunjae is there as well, but he blends in much more with his surroundings because of his white pants and shirt that match yours. You make brief eye contact with the doctor upon stepping into the room.

“I’ll leave you three to chat a bit while I go run some vitals on San. Excuse me.”

The doctor disappears in the blink of an eye. Seonghwa twists his neck in your direction, eyes flitting over your face as he bites down hard on his lower lip.

“San is stable. The operation went well, but we won’t know the extent of the damage until he wakes up,” Hongjoong explains while you’re stepping closer to the pair.

“You ripped a man’s heart out?” Seonghwa inquires. He barely lets Hongjoong finish his sentence before he’s cutting in to speak to you, and you’re still processing the news about San when he does. You’ve been in the room for less than a minute and the cat’s already out of the bag — Hongjoong must have told him all about the mission yesterday, including that incident with the first guard you killed.

“Only nearly…”

“Only nearly?!” The scoff that follows is loud and echoes through the almost empty room. Seonghwa pushes his weight back onto his heels. “You aren’t nearly experienced enough to be trying to do things like that.”

“I wasn’t trying to do anything,” you argue. The words come out with more venom than you intended them to, but it emphasizes your point nonetheless. “It was just out of instinct an—”

“Fine then, you aren’t nearly experienced enough to be doing things like that then. It’s — Y/N, I know that look. Don’t misunderstand what I’m saying. It’s not that you aren’t capable or able to; it’s that it’s incredibly dangero—”

“How is it any different than what I was trained to do in the military?”

“I don’t… I don’t think you realize what kind of power you have, Y/N. I thought I knew the extent of it, but to be able to tear a man’s heart out instinctually? Practically on a whim? Can you not see how terrifying such power is uncontrolled?”

“Who says it’s uncontrolled?”

“And who says you have it fully under control?” Seonghwa fires back just as quick. It shuts you right up just as intended, and you snap your jaw shut so hard that your teeth chatter.

“Let’s not argue about this,” Hongjoong cuts in at last. “We can discuss it another time when things are less hectic and tensions aren’t as high.” He places a delicate hand on Seonghwa’s arm, right above where the lieutenant has his fist clenched so tight his knuckles bleed white. “The sooner we go, the better. Now, Y/N, Nightingale is going to be dropping by while we’re gone.”

“What for?” You ask, redirecting your attention to the captain and not sparing Seonghwa any more glances.

“He has some information to discuss with you about your friend in the whorehouse. He did some work on it last night, but he’d like to talk one on one with you before moving further. Hyunjae knows to expect him, so don’t worry about explaining anything to him.”

“Understood, Captain.”

Hongjoong blinks between your averted eyes and Seonghwa’s tensed shoulders one last time, then he steps away from the two of you and heads out the clinic. You expect Seonghwa to follow suit on his heels, but the lieutenant lingers at your side a little longer.

“I’m glad things weren’t worse,” Seonghwa whispers. It’s hardly audible, and at first, you aren’t sure if you heard him correctly because of how quiet he spoke. Then it hits you that of course he would say something like that; he could feel your distress the entire time San was gone, and no doubt feels it right now as well in the wake of San’s injury that happened because of your failure. He must assume you aren’t going to say anything in return, turning around to head out with Hongjoong. You catch hold of his arm before he’s out of your grasp.

“Be careful and safe, please. And… good luck. I hope it goes as well as it can.”

Seonghwa’s lips twitch into the faintest of smiles. He brings a hand up to cover yours on his forearm.

“I’ll return safely to you. Hopefully as a man with… more closure and fewer mommy issues? Whatever the outcome is, I hope to be able to say that upon returning.”

“I’m counting on it, pretty boy.”

“Well now I can’t disappoint you, princess,” Seonghwa returns, a smile stretched to match yours. Your hands fall away from each other at the same time, and there are no more words to exchange that will make what’s about to come any easier for Seonghwa. From now on, it’s in his own hands as well as Hongjoong’s. Though you won’t be there to witness it with your own two eyes, you can only hope that it doesn’t turn out the way your nightmares think it will.

When the door snaps shut behind Seonghwa’s back, you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Ahem, Y/N? I hate to interrupt your dramatic moment in the lobby here but—” Hyunjae comes out of nowhere behind your shoulder, nearly causing you to reach for a weapon that isn’t even on your person at the moment (probably a good thing for the young doctor). “—San is up. He was asking after you, but I figured it would be more meaningful for you to go see him yourself?” Your eyes must show how you’re feeling upon hearing those words because Hyunjae matches your happiness with a soft-sided smile. He motions to the back of the room, towards the doors where you last saw San being carted behind, and he doesn’t have to say anything more to get you to follow. “He’s stable and alright for now. I’m confident that he’ll make a good recovery with little to no issues.”

“Are there any concerns about his back?” You ask as you walk side by side with the doctor. It’s his turn to sigh now.

“That remains to be seen. San won’t really answer my questions directly. I was hoping — well, perhaps you could help with that as well? Ideally, I need to know the extent of his nerve damage, although I won’t be able to get him on his feet and trying to walk for a while. And I’m certain Yunho will want him brought back to th ship as soon as he’s physically able. If you could, please ask him how he’s feeling or if there’s any numbness or tingling in his back and legs?”

“Of course, yeah, gladly.”

“Wonderful, thank you. Here’s his door right here.” Hyunjae nods his head towards the space just past your shoulder, and you bring yourself to a quick stop in front of the door he’s pointed out. “You can take your time. Nightingale will be here to chat in a bit, but I’ll send him back then.”

“Alright. Thank you… for taking care of San.”

“There’s no need to thank me. Now go on, I’m sure he’s getting anxious being able to hear you just outside his door.”

For some reason, you’re expecting some strange and large reveal upon stepping into San’s room like he’s going to look drastically different in some way. Reality isn’t like that though. He appears as normal as can be: reclining in a large bed with fluffy white sheets and blankets billowing around him and a pillow propping his head up. He turns the second the door opens, and a smile is already on his lips before he even makes eye contact with you. And again, you expect something more out of this confrontation (even though it’s not even that), but it’s all so radically normal that you feel a bit like you’re floating out of existence when you pull yourself to his bedside. There’s a seat just beside the bed, tucked close to the mattress. It wouldn’t be much of a shock if Hyunjae were to tell you that Hongjoong spent the entire night there only to watch over San while he rested.

San pulls you out of your thoughts as you’re sinking onto the cushion of the seat. He drags a hand over to the edge of the mattress, fingers hanging loosely off. You don’t let them stay alone for long and reach out to clasp your palm over his.

“You know, I hear that mouth-to-mouth contact is proven to help you heal faster,” he says with one dimple pinching a dip in his cheek.

“Did Yunho conduct that study himself?” You jest back if only to conceal the small jump your heart just did in your chest.

“We’ll have to test to and find out ourselves, I think.”

“I’m glad to see you’re well enough to be that flirtatious.”

“Mhm, admittedly, I was hoping to make you loosen up a little.” San squeezes his fingers around the back of your hand. His expression grows a bit more somber in the next few seconds. “I don’t like seeing you sad or upset.”

“I was worried,” you whisper. “Still am honestly.”

“Why? I’m still here, alive, in one piece. Can wiggle all my toes too, so there’s a good sign.” The laugh that follows shakes San’s whole body, and you lean forward as his brows knit together in pain.

“Can you feel everything? Like, no numbness or anything like that?”

“Yeah… yeah, I can feel everything. Fucking hurts like a bitch when the meds wear off but at least I still have sensation everywhere, right?”

Your free hand moves on its own accord, reaching out to brush the clump of bangs sticking to his forehead out of his eyes. It hasn’t been washed still, a messy and greasy mat of hair that desperately needs combing and care, but you don’t imagine he’ll be able to get up and get a shower anytime soon.

“I’ll talk to Hyunjae about getting a basin or a bath of some sort for you so we can wash your hair. I can barely see your white streak anymore.” You drop your touch down to his cheek almost like it’s natural for you to do so. San presses his cheek further into your palm.

“As long as you promise to wash it for me,” he hums in response before letting his lashes flutter shut.

“Are you tired?”

“I think my body is but I’d much rather stay awake and talk to you right now.”

“Cheeky bastard,” you huff through a laugh. San simply nuzzles his face further into your touch with a content little hum. “Actually there was something I wanted to talk to you about.” You had plenty of time to think over a lot of things during your restless night, but there was one thing that kept coming to mind throughout all that thinking. And maybe (just maybe), Hongjoong finally giving you permission to discuss what you are was the harbinger of those initial thoughts, but everything after that came from your own feelings of what you want and need San to know.

“I’m all ears, Y/N. You’ve got me cornered here on this bed… helpless… incapable of escaping… at your gentle mercy whatever you choose to do.”

“Oh shut up, you’re acting like I’m about to kill you. Just — I just wanna talk, that’s all.”

“You can tell me anything, Y/N. I’ll gladly listen to whatever you have to say.” San squeezes your hand a little tighter as you pull the one cupping his face back to your lap. The bundle of nervous energy in your gut has grown in volume. You trust San to not be angered or upset by what you have to say, yet you’ve still only done this once before and been told for so long that this isn’t something you should be doing, so you think it’s understandable anxiety.

“I know that — well, all the records of my bounties have always shown that my class is either unknown or that I’m an Elitist. And when… I first joined the crew, I spoke of being an Elitist too. For a long time, I believed that lying about who and what I am was the best option for me in terms of how best to protect myself.” You pause to gauge San’s reaction thus far only to find him blinking back at you as gentle and caring as ever. Upon your hesitance, he gives a soft-sided smile and a nod of reassurance, and it’s enough for you to continue with a little less worry in your stomach. “Um, I am at a point now where I don’t want to lie to you any longer. There are things that I haven’t been honest about with myself, and I’m only just now coming to terms with those things, yet it also brought on other realizations about how I want to be honest with you as well. I don’t know if or how this might paint your image of me, but I’m not an Elitist. I’m a Siren? Uh, yeah, Hongjoong already knows so it’s not — it’s not something I haven’t told him, but it’s only fair that I tell you too.”

You squeeze your eyes shut if only to protect yourself from having to see San’s expression and what it might hold. The silence that follows is a stiff and tense one for you, shoulders drawn almost all the way up to your ears until San finally responds after what feels like an eternity.

“Thank you for telling me.” If you were more pessimistic, you would swear up and down that he sounds disappointed, but that’s not even close to the truth in the slightest. You can’t read the emotion in his voice one hundred percent accurately, to be honest, although it sounds somewhat positive, so you’ll take that as a win.

“You’re not — are you not surprised or anything?”

San clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth then drags it over his lower lip.

“Honestly… I already knew. Or I suppose I should say that I had some idea of it. I’ve witnessed some crazy things in my life, but I’ll never forget the image of seeing you pull yourself free of your restraints in that warehouse we were trapped in together. I knew it wasn’t a matter of them being loose or you being set free by a third party, and at the time, I boiled it down to being a miracle of fate. I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions so I just left it as an inkling of an idea.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” If San has been holding onto that information since then, it’s a wonder he hasn’t even had the slightest slip of the tongue since.

“It wasn’t my place to say anything because you clearly weren’t ready to talk about it with me quite yet. And that’s not something I say out of bitterness or regret; I understand fully what that’s like. You were patient with me, and you’ve continued to be patient when I needed time to process what we went through back then. So I wanted to return the favor in a way. Wait until you told me yourself before cornering you about it.”

“You…” The words die on your tongue. You aren’t even entirely sure what it was you wanted to say in the first place because your brain feels as though it’s been replaced by steel wool and you’re scraping at it with a fork for just one single thought.

“We all want something in life, Y/N. I can’t pretend to know what it is you want at the end of the day, nor can I act like I know what anyone else on the crew wants either. After years of considering what it is I’m after, I thought it to be revenge, and I pictured that being the end of the line for me. That once I got that revenge, it wouldn’t really matter any longer because I could just… die at peace. I’ve seen people be desperate for things — been with Hongjoong long enough to see every up and down in his existence at this point. You were — Y/N, you were the first person I couldn’t see that desperation in. I know you were working for those papers, but you had them in your grasp as it was and it was like you had nothing to care about. The person those pardon papers were for was already gone, and to an outsider looking in like I was, it seemed as though you didn’t know how to grapple with that reality. I cared — care, I care about every member of the crew in ways I can’t put into words, and I love them all even when they get on my nerves or bother me because we’ve been through the worst together. I simply imagined that after my revenge, I would live out the rest of my days with them at peace since I got what I wanted. But finding you, and seeing a fight and a will to survive but nothing to fight for, though it was selfish of me, I wanted to give you something to fight for. I didn’t expect that I would want that thing to be me, but when you saved me on Echidna, I thought that maybe for once I had earned it. That I deserved to be someone worth fighting for, and you gave that to me. It took so long for me to accept that from the rest of the crew, so I was surprised at how easily it came with you. I guess… in a way, everything I’ve done since then has been for you. To help you, to be there for you, to do whatever I could in making a tough existence easier while not pushing too far or hard. I didn’t want to force anything out of you. Like I told you when you decided to reveal what you went through in the military to me, I don’t want you to feel like I expect anything from you. I want you to trust that I’ll wait as long as you need me to. That’s all I ask from you. Who we are and what we are… why should either of those things be important in the face of trust? If I can trust you, and you can trust me in return, shouldn’t we also be able to trust that those things don’t matter?”

Your mouth and throat are dry, although that’s probably because you’re staring down at San with your jaw stuttering over nonexistent words, and again that feeling of steel wool in the brain intensifies to an incredible magnitude.

Who we are and what we are… why should either of those things be important in the face of trust?

“Now I’ve made you cry twice in less than twenty-four hours, I’m starting to believe I’m doing something wrong here,” San says, closing his sentence with a shaky laugh that sounds a bit like he’s about to cry as well. Frankly, it’s another story of you not realizing that you’re crying until he points it out, but you can’t even muster up the strength to move and wipe away the tears. “Y/N… my darling, come here.”

He drops the hand he’s been gripping tightly for the last several minutes now to hold his arms out to you like he’s welcoming you into a hug. Logic tells you that’s hardly possible because you don’t want to put him in any pain by leaning on him, but you do inch forward and let him take your face into his warm and calloused hands. Words are still failing you, your voice refuses to work even to sob, and even with all that, San doesn’t seem to mind. He brushes the pads of his thumbs over your cheeks until every tear is gone from sight, humming a little under his breath all the while to a tune you don’t recognize.

“We’ve all suffered a lot in our lives. I think lots of people would refuse to believe that simply because we’re wanted by the law and considered bad people by the public. And maybe we’ve done things that are… morally ambiguous and grey and that normal people wouldn’t choose to do because it’s a difficult line to draw in the sand. But as far as I’m concerned, we met each other on this side of the line and found each other there. We decide what that means moving forward. I wouldn’t trade that for anything in the universe. Here, with you, with the crew, under Hongjoong’s leadership. I’ll never have a home like this one, so I’m going to cling to it as long as I can.”

If San has more to say, you don’t let him finish the thought because you’re pushing up out of your seat to press further into him as best you can without hurting him. Where words fail, emotion speaks, or so it seems. He meets you partway, sitting up just enough to welcome the kiss you’re aiming for. It’s better than last time, less rushed and chaste and sudden, but you slot your lips against his the same way you did before, hand reaching to secure itself on the side of his neck over that pretty constellation of freckles.

“I think I love you,” you murmur against his lips, sloppy and full of tears and saliva, but San smiles into the touch nonetheless. His nails dig little crescents into your skin where they’re pressed right under your jaw. “Whatever that means and entails.”

“I think I love you too.” His confession comes out in the faintest of whispers, letting them pass right from his lips to yours before he steals the breath right out your lungs with his next kiss. It’s a heady feeling — kissing Choi San — because it’s a taste you don’t think you’ve experienced before. With Seonghwa, things were so full of passion and fire, the heat of bodies against each other while the emotions came much later and in a disastrous way for both of you. San kisses you like you’re a broken mirror, like he’s taking each piece off the floor where you shattered and putting them back into place as best he can. It’s not perfect, but you don’t think it’s meant to be either, and that’s okay too. He pulls back to let you breathe again, bringing air back into your lungs as he smiles wide enough for his dimples to appear. “We can figure out what that means and entails together. We have time.”

✧✧✧ a/n: this was,,,,a long time coming in a lot of ways, and im so sorry for such a large gap between the last chapter and this one. in real life//personal life, i’ve been working on a lot and been very busy which left me with less time and drive to write! but! i finished this chapter after a long time, and it’s extra long just for you guys who have been patient and kind with me during this extended and unexpected break <3 thank you for all the love and support!! let’s get right back into things and right back into the universe of moc together!! i can’t wait for the next <3

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[foxghost]

Joyful Reunion

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

Book 4, Chapter 37 (Part 1)

On this day, the army of Ye is acting as though it is on high alert against a formidable foe, sending out scout after scout to reconnoitre the Mongol horde’s path of retreat. Sure enough, Batu is true to his word — before a day’s even gone by he’s already retreated to the Valley of Heishan, where they head to Runan before finally turning north.

Yelü Zongzhen lets out the breath he’s been holding at last, and Duan Ling is utterly exhausted. None of them had imagined that this would be how the curtain falls on this whole affair.

“Don’t worry,” Yelü Zongzhen says. “When the time comes, I will send troops to help you — that’s if Han Weiyong hasn’t done away with me by then.”

“I’m not worrying. I spent that whole night wondering how I would resolve this business if I was my dad. I know this is a fight we have to have sooner or later; we just can’t fight it right now.”

Several bloodstained pebbles are displayed on the desk. Duan Ling is still writing a letter; he wants to get it to Yao Fu to let him know he won’t be needing the army, as Ye is for now out of its dire predicament.

“Next will be your battlefield, Zongzhen.”

“What do you plan to do?”

“I’m waiting for my chance,” Duan Ling says quietly. “You must help me find evidence regarding those prior years in Shangjing. Also, look for our Sword of the Realm.”

Yelü Zongzhen decides to stay one more day before he leaves. That night, they discuss many details including the extrapolation of the current Southern Chen political scene. Duan Ling doesn’t treat Zongzhen like an outsider either and decides to send for Fei Hongde and Wu Du. The four of them basically talk over whatever needed to be talked over — the only thing they have to do is to watch out not to reveal any of the empire’s internal affairs in front of Yelü Zongzhen.

At their parting, Duan Ling canters along on horseback with Yelü Zongzhen side by side, taking the path out of Ye through the city’s western gate until they reach the hilly region he and Wu Du passed through when they first came to this city.

Snow had fallen the night before. Each rise and fall of the rolling hills in front of them are covered in a dusting of white, transforming the land into something beautiful, as though once covered in snow, this bleak wilderness can never be seen again.

Duan Ling and Yelü Zongzhen get to the end of the hills. There’s nothing but distant plains and rift valleys past this point, and if he travels along the imperial highway he can reach the Shanxi prefecture in three days.

The wind rises over the snowfields, and the tributaries of Xunshui have frozen; a pale sun shines down on an icy river that seems to go on forever.

“I may walk with you for a thousand miles, but in the end, we must part.” Duan Ling stops as they get to the riverbank. A rush of complicated emotions fills his heart.

“There’s one more thing you must do,” Yelü Zongzhen says to Duan Ling at last.

“I understand,” Duan Ling replies. He knows this will be the most important thing he has to do — he must think of some way to persuade Lang Junxia. That’s the only way he would be able to ascend to the seat of the crown prince in the near future.

It is also one of the memories he’s least willing to confront.

“If I did not guess wrongly,” Yelü Zongzhen says, “you haven’t gone to see him this whole time.”

“You did not guess wrongly,” Duan Ling says weakly. “If it wasn’t for the fact that we don’t look a thing like each other, I would half suspect that you’re also my dad’s son.”

Yelü Zongzhen roars with laughter. Even though it’s rather impolite for Duan Ling to say such a thing, Yelü Zongzhen understands exactly what he’s trying to convey.

“If you hadn’t already become anda with Batu,” Yelü Zongzhen looks at him, amused. “I’d love to kowtow eight times to the heavens and become sworn brothers with you.”

“I’ve never had an older brother. I’d never even dared to dream of having an older brother like you.”

“You’re like a fine jade. I’d never even dare to dream of having a little brother like you, either.” Yelü Zongzhen puts his hand on Duan Ling’s shoulder. The sunset cast their elongated shadows onto the frozen river as they face each other in silence.

Duan Ling thinks, even if Batu and I are anda, I still rather like to become sworn brothers with you. But Yelü Zongzhen isn’t Batu, and everything else aside, they still represent two different empires. Sentiments are one thing, politics is another, and they’re both cognizant of this fact. If they were ordinary people it wouldn’t matter so much.

But if Yelü Zongzhen doesn’t say it, then Duan Ling will also tactfully not bring it up again. It’s enough that they’re aware of what’s in each other’s hearts.

“Do you think this is the last time we’ll ever see each other?” Duan Ling asks, smiling.

“I hope so,” Yelü Zongzhen replies. There’s no way an emperor can easily leave his own capital, so unless he’s captured in a war, there has only ever been one sensible reason for leaving one’s capital since the dawn of time — when the emperor rides off to war.

If they’re each returning to Liao and Chen respectively, never to see each other again, that would also mean these two nations will never again suffer the misfortune of war.

Then …" Duan Ling says, “reunions in life are far and few.”

“… We move like stars, each to its sphere.” Yelü Zongzhen says with a smile, “I shall bid you farewell. But we mustn’t make it sound so final. Perhaps we’ll run into each other again in a few years.”

Duan Ling is feeling wistful, but Yelü Zongzhen is making him laugh again.

“You will be a good emperor,” Duan Ling says, “long live Your Majesty.”

“You as well.” Yelü Zongzhen puts his foot in the stirrup and mounts his horse. “Wait for my good news. Gup!”

Yelü Zongzhen takes his guards across the frozen river, vanishing under a setting sun. On the plains of the opposing shore, Duan Ling stands at the edge of the riverbank in a fur overcoat. The feather in his hat flutters, and the sun casts his long shadow beneath him as he stares into the distance without a word. It is not until the sunset gradually turns a deep red and bit by bit sinks beneath the end of the Yangtze that he turns around slowly, and approaches Wu Du.

Wu Du has been waiting for him by the riverbank this whole time with Benxiao’s reins in his hand. Duan Ling’s team of bodyguards is behind him.

It is in that instant that Duan Ling suddenly realises that only he is the true master of the ten thousand miles of the mortal realm of this empire.

“When will he reach Yubiguan?” Wu Du asks.

“He’s going through Tongguan instead,” Duan Ling replies. “His subordinates sent a message ahead. Helian will dispatch a division to pick him up from Tongguan. He’ll be safe as soon as he reaches Tongguan.”

Wu Du helps Duan Ling onto horseback. By the time they get back to Ye, light snow is already falling. Once the Ninth Month begins, Hebei officially enters the winter season. The city glows with warm lamplight amidst this flurry of snow.

Duan Ling is again feeling a bit sad to have to leave this place behind.

“When do we go back to Jiangzhou?” Duan Ling asks Wu Du.

“We wait for news from that emperor friend of yours.” Wu Du still doesn’t really trust Zongzhen, but Yelü Zongzhen has always exercised self-restraint in front of Wu Du, so compared to that “Mongol Barbarian” and the “Tangut Idiot”, Wu Du hasn’t developed a clearly hostile attitude towards Yelü Zongzhen.

Now that most of the outsiders are gone, those who are left are almost entirely their own people.

“Let’s go on a trip then?” Wu Du says, “We can winter in the south.”

Duan Ling grumbles, “Are you kidding me? The governor isn’t in his own city, runs off wintering with his commandant in the south — watch out for a beheading from the imperial court.”

“Who’d dare say anything?” Wu Du answers his question with a question.

“It’s not about whether they say anything or not. The Mongol horde may have retreated, but there’s plenty of work to do. I’m never going to run out of work.”

“I’ll do it for you. How much work can there be?”

Duan Ling counts them off, “Once we get back to the estate, we have to go over the books first, listen to their reports about how we’re getting through the winter, check over Shi Qi’s winter budget and the plans for spring he submitted. Where’s your petition for military recruitment? We have to work out how many people we’re recruiting and send it to the imperial court for approval along with the rest. We have to appoint an imperial envoy of salt and iron — even if the city of Chang is exempt from taxation we still have to do inspections. Oh, should we send officials to check on the surrounding hamlets and get some report on them?”

“Alright,” Wu Du changes his mind immediately, “pretend I never said anything.”

“We have to write a letter to thank the Marquess of Huaiyin, don’t we?” Duan Ling adds, “There’s also the Grand Chancellor …”

Zheng Yan is standing at the door, and when he sees that Duan Ling is back, he looks up and says, “I wrote one for you already.”

“Thanks.” Duan Ling lets out a sigh and sits down with Zheng Yan on the threshold. Wu Du walks past them into the corridor, turning the corner as he heads back to his room to change his clothes.

“No need to thank me.” Zheng Yan looks Duan Ling up and down, a smirk appearing on his face. “So, you’ve seen off all the outsiders?”

“Yes, I finally saw them all off. We have to get ready for winter.”

“Well then, it’s my turn. You were so busy going from one thing to another with politics one moment and administration the next that you didn’t even get much sleep at night.”

Duan Ling realises that he almost hasn’t shown Zheng Yan any hospitality over the past several days and feels somewhat guilty. “Marquess Yao’s troops didn’t come, did they?”

“I sent someone to tell them to go back. The messenger left pretty early this morning, but they’ve probably already dispatched the troops. When they run into the messenger on the road they’ll just have to go back. Go on, pull the other one.”

Duan Ling laughs out loud, and puts an arm around Zheng Yan’s shoulder. “There goes your Zhenshanhe.”

“I was just going to talk to you about that.” Zheng Yan says, sounding not the least bit concerned. He gets up, gestures Duan Ling to go inside, and closes the door behind him.

Duan Ling has a feeling Zheng Yan is going to talk about something very important. He can’t help but feel his heart go to his throat.

The snowstorm is kept at bay by the walls. Duan Ling considers Zheng Yan for a moment and suddenly changes his mind to say, “Have a seat.”

Then, Duan Ling turns around, and sits down calmly on the daybed, moving himself from the position of a passive listener to an active participant in this interaction. Zheng Yan cannot help but consider Duan Ling seriously, a look of admiration suddenly surfacing in his eyes.

“Lord Wang. Over the past several days I have been thinking some things over, and there are some questions I have no choice but to ask.”

“Then there’s no harm in asking them, Lord Zheng,” Duan Ling replies, and at the same time he knows that since Zheng Yan began the conversation in this way, he is hinting that he’s going to talk official business — he may even produce an imperial decree.

A tall figure appears outside the window — it’s Wu Du, having changed his clothes. Duan Ling glances at the window, but Wu Du doesn’t come in. He turns to put his back against the door, guarding the room.

“Thank you very much.” It is quite rare for Zheng Yan to speak so formally with Wu Du.

“You’re welcome,” Wu Du’s voice comes through the door. He’s both guarding the door for them as well as reminding Duan Ling that he’s right here.

The room is silent. In the midst of this tranquillity Duan Ling suddenly gets a strange feeling that for Zheng Yan to begin a discussion in such a solemn way, it seems he has to be after far more than a sword. He has a feeling — and at the same time, he feels that Zheng Yan is harbouring his own hunch.

“Wu Du told me that you know where the Zhenshanhe is,” Zheng Yan says.

“Not really,” Duan Ling doesn’t hesitate much before answering Zheng Yan. “Just that Yelü Zongzhen told me that he may be able to find the sword, and when he finds it, he’ll send it back to us.”

“And once he sends it back to us, who do you plan to give it to?”

“I’ll give it to whoever gets a hold of it first.”

“His Majesty wants this sword. You must first think through this thoroughly.”

“What use would His Majesty have for it? The Zhenshanhe belongs to the White Tiger Hall. The sword owner’s calling is closely tied to the empire of Great Chen. His Majesty is already the ruler of our nation, and by that reasoning, he doesn’t need the Zhenshanhe. Even with the late emperor, it was before taking the throne that he held it.”

Zheng Yan thinks to himself for a moment before saying, “There is one thing I’m not sure about, which I’d like to consult you on, Lord Wang.”

Duan Ling raises an eyebrow to mean he should go right ahead and say what he wants to say. Zheng Yan paces in the room before adding, “If Wu Du takes ownership of it, according to the principle that the holder of the Zhenshanhe can lead the four great assassins of White Tiger Hall, that would make him the Defender-general of the State.”

“We don’t confer the Defender-general of the State title with a sword, Lord Zheng,” Duan Ling isn’t sure what to say to him.

“I know. Of course, aside from inheriting this sword, one must possess the corresponding strengths, and being recognised by the sword is one of these strengths. But no matter what, if Wu Du takes it, he’ll have to defend the imperial court. To defend the imperial court means defending His Majesty and the crown prince. But according to what he expressed previously, he isn’t even willing to join the Eastern Palace, or to accept the position of Junior Guardian of the Heir-apparent. Don’t tell me he wanted to wait until he has the Zhenshanhe to properly enter the Eastern Palace as an aide. I’m not a child.”

Outside the door, Wu Du replies, “Zheng Yan, your conjectures have led you astray. The Zhenshanhe’s origins may be related to the imperial court, but its function is hardly just to defend the emperor — it’s also responsible for correcting any mistake the emperor may make.”

Zheng Yan is speechless.

“Of course, under certain circumstances, that would also include killing the emperor for the security of the empire,” Wu Du says casually as if it’s nothing at all. “If the imperial court is not righteous, then it is the White Tiger Hall’s job to correct it. With the Zhenshanhe in one’s grasp, even His Majesty can be killed, let alone the crown price. Don’t you think so, Zheng Yan?”

This translation is by foxghost, on tumblr and kofi. I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, it was reposted without permission. Do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎

[thirsty-flygirl]

Falling for You

Formerly Idiots

Part III: That’s My Girl

Poe Dameron x f!Reader

AN: Here is my first and favorite series, back with a new title and a few adjustments to make it more reader-friendly.

Warnings: Language for now. 18+ Only. This chapter does include Reader being carried by Poe - I apologize that it’s not entirely inclusive, but our Poe is a strong man with a low center of gravity and I needed to get an unconscious Reader from Point A to Point B. Also, some references to blood and injury, but nothing too graphic.

Tag Requests: @capbrie​ @jitterbugs927​ @1950schick​

Words: 1400

Part I  II

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“So it’s broken, right?”

You peered into the T-70’s cockpit at the instrument panel. Poe pointed at what remained of the imaging system’s screen, now a shattered mess. 

“You’re asking if that,” you gestured to the screen, “is broken?”

Poe, sitting in the pilot’s seat, shrugged nonchalantly. “You’re the technician, Sweetheart, I’m just a lowly pilot.” His trademark grin forced an answering smile to your lips. Poe Dameron was making you soft and you weren’t entirely sure you didn’t like it a little bit. 

“Well, Commander, in my professional opinion, I’d have to say that yes, the screen is, in fact, broken.” 

Poe reached up and gently chucked you under your chin. “That’s my girl. I knew you could help.”

You drew in a sharp breath at his touch, his words making your heart twist. “My girl.” A few weeks ago you would have rolled your eyes and shoved him away. Now, though . . .

You were definitely feeling differently. 

Every time he walked in a room you became hyper-aware of every laugh, every movement. One of his smiles could make your day, your week, because knowing he was in your life meant everything to you.

He meant everything to you.

You realized you were still hovering above Poe, your faces only separated by a few inches, and you could just lean down and –

“Anyone left in there, we’re headed out for a drink!”

Jessika’s voice echoing from the open hangar door snapped you from your thoughts like a bucket of ice water over your head. Realizing how close you were to Poe you jerked back, not thinking about the edge of the canopy right above you. Sharp, blinding pain bloomed behind your eyes the moment your skull made impact with the unforgiving metal and your vision went black. You swayed on the ladder, sure you were going to pass out. 

“Shit!” Poe cried, his hand shooting out to grab your arm before you could fall. He swung out of the cockpit and, holding your weight against him, somehow got you both on the ground. Once your feet hit the concrete, Poe scooped you up in his arms and held you close.

“Sweetheart, you okay?” His voice, tinged with panic, washed over you, but you couldn’t manage a response. You went limp in Poe’s arms, completely knocked out. 

“Fuck,” he swore, moving as quickly as he could with your dead weight. Halfway to the medbay he felt dampness on his skin and looked down, heart plummeting at the sight of dark red blooming from the spot where your head lay against his shirt. 

He ducked his head to kiss you gently on the forehead. “Hang on, baby, we’re almost there.”

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally reached the entrance to the medical unit, catching the attention of the doctor on night duty. 

“She hit her head on my canopy,” he explained breathlessly, setting you on the nearest gurney and cradling your bleeding head in his hands. “She’s unconscious and her head won’t stop bleeding.” He looked helplessly down at your face, which grew paler by the minute. 

The medic moved him aside to take your vitals, urging your head up to peer at the steadily-bleeding cut near your crown. Seemingly satisfied that you weren’t at death’s door she turned to Poe standing at the foot of your bed, one hand gently resting on your ankle as though afraid you’d disappear.

“She’s going to be fine, Poe. A nasty gash on the head and surely one hell of a concussion, but nothing life-threatening.” Poe blinked at her for a moment before giving her a small smile. 

“Thanks, I . . .,” he swallowed, “ . . . I was just worried. It looked bad.”

The doctor smiled and patted his arm before moving away to gather the supplies necessary to clean and dress your wound, leaving Poe to drop to the stool next to your bed. He watched wordlessly as the doctor cleaned and bandaged your head and gave you a shot of painkiller. Nodding his thanks as she walked away, he gently took your hand and brought it to his lips, hoping that the sensation might wake you up. 

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured against your skin, “this is all my fault. I had to make up an excuse to see you, so I told you there was something wrong with my fighter . . .” He laughed softly and shook his head. “Truth is, I broke the damn screen myself. Ziff made a comment about your ass over the comms and I got so pissed I punched the instrument panel.” 

Poe sighed deeply. “I go crazy whenever I see you with anyone else. I act stupid and jealous and . . .and you aren’t even mine. I honestly don’t think you even like me most days, but I just can’t stop thinking about you.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life, and I think I could die a happy man if you just . . . I don’t even know . . .just throw that smile of yours my way every once in a while.”  

He brushed another soft kiss across your knuckles and leaned forward to rest his head on the bed next to you. 

“Mmmph.” 

Poe’s head shot up at the sound of you waking. He returned your hand to your side and gently cupped your face, rubbing his thumb against your temple and taking care not to disturb the gauze covering your injury. 

You slowly opened your eyes, blinking against the harsh light of the medbay. As your vision focused you saw Poe standing beside you, a look of concern written across his face. 

“S’goin’ on?” you mumbled. You felt buzzed, tingly, like you were high on something. A dull ache pulsed in your head, but not enough to register any pain. You offered Poe a bleary grin and reached up to gently smooth the furrow between his brows.

“Soooooo ssssserious, Dammmmmeron.”

Poe smiled at your touch and closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the sensation of your fingers on his skin. He grasped the hand you held up and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of your wrist, his eyes slowly opening to gaze back down at you. 

The way he looked down at you made warmth spread across your body that felt entirely separate from the rest of whatever was making you feel so loopy.

Maker, had he always been this gorgeous? 

“You’re pretty,” you sighed.

Poe laughed and kissed your hand again. 

“And you’re high, Sweetheart.”

Your brows knit together. “I am?” 

“Don’t you remember what happened? Damn, that’s some good stuff the doctor gave you.” He took a seat on the stool again, still holding your hand. “You cracked your head on my canopy and knocked yourself out. Bled all over me, too,” he said good-naturedly. 

You dropped your gaze to the dark stain on his shirt and then back to his twinkling eyes. The memory of Jess’s voice and that moment of panic when you realized how badly you wanted to kiss Poe came rushing back to you. You felt a dull sense of embarrassment but were too relaxed by the painkiller to filter the words that came out of your mouth.

“I ‘member.” You removed your hand from Poe’s grip and pressed a finger to his lips. “I wan’d to kissshew ‘n’ got scared.” 

You sighed dreamily and dropped your hand back on the bed. 

“Think ‘m fallin’ ‘n’ love with you, Poe.”

You gave him a dopey smile, your eyelids drooping from the effects of the medicine. Poe watched you drift back to sleep with a stunned expression, not sure if he had heard you correctly. 

You were falling for him? 

A huge grin split his face as he watched you sleep, feeling lighter than he had in years. You were his future, he knew it with every fiber of his being, and he wanted to grab you and kiss you, tell you how crazy he was about you and make you his forever.

But he could wait. He’d been waiting since the moment he first laid eyes on you, when Leia had introduced you to the crew and your eyes met his for the briefest of moments. That small, shy smile you’d given him, before your attention was diverted to something else, was all it took for him to realize that he had been born to love you.

Maybe it had taken you a little longer to realize it too, but that was okay.

Poe was used to being first.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 296: Ngl, This One Pissed Me Off

Previously on BnHA: Deku was all, “p.s. I actually activated yet another quirk several chapters ago when Kacchan got stabbed.” Compress was all, “[gets captured and passes out].” Spinner was all “[rifles through Tomura’s pockets and slaps a random Charbroiled Hand onto his friend’s unconscious face].” Tomura was all, “SOMEHOW THAT ACTUALLY WORKED” and woke up again, except it wasn’t really him, it was everyone’s favorite Final Villain, AFO. AFO was all, “time to escape finally” and summoned a bunch of Noumu and Absconded with Spinner and the DabiMarble in tow. Skeptic was all, “Horikoshi forgot I existed, but I’m actually Absconding in marble-form as well.” Deku was all, “ATTENTION WORLD, I WOULD LIKE TO ANNOUNCE THAT I OFFICIALLY WANT TO SAVE SHIGARAKI TOMURA.” And then the arc just sort of ended lol.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all, “but when you think about it, do we really need literally any female teachers at U.A. at all?” and for whatever reason doesn’t stop to wait for an answer. Midnight, who absolutely did not need to die, Dies, and I’m pissed about it. Ochako wanders the ruins of Jakku for what feels like hours, rescuing small children while her adult hero compatriots fall to pieces around her, because apparently the U.A. kids really are the only people who have their shit together. The citizens of Japan are all “damn that’s wild, wonder how fucked we are now,” but are actually super casual and chill about it which is oddly realistic. The chapter ends with AFO in Tartarus being all “lol time for the prison break arc,” without giving us so much as a chance to catch our breath, like holy shit. Are we on the clock or something now, goddamn.

lmao it’s like 7pm on a Sunday night and this is out already. this is like the worst possible timing lol. there goes my nice, relaxed evening. unless of course this turns out to be a nice, restful, soothing chapter, as chapters coming on the heels of traumatic, earth-shattering battles so often are. yeah, break out the Pina Colada song and the little drink umbrellas, I got a good feeling about this one

(ETA: I mean, I was obviously being sarcastic here but damn, Horikoshi.)

-- fff why did I laugh

it’s the crumbling city ruins in the background that really does it, I think. JUST LOOK AT THIS MESS THAT YOU HAVE MADE, EVERYONE. FOR SHAME

also, the title is dramatic af and I am so fucking excited you guys, like holy shit. BnHA’s In-Between arcs have always been my favorite part of the series, because it’s when all the character development and angst and/or catharsis happens. just, those little breathing spaces in between the action when everyone gathers to recuperate and compartmentalize their fresh new traumas lmao. bring on that angst!! but also, let’s please have some Comfort to offset all of this Hurt too, please and thanks

blah blah blah so the survivors were evacuated, good good, can you actually show us though?

AHHHHHHH

PIXIE BOB SURVIVED!!!! WASH IS STILL ALIVE LMAO HOW. THIRTEEN’S FACE, OMG SHOULD I LOOK AWAY. IS IT LIKE MANDALORIAN RULES. IDK HOW IT WORKS

HOW THE FUCK ARE THEY ALIVE. LOLS ANYWAY I’M HERE FOR IT. FEEL FREE NOT TO KILL ANYONE ELSE HERE HORIKOSHI, I THINK WE’RE GOOD

(ETA: it’s like talking to a brick wall.)

oh my god do we really need exposition about how the heroes tried to stop TomurAFO from escaping and OF COURSE failed completely because they suck lmao. oh my god I am shocked, that is such shocking news

wow they only managed to defeat three of the Noumus. holy shit. again, all of the Not-Kid Heroes are only slightly more useful than cardboard cutouts of heroes at this point, MORE AT ELEVEN

so Tomura may have lost the PLF, but he still more or less has an army then, huh. I really don’t know how anyone could expect a timeskip with that threat looming over everyone’s heads

oh nvm lol there are only seven Noumus left. wait so you’re telling me there were only ten Nearly High Ends in that last chapter?? felt more like fifty but whatever lol I’ll take your word for it

COMPRESS YAY YOU’RE ALIVE TOO

MAYBE THEY CAN EVEN REATTACH HIS ASS. I’M SERIOUS LOL, BECAUSE HE STILL HAS IT, DOESN’T HE? OR IF NOT, THEY CAN REBUILD HIM WITH A PROSTHETIC ASS. he’ll be more powerful than ever

WHAAAAAAT YEAH BOIIIII

WOOO, EDGESHOT, WOOOOO. THAT’S HIS WAY OF THE NINJA

YEAHHHHH SUCK IT, PLF

(ETA: for the record I don’t think Cementoss is dead here, just badly wounded. if he had died he would have been included in the forthcoming In Memoriam page along with the others.)

GET BENT LOL. TRUMPET I FOR REAL FORGOT YOU EVEN EXISTED. I NEVER WANT TO SEE ANY OF YOU LOSERS AGAIN PLEASE. ONLY INTERESTING CHARACTERS MAY PROCEED PAST THIS POINT

dsflksaldkh;l

that’s... holy shit. that’s a bigass mansion, that’s what that is. also so does this mean there are still eighty thousand PLF members still at large, because that’s a plot line I very much do not care about in any way whatsoever lol. can’t we just retcon to say that Re-Destro was exaggerating? I mean hell, a CEO criminal pulling some Enron-type bullshit is pretty believable, isn’t it? those poor bamboozled shareholders

“makeste, here’s an idea, what if you scrolled down to read the rest of the page” lol gtfo of here with your logic and your sense

well those 132 people have made it onto my enemies list, but at least it sounds like they more or less took care of the rest. good riddance

and Toga escaped, as we knew already, and is now on the lam. hopefully she reunites with the League again at some point. although her doing her own thing could also be very interesting. idk what I want lol

anyway so there’s another big panel showing how fucked up the city is, just in case it hadn’t already been hammered into our skulls yet. there’s a car dangling off a roof somehow. how does that even happen. did Machia pick it up and put it there or

NOOO OMG RANDOM SMALL CHILDREN IN PERIL WHAT IS THIS

OCHAKO PLEASE SAVE THEM OMG

“if it falls on me, I want you to have my Endeavor pouch” OH MY STARS. HIS MOST PRECIOUS POSSESSION. NO MY CHILD YOU CAN’T GIVE UP HOPE YET

LMAO

“FOR THE LAST TIME NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR DUSTY-ASS POUCH, KYLE” fffff these children are dying and I am cracking up so hard my eyes are tearing up what is wrong with me

YAY THEY SAVED THEM

but listen. not that I don’t love seeing the girls kick ass, because you know I do. but I also really, REALLY need to know what’s going down with the Musketeers, and I’m not looking forward to waiting three whole weeks for that so please Horikoshi. please hurry this along so we can get to them

goddamn it Tsuyu is saying she’ll take the boy to the shelter to get first aid, and I was all “okay great because that’s probably where Kacchan and the others are too”, but now someone else is shouting for help and Ochako’s all “I’ll go” and it’s like OKAY BUT PLEASE? this chapter is already more than half over omfg. ‘bout to start wringing some hands here

oh my god

is this Toga again??? WHAT THE HELL, THIS CREEPYASS HALF-DEAD DUDE BETTER BE LEADING UP TO SOMETHING INTERESTING, I AM REALLY GETTING IMPATIENT

OR, I GUESS, WE COULD DO THIS INSTEAD

“SO AS IT TURNS OUT, NOT EVERY CHARACTER WHO NEEDS HELP SAVING THEIR SPOUSE FROM FALLEN RUBBLE IS ACTUALLY TOGA IN DISGUISE” HUH, OKAY. DULY NOTED. FILED AWAY FOR FUTURE REFERENCE

but fucking... okay, look. I love Ochako, I do. but I like her a whole lot more when she’s interacting with other characters I actually care about, as opposed to running around in the rubble rescuing random people while the fate of my other children is still up in the air. like okay, I get it, shit’s bad, now if you don’t mind we really don’t have to spend all day here though

...anyways but nope, we’re still staying with her. she’s bouncing around rescuing all of these other people. omg. I literally have no patience here at all and it’s terrible, I know, but oh my god

omg finally something interesting is happening!!

look at that, an adult hero standing around being useless while the kids are busy getting shit done. why is this becoming a recurring theme

MY DUDE, THIS IS SERIOUSLY NOT THE TIME THOUGH

I GET THAT IT’S OVERWHELMING AND THAT YOU’RE TRAUMATIZED AND SHIT, BUT GUESS WHAT, SO IS EVERYONE ELSE. THAT’S WHAT YOU SIGNED UP FOR. JUST LOOK AT OCHAKO! SHE’S SO EXHAUSTED HER HAIR HAS EVEN LOST ITS FLOOF, AND YET SHE’S STILL OUT HERE DOING HER BEST. ONE SAVE AT A TIME MY MAN. GET IT DONE. LITERALLY A SMALL CHILD IN THE BOTTOM RIGHT CALLING FOR THEIR MOMMY AND YOU’RE JUST STANDING THERE ALL “WAHH IT’S TOO MUCH” LIKE COULD YOU PLEASE POSTPONE YOUR CRISIS UNTIL AFTER YOU SAVE THEM PLEASE

OH MY GOD

MAYBE YOU SHOULD!! oh my god I really cannot, like wow. oh no I actually have to save people and do my job, god forbid. jesus christ, at least the other heroes tried. but Moping Hero: Bellyache here is just throwing in the towel and fuck everyone who still needs his help I guess. you are like the anti-Deku my dude

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD NO OH FUCK

THAT’S MIDNIGHT’S HAND OH FU -- SHE BETTER NOT -- HORIKOSHI I SWEAR TO GOD --

I’M GONNA LOSE IT I REALLY AM!!!!

HOLY SHIT HOW INTENSE OF A RAGE DO I NEED TO BRACE MYSELF TO BE FEELING HERE. THIS CHAPTER WAS ALREADY TRENDING TOWARDS DISAPPOINTMENT, DO WE REALLY NEED TO GO AND COMPOUND THAT

WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON

you’re telling me Tomura wasn’t brought back by that electric shock, but by his “fuck you” attitude? why are you explaining this to us now, again??

......

HEY, SO UM, FUCK ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS, THOUGH. (: OH MAN. OHHHHHH MAN. I HAVE... I HAVE GOT A LOT OF WORDS FOR THIS AND HERE ARE SOME OF THEM

FUCK

THINGS THAT SHOULD BE IN THE DICTIONARY NEXT TO “SOME BULLSHIT”: THIS

FUCK

GET FUCKED HORIKOSHI

AND ALSO PLEASE FUCK RIGHT OFF!!

AND SERIOUSLY THOUGH FUCK YOU

NO BUT YOU KNOW WHAT THOUGH!! YOU COULD HAVE KILLED OFF ANYONE. LITERALLY ANY CHARACTER. YOU HAD TWELVE FEMALE PROS. TWELVE. YOU COULD HAVE MADE MORE OF THEM. PROBABLY, IF THERE ACTUALLY WERE SUPERHEROES IN REAL LIFE, THERE WOULD BE MORE THAN TWELVE OF THEM IN AN ENTIRE NATION. BUT NO, YOU WERE ALL “TWELVE IS MORE THAN ENOUGH.” AND THEN WHEN IT CAME TIME TO KILL PEOPLE OFF, YOU WERE ALL “WELL ALL RIGHT THEN, LET’S SEE, I PICK... THESE 18 RANDOM SIDE CHARACTERS WITH LITTLE TO NO DIALOGUE, PLUS THE ONE SINGLE FEMALE U.A. STAFF MEMBER WE ACTUALLY HAD. YEAH THAT OUGHTA DO IT”

AND BY THE WAY, HORIKOSHI, I PICKED SOMETHING UP FOR YOU ON MY WAY HOME, HERE IT IS, ┌П┐(・＿・) do you like it it was on sale. I saw it and was like, “Horikoshi would really like that.” so there you go. sorry it wasn’t gift-wrapped

p.s. I hope y’all can tell that that’s supposed to be a middle finger and not... something else lmao. er. anyway

(ETA: so I got a few asks from people who were really put off by this part of the reaction post, and so I’m just adding an extra note here to make it clear that I do not actually wish harm on Horikoshi in any way or even particularly dislike him. I wasn’t happy about Midnight’s death and I wanted to convey that, and so I went with my usual LOUD CAPSLOCK REACTION tone, but looking back on it I can see that it’s kind of a lot, lol. 

so just to be clear, the “fuck you” stuff is almost entirely tongue-in-cheek. that’s on me, I forget sometimes that there are people who share these sentiments unironically and so I didn’t think to make sure my intended meaning here was clear. anyways, killing Midnight was still a really problematic decision for numerous reasons but it is what it is. Horikoshi is not perfect, the story isn’t perfect, and I’m not gonna pretend like it is, but again just to be clear, I don’t harbor any actual ill will toward Horikoshi here.)

shit. and wow this man really went and killed off fucking Mystic too on top of that. have you ever seen a character fail so spectacularly at living up to their hype. r.i.p. Mystic you were like the Star Wars sequel of characters

(ETA: I have no fucking idea why I keep thinking Majestic’s name is Mystic lol. rest in peace you old scarecrowy bastard.)

and poor Momo, though. fuck. lost two mentors in a single day. and do not even get me started on Aizawa holy shit

so now we’re cutting to some random townspeople who are gossiping about the Todoroki drama. this is actually interesting in spite of my newfound determination to hate this chapter lol

ngl I am kind of heartened to see that not everyone fell for Dabi’s bs hook line and sinker though. Jeanist returning from the dead literally two seconds after Dabi was all “I SWEAR ON MY HONOR AS A VILLAIN THAT HAWKS MURDERED HIM” probably helped with that a bit! but there will doubtless be many other people who do believe him, or are at least still inclined to side-eye the heroes in general either way given how much they sucked in this arc. very, very interesting

so it seems though that even more than the whole Endeavor reveal, at the end of the day it’s going to be the heroes failing to live up to their end of the “put your faith in us and let us use our quirks and in return we’ll protect everyone and keep them safe” implied social contract that’s going to have the biggest impact on people’s opinions moving forward. basically this was always going to be a disaster no matter what

OH MY GOD FINALLY AHHHHH

Horikoshi really tapped into some of the real-life political energy of the past few years huh. Fuck Him Still for killing off Midnight, but I will admit that so far this is hella intriguing and I am really, really curious to see where things go from here

OH MY GOD THE LITTLE KIDS FROM THE BABYSITTING ARC

“FIVE PEEPEE MAN WOULDN’T LIE TO US” YES CHILDREN YOU’RE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT. at least the little ones still have faith

UM

 ( •̀ へ •́  )

that’s great. that’s really keen. all we need right now, amirite

GOOD FOR YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT

let’s just wait for him to explain what he feels. you know he likes to drag it out

is that Dabi crouched down there next to Spinner? looks like they got him out of the marble after all. but why has his hair changed colors again lol what

anyways. your turn to what??

:’) excuse me what

hahahaha are you fucking kidding me. and that’s where we’re going to end the chapter then. lol okay

so let’s recap. Midnight died. we spent ten hours watching Ochako dig people out of rubble for no apparent reason and were then introduced to my new least favorite character, and because Ochako is so nice she didn’t even punch him in the face even though she really should have. we did not get any Kacchan or Shouto. we got one panel of Deku, who is Finally Asleep. and the chapter ended with AFO ordering his Noumus to go set free, AND I QUOTE, HIS “MAIN BODY.” and now I gotta wait an entire week for Caleb’s translation to confirm that last part. omg

but it sounds like a prison break is imminent, which is very, very interesting. ...and actually, is it weird that I’m actually rooting for it to be a success? I have no idea what this guy is planning, but I do know that as long as the main part of his soul is still residing in Tomura’s body, Tomura’s chance of surviving the series is close to zero. and villain though he may be, I’m still rooting for his redemption (nice to have Deku on my side now too), and so yeah. so like if AFO feels like using some latent Exorcism Quirk or something that he’s been saving for just such an occasion, be my guest lol

meanwhile this doesn’t bode well for All Might though. or anyone else aside from Tomura, really. shiiiit

anyway. [slaps roof of chapter] this baby can fit so much bullshit in it

[silhouetteofacedar]

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch.3: Jesus Is A Pisces

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

Mulder has forgotten Scully’s birthday every year but one. Actually, make that two now, since this year he’s determined to make the day special for her somehow. He’d asked her casually what her plans were, and she admitted that outside of a lunch with her mother and some church friends on Sunday the 22nd, she didn’t really have any intention to celebrate.

“It’s been a rough couple months,” she’d explained softly, and that’s all he needed to hear.  She’d gained and then buried a daughter within a few days’ time over Christmas, for fuck’s sake. He didn’t know how she managed to stay sane after that, and if he thought about it for too long the waves of powerlessness and guilt that rolled over him were debilitating.

So instead he focused on what he could do.

“You wanna do something after work on Monday? I promise to be as un-festive as possible,” he offered.

She looked uncertain, licked her lip. “Just us?” she asked.

“Just you and me,” Mulder assured her, the words giving him a tiny, shameful thrill.

She was quiet for a moment. “Sure,” she said finally.

Come Monday, February 23rd, it’s business as usual in the basement office. They finalize their reports from the previous week’s case, wrangle their receipts, argue over who broke the stapler (It was him, she insists; while he claims she jammed the staples in and made it impossible to use properly).

At three minutes to five o’clock, she clears her throat softly as she gathers her things, and he can feel her preparing to speak.

“Yeah, Scully?” he murmurs.

“We still on for tonight?” she asks, sounding almost cautious, and his heart fractures.

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he confirms, leafing through a file. “Be sure to bundle up.” He looks up at her and gives her a reassuring grin.

She looks happy and… relieved? Huh.

“Well, I’ll see you then,” she says, shrugging on her coat as she leaves.

Mulder smiles at the door as it clicks shut behind her. He’s unusually giddy about what he has planned for the evening.

Over the weekend he had gone to the grocery store since his refrigerator was barren, then camped out in his building’s laundry room all day Sunday washing every blanket he owned. He even stopped at the little bakery around the corner from his apartment, purchasing a single chocolate cupcake and a loaf of rye bread.

After work he packs his car with a cooler, a duffel bag, a large thermos of coffee, and a pile of blankets.

He’s surprised to see that she’s waiting for him on the steps of her apartment, wearing a heavy jacket and thick turtleneck sweater.

“I got too hot wearing all this inside,” she explains, climbing into the passenger seat. She seems almost excited, and he strangely wants to cry. God, he’s so fucking glad he had the balls to invite her out again.

“Where are we going, Mulder?” Scully asks.

“It’s a surprise,” he replies.

Seven minutes and three wrong turns later, he reaches into the glove compartment and pulls out the map, handing it to her. “Rock Creek Park, please, Navigator,” he says.

“Aha! I thought the route we were taking seemed… circuitous,” Scully says with a smirk, unfolding the map.

“Just tell me where to go; I don’t need a running commentary,” he gripes, secretly relishing her needling.

In about twenty minutes, they arrive at the park’s nature center. Mulder pulls into the lot next to the field across the road and cuts the engine.

“We’re here?” Scully asks, looking around. “It’s deserted. Mulder, please don’t tell me we’re ghost hunting,”

“Ghosts? No,” he says, climbing out of the car and going around to the trunk. “Help me with some stuff?”

Scully comes around to the back of the car, where Mulder hands her the cooler and thermos. He slings the duffel bag over his shoulder and gathers up the pile of blankets. “Close the trunk, will you, Scully?” he says, walking towards the field. “My arms are full.”

They trudge out to the middle of the field, cold winter air biting their cheeks. Mulder stops abruptly and drops the blankets onto the ground in a heap.

“We’re here,” he announces, setting down the duffel bag. He picks up a heavy wool blanket and spreads it out on the grass.

Scully sits down on the blanket, cooler and thermos beside her. “What exactly are we doing out here, Mulder?” she asks.

“Well first, we eat,” he replies, reaching for the cooler. He opens it and pulls out two waxed-paper parcels, handing one to her. “Pastrami on rye,” he announces. “I went a little crazy with the mustard on one of them, we can trade if you want.”

“You made these?” she asks, unwrapping the sandwich and taking a bite. “Oh my god,” she groans. “Mulder, you’ve been holding out on me. This is delicious.”

The satisfaction in her voice makes him flush. “It’s pretty hard to mess up pastrami.”

“True,” she agrees, “but I was starting to doubt you could even make food. Your refrigerator is usually pretty sparse.”

Mulder shrugs, opening the thermos of coffee and pouring her a cup. “Cooking for one doesn’t hold much appeal,” he explains.

“Mm,” she agrees around a mouthful of sandwich, taking the proffered cup. “So Mulder, tell me; is there a reason we’re having a picnic in the dark?” She eyes the duffel bag beside him suspiciously.

“I’m glad you asked,” he replies, unzipping the bag and pulling out a tripod. “You know anything about constellations, Scully?”

It’s a rhetorical question, of course. He already knows.

“A thing or two,” she replies casually, clearly attempting to hide the smile sneaking across her mouth as she eats.

“Well that’s good, seeing as I lugged this telescope and a star map all the way out here,” he says, pulling the telescope case out of the bag.

Scully is enraptured, and Mulder thinks this might be the best thing he’s ever done for anyone.

“I haven’t done this in years,” she says, peering through the eyepiece as she adjusts the telescope’s position. “Not since…”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, but she doesn’t have to. He remembers her telling him once, on a long car ride to some anonymous, unremarkable town, about stargazing with her father when she was a child. Captain Ahab and his Starbuck, navigating the night skies by way of celestial markers.

The temperature’s dropping, and Mulder drapes the ratty tribal weave blanket from his couch around her shoulders as she searches the heavens.

“You want a turn?” she asks, drawing back from the telescope for a moment.

He shakes his head, plops down on the blanket and gazes at her instead.

They could be astronauts together, sailors of the stars. Dropping anchor in pools of the Milky Way, swimming through constellations and running their fingers through glittering strands of nebulae.

“I’m good,” he replies softly.

“Mulder?” Scully says from under a pile of blankets.

They’re lying on their backs now, side by side, eyes on the sky. Waiting for a meteor, or a passing satellite, or for God to wave hello.

“Yeah, Scully?”

“Do you give any credence to astrology, or is that too close to religion for you?”

“I appreciate its historical and cultural significance,” he replies. “Beyond that, I can’t say I have much of an opinion on it. Aren’t you a Pisces?” he asks, as though he doesn’t already know that she is, and that he’s a Libra, and that the shitty magazine he picked up in the dentist’s office says they’d be a tumultuous but passionate match. Not that he gives horoscopes any weight.

Passionate, though…

“I am. And I’m inclined to agree with you, though astrology’s link with early Christianity is fascinating. For example, did you know that Jesus is linked to Pisces? His birth coincides with the dawning of the astrological Age of Pisces, which spans from 1 AD to the year 2150. There are many scriptural references to fishermen, and early Christians used the fish symbol as a sign of their faith.”

“Huh,” he says, tucking a blanket more tightly around his shoulders.

“I don’t believe that the stars dictate my temperament, by the way,” Scully continues. “But there’s something beautiful about having a constellation in the sky that corresponds with your own birth. Missy knew more about this stuff,” she say wistfully. “She’d read me my horoscope every morning before school while we brushed our hair or whatever, in the bathroom where Mom couldn’t hear. It was fun,” she says with a sigh.

“Do you think she’s out there, in the stars?” Mulder asks and immediately regrets it. He didn’t mean the question to sound flippant.

Scully takes it in stride. “Is it crazy if I say maybe? There’s… there’s things I’ve seen and heard, Mulder, that I can’t explain. Who am I to say how God operates? Maybe He’s laid the stars out like a map for us to read. That’s probably wishful thinking, but life would be a hell of a lot simpler if everything was dictated by heavenly bodies.”

“Better that than by governing bodies,” Mulder agrees.

Their eyes drift along the razor-sharp curves of the crescent moon.

“My mom wants to set me up with one of her church friends’ sons,” Scully says without preamble.

“Huh,” Mulder replies, tracing Orion with his eyes. “Let me guess; he’s a dentist.”

“Emergency physician, actually,” she replies. “He’s nice.”

Mulder suddenly feels the weight of gravity pressing him down to earth. He can feel the rotation of the planet under his back, spinning him at a thousand miles an hour. “You’ve met him?” he asks.

“Yesterday, at lunch,” Scully replies. “He’s a widower, with a six-year-old daughter. I think… I think my mom thinks we could help each other.”

Mulder’s stomach churns, a facsimile of seasickness rolling through his body. “What do you think?” he asks, voice oddly hoarse. “Do you… agree with her?”

Scully pulls the blanket higher under her chin and sighs. “I don’t know, Mulder. I’m thirty-four today, and my career runs my life. I’m not sure how many chances at a family will come my way in the future. It’s not ideal, but maybe I’m past the point of getting to choose.” She pauses. “I’m sorry, I’m being fatalistic.”

Despite the near-freezing temperature, he’s got a cold sweat forming on his back. “You can always choose, Scully. As far as I see it. It’s-it’s important to me that you know that.”

She rolls onto her side, snaking a hand out of the blanket to prop herself up on her elbow beside him. “Mulder, I know you blame yourself for the things that have happened to me. But they’re not your fault.” He opens his mouth and she interrupts him before he can speak. “Don’t argue with me. It’s my birthday.”

He’s grateful for a change of subject. “That reminds me,” he says, sitting up and reaching over to open the cooler.

He pulls out a small pink bakery box and opens it to remove a single chocolate cupcake with a candle stuck in the middle. He digs a lighter out of his coat pocket and gives it a flick, igniting the candle.

“Happy birthday, Scully,” he says sheepishly, holding out the cupcake.

The single flame shimmers in her eyes as she takes the dessert. “Mulder,” she says softly, in a tone that makes his heart turn to liquid. “I don’t… I don’t know what to say.”

“Just make a wish and blow the candle out before the wind does it for you,” he replies. There’s only a bit of a breeze but he’s not taking any chances. She deserves a wish.

Her eyes fall closed, and she sighs contentedly, no doubt formulating her request. Suddenly she opens her eyes and locks her gaze with his over the flickering candle, and Mulder feels a thousand words rumbling in him like an approaching avalanche.

Before he can say anything she purses her lips and extinguishes the lone flame with a breath.

She pulls the candle out of the cupcake and pops the end into her mouth, licking off chocolate frosting, and Mulder thinks he might die right there on a blanket in Rock Creek Park. He’s been so good, keeping his feelings to himself, but in this moment his only thoughts are that he loves her and wants her; no, needs her. He needs to touch her, taste the icing on her lips, map the constellations of freckles hiding beneath her sweater. Shake the winter chill out of his bones, letting the flames of her red hair lick across his skin and light his whole body on fire.

She’s saying something to him, biting into the cupcake, chocolate crumbs falling onto the blanket.

“Hm?” he asks, returning to terra firma.

“I asked if you wanted a bite,” she reiterates.

Yes, his body responds. Please please please-

“It’s yours,” he says as a declination.

“Therefore it’s mine to share,” she declares. She holds it out to him, and his stomach flutters as he leans in and takes a bite. He thinks of his parents’ faded wedding photos, of them feeding each other cake in black and white.

Don’t date the doctor guy, he pleads silently as he chews. Stay with me. Show me galaxies.

She falls asleep on the car ride home with one of his blankets tucked around her, the car’s heater cranked all the way up. When he parks in front of her building she stirs, likely awoken by the sudden cessation of warm air on her feet.

“Scully,” Mulder says softly, “We’re home.”

“Mmm,” she responds. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven,” he answers, glancing at his watch. “Can you walk or should I carry you up?” The question feels faintly suggestive, and he’s only being so bold because she’s drowsy and likely not registering the subtext.

“I can walk,” she says, sitting up and removing the blanket. Her hair is a fuzzy red halo in the glow of the streetlights.

“I’ll go with you,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Make sure you don’t pass out on your way up.”

“Thanks,” she yawns. “I don’t know why car rides make me so drowsy,” she says. “It’s like I’m five years old again.”

“Or it’s hypothermia,” Mulder suggests jokingly. “It got pretty damn cold out there.”

“Winter night picnics aren’t the most practical, it’s true,” she says. “But the blankets and coffee were a good idea.”

When they reach Scully’s apartment door she turns to face him. “Thank you for this,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t realize how much I needed it.”

He smiles softly at her. “Happy birthday,” he replies.

He’s mentally debating giving her a hug when she reaches out and pulls him in gently, arms looped around his waist. He wraps his arms around her and drops a light kiss to the crown of her head.

It’s over way too soon.

“Goodnight,” she says. “See you tomorrow.”

If he says anything else to her before she slips into the apartment and closes the door, he doesn’t remember it. His feet are firmly on the ground, carrying him out of her apartment building and back to his car, but his head is far above the atmosphere, adrift in space.

He’s so in love he feels as though he’s running out of air.

[wonlouvre]

pairing: doctor!wonwoo x lawyer!female oc genre: modern royalty, arranged marriage, fluff and future angst word count: 1,787 warnings: mentions of food, skipping a meal, fainting

author’s note: part 2 is here and i am excited! i received the support that some of you have given by liking and reblogging and i appreciate it so much! please do share some of your thoughts. i’d love to hear from you. for some reference on what our Prince Wonwoo wore on this chapter during the first few bits: here. 

two: what could have been | masterlist

“What?”

One of these days you’re going to start blaming Wonwoo for the unusual accidents that happen whenever he is around or whenever his name is brought up. It’s a relief that you didn’t trip, again, because you were more than sure that making an abrupt stop while wearing heels can lead to several painful possibilities. 

“You okay?” Jeongyeon was quick to hold on to your arm, helping you find your balance again. She’s definitely not risking anymore injuries especially now that there’s no Doctor Jeon around. 

“What did you just say?” You repeat as you try to compose yourself and start walking across the hallway like how you were supposed to in the first place. 

Jeongyeon blinks at you for a few seconds before gasping, “Oh, right! According to my sources, apparently the long term girlfriend was actually the one for Prince Wonwoo,” she says casually as if she’s just dropping the weather report for the day. “He had plans to propose.”

Propose?

“By sources you mean?” You ask. The lawyer in you is making sure that this is nothing but a baseless rumor and also the rational person in you is making sure your head doesn't get clouded by jealousy.

Me? Jealous? Your left eye twitches at the thought.

“Dr. Kwon also known as Hoshi,” she answers like they have been friends for ten years. “He’s the Prince’s friend from primary school up to medical school.”

“How do you even know this Dr. Kwon?” You ask while narrowing your eyes at her. You are nowhere near done verifying her sources.

Jeongyeon sheepishly smiles before giggling nervously. “Well…”

You sigh. Jeongyeon can be brilliant but she could go overboard at times. “Don’t tell me he works at the same hospital as Wonwoo and you yourself went there?”

“I had to!” She defends, stomping her feet. “You told me to go look up some info and I did. I just wanted to do a good job while I was at it.”

You close your eyes in defeat before pulling her close to whisper a reminder to her ear, “Next time, let’s tone down the enthusiasm, alright?”

She just grins. “No promises.”

Were you threatened by the recent information your assistant just shared to you?

No, of course not.

Were you bothered?

Yes. Absolutely. One hundred percent. 

You’re bothered because you can’t help but think about what could have been.

What could have been for Wonwoo and this mystery girl. You suddenly feel terrible. All this time you were okay with this arrangement. In fact, you were beyond okay already. But, how about Wonwoo? Sure, maybe you thought he could be against this marriage. But, it didn’t cross your mind what he could have left behind back home. What he had to give up and what he had to let go.

“Hey.”

All your thoughts and worries flushed down the drain in an instant at the sound of the voice you’re starting to grow fond of.

Wonwoo arrived like a breath of fresh air with his light blue button down and jeans. The glasses are a bonus that you are lucky to see for the first time. You weren’t aware that he wore them. In fact, you have never seen him wear casual clothes until today. If you were frowning earlier, you are blushing now because of how good he looks. 

“Sorry I’m late,” he sincerely apologizes as he walks towards you. “I’m not gonna lie. I overslept.”

Come to think of it, you have been standing outside this terrace for quite a while now. Thinking too much can be a good distraction to the point that you won’t even notice that you have been waiting.

You cleared the rest of the afternoon to sneak in some wedding planning. Meanwhile, Wonwoo decided to take the night shift yesterday and take today off to join you. 

You shake your head and give him a small smile in understanding. “It’s okay. I just arrived too.”

That was a lie, but it doesn’t matter. Especially now, in spite of getting the right amount of sleep, you can tell that he is still tired and sleepy. And, adorable. But you would never let him know that.

“It didn’t look like it though,” he counters, making your brows raise. “You looked like you were already here for a while. A penny for your thoughts?”

Your eyes roll at his teasing tone while he just smirks. 

But then, you figured since he already asked, this could be the right time. “Can I ask you something?”

Wonwoo crosses his arms, pretending to contemplate your request. “It depends. Am I in trouble?”

“No,” you deadpan. “You don’t have to answer though. That’s what I can guarantee.”

“Fine by me.” He relaxes his arms to his sides and stands close to the railing you were leaning your body weight against. 

Well, okay.  Your palms suddenly started to sweat. Maybe it’s a bad idea to pry about his past. What’s the point of bringing it up? What do you need out of this anyway? Why the bother? 

Yeah, let’s just not, you decided to drop it but Wonwoo already beat you to it.

“Let me guess,” the Prince noticed your silence and decided to take the matters in his hands. “Is it about my ex-girlfriend?”

Heat immediately rose to your cheeks, embarrassed by how could you let it get this far. “I’m sorry. Nevermind. Let’s just go inside. They’re probably ready for us.” 

You were fast to lift your feet from the ground and honestly,  if you could, you’d run away and never return. But, Wonwoo was faster. He was faster to grasp your hand and make you stop from taking another step in a heartbeat. 

You’re not one to let your head hang low and avoid eye contact, but here you are doing everything in your power to not meet Wonwoo’s eyes. You’re also not one to grow flustered easily. You always know what and how to make the last say.

But again, here you are tight-lipped and wishing to be buried underground. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he promises while tilting his head to the side, searching for your eyes. “I’m not making fun of you and I understand that it’s inevitable for this to be not brought up.”

You relent by nodding and finally turning your body to face him. “Okay.”

Wonwoo smiles and caresses the top of your head. “This is not something you should be worrying about.”

His brazen touch made you feel small yet comforted. 

“Do you really want to marry me Wonwoo?” You whisper between the two of you. 

He blinks then furrows his brows. “What kind of question is that?”

You frown, you’re supposed to give me an answer. “I just thought that maybe it’s better to call it off already before we regret anything in the future.”

“Y/N,” he calls for your name for the first time. “My past relationship is already in the past. I am not dwelling from what happened and what could have been. I am here now and that’s all that matters.”

“Don’t play smart with me,” you scoff and pull yourself away from him.

But Wonwoo just laughs and tightens his hold. He now holds both of your hands and strangely enough, having his hands entwined with yours is nice.

“Why? Does the princess don’t want to marry me?” 

“I don’t actually have much of a choice, do I?” 

Now it’s Wonwoo’s turn to scoff. “Who’s playing smart now?”

You burst into a fit of giggles and Wonwoo does the same. 

It’s kind of scary to feel this way. Feeling so reassured and secured with your relationship with Wonwoo like it was the two of you from the get go. It seems so easy. You are at ease and it terrifies you. 

It’s time for work, you slap yourself back to reality. You can’t continue thinking about Wonwoo especially now when you have matters to take care of and clients to satisfy. You sigh and pick up your coffee mug to sip some only to see that it’s already empty.

You quickly reach for your telephone to request for a refill.

“Coffee? Again?” Jeongyeon reprimands before you could even speak. “Your Highness, this is your third cup and it’s only nine o’clock in the morning.”

You ignore her exasperated tone. “I know.”

“How about some bread instead? You’ve had enough caffeine to last the week.”

“Please just bring me one more,” you plead while resting your palm on your forehead, feeling a headache coming up that could actually last the week. “I promise that would be my last cup.”

You can hear Jeongyeon sigh in defeat before muttering a soft okay.

You should have chosen the bread instead of the third cup of coffee because not less than 15 minutes after drinking it, your stomach feels like it’s burning inside by how painful it is. You thought a glass of water can help minimize or dwindle down the pain but it’s of no help.

What’s worse is you suddenly feel hot in spite of the air condition inside your office being on full blast. Your hand brushes against your face and it is wet. Why am I sweating? You quietly groan as another pang of pain hits you. You think you might vomit. 

Maybe you should go to the restroom or whatever. For now, you just want to move in the hopes that this uncomfortable and sickening feeling would go away. You push yourself up from your chair with a lot of effort because your body doesn’t seem to have any more intention to cooperate with your mind.

You decided you’d rest at your apartment for a while and just go back in the afternoon on the assumption that you’d be fine by then.

Slowly and painfully, you walk to the huge doors of your office and with every step you take, you’re catching your breath. You reach the door and clutch the knob tightly, desperate to grab some painkillers and just sleep this off. 

However, before you could twist the knob and take further steps, you were falling to the ground. Your body doesn’t want to act on your decisions anymore and the pain on your stomach is just way too unbearable, you can’t even stand straight. 

And just on time, Jeongyeon opens your door and enters, chirpy as usual, “Your Highness, you have a visi--- Your Highness!”

You were not sure if your eyes could still register what you saw before you blacked out. But, you were positive that you saw the one and only Prince Wonwoo, one moment smiling and the next rushing towards your limp body on the cold tiled floor.

[anfie-in-the-box]

Fragments of Shattered Dreams Hurt So Much (But You’re the Only One I Need to Heal)

Fragment Nine, Where the Price Is of Least Concern

They have to find Nightmare. They are running out of time.

These two thoughts have been Cross’ ever-present companions for a while now — he’d say more precisely, right up to minutes and seconds, if only time worked in the void like anywhere else. It still works, Cross supposes, in its own peculiar, void-y ways beyond their understanding.

All this nonsense shouldn’t even matter. And it wouldn’t, yet there they are, not in the slightest ready to move forward. Dream seems hesitant, afraid almost, and Cross doesn’t ask, gathering all his patience to wait until Dream talks first. If ever. Sometimes it truly is one’s cross to bear, theirs and theirs only, so nobody would be able to relieve their struggles and suffering. The closest thing Cross can do, though, is being there when his beloved overcomes his doubts and fears. When, Cross thinks, firmly. Not if. Never if. He believes in Dream. They both need it to work out. It has to. Something is finally changing for the better. It cannot be in vain, calm before the storm. Cross won’t accept such a possibility — he’s determined to fight tooth and nail for their happiness, especially now when it’s so real, as shining as the ring on Dream’s finger.

Although, to be fair, it’s not only Dream who needs time. While his conflict lies in his mind and his feelings are conflicted and confusing, Cross’ problem is his body. Dream really is strong, after all, and the damage has been done, somehow more than his broken code can heal right away. He can move, of course he can, but would he be able to fight, if it comes to it? He’s not sure, and there is too much at stake to risk it. He can’t loose Dream. Not now, and not ever. Please.

Waiting is downright maddening. They don’t talk much, trying to fight their inner demons, they need time to heal — as much as possible in their circumstances, that is. Cross gets that.

Also, he gets how little time they’ve got left. It moves forward, uncaring of their needs, flows by with no turning back. Yet their readiness is not something they can reset, save, or overwrite… Although that would be nice, a fleeting thought at the back of Cross’ mind, one he tries not to focus on. They are walking on oh so very thin ice as it is, no need for even more too unfair, too complicated games that lead nowhere in the end. They’ll just have to find their way, somehow. They will.

They will, Cross thinks whenever Dream looks at him, smile small but present, and so, so gentle. At least he isn’t waiting alone, not like before, and, well, some time is better than none. If positive feelings hurt Dream, Cross merely has to hope for them both. He can do that, he’s sure. He’s already doing that.

Cross’ body is healing, slower than he’d like, but the process goes on. Perhaps he doesn’t know what battles Dream fights in the mind of his, what memories of the past and fears of the future hold him in place; nonetheless, Cross will be right here when it’s over — maybe not completely, only enough for Dream to go forward. Look for his brother and meet him, at last.

No matter what the price would be, Dream isn’t walking down this path alone. Of that Cross is sure.

。。。

Credits:

Undertale © Toby Fox

Dreamtale © jokublog

Cross © jakei95 / xtaleunderverse

Shattered!Dream © shattereddreamsau

Dark Cream © zu-is-here

Read it on ao3

Read Russian version on ficbook or fanficus

。。。

Notes

On this fine day, out of the blue, this little thing of mine is back. References are still there, the title being the main one (let me remind you, the ninth chapter of the comic is called The Price of Happiness), and miraculously I've got enough energy to post this, but pointing out all the references I have to leave for later. Have fun looking for them yourself. Or don't, that's okay as well.

Dissappearing into my inner void once again. Hope you're doing better than me, whoever you are.

Thanks for reading, and take care 🌻

。。。

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[star-spangled-steve]

His New Partner

Chapter 48: The Final Mission

Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Words: 2096

Warnings: Some anxious!Reader, pregnancy.

A/N: We’re getting closer and closer to the finish line, I can’t believe it!

Steve placed a hand on Y/N’s lower back as she pushed A.J.’s stroller, the family approaching the treed area around Tony’s, well, now Pepper’s cabin. It was the day after Stark’s funeral, and finally time for Steve to do the job that Y/N was dreading: returning the Infinity Stones to the moment they were taken.

She had asked him if someone else could do it, but the man had insisted that because of his eidetic memory, he was the only one who could execute it flawlessly. So alas, the woman agreed, though she still felt uneasy.

The last time there was time travel involved, her best friend didn’t come back. Who’s to say her husband couldn’t be next?

Steve, sensing her worries, pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. The look in his eyes said ‘everything is going to be okay’. She hoped that he was right.

“Hey, Cap. N/N.” Sam greeted as he and Bucky approached them. “Little buddy!” He bent down to get a look at Anthony in the stroller, smiling brightly at him. The toddler squealed happily in return.

“Hey, Sam.” Y/N responded, voice not entirely confident.

“You ready, pal?” Bucky questioned his best friend, earning a nod in response from the man.

Steve and Sam headed over to the desk that Bruce had set up, all of Bruce’s technological things on top of it, as well as the stones. Bucky decided to hang back with Y/N and A.J., knowing that she probably needed the support right now. He sensed her worries and gave her a reassuring smile, and she tried to give one back; the best she could.

“Now, remember, you have to return the stones to the exact moment you got them. Or you're gonna’ open up a bunch of nasty alternative realities.” Banner instructed Steve, opening the briefcase that held the Infinity Stones themselves.

“Don't worry, Bruce.” The Captain said, closing the briefcase back up and grabbing it. “Clip all the branches.”

“You know, I tried.” Bruce suddenly grew serious. “When I had the gauntlet, the stones, I really tried to bring her back.” His thoughts were lost in the memory that was Natasha as he glanced down at Steve. “I miss her, man.”

Rogers nodded, “Me too.” He quickly looked over at his love, knowing that she felt the exact same way.

He and Sam started to head over to where she was standing with Bucky. “You know, if you want, I can come with you.” Sam volunteered, always happy to help.

“You're a good man, Sam.” Steve stopped walking and stated. “This one's on me, though.” As he approached Bucky, he smirked, excited for the line he was about to say. “Don't do anything stupid 'till I get back.” Oh, how the tables had turned.

Barnes chuckled and shook his head. “How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you.” They gave each other a quick hug, and the brown-haired soldier sighed as they separated. “Be safe, buddy. I mean it.”

“It's gonna’ be okay, Buck.” The Captain reassured before stepping over to where his wife was standing, giving her a tiny grin. “Now you, little lady, better calm down.” He watched as her shoulders slumped and brought a hand up to cradle her face. “I promise you it’s going to be alright, doll. Not that difficult of a mission.”

“I-I know it’s just...” she paused, looking him deep in the eyes. “Please be careful, Steve. I can’t stress that enough.”

“I will.” He answered her in a very serious tone. “I promise.” The man watched as she bit her bottom lip nervously, and brought his thumb to her mouth, taking the lip out from between her teeth gently. He then leaned in and gave her a chaste kiss, knowing that he’ll miss her as he’s on his journey.

Her hand settled on the chest piece of his Scale Mail Suit, wanting to feel more of him and relish the moment. She gave him a soft smile as they separated, and nudged her head over to where Mjolnir was placed on the Quantum Tunnel. “You know, it’s a shame you have to bring that thing back.” She spoke quietly, not wanting Bucky, or even worse, her son to hear her.

“And why’s that?” Steve smirked, thinking he already knew the answer.

“Well, it’s, um... quite sexy that you can wield it, actually. Just like... you know, the power you hold? It’s... hot.” Y/N fluttered her eyelashes, and the man chuckled.

“Don’t tell me you’ve found it sexy when Thor’s done it all these years?” He teased, raising his eyebrows.

“No, no.” She laughed in response, moving in a bit closer to him flirtatiously. “Just you.”

Steve, really wanting to drive her crazy, simply held out his right hand and watched her expression as Mjolnir came flying into it automatically. Her eyes lit up and he grinned cockily.

“Oh boy...” she murmured. “Looks like you might be getting some toni-”

“Steve?” Bruce called out, cutting her off. “You ready to get moving?”

“Yeah.” He responded back, not taking his eyes off his girl. “Sorry, guys.” The man placed on last peck on her lips before crouching down to give her almost-six-months baby belly a kiss, then one to A.J.’s cheek as well. “Dad will be back very soon, buddy.” He told the boy, stroking his cheek, before standing up straight and walking up onto the Quantum Tunnel, giving Y/N a confident expression. He wanted to show her that he wasn’t worried, so she shouldn’t be either. He then pressed the button on his hand that made the Quantum Suit appear on his body.

“How long is this gonna’ take?” Sam questioned.

“For him? As long as he needs. For us? Five seconds.” Bruce answered.

“See, sweetie?” Steve spoke out to his wife. “You only have to wait five seconds and I’ll be right back here.”

She took a shaky breath. “Y-Yup.”

“Ready, Cap?” Banner asked, making the blond man nod in response. “Alright. We'll meet you back here, okay?”

“You bet.” The helmet then appeared on his head, sealing his body up completely.

The green man began counting: “Going quantum. Three... two... one...”

Then he was gone. He disappeared into thin air, and Y/N gave Bucky a nervous look.

Bruce spoke up again. “And returning in, five... four... three... two... one...”

Just as quickly as he had disappeared, Steve was reappearing on the Quantum Tunnel, looking almost the exact same as when he had left; the only difference maybe being a couple hairs out of place. As the Quantum Suit dissipated off his body, his wife let out a huge sigh.

“Honey. Thank goodness.” She rejoiced, running over to him as he walked down the stairs, and they met halfway in a hug. The man just ran his hands up and down her back, breathing in the fresh smell of her shampoo. “How long were you gone?” She asked.

“Longer than five seconds.” He responded, pulling her face out of his chest to look her in the eye. “I missed you.” A kiss was then pressed to her forehead, and a small giggle from A.J. interrupted the pair.

“Cool trick, dadda!” The boy smiled from his place in the stroller, prompting Y/N to take him out of it and hold him in her arms. 

Steve just chuckled at his son’s words, pressing a kiss to his head too. “Thanks, bud. I missed you as well. So much.”

“Hey, you got your shield back.” Sam smiled. “And it’s in one piece this time.” He joked, slapping a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Captain America can serve another day.”

At Wilson’s words, Steve shared a look with Bucky, the brown-haired man already knowing what was coming.

“Actually, uh...” Steve began, glancing at each of their faces, ready to see what their reaction will be, “I don’t think I will be.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped as Sam and Bruce grew confused as well.

“What are you talking about?” She questioned.

“If this whole battle and journey has taught me anything, it’s that I can’t keep putting my life on the line like this. Not when I have a family.” The man looked into her eyes, still seeing confusion in them. “I was once told that I couldn’t live without a war. And maybe I couldn’t then, but I can now. There’s nothing more important to me than you and our kids, Y/N. I’m not going to jeopardize that.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” she spoke, “you’re done fighting? For good?”

He gave her a nod. “For good.”

She covered her mouth with her free hand and began to cry, Steve pulling her into his side instantly.

“Are you... sad?” He asked, wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

“Not at all.” She sniffled. “I’m so happy. I don’t have to worry anymore.” She looked up at her husband, and they had matching smiles; smiles of contentedness, safety, and security.

“Steve...” Bruce released a breath, “good for you, man. I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah, me too.” Sam agreed. “It’s just... the only thing bumming me out is the fact I have to live in a world without Captain America.”

“Oh, that reminds me.” Steve glanced down at his shield one last time, trying to savour the exact feel of it, before holding it out slightly. “Try it on.”

Wilson furrowed his eyebrows. “W-What? Me?” He glanced over at Bucky, who nodded, signalling that he knew about this all along. Sam carefully took the shield from Steve and adjusted it on his arm, staring down at the red, white, and blue pattern. He was so confused; Steve was trusting him with his legacy? This couldn’t be right.

“How does it feel?” Rogers inquired.

“Like it's someone else's.”

“It isn’t.”

“I-” Sam tried to hold back his tears, still in a state of shock. “Thank you. I'll do my best.”

Steve grinned. “That's why it's yours.” He shook the man’s hand, the reality of what this means suddenly hitting them all.

Y/N passed her son over to his dad before giving Sam a big hug. “I’m so happy for you.” She smiled through her tears.

“You too.” Sam replied, referring to the fact that half of her anxiety would now be alleviated from this moment forward.

She walked back to her husband and wrapped her arms around his waist, both Bucky and Bruce and congratulating Wilson.

“So what are you gonna’ do now, Steve?” Banner questioned.

The blond man smiled at the thought of his future plans. “Be a dad. And a husband. I can help make plans for the new Avengers Facility, help train the newbies. Do charity. Teach an art class. Anywhere this new path takes me.”

The woman sniffled, a big smile never leaving her face. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Me too.” Bucky added, happy that his friend could finally live in peace.

Steve just smiled at them, pulling his son closer towards his chest.

“Dadda, I’m hungwy.” The toddler stated, making everyone chuckle at how clueless he was about what was going on.

“Me too, buddy.” His father agreed. “Hey, how about you all come back to ours and we can order a pizza, just hang out?” He suggested.

“Ooo, pizza!” Y/N grew excited. “Yes, please.”

“I’m in.” Bruce added.

Bucky nodded. “Me too.”

“Sounds delicious.” Said Sam. “Considering you’re going to be feeding two super soldiers, the Hulk, and a pregnant woman, you might want to order a lot, Steve.” He joked, and the blond laughed.

“I’m plenty used to it by now.”

“I just need to take down all the equipment.” Banner stated. “You guys go ahead, it shouldn’t take me long. I’ll be there in 45.” 

“Sure you don’t need help?” Y/N asked.

“It’s pretty complicated. I could probably do it faster on my own.” He chortled.

“Alright.” The woman spoke. “We’ll leave you two full pizzas.”

The group laughed as they began to walk out for the treed area and to their cars. 

“So... does this mean I’m the new boss?” Sam broke the silence, his words hopeful.

“Not of me.” Steve stated with a firm, yet playful look.

“I’m not an Avenger.” Y/N giggled.

“Right, right. Only the people who are part of the team.” Wilson spoke, a huge smirk beginning to build up on his face. “So that means... I’m in charge of... Bucky.”

The brown-haired soldier let out a huge sigh. “Only during a battle.”

“Oh ho ho, this is gonna’ be great!” Sam cheered.

“See,” Steve chuckled, “you two are getting along already!”

Next Chapter

Feedback is always welcome!❤️

[shesawriter39049]

|Breakdown’s & Bugatti’s| M|

PAIRING: Namjoon x Reader (Ft a hint of Tae & Jin)

About- Namjoon just does what he has to do to keep you ....calm while at a charity gala!  

OR:

CHAPTER 1 : MEET THE KIMS OF NEW YORK 

**WARNINGS: **Semi public sex, Fingering (F receiving), Minimal prep, Light dirty talk, Light spit play, Choking, Spanking, Gags (Makeshift), Non protective sex (Creampie), light overstimulation

WC: 7K (This is a sneak peak so it’s 1.2k)

NON SEXUAL WARNINGS: (Fictional political background)  Hints at recreational drug use (Molly) Brief mentions of death, father issues, and panic attacks/anxiety (All of these topics are super minor but again, out of respect I’m mentioning them) 

The remaining “characters” will be introduced at a later date

This chapter hints at various future plots 

This is almost 2 years old, I reworked it recently 

If you’ve been following me for a while this is the original draft for “Club First Royale” 

FINAL NOTE: I haven’t been active in damn hear a year ( 8 months) So I am posting sneak peeks intentionally! No, not to torture you guys lol but to get my blog flowing again because I’m sure people aren’t really checking in anymore

OT7 ALTERNATING STORYLINES

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FINALLY, fuck 36737 years later you spot your Kim!

Standing there in all his glory, in a Valentino slim fit navy blue suit, the jacket appearing to have some sort of paisley print, opting against a tie. Leaving his crisp white dress shirt slightly unbuttoned, teasing at his broad carnalized chest as he makes his way from the bar. Heading over to the table, which has an empty seat waiting right beside him with your name written all over it...literally!

Purposely dodging the old lady to your left in a coat that would have PETA ready to throw hands! Gaudy diamonds, terrible Botox, and smelled as if she showered in an entire bottle Chanel No. 5! 

Yeah, no, sorry, not in the mood for another meet and greet right now!

“Joonie” Squeals from your lips once you’re in close enough proximity, his dark piercing eyes cut over to meet yours. A playful smirk tugging on those sinfully thick lips of his, accompanied by those disrespectful ass dimples!

“There she is!” Eyes dripping with warmth, as he ushered you in with open arms ,and in these types of situations, Namjoon felt like home, he was your safe space. “You look fuckin good” The words hushed into your hair in a tenor meant for your ears and your ears only! A hint of something a little more than just friendly playing on his tongue. 

A small little “Thank you” leaves your lips, and if I didn't know any better I’d think the compliment made you a little flustered.

Namjoon was the definition of Ocean arm’s and goddamn if you didn't just love how big this man was! It literally felt like he was hiding you from the entire universe when he has you nuzzled into his frame! The whole interaction couldn't have lasted longer than 20 seconds in all actuality but god you needed it! 

Face flush to his chest, wrapping your arms firm around his waist, letting your eyes flutter shut briefly, a deep slow exhale flooded through your body. Inhaling the musky yet sweet scent of his cologne mixed with his natural aroma, which has grown to become a calming mechanism over the years. 

“You had me worried for a minute…” Placing a quick kiss in your hair, that you would have missed if you blinked but again, your in public soo...

Palms soothing up and down your back gently, as he breathed into your hair , pulling back a little so there was some form of personal space between the two of you.  

“Your late, even for you princess...I know you started early, I got your live(Instagram) notification, so what happened?” Head clocked to the side as he appraises you and fuck, the bass in his voice still has you all types of fucked up! Glancing over your shoulder briefly before leaning up to place a kiss on the hinge of his jaw, that tittered the line of passing as an “innocent” greeting. 

“I’m fine Jonnie it’s nothing, we just got held up in glam.., Ariel was flying in from Miami...we got a late start” Gaze intentionally diverted as you welcomed yourself to his glass of Scotch instead. Damn near inhaling the entire drink as we speak and you hated dark liquor so that alone let him know something was up!  

Merely resisting the urge to smooth out the crease he felt forming between his brows, a dry snort left his lips, rolling his eyes in response to your blatant stubbornness. Nevertheless, always the gentleman, reaching down to pull out your chair so you could take a seat next to him. Mirroring your actions just moments prior, quickly scoping out his surroundings before he brought those plush pillows he calls lips a centimeter away from your ear.

Fuck. 

  “Right, so I'm just going to assume you don’t wanna talk about it right now! Or wait I’m sorry, have you just upgraded to insulting my intelligence straight to my damn face?” 

Brow quirked inquisitively, and you could literally feel every word, tone taking on a hint of seriousness the more he talked. Namjoon licked his lips and the tip skimmed the edge of your ear and I - . 

“For one you smell like an entire bottle of Heidsieck, I can almost taste the nicotine on your tongue and you've been crying I know you. ”  

Pulling back just enough to glare down at you above the brim of his glasses, which he always wore low along his bridge. Eyes daring you to look him in the face a lie again, teasing his fingers through his chocolate locks. Styled in the perfect semi grown out undercut, the top a little on the long side, while the sides tapered into a crisp fade. Sideburns outlining that extremely understated jawline of his! Though you had to admit the yellow gold diamonds dawning his ears were kinda stealing the show right now! 

“So again, do you just not wanna talk about it right now? Or have you forgotten that I have an IQ of 137, and can smell bullshit from here all the way to Gangnam!?” 

You're having very vivid day daydreams of your hand wrapped around this man's windpipe and for once it’s not even remotely sexual! 

Blatantly ignoring the strong twitch within Namjoon’s jaw and simply saying “I’m here, aren’t I!?” Face stoic, tone flat as all hell, in case it wasn’t clear that this conversation was more than over, you opted to eye his bourbon glazed salmon until he got the hint.

 “Oh, for fucks sake! ” Hissed from his lips without a lick of heat behind them, because as quiet as it’s kept ,your lowkey Joon’s baby, which is why he cares to begin with! Picking up a piece on his fork before essentially shoving it into your hand ”Your lucky I can’t have your ass getting sick on me tonight, we still have like, 3 hours left of this bullshit.”

More like he just can’t tell you no, but hey, whatever helps him sleep at night! Sliding his plate in your direction, completely giving up on eating at this point, he knew you needed it more anyway! Finally, starting to feel your mix of poisons hit your system so you knew you needed  to even it out with a little substance. I mean yeah, you could have just ordered your own plate but meh, this was easier! 

Namjoon started busying himself on his phone while you ate, scrolling through a couple contacts until he landed on a contact labeled under “Kookie”.

“Even though you were only late because “Your glam team ran late” There were air bunnies involved, and again you just really wanna choke his ass!  “What are you thinking tonight? He’s actually on his way here right now, but he already has a couple options on him...” 

The question was vague and for damn good reason...considering…

However you knew exactly what he was referring too.., and thank god!

Speaking over a mouth full of salmon, sounding utterly exasperated!  “Honestly, any fucking thing at this point…” 

Namjoon hums thoughtfully, sucking on a Bourbon soaked Ice cube “He’ll be here in 20, I just went with Smartees…always a safe bet...” 

Smartees, candy, Vitamin -E, Molly... Estcasy...it’s all one and the same, just depends on who you ask!

He leans back in, apparently keen on whispering tonight. “Maybe, if your a good girl and eat enough we can split one before we leave...chill you out a little bit. '' Voice thick and heady, lips curling into a grin with a hint of something wicked playing on the ends, as his fingers idly ghost over your forearm. Giving it a light squeeze and regardless of how innocent the skin-ship may seem to the naked eye, you’re well aware of all the underlying innuendos behind it! 

You make a noise of agreement, trying your damnedest to ignore the slight chill coursing up your spine at the pet name. Though before you could even dwell, Namjoon was sliding back in with another update, this one however wasn't as...arousing…to say the least!

“Fox 2’s been waiting for you to get here by the way...since the event was put together by council and all. They've been wanting to talk to us together about the fundraiser, just the same shit as last year.” 

Waving his hand dismissively idly twirling the various pieces of Bvlgari around his fingers, seemingly un-phased while you on the other hand...release the most exasperated huff! Reclining against your seat, eyes rolling to the back of your head in 30 different directions! Yeah, It comes with the territory, you know this, hints Namjoons reaction, or lack thereof!  But fuck you just really weren’t in the mood to do press tonight, It’s literally physically exhausting to pretend that you weren’t just PISSED! 

“Of -fuckin- course they do!” Stabbing your mashed potatoes in a way that's... somewhat concerning… 

“Baby.” It was a warning, though his voice sat barley above a whisper, his tone was crystal! Eyes cutting in your direction briefly before dropping back down to his phone….

You didn't have it in you to argue, there’s no way around this anyway, fuck it!  “What -the-fuck-ever!” Sliding the half empty plate aside “Well, you wanna just get it out of the way now? Because I’m really not in the mood for-”

“Y/n..oh my god! Hi, honey how are you!? You look beautiful as always…” Suddenly there was a human, a human wearing the wrong shade of foundation kissing your cheek. A human by the name of Caroline, one of the local news anchors...clearly her damn ears were ringing.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi guys, that’s all she wrote, well kinda, actually she finished it like 16 months ago lol but that’s all she wrote for now I guess....

**_

_****Love you...see ya soon!!**

***SIDE NOTE, MY FRIEND MADE THE TWITTER EDIT SO DON’T ASK LOL IDK ****

UPDATE: HEADCANONS FOR THE KIM BOYS/OC

  HEADCANONS