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hongism · 4 years

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mists of celeste ➻ 36

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ Word Count: 17.2k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, chapter specific warnings: talks of torture, psychological torture, mentions injuries/infections, mentions of past abuse ➻ 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 three

“I need to talk to Jisung. I… I have some questions about my past.”

“I’ll go with you then,” Yeosang offers without missing a beat, and he steps into your space. “That Spectre can’t be trusted enough to be alone with you. It’s bad enough that he’s being left alone right now.”

“Just yesterday you were talking about how much you hate me,” you scoff, turning away from the door to stare him in the eye. “Now you’re wanting to protect my every movement?” A huff of air passes through the man’s lips. For a moment, he refuses to look at you, and you think he’s going to choose to ignore you rather than respond to the question.

“Having Wooyoung speak to me through you put things in perspective a bit,” he admits. He drags his tongue over the front of his teeth, then shifts to face you without resistance this time. “If there is even the slightest chance that your death could negatively affect Wooyoung, I have to make sure that doesn’t happen. Don’t worry, I still hate you. I can’t stand you one bit, and I wish that I had a damn guarantee that you getting hurt wouldn’t risk Wooyoung’s safety because I could care less about looking after you on top of all this mess. Besides Wooyoung — he asked me to look after you, and my feelings about you are meaningless compared to what he wants.”

You haven’t had much of an opportunity to think about all the ways in which you and Wooyoung could be connected. While there is no guarantee that harm to you would harm him physically too, Yeosang does have a point. Just the chance is enough to be wary about. The same could be true the other way around in turn — anything they do to Wooyoung could potentially hurt you too, but there is no possible way of confirming that at this point in time. All you can do is wonder whether you will be able to see him and the others when you sleep next, should you even be able to sleep because it doesn’t sound tempting at all after what you just had to go through.

Your dragging hesitance must bother Yeosang to some degree because he huffs out another sigh and steps around you to lead the way out the door. You shift to follow him, stepping forward into the corridor only to run face-first into the Elitist’s back in less than a second. One peek around the curve of his shoulder tells you why he’s stopped so suddenly, and it’s none other than Jongho who stands before the two of you in the hall.

“Oh good, perfect timing. We need everyone to the medbay immediately,” Jongho says with a short nod, looking past Yeosang to give you a glance as well.

“Did something happen?” You ask in response.

“Hongjoong woke up, and he asked to see everyone.”

“He woke up? Why? No, no — how is he up?” Yeosang is the one to begin rambling, and he doesn’t stop there. “There were no signs of changes in his condition. I thought Yunho said it could be another several days before he woke up?”

“I don’t know either honestly.” Jongho brings a hand up to drag his fingers through his hair, pushing the locks off his forehead for a moment before they fall flat against his face again. “I came straight away the second Hongjoong gave the order. I don’t even know what the situation is quite yet.”

“Your conversation will have to wait then,” Yeosang murmurs. The two of you exchange a small nod, although you can’t say you’re too upset about having to postpone the conversation with Jisung.

“Conversation?” Yeosang steps around Jongho as the Berserker asks the question, and you are left to regard each other with confusion while Yeosang starts a path down the corridor.

“I was going to talk with Jisung about some things,” you explain, ducking your head to avoid the look Jongho gives you. It’s not one that causes any discomfort — moreso there is too much sympathy in that expression he wears, too much underlying pity that makes the pit in your gut deepen further. “Later. It’s fine, nothing pressing.”

Jongho reaches a hand out and takes hold of your elbow. The touch is delicate, probably one meant to offer some sort of comfort and nothing more, and that’s exactly what it does. Moments later, you are walking after Yeosang with a much lighter feeling swelling in your chest that you can’t pinpoint or explain.

When the three of you reach the medbay at last, Yunho stands outside the doors, hands close to his chest as he wrings them together without cease.

“Why aren’t you inside with Seonghwa?” Jongho asks upon seeing the healer.

“Hongjoong asked — he asked for a minute alone with Seonghwa.” Yunho blinks furiously as he speaks, and the motion of his hasty blinks is nearly dizzying in its frequency. “Under normal circumstances, Seonghwa would be the one to inform Hongjoong of the situation but… but Seonghwa still refused to speak even after seeing Hongjoong awake. He — what the fuck happened to the two of you during the night?”

You know the question is directed at you, but it still catches you unaware nonetheless. You can do nothing but stare back at him with wide eyes as the words process along with Yunho’s shaken-up disposition.

“I’m not sure,” you mutter. Yunho purses his lips, and a small exasperated sigh slips through, enough to show his annoyance with your answer, but Jongho steps in front of you before the healer can say anything. “I recall having a nightmare of my own but Seonghwa wasn’t there with me — I, no, that’s not — I mean he wasn’t—”

“Seonghwa had a nightmare,” Yeosang interjects, saving you from the moment of panic and from further fumbling with your words. “I managed to coax a bit out of him while you and Jongho were talking with Y/N. He had a dream that he was choking which is why he stopped breathing, and because he was so deep in the nightmare, he couldn’t wake up when Y/N tried to get him up the first time. You ended up startling him out of the nightmare and back into consciousness.” It could be a complete lie on Yeosang’s part, but it is logical and adds up in your mind to make some amount of sense. It saves your ass for certain, and that’s all you could ask for given your awkward and helpless fumbling. Yunho, however, doesn’t seem pleased with the response based on the way he shakes his head.

“That doesn’t add up,” he mutters, arms coming to fold over his chest. “Whatever he was dreaming about had to have been more traumatic than that since he had no other symptoms that lined up with other causes of shock. Trauma is the only logical option given what state he was in. Shock… it’s not just a quick jolt, it’s a critical condition brought on by a sudden drop in blood flow through the body. So trauma, heatstroke, blood loss, allergic reactions, infections, poisoning, burns, those sorts of things. His organs were not getting enough blood or oxygen, but just physically I could not see any sort of physical causes proving that. I can run some poison checks, but that truly wouldn’t make any amount of sense.”

“Even if it was something merely traumatic, what makes you think that he would ever want to talk about it with someone who always seems to want to pick him apart for every decision he’s made in life?” Yeosang levels Yunho with a glare so intense that you can almost feel the spike of tension in the air between them. “He was unresponsive with you for a reason no doubt. Maybe you shouldn’t have criticized him so much for decisions that didn’t involve you.”

“He involved me the second he started complaining about the arrangement betwe—”

“That’s enough,” Jongho cuts in, and he lifts a hand to rest atop Yunho’s arm. “Let’s not get heated right now. I can confirm that the emotional aura coming off Seonghwa’s body was something far beyond even a moderate level of trauma. Just being with Hongjoong in there is already helping some, but it will likely take some time for him to recover.”

“This is the worst possible timing,” Yunho sighs. “With tensions already high and everything… right when we need Hongjoong and Seonghwa the most, things like this have to happen?”

“Hongjoong is up now though, so that won’t be as much of an issue any longer.” Yeosang has a valid point with that one. Although without Seonghwa… you don’t want to have to think about how things would be without Seonghwa in all honesty, and it’s hard enough to even conjure up the smallest of thoughts about it. “Has anyone had eyes on Han?” Jongho is the first to deny it.

“I still feel his aura in the spare room we gave him. He didn’t budge at all during the night prior to the incident happening so I don’t think he’s behind that either.” Jongho’s words are enough to bring an unsteady silence to the four of you. There is nothing that can be said really, and you understand that better than anyone. How could you even try to explain the things you saw in your dream? You aren’t sure what you thought you would say to Jisung either; that was moreso a spur-of-the-moment decision made in a panic, and it’s probably for the better that you don’t go see him now.

“I hate this,” Yunho mutters after the silence grows unbearable. “It’s too quiet without the others here.”

“We should enact a plan soon, especially with Hongjoong up,” Yeosang says back. “Seonghwa won’t want to take a break or any recovery time, so things should be business as usual from now on. Can’t we hurry this along a bit? I doubt anyone is going back to bed soon, so talking with Hongjoong now would be best, no? Discussing plans so we can catch up to the transport ship the others are on?”

“Just a moment, yeah.” Yunho dips into the medbay. When the door slides open, you catch a glimpse of what’s inside, for better or worse. Seonghwa resides on one of the beds, the one closest to the door actually, and Hongjoong is as well, body draped over Seonghwa’s like an extension of the man, It’s not anything inappropriate, nor does it seem to be in the way the smaller captain straddles his hips and clings to his lieutenant like his life depends on it.

Looking at them like this — something close, intimate, calm, peaceful almost — you nearly feel as though you shouldn’t be present. It’s a crawling sensation that spreads to your stomach and chest, eyes trailing over the places where one man meets the other, and if not for looking so intently at the scene before you, you would miss the hefty tear tracks over Seonghwa’s cheeks. One of Hongjoong’s hands curls through Seonghwa’s hair as the other wraps tightly around one of the lieutenant’s.

Hongjoong pulls his hand down from the other man’s head, brushing over the tear-stricken skin of his cheek. He is clearly looking down at the man but Seonghwa doesn’t look back. Instead, he keeps his eyes shut tight with a few tears spilling out the corners. And in the back of your mind, you barely process how much you hate seeing Seonghwa in such a state, broken and crying without relent, and you hate how you seem to be just fine in comparison to him. The two of you were in the same place, suffering the same fate of being put through nightmares, and yet you came out of it because Wooyoung saved you. Did Seonghwa have anyone there to save him?

It is pointless to think of that now, but it’s all that is on your mind as you watch Hongjoong’s lips move with haste, muttering words that must be meant to comfort under his breath. You are too far away to hear it all clearly, although a few words slip in here and there.

“You’re okay… here… we’re here… together, okay? It wasn’t real… trust… I’m here.”

Yunho clears his throat when Hongjoong still doesn’t pull his attention away from Seonghwa, but even that announcement doesn’t cause the captain to budge even a little bit. Instead, he continues his hushed whispers for a few more moments then lifts the hand that is still tangled with Seonghwa’s in a pausing motion.

“We’ll talk more about it later, yeah?” He murmurs a bit louder as he pulls back to glance over in Yunho’s direction. His gaze slips past the healer’s should to find you in an instant, and you duck your chin in a panic, eyes finding the floor. It’s the feeling of being caught doing something you shouldn’t or watching something you shouldn’t be watching, and seeing Hongjoong atop Seonghwa in such a way is the cause of that. Perhaps he expects you to be jealous and scowl at him, and perhaps that is exactly what you are supposed to feel, but frankly… it doesn’t make you envious in the slightest. You moreso feel content at the sight of them holding each other so closely, like Seonghwa is finally at peace with Hongjoong in his grasp and awake. Hongjoong is finally up, can finally comfort him, and Seonghwa can finally rest easier. Why would you ever want to take that away from him?

The sight of them so closely linked, however, brings up a fleeting memory from your foray in the Dreamscape.

“To think that at the time, my worst nightmare was merely existing.”

“And now?”

“Not being able to save Hongjoong from himself.”

Albeit briefly, you wonder if that might be what Seonghwa saw once the two of you were separated. Even moreso than that though, the more pressing worry on your mind is just how deep Hongjoong’s demons run for Seonghwa to be so concerned that it has become his worst nightmare. You don’t have any more time to think about it as Hongjoong slips off of Seonghwa’s body and props himself on the edge of the bed. Seonghwa moves to sit up as well only to have Hongjoong’s hand slap down on his chest and shove him back to the bed with little effort. They don’t exchange any words, but they don’t need to either with the way one corner of Hongjoong’s lips quirks up in a half-smile as he blinks down at his lieutenant. Perhaps Vladimir had a point in the backhanded comment he made in the arena — when you see the way Hongjoong gazes at Seonghwa, it’s like nothing you’ve ever seen or experienced before, like Seonghwa could do no wrong in the captain’s eyes, and like he’s the most precious creature in existence. Hongjoong slips his hand down to the inside of Seonghwa’s thigh, resting his fingers against the fabric of his pants just above the knee. It’s nothing… lewd or suggestive, nor does Seonghwa seem to take it as such, moreso a touch of comfort and nothing more.

“Well, are you all going to get in here or not?” Hongjoong leans to look past Yunho’s shoulder, regarding the rest of you with a stare that is enough to cause you to step inside. Yeosang does the same and comes in behind you, but Jongho doesn’t budge even an inch. Instead, he stays in the corridor with arms crossed over his chest and eyes darting down the hall every so often like he’s expecting Jisung to come bursting out at any second. Hongjoong waits but you have a growing suspicion that he’s not waiting for Jongho to come in necessarily. “I asked for the whole crew, Yunho. Where are the others?”

Does he not… did no one tell him of the situation?

Yunho inhales sharply but doesn’t manage to do anything more than that, teeth sinking into his lower lip. Yeosang, however, doesn’t let any silence drape over the room in the aftermath of Hongjoong’s question. He takes the initiative and steps forward with an expression so flat and even that you nearly believe nothing is wrong in the slightest.

“During the mission at the arena, Mingi, San, and Wooyoung were all taken captive and are currently missing in action. Vladimir was used as an instrument to get the ball rolling, but someone else is behind the incident. The three are aboard a transport vessel that is on its way to Dorado, where Mingi will be sent to a recreational facility to reprogram him back into the Brute of Kebos. San and Wooyoung were not the initial targets, so their fates and what will happen to them are currently unknown. We — we have someone aboard who is acting as a mole for us and gaining information from Vladimir, Han Jisung. He’s also eavesdropped on several meetings to get information about the transport vessel and the plans.

“Oh, I know that part,” Hongjoong hisses through gritted teeth. A flash of panic crosses Yeosang’s gaze for a split second, and the two of you seem to instinctively share in that panic by looking towards each other.

“H-How?” Yunho stammers.

“Why do you think I’m even up in the first place? A certain Han Jisung came in here and woke me up.” Seonghwa sits up without hesitation and latches a hand around Hongjoong’s shoulder. The captain doesn’t even have time to react before both Yeosang and Yunho are suddenly stepping closer to the bed and into his personal space as well. Your first instinct, on the other hand, is to twist at the waist and look towards where Jongho stands in the hallway.

“Did you sense anything? I thought you said he was in his room this whole time.”

“I… No, I truly didn’t sense anything. It must have been during the commotion in Seonghwa’s room. That—” the Berserker cuts himself short there, tongue darting out to wet his lips before he finishes the thought “—that was the only time I didn’t think to check for his heat signature. By the time I was certain the crisis was averted, Jisung must have gotten back to his room.”

Hongjoong shrugs Seonghwa’s touch off as best he can before pushes the man back to the bed with another gentle touch.

“Don’t worry. He didn’t lay a finger on me.” Even though the words are clearly directed at Seonghwa, they hold weight over Yeosang and Yunho as well, bringing both men a few steps back from the bed. “Han Jisung is the one you should worry about.”

And as much as you despise it and wish your brain did not catapult in that direction, you cannot stop the twinge of panic that surges through your veins. It must be strong enough to pique Seonghwa’s interest because however hard you try to conceal the emotion on your face, you cannot keep the Siren from sending a worried glance your way. You don’t wish to care for Jisung still, you wish you could just bury that part of yourself and focus on something else instead — something like Hyunwoo, who deserves more than what you gave him, but your mind clings to Jisung like a parasite. You aren’t sure it will ever let up.

“I left him with several pretty threats that were enough to deter him from doing anything foolish. But he in turn informed me of the situation from his perspective. I merely wanted to hear from you all to make certain he was telling the truth. So thank you, Yeosang, for sharing the information better than this Jisung character did. Although, he did tell me what they intend to do with Wooyoung and San. Wooyoung is set to be sold to the House of Lilies in the Upper Echelon of the capital, Lynder.”

“What the hell is the House of Lilies?” The name itself leaves little to the imagination, but you can’t exactly blame Yeosang for needing the verbal confirmation. This time it isn’t Hongjoong who answers, though, and for what seems to be the first time since waking up, Seonghwa opens his mouth to speak.

“It’s… a whorehouse for the top class of Lynder, typically only used by the military and head councilmen of the city.”

“It’s a fucking what?”

If they’re putting Wooyoung in a place like that, then you don’t want to imagine where they would put San.

“San. Wh-what about San? Do they plan to do the same to him or—”

“No, they have different plans for him,” Hongjoong interjects, cutting your thought into a silent breath of relief. “He’s slated to be put through regression therapy and built into the perfect assassin. After that, he’ll go into the military in the Upper Echelon of the capital. He and Mingi will be put in the same facility for their treatments, but Wooyoung’s deal is supposedly more immediate.”

“Regression therapy? That’s the worse possible treatment San could ever receive!” You don’t really need to hear the panic in Yunho’s tone right now; it only makes the gravity of the situation weigh heavier on your shoulders. If you could sink through the floor and disappear from existence entirely, that would be preferred, but alas, no matter how much you wish for it, you’re stuck in place. “That could undo every ounce of progress he’s made over the years! All that — everything, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong’s tongue flicks out for a second, stabbing the corner of his lips harshly before retreating back into his mouth. He presses his lips into a thin line after that and refuses to respond to Yunho’s words.

Regression therapy. You’d heard of it during your stint with the military, a thing that was merely used as a threat for rowdy and unruly recruits who refused to do as asked. Only a threat because of how awfully traumatic it could be and how inhumane the public thought such a treatment to be. But the point was not to be humane then.

“They’d… use regression therapy to undo all that progress for a reason,” you murmur. The heat of five stares hits your body, and it’s almost overwhelming for a moment but you push forward to finish the thought. “Breaking him down into the husk he used to be is only part of the process. Once he’s put in the military, they’ll just wipe him of it either way, but to seem like they’re doing it consensually, they have to get him to go in there by choice. That’s how things worked on Eros. They threatened to bring back memories from before the wipe if you stepped too far out of line. They’ll break him, turn him into what he used to be, make him as deprived and desperate for even an ounce of freedom, then offer to take it all away.”

You don’t realize how hard you are gripping the inside of your right elbow until the pressure stings, but the moment you release your arm, that temporary grip on reality slips away and you fall into a vague flashback.

“Things will be okay, Y/N, I promise. It’s gonna be okay.”

Hyunwoo is the one to speak to you. Your attempts to reach out and grab him are futile as you quickly find that you are strapped to a cool metal chair that practically burns your skin. Hyunwoo reaches down, lips twisting into a soft pained smile, and he takes one of your hands in his own.

“It’ll only hurt a little bit. We won’t take much, just enough for them not to be able to track it back to you. If you don’t know then they won’t be able to pin the blame on you, and you’ll be safe. So we’ll only take what we need to, okay?”

“I-I don’t know who ‘they’ is.”

“You won’t need to know after this. Jisung is prepping the serum now.”

“I — Hyunwoo, I didn’t even get to say goodbye!”

“I’m sorry. This was the only way I could save you all. Maybe one day you will get to see each other again, and you can tell him the truth. And he can tell you the truth.”

“What fucking truth? You can’t do this now of all times, Hyunwoo! It isn’t the time to be cryptic and mysterious!”

“You’ll understand one day, Y/N. I promise.”

You pull yourself out of the flashback there, mostly because you’re so startled and confused as to why that memory slipped in. You were certain that you shared that conversation with Hyunwoo just before he walked to his death, not strapped to a chair with him saying such startling things.

“You’re right,” Hongjoong mutters, tugging you back to reality so harshly that you flinch. “Once they get on Dorado and conduct Wooyoung’s deal, they’ll separate Mingi and San. Probably place them in separate rooms: San to an isolation chamber, a large one no doubt. Mingi will most likely be placed in a much smaller one that will resemble the underbelly of the arena he grew up in.” Hongjoong pauses his thoughts there and shakes his head. “Han Jisung seems to know far too much about these plans and exactly what is going on. Why isn’t he tied to a chair in the brig right now?” Seonghwa opens his mouth to reply only to have Hongjoong wave his hand and dismiss the question entirely. “That isn’t important right now. What’s important is that we must keep any and all information found from henceforth away from Han Jisung. No plans, no musings, nothing whatsoever. That all stays between us as we cannot trust Jisung no matter what. I would rather keep a gun stuck to the back of that man’s head at all times than risk failure at this. Emergency rescue and recovery mission. We’ll talk further over the details soon. It’s best to get more rest now though.”

“I’d like to run some sleep tests anyways,” Yunho chimes in, and he turns to you before you have a chance to duck out of it. “Both you and Seonghwa. Don’t think I’d let you get out of it. Please just let me run a few tests, if anything only to make sure you’re okay.”

“Fine,” you mutter. Yunho doesn’t wait for you to follow him as he leads the way to another bed further down in the medbay. Sleep is the last thing on your mind right now, but you don’t have much of a choice as the healer sits you down and starts pulling wires and electrodes out. Hongjoong continues to talk to Yeosang a bit more, no doubt to decide on what to do moving forward.

“I’ll be hooking you up to a telemetry machine. It’s just to monitor your heart and see if there are any irregular happenings during the night. I’ll use it mostly to make sure it’s all beating properly and such while you’re asleep, but I’ll also place some sensors on and around your scalp, temples, chest, and legs, along with a small clip on your finger to monitor the oxygen in your blood. I’ll be here the whole night monitoring you both if any issues arise, yeah?”

“Okay.” You don’t make any efforts to hide the slight exasperation in your tone, and Yunho has the decency to at least pick up on that as he connects more of those sensors to your skin.

“I’m… I’m really sorry, you know. It’s — I know I have a lot to be sorry for and this one shitty apology won’t do much, but I am genuinely sorry,” he murmurs quiet enough for just the two of you to hear. “For all the ways in which I have been immature and hurtful. I did not act as a responsible or good doctor shoulder, but also from a deeper standpoint, I didn’t act as a friend should either, so I’m sorry for that as well. I want to do better and fix those mistakes but I don’t know how to right now. With all the stress we are under right now, I don’t want to risk making things worse by any means but... I can promise that I’ll try to do better.”

“I’m not petty like that,” you huff in reply. “Just you admitting that you did wrong and want to do better is enough for me. Just trying is enough. Maybe… try not to be a defensive asshole next time?” You dare to look up at the tall man’s face to gauge his reaction and are pleasantly surprised to be greeted with a smile.

“My goal is to avoid doing that again, yeah,” he laughs. His grin falls within a second, however, and he next brushes a hand over your hair with a small frown painting his thin lips. “You really gave us a scare. Hearing you call us for help only to go in and find you unconscious on the floor? We thought Jisung had gone in there and attacked you both. It was something out of a horror novel.”

You turn away as heat rises on your cheeks, and the only thing you can do to cover your embarrassment is cough awkwardly.

“I-I must have been so stressed and tired that I passed out right after.” That isn’t wholly a lie seeing as that’s what happened to Wooyoung according to Yeosang. Still, that begs a more pressing concern of what exactly happened on Wooyoung’s side of things for him to leave so suddenly. Perhaps the only good thing that could come out of this sleep test Yunho wants so desperately is the possibility of checking on Wooyoung and the others.

“You’re all set up now. You shouldn’t notice a thing unless we run into any issues, but again, I’ll be here to monitor throughout the night, and I’ll write up the scans in the morning.” Yunho pulls back with a smile.

“Thank you,” you mutter, settling back onto the creaky bed without further ado, but you know that sleep won’t come any time soon. So instead, you resort to watching Yunho make his way over to Seonghwa’s bed and repeat the same process he just did with you on the lieutenant. Yeosang dipped out of the medbay at some point apparently because he no longer stands before Hongjoong at the foot of the bed, and Jongho must have gone with him because the doors are now snapped shut. Hongjoong has his fingers curled tight around Seonghwa’s again, and once again that sense of distant longing seems to fall over the captain. He remains silent as he watches Yunho attach pads and wires to Seonghwa’s body. The feeling that next creeps over you isn’t one of jealousy or envy.

Your mind conjures up the image of San sitting at the foot of your bed like Hongjoong does with Seonghwa. San reaching a hand out to take hold of yours as he blinks down at you with concern. San brushing your hair out of your face and murmuring soft encouragements to you. Cat-like eyes and a dimpled grin gleaming above you like a whisper of hope.

It’s a painful reminder of reality: how San isn’t here and can’t be either. It’s a painful reminder that causes the corners of your eyes to sting against your will, emotions welling up so strongly in your chest that you double over to alleviate some of the pain there.

When you dare to look back at the bed, Yunho has walked around the side of the cot to stand before Hongjoong. Hongjoong’s free hand moves up to rest on the dip of Yunho’s hip, falling down to the top of his thigh for a fraction of a second then finding purchase on the mattress once more. Yunho pulls a stool forward and seats himself before the captain.

“I need to do a few more routine checkups on you too, just to make sure you’re okay since you didn’t rest as long as your body wanted. Eyes okay?”

“I can see you just fine if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Any pain in your ears? Ringing? The vibrations from the bomb will have shaken you up quite a bit.”

“No ringing, no pain.”

Yunho lifts a hand and rests it against Hongjoong’s forehead, pushing the blue strands up to lay his hand flat there.

“No fever either, that’s good. How does your throat feel? Your body should have purged the majority of the dust and smoke you inhaled by now, but I’m worried your throat might still be scratched up from it.”

“A little sore but nothing unbearable,” Hongjoong hums. He tilts his head from side to side as Yunho continues to worry over him but other than that, he seems entirely unbothered by the healer’s fretting.

“Ribs hurting at all? And your right hip?”

“Ribs feel okay, hip hurts like a bitch.”

“Yeah because you aren’t supposed to be moving around with a fracture of that degree.”

“I moved less than six feet.”

“You’ll move six feet under if you aren’t careful.”

“Because of the injury or because you’ll put me there for not listening to you?”

“I’m gonna write off that attitude as the concussion talking because I know you aren’t dumb enough to argue with me on this.”

“Head is fine too.”

“Then let me call Jongho back to help you get to your room. You can’t be walking that far on your own and—”

“I need to talk with Seonghwa a bit more first,” Hongjoong interjects, head falling in Seonghwa’s direction. Yunho cuts off with a small ‘o’, and his gaze flits over to where you’re reclining against the pillows of the bed. Hongjoong seems to pick up on that without prompting though. “She can stay in here, it’s fine. I doubt it’ll take longer than a half-hour, if you don’t mind waiting outside that long?”

Yunho pushes back on his stool, slipping away from the bedside. If not for looking so intently at the man, you would have missed the way his hands curl into tight fists against his thighs, but he doesn’t voice whatever is on his mind.

“Right, don’t take too long though; I know you’ve been resting a while but your body still needs to recover before you try to do anything drastic, and knowing you, that’s exactly what you plan to do as soon as you can. Y/N, Seonghwa — you two get some rest soon. I’ll be back to monitor in a bit.”

You don’t wait to watch Yunho leave the room because it doesn’t feel needed, but at the same time, you are trying your best to avoid any eye contact with Seonghwa or Hongjoong as not to intrude on whatever conversation they intend to have. You hear the soft click of the door and its scraping metal as it slides open, then a repeat of the same sound when Yunho steps out. The silence that falls over the room is so thick it could choke you. Hongjoong shifts on the bed again and scoots closer to Seonghwa’s head, a series of creaks following the movements. You crack an eye open to peek over at the pair. Hongjoong doesn’t lie down beside Seonghwa or anything, just sits there with a hand still wrapped around the other’s, and other than that neither move or speak. It’s only after the silence drags on for several minutes that Hongjoong decides he’s had enough and speaks once more.

“Do you want to talk more about it?”

“We should talk about the plan more first. If Jin is truly behind this, then we need something more… just something more.”

“He’s not. It can’t possibly be him behind this because he would have targeted you rather than going after Y/N. I don’t think he has anything to do with this, nor do I think he would stoop to kidnapping to get what he wants.”

“We are down three crewmembers and have an untrustworthy rat aboard,” Seonghwa hisses without missing a beat. “Jin could very well have eyes and ears on us and know how weak we are right now. You might be able to excuse him, but I know for a fact that kidnapping is not the lowest he would stoop to get what he wants. And I will not jeopardize your goals by being captured by him.”

Hongjoong extends his free hand to cup Seonghwa’s cheek, brushing over the smooth expanse of skin there with the pad of his thumb.

“I don’t believe that would ever happen. He would sooner have to kill me than capture you.”

“I’m… yeah, sorry, I’m simply worried. We’re headed to Dorado after all. Lynder of all places on that godforsaken planet too.”

“Why are you worried, hm? We shouldn’t be going anywhere near the Lower Echelon.” Seonghwa responds with a sharp shake of his head.

“Mother moved up to the Upper Echelon, remember? Three years back?”

“Are you calling me forgetful then?”

“You’ve always been forgetful, and you know it. You wouldn’t need me around if you could remember things.” That comment earns Seonghwa a smack to the shoulder, but you hear the huff of a laugh fall from Hongjoong’s lips before the lieutenant continues speaking. “The risking of seeing Mother is so high.”

“Are you… still afraid of her?” The question is hesitant in the same way that one would walk around a wild boar, like Hongjoong is afraid to set Seonghwa off in some way with the small question. “Hwa, you’re trembling. Is it too cold in here? I can get you an extra blanket if you—”

“No, no, shush, I’m not cold. I’m n-not afraid of her, I… I don’t want to be afraid of her, but in all those fucking nightmares, all I could see was red. I wanted blood, I wanted to kill, I wanted my hands around her throat so I could strangle her. And in all those dreams, that little voice won.” Seonghwa pauses and lifts a hand to touch Hongjoong’s cheek now, reflecting the other man’s actions from earlier. “I fear seeing the crew fall apart and not being able to save you from yourself more than anything else. Yet in those dreams, it was me who unmade each of them and ruined you. I’m… afraid of going to Dorado and not being able to hold back. I’m scared of killing Mother in a fit of rage and letting the Lieutenant of Death take over. I’m so afraid of hurting anyone on the crew, and I’m so fearful that I’ll bring ruin to you. I don’t think I’ll be able to forgive myself if that happens.”

Hongjoong’s hand comes down hard on Seonghwa's chin, gripping the skin and bone between lithe fingers, and he forces the man to look him in the eye.

“I won't let that happen. There is no way in hell I would ever let that happen. Even if I have to pry you off your own mother, I will make absolutely sure that that voice doesn't win, that those people who make up those rumors and disdain you so much don't win. I won't let you do anything you regret, Seonghwa.”

“Ha, as though you can promise such a thing,” Seonghwa mutters through a bitter laugh.

“I know. I can't promise much of anything, but I can give you my word and hope. That's enough for now. If all I have to offer you is one more day of hope, then I will continue to give you that for all eternity.”

The shorter man leans over the space between their bodies and presses his lips to Seonghwa's forehead, parting the hair that lies flat there to touch his skin.

“Don’t you ever regret letting me join the crew?”

“When it comes to you, I don’t think the word regret exists.”

It’s spoken with such a raw conviction that you feel your own throat closing up around itself. As your gaze falls over Seonghwa, you can clearly see the way the words affect him, from the way his lips part in wonder as he stares up at the man above him like he hung every star in his universe in the sky. Words fail him, but that doesn’t bother Hongjoong one bit as the captain tries to leave him with one more soft-spoken comment.

“Get some rest.”

He moves to get up and pull away from the bed, but Seonghwa's grip on his hand pulls him right back.

“Please don't go. I... I have both of you here with me for once. Please don't deprive me of this right now. Not when I've gone this long without you.”

“Whatever you wish, Hwa.” Hongjoong doesn’t fight back as Seonghwa tugs him down to his side, resting his head against his lieutenant’s chest once their bodies are pressed close. You don’t know if they’ve fallen asleep — the lights are still on in the medbay so it would be hard to fall asleep anyways — but you rest in the quiet with clouded and foggy thoughts. Twisting to the side, you turn to face the wall rather than look at that vulnerable scene any longer than you have to. You wish that could be the end of it, that the dismal conversations ended there with the two of them going to sleep, but Seonghwa’s tone rising up again in the silence disrupts that hope too.

“How much longer do we have to keep doing this? I get more and more tired with each day that passes.” Hongjoong hums a bit, and his next words come out rather slurred.

“I’m tired too. We’ll rest soon.”

“Aren’t we too young to be feeling this old?” There’s some humor to those words, but what Seonghwa says next eradicates that levity in an instant. “Jongho offered to take it away for me. Jongho, our youngest. He shouldn’t even have to think about taking our burdens.”

“That’s not the world we live in,” Hongjoong sighs. “That’s not a luxury we can afford. There is no normalcy. We don’t have and never will have any sort of normal family.”

“Family? Is that what this is now? The one you talked of wanting to find?”

“Yes… of course, this crew is our family without a doubt. One day when this is all said and done, we can settle down somewhere.”

“But?”

“But can we ever really be happy and content with settling down? I’ve been flying around space since I was born and as long as I can remember. Suddenly not doing that would be odd, wouldn’t it?”

Seonghwa laughs a clear and ringing sound, then seems to catch how loud the noise is and quiets himself to a softer chuckle.

“Then you can fly around space for all eternity if that’s what makes you happy.”

The bed creaks under someone’s movement, and you can only assume that it’s Hongjoong simply because he’s the next one to speak.

“Why do you keep doing that?”

“Keep doing what?” Seonghwa echoes softly.

“Every time we have this conversation and every time we talk of the future, you talk about it as though you won’t be there for it. Like you won’t see that future with me.”

“Stop saying foolish things, Hongjoong. We should be sleeping.”

“Seonghwa.” This time, Hongjoong’s tone is different. It’s something you’ve never heard from the man: a fragile sound that is on the verge of breaking and one that holds unspoken warning to it.

“Sleep, Hongjoong.”

“Seonghwa.”

That’s your breaking point. It’s too much for you to handle, the tone of their conversation has taken a drastic turn and you don’t want to hear anything else out of either of them simply out of fear. Even though you aren’t tired, you squeeze your eyes shut and internally beg for Wooyoung to let you in tonight.

…

As it turns out, you get your wish. You come to in Wooyoung’s body with a jolt and a gasp, although that sound goes unnoticed because Wooyoung yet again has full control over his body while you are left to sit back and watch through his eyes. The cell you wake up to is starkly different than the last; it’s much larger and brighter, fluorescent lights hanging on the ceiling, but that isn’t what draws your attention. No, the wall that consists only of thick metal bars and rings with the crackles of electricity garners all your attention first simply because of how loud the noise is but also because Wooyoung’s eyes seem to instinctively flit over the bars before turning further left. They are, thankfully, no longer chained to the floor like dogs and now seem to only have wrist and ankle shackles. It’s a significant step up from their last prison, and when Wooyoung finally pushes himself to his feet, you catch sight of Mingi resting on a small cot.

Wooyoung steps over to the Berserker without hesitation, hand dipping into a small bucket that’s full of icy water, and he pulls a rag from the liquid, wringing it a few times before laying the cloth atop Mingi’s head.

“How are you feeling?” Wooyoung asks. Mingi murmurs something in response, but it’s largely unintelligible, and Wooyoung must not pick up on it either because he strains his neck to get closer to the man. “Hm?”

“A b-bit better.”

“That’s g—”

A sharp rattle interrupts Wooyoung’s train of thought, and he jerks to look over at the shock wall. The door at the center swings open without warning, two men stepping through with someone hanging rather limply between their arms. If your heart could plummet right now, it truly would, because you would recognize that patch of white hair anywhere. The two men — guards from the looks of it — shove San into the cell, not caring to be mindful of the sides of the bars before pushing him against them without warning. San’s shoulder knocks roughly into the edge of the fencing as he comes through, and a bolt of shock sears through his body with surprising haste. The force brings him to his knees. Wooyoung lurches forward, darting out to grab hold of his shoulders and keep him somewhat upright.

“Be fucking careful! Are you paid to be idiots?” He shouts as he pulls San closer to his body. The stockier of the two guards sneers back at him.

“You’re next, slave. Watch yourself.”

Wooyoung responds by hurling a glob of spit at the guard’s feet, eyes narrowed to slits.

“You can take me once I’ve seen to my crewmates.” That comment earns him a sharp smack to the side of his head. San curls his fingers tight around Wooyoung’s side.

“Don’t make a scene about it, I’m fine,” he murmurs under his breath. He is far from fine, that much is obvious, because he can’t keep his body upright and his cheek keeps slumping down against Wooyoung’s shoulder no matter how much he tries to keep it up. The stout guard steps closer, arm poised to deliver another blow to Wooyoung, but he’s caught by his taller friend, who grabs him by the wrist before he can do anything else.

“They all need to make it to Dorado relatively unharmed or prices will down and we’ll get less of the cut from Boss.” That’s enough to pull the man away from Wooyoung, and he retreats back to the outside of the cell with his partner.

“You have ten minutes. Five if you make any other snippy remarks.”

Wooyoung exhales a small sigh of relief when the door slams back shut. He helps tug San to his feet and guides him to the bed beside Mingi’s. You’re grateful that Wooyoung won’t take his gaze off him because it gives you a chance to fully examine his current state.

The bruising on his face has gone down quite a bit, and just from that alone, you would say he almost looks okay. Still, his body reeks of exhaustion, and he clutches the shoulder that knocked into the shock wall even as Wooyoung eases him down to the cot. His dark circles are so deep that they almost seem to hollow his face, and you have an instinct to comb your fingers through his hair if you could because it’s a mess and so unkempt that you can barely see the white patch in the front. Wooyoung keeps pushing him down until San lies flat on the bed, and he doesn’t hesitate to peel San’s shirt up to his midsection. It exposes the awful bruising underneath, a colorful array of blues and purples that are ugly to look at.

“They’re gonna snap your ribs in two if they aren’t careful,” Wooyoung grumbles, tracing over the outline of the bruise with his index finger. “It’s already damaged enough.” San chokes out a laugh that has to hurt.

“That’s only the half of it. They could be doing a lot worse. At the very least, they don’t know shit about torturing people. I’ve been through worse and... and seen a lot worse in the past.” San’s hand darts down to the dip of his hip, where there’s a thin scar just by the bone. You recognize it in an instant — the place where Cara stabbed him back on Echidna and left him nearly dead. “They’ll have to work a lot harder to get anything out of me. They don’t like how quiet I am.”

“That doesn’t mean they really should work harder. You won’t survive that much. Did you manage to get anything out of them this time?”

San shakes his head at first then grips the front of Wooyoung’s shirt and pulls him closer.

“They were fumbling a little when I asked what the plans are. Mean one — shorty — he tried to shut me up but the other started asking questions too. Said he was just as confused and didn’t know what the boss plans to do with the two of us. They know exactly what would happen with Mingi but had way too many doubts when it came to us. They had to have wanted someone else. Maybe Scourge since he was in the arena with Mingi?” Hearing San call Hongjoong by that name sounds so foreign and stilted, but you know it’s just a way to protect as much of their identities as possible. Wooyoung draws his lips together.

“That doesn’t sound right. They would have had a clear path to both Mingi and Captain in the arena. Why wouldn’t they grab him then? When… when they take me, I’ll try to get more out of them. Clean — if you can, please clean Mingi’s wound again. The infection is almost fully fleshed out and his fever will break soon, but without anything to sew it up, he can easily get a worse infection if we aren’t careful.”

“Should it be gone within the next two days?”

“That’s up to his body and how it reacts to the rest of this process. Why?”

“I heard them say that we’ll be landing on Dorado in three days,” San mutters. He glances over at Mingi’s reclining body, teeth sinking into his lower lip. “If he’s well enough within two, then maybe we can work out a breakout plan.” Wooyoung glances between the Spectre and Mingi without reacting for a few moments then gives a small nod.

“We’ll talk about it more later. I’ll try to get more information in the meantime.” Wooyoung moves to step away from the bed, but San keeps him in place, fingers curling around the hem of Wooyoung’s shirt.

“Just — please at least cooperate a little bit. You don’t have to tell them shit, but don’t put yourself in danger simply out of pride.”

“I won’t.”

That is what Wooyoung says, at least, but his next action is surely one out of either sheer stupidity or an obscene amount of pride. He steps over to the shock wall and raises a clenched fist to the metal. Without a drop of hesitation and without flinching in the slightest, he raps his knuckles against the metal as though it’s nothing. You would think it’s nothing too if not for the waves of electricity that cascade through his body and in turn, yours. If it were you, you would pull back thanks to the shock, but Wooyoung doesn’t and only wraps his hand around the bars.

“You gonna come get me or not?”

“Fucking brat,” the shorter guard mutters, but he does exactly what Wooyoung wants and approaches the fencing to let him out.

“Try harder on the fences,” Wooyoung remarks, daring to drag his tongue over the front of his bottom row of teeth — a show of smugness that drives the guard mad.

“It’s not meant to incapacitate you, simply to keep little brats like you in check.”

“That was meant to keep me in check? Come on, that little shock didn’t even make me flinch in the slightest.” That comment isn’t what gets Wooyoung smacked upside the head; rather, it’s the huff of laughter that falls from his lips right after that causes the first guard to elbow him in the back of the head.

“Get walking, fucker.”

“When you gonna let me see the big boss?” Wooyoung grumbles as the pair sandwiches him between their bodies.

“He’s not around to have any meetings, especially not with the like of you. Busy with work of his own right now. But maybe one day you’ll mess up enough to get a meeting with the lieutenant thought.”

“What? This disordered bunch of scoundrels has a lieutenant?” Yet again that draws the ire of the stockier guard, and the man slams the butt of his gun into Wooyoung’s stomach. The impact is enough to cause Wooyoung to hunch over, bound hands grabbing the other guard’s thigh for support. The force careens both into the wall on accident, but Wooyoung doesn’t stop there. He fumbles around until his hand slips into the man’s pocket. Cool plastic greets him, something flat and rectangular, and Wooyoung latches onto both that and something else that feels vaguely like metal before pulling his hand out the pocket.

“Stay up, you rat,” the taller hisses. When he knocks his shoulder into Wooyoung’s, Wooyoung lets his hand fall near his own pocket, pushing both items he just lifted into the fabric. You can’t be sure that he knows what he’s just taken or that he has any sort of plan for if he gets caught with the stolen items. He doesn’t let anything slip through his expression though and simply rights himself when the shorter of the pair nudges him forward, continuing to follow them through the narrow corridor. The longer you walk, the more the interior and layout of the ship become familiar to you — from the dark grey walls to the solid doors with no peepholes. Your growing suspicions come to a grinding halt of realization when Wooyoung is shoved into a dark room that has one yellow-tinted light hanging from the ceiling. It sits directly above a reclining chair, and that’s a sight you would recognize anywhere. From the straps on the side down to the flat metal headrest — they must be aboard a military ship, or at least a former one given the pirate crew running it currently. But that chair and this room resemble the one you had your memories wiped in with an uncanny certainty.

Wooyoung doesn’t have a chance to resist before the two guards are shoving him further in and pushing him down onto the chair. Rough leather straps wrap tight around his torso and legs, then two more for each ankle and wrist once the first ones are secured. That, however, is all the men do for the time being. It seems to shock Wooyoung as much as it shocks you because he shifts to watch them as they walk over to the side of the room and lean up against the wall.

“Aren’t you going to do anything else?”

“Be patient.”

Wooyoung squints. His wrists twist a bit in the restraints, testing the tautness of the material, and when it doesn’t give any budge, he jerks harder against them. Two clear and mocking laughs resound in response. Someone comes up on Wooyoung’s left, one of the guards moving without warning to lean over Wooyoung’s body.

“We’ll do a few tester questions just to see how willing you are to talk, how about that? So… who do you work for?”

“Go fuck yourself, how about that?”

“Oh come on, you’re a slave, aren’t you? Why be loyal to a cruel master? Can’t you answer one simple question?” The guard reaches down to toy with the collar around Wooyoung’s neck. In an instant, every muscle in his body seizes up, and Wooyoung goes so far as to stop breathing entirely with the barely brush of contact. The pirate doesn’t stop there, though, and he slips a finger under the metal collar to touch the skin underneath. Pressure invades your head, like someone is grabbing your skull between their hands and squeezing with an obscene amount of force. Wooyoung thrashes and tries to jerk away from the contact, but the guard just loops his finger under the metal and maintains that same level of contact. Your head — or Wooyoung’s rather — begins to tingle and throb, ears ringing loudly with white noise as something else creeps up on you.

Please!

If you had any ounce of control over Wooyoung’s body, you would jerk your head to find the source of the sound, but as it continues, you realize that it’s not real. Not something that is truly resonating around you in the room right now. The voice is too young, too child-like, just a wailing noise that repeats over and over again without cease. A constant prayer of ‘please’ that fades into the background when the guard above Wooyoung speaks again.

“Now who do you work for?”

Please.

“Why the fuck do you want to know?” Wooyoung grits out. “I have nothing to gain from speaking to you about anything.”

Please, please, please.

Finally, the hand slips away, and Wooyoung gasps for breath like he’s never had air in his lungs before. His head lolls to the side almost the same way a ragdoll’s would as a sharp slap echoes. Pain sears over your skin, resonating through Wooyoung’s body to burn you too.

“This is why you’re going to the whorehouse. They can shut you up permanently with other things.”

“That kind of threat won’t work on me,” Wooyoung manages to murmur. His eyes roll back in his head as he slumps back into the metal headrest, chest still heaving to bring in air. “I’m not gonna tell you anything. If your boss w-wants info so badly… he can come take it himself. What’s the point of this anyway? Bring me to a room and ask me pointless questions? You already said you aren’t allowed to hurt the ‘goods’ too badly. And if I’m slated to go to a whorehouse — messing any physical features up would lower your cut dramatically. But the boss probably doesn’t pay you to be smart, huh?”

Red flashes through your vision then a fist careens into Wooyoung’s nose so hard that you’re certain it’s cracked in two. Warmth trickles down his nostrils and trickles into his mouth, leaving the taste of blood on the back of your tongue. The second man in the room pulls forward. He grabs his partner by the arm and tugs him away from Wooyoung as best he can before taking up the same position over Wooyoung’s reclining form.

“Listen here, slave, I really don’t want to be cruel to you, but there are ways to make you talk, ways that won’t… damage the goods as you say and will instead mess up that pretty little head of yours, so let’s just cooperate while you can, yeah?”

A sneer tears through Wooyoung’s lips, but he doesn’t fight back any longer, letting his head drop back to the headrest without complaint.

“You know who I work for already so I don’t need to tell you shit.”

The shorter of the two guards takes another step towards the chair.

“That may be the case, yes, but we aren’t after your captain. We need information on someone else… someone who was seen with you in the streets outside the arena. Someone you seemed to be close to based on the way you were protecting her, and someone who looked an awful lot like the Ghost of Eros.”

You can feel the way Wooyoung’s eyes widen. The same shock that courses through his veins rushes through your own as well. His tongue darts out to moisten his lower lip, dragging over the dry and cracking skin until it stings. He tries his best to hide that shock, but it’s too late, and the guards have already seen the flashes of recognition across Wooyoung’s features.

“So you know Miss Y/N then?”

“Yeah, we’re closer than you might think…” Wooyoung mutters, glancing off to the side and avoiding their prodding stares as best he can.

“Where is she?”

“Hell if I know.” Wooyoung tries his best to shrug with the words, but the restraints around his arms and torso keep him firmly planted to the cold metal chair. “In case you don’t remember, you kinda kidnapped me while I was unconscious and couldn’t see shit. Amazing that you managed to grab my sorry ass yet missed your precious little Ghost entirely, huh?”

That pulls the second guard forward, and he steps into Wooyoung’s space with a sneer of his own that is so vicious it causes Wooyoung to flinch away.

“We weren’t the dipshits in charge of collecting the packages. The ones who were hit a snag.”

Wooyoung manages to roll his eyes even as the guard presses closer.

“There’s nothing I can do to help you then. Your people crushed my earpiece so I don’t even have a way to contact her.” A finger comes down to tap against Wooyoung’s temple. It’s almost gentle in the way it brushes over his skin, but each tap comes harder than the last and you aren’t too foolish to ignore the threat in the touches.

“You will cooperate though, and you will answer our questions. Otherwise, we’ll have no choice but to crack that pretty little head open and take what we need instead. Unless you’d like to arrive at the whorehouse as a husk? That would make your job easier wouldn’t it?” A cruel grin twists over the man’s lips, one that you can’t bear to look at but you don’t have much of a choice because Wooyoung decides to stare him down with equal ferocity. “Now, when did Miss Y/N join your crew?”

“Who knows?” Wooyoung shrugs within his constraints. “I’ve never been good at keeping track of time.”

“Then what did she do before joining the crew?”

“Never shared any details about her life before meeting us.”

The pirate lifts his hand, and you’re almost certain that he is going to hit Wooyoung again but instead, he presses one index finger back to Wooyoung’s temple.

“You know… the other one was a lot more intense about these questions. Thrashing, angry, fuming at every mention of her name, so upset that we would even dare to ask about the little ghost. Why is that? Are they close?”

Wooyoung arches a brow. It takes a moment for you to realize that this man is talking about San of all people, but when you do, a wave of guilt hits you square in the chest. The thought of San being strapped to a chair like this and probed for answers about you and your past — having to experience it through Wooyoung and knowing that this is all because they captured Wooyoung and San in your place… it’s brutal enough as it is. More than that, it brings you back to that conversation you shared with San in the aftermath of your shared torture — the one where you sat opposite each other on his bed and admitted how afraid both of you were. How you were afraid to ever see San in that position again, and yet somehow… somehow not seeing it is worse. Somehow knowing that he is being put through this sort of hell and you are powerless to do anything to stop it is far worse than lying across from him on a sandy floor in an old warehouse with a crazed Berserker over you.

“Am I supposed to know the intimate details of relationships now? Why does your boss even need to know something of that nature?”

“Quit asking fucking questions.” It’s the more violent of the two guards who says that, and he steps forward to slam his elbow into Wooyoung’s stomach. “Do you wanna know what we did with your friend? Put him on this very chair and told him all the pretty ways we could fuck up that head of his if he didn’t cooperate. People like him… they have a lot of baggage. They carry weights on their shoulders that last a lifetime, and if you know how to manipulate it, then you can get whatever you want from them. And you—”

The man pushes a hand up the expanse of Wooyoung’s chest until he reaches the band of metal around his neck. Two fingers slip under the collar. Wooyoung presses his lips together so tight that they tremble under the force, yet that’s still not enough to keep a whimper from slipping out. It’s a mirror image of the Wooyoung you met upon waking up in the medbay for the first time, a mirror image of the terrified boy who plunged an anesthesia shot into your neck, the one you were certain was weak and fragile. You hadn’t thought of Wooyoung like that since back then, never imagined him to be weak after Yeosang mentioned how much he’s gone through and after witnessing his drive to protect the people around him. But now?

Now it’s just Wooyoung. There is no one in his immediate vicinity to protect, nor is there anyone here to protect him as you are stuck being a helpless bystander with no power or control over his body.

“You’re just like him, aren’t you? Burden after burden on your shoulders. Pretty little traumas to keep you awake at night. That… tough guy act where you pretend to be better than your crewmates — don’t you know how easy it is to see through that? You know your own worth, and that worth amounts to being nothing more than a filthy slave who will soon sell his body to others to get a bite of food at night. Can’t you see yourself doing that for the rest of your life? Why else would a broken collar stay around your neck?”

Broken?

Wooyoung has grown dreadfully quiet, and that tells you that the pirate hit the nail on the head with too much ease. Yet now that you think about it, the collar around Wooyoung’s neck is most definitely a shock collar, but you have never once seen it glowing with electricity or power in the slightest, which can only mean that Wooyoung truly is walking around with a dead shock collar at all times. That reality is haunting on its own, but that coupled with the continuous and monotonous cries in the background that beg ‘please’ over and over only make matters worse.

“We’re getting nowhere with this one. The last one was much more responsive when it came to these questions. We should just bring him back in and leave this one to rot in the cell with the Berserker.”

“O-Okay… yeah… let’s try that.”

Wooyoung doesn’t make some great escape when they pull the restraints loose, and for the first time since waking up in his body, you gain the sense that he is genuinely tired of fighting back against their advances. He lets his body fall slack in their grasp, allowing himself to be pulled from the chair and dragged by the elbows between their bodies. Albeit faint and dying, you swear up and down that you can still hear that faint child-like voice ringing in your ears.

“You really do suck at torture.” A bit of crimson liquid slips out the corner of Wooyoung’s lips as he speaks, leftover residue that dripped from his nose, and he spits it to the floor without a care in the world.

“The goal isn’t to torture. If we could harm you physically, we certainly would.”

Wooyoung doesn’t speak further than that and again you think it’s because he doesn’t have the energy in his body to do so. He settles for glancing around the ship extensively as the two guards drag him back to the cell. That is somewhat odd to you at first seeing as he’s had plenty of opportunities to look around the ship from the inside of his cell, but realization sinks in when Wooyoung nods his head towards an exit door on the way to the cell.

Oh… are you trying to help me? That becomes increasingly apparent when he scans each wall and corner like his life depends on it, and you do your best to commit every inch of the room to memory. If this is something of a military ship, you should be able to figure out a basic layout with Yeosang’s help if he remembers anything too. Wooyoung hums to himself as they reach the electrified gate to the cell, but he doesn’t do anything other than that until the taller guard shoves him to the floor of the cell. San darts forward, nearly tripping over his feet in his rush to get to Wooyoung’s side.

“God, what did they do to you? I told you to be fucking careful!” He hisses under his breath. Wooyoung quirks one corner of his lips up and flashes a quick wink in San’s direction.

“Hold onto this for the time being,” he mutters back, digging the small rectangular card and piece of metal from earlier out of his pocket. Wooyoung only extends the piece of metal, something small and indiscernible practically, but Wooyoung must find some value in it to pass it to San rather than the card, which is clearly a keycard. San takes the item without complaint but his brows are still tightly knit together in concern. “I need more information from the guards. I almost got ‘em.”

“You’ll get yourself killed.”

“Only a little beat up. Pain… pain is nothing to me, not this kind at least. I’ve felt enough to grow rather used to it after all this time, so don’t worry about me getting hurt. It’s all just my little show so they don’t go harder than I want them to. Just — take the time to care for Mingi’s wound while you can. I’ll be back soon.”

Wooyoung hoists himself up to his feet and presses the keycard between his teeth. He and San maintain eye contact until Wooyoung turns completely around to face the closing door of the cell.

“Can’t even focus long enough to keep track of your belongings, huh? Cheap guards for the big boss?”

There’s a clatter then the slam of the cell door resounds, and both pirates rush in to tackle Wooyoung to the floor. The shorter of the two reaches him first, knocking into Wooyoung so hard and fast that it feels like your brain is rattling against the confines of your skull. San pushes forward as well and intercepts the second guard with his arm.

“Stand down, San, stand down!” Wooyoung shouts, stopping the Spectre at just the last second before he punches the guard in the throat. “It’s okay, just let them take me. It’s okay. They can’t hurt me.”

“We may not be able to, but the Reaper is gonna make you fucking pay for such foolish actions.”

“The Reaper, huh? Is that the infamous big boss?” A hand curls through Wooyoung’s hair. With a sharp tug that nearly pulls the strands right off his scalp, he’s brought up to his knees.

“Yes, it is. You’ve quickly proved that you’re too much of a disobedient brat to be sent to the House of Lilies. Maybe we should send you through some rehabilitation too with your little friends, yeah? We’ll take good care of you until the Reaper comes back to the ship though.”

Wooyoung collects a bit of spit on his tongue then slings it at the guard’s face, a bit of crimson mixing in with the saliva.

“We’re counting on it.”

Right then you feel Wooyoung directly contacting you in his consciousness, a small push and pull on the edges of your mind, and he drops his chin to his chest so quickly that you think he’s passed out on the spot. It’s enough to deter the guards and their focus on him for now, and he cracks an eye open to stare at the floor as they drag him down the hall yet again.

“Y/N…” he whispers under his breath. “Y/N, take that info back to Yeosang. Give him that name too. The Reaper.”

You want more information than that, but Wooyoung’s consciousness knocks hard against yours, and the vision before you fades to black, cutting any hopes of getting more from him drastically short.

All that you’re left with is fogged thoughts and that name shining clearly at the forefront of your mind: The Reaper.

…

Han Jisung.

Never did you think you would see him again, and that still hasn’t sunk into your bones yet. The feeling deep in your gut currently is hard to explain. You aren’t sure you could ever make sense of it, but seeing that man, Han Jisung, a person you relied on so heavily for so long standing over by the observation window on the bridge of The Horizon feels like it should be something of a fever dream. Alas, it’s not, it’s all very real and very tangible, and you don’t realize how long you’ve been glaring holes into the back of Jisung’s head until Yeosang clears his throat from beside you.

The two of you sit near the comms station, and you’ve made a home for yourself sitting atop the desk as Yeosang sits at the chair before it. He has his bound journal set out on the desk, pen in hand as he scribbles over the pages. Jongho is not far away himself: he stands closer to the captain’s seat, and none other than Hongjoong himself sits in that place, back steering the ship as he usually does. Seonghwa is nowhere in sight — still down in the medbay with Yunho for further observation since his condition was much more critical than yours. All you can hear is the faint rumble of the ship’s power systems and air passing through the air filters. The silencing should be deafening, but it gives you more than enough time to process your thoughts while you can.

That blessed silence is interrupted within seconds as Yeosang’s chair scrapes hard against the metal floor and he scoots closer to where you’re perched. You follow his movements, twisting at the waist to lean over the empty space between you and offer some semblance of privacy for the ensuing conversation.

“So, according to what you saw last night, I drew up a basic sketch of what I think the ship’s layout looks like,” Yeosang mutters, exposing the pages of his journal to you. “Two exit doors in the room with the cell. They took Woo to a small room that had a single reclining chair and medical equipment. Potentially a former military ship, although from the sounds of it, it must be a rather old one. Since they’re headed to Dorado, I would assume it’s a Doradian ship that they jacked.” Yeosang pauses to scribble a few more unintelligible words on the paper, writing twisting and curling in a way you’ve never seen before. “We still don’t know why they want you… but San said they’re at least three days out to Dorado. With the speed Hongjoong is flying at, we won’t catch up for another four days though. Most of the flight will be pushing through the celestial barrier between Aurum and Geofflan, but we can’t burn extra fuel without having to tap into emergency reserves.”

“So then what? The exchange is supposed to happen soon after they land so there’s no way we’ll be able to catch up and break them loose before then,” you reason. Yeosang manages a small nod, avoiding the stare you send his way as he continues to scribble in his journal.

“We at least know the main location will be the capital, Lynder. And we know that Wooyoung is slated to go to the House of Lilies — if this Reaper figure doesn’t change his mind, that is — but Mingi and San will be sent to separate rehabilitation facilities.”

“That’s bad for the rest of us then. Once they’re separated, we have a higher risk of failure.”

Yeosang presses his lips into a thin line and hums softly. “But once they’re out of this Reaper’s hands, they won’t be his responsibility anymore. Mingi will, since they plan to transport him back to Kebos once he’s ready, but Woo and San are being sold independently. We should aim to take them back after the deals go through. That way the Reaper can’t cause issues because he will already have his money. A whorehouse won’t mind losing someone unless they pay a great deal for them… I don’t know how Dorado operates in terms of military regulations and such. Or even how important the military is to them. We’ll have to be quick to get San back, won’t we?”

You give a quick shake of your head.

“They plan on putting him through that regression therapy first so we will have time before they try to wipe him.”

“If, and only if he’s strong enough to withstand that torture.”

You ball your fists tight around the leather of your pants.

“He’ll be strong enough.”

“There’s no way of knowing what they’ll do to him once it’s time for that regression therapy, and we won’t be able to do anything for him if he caves early.”

“Then we should prioritize him and get to him first,” you argue, forcing your tone to stay as low as possible. “Either we have faith that he will hold out as long as possible or he’s the first one we rescue.”

“And how confident are you that he can handle that level of torture? I saw many recruits be sent to those wiping chambers in my time as a prince. None of them lasted longer than fourteen hours on the table. Either due to a weak constitution or the sheer level of trauma they were forced to go through. Knowing his past and what traumas they could awaken, how confident can you be that he will last longer than that? I don’t want one slimy fucking mongrel to lay a hand on Woo in that whorehouse, and he will be easiest to recover so we need to prioritize him if that’s the easiest option. If San reaches a point where he wants the serum, then what? We have another Mingi dilemma on our hands?”

That question stops you in your tracks. You hadn’t dared to think that far ahead simply out of fear that it could be a reality. It does take you back to the one and only time you and San spoke about the issue the serum posed though, for better or worse.

“If our positions were switched, would you be okay with it?”

“I can’t pretend to know what that experience was like for you or how deeply it affected you. If I were the one who had used it before, and I was aware of it like you, I know that I would be selfish at the end of the day. I have mentioned it before but I wish to cling to you for as long as I can. And though it’s — though it goes against my morals, I would not want you to take the serum because I can’t bear the thought of you forgetting who I am and how I feel about you. I know that sounds a bit bold, especially given your relations with Seonghwa, but… I would say the same to any member of the crew — save for Yeosang perhaps. You all are special and valuable to me in unique ways, and the thought of any of you losing any memory we share is too much for me.”

“Would you expect the same of me in return?”

“I would only ask that which I would ask any of the crew. To do what is right by your own standards and not by anyone else’s. We’ve all been slaves to other people’s whims and desires for too long. I would never wish to put anyone through that again, and even something as simple as pushing my opinion onto you would be unfair.”

And here you sit now coming to the gross realization that you cannot be okay with the thought of San forgetting who you are. You cannot live in a universe where he loses every ounce of work he’s put in over the years, the relationships he’s built with the crew, the things he has had to survive — you cannot bear the thought of it becoming meaningless and futile in the face of simply forgetting it. Because now, as you struggle on your own with these hazed memories that have no true place in your mind, you know that you could never wish that on anyone. Not knowing your past is a horrid fate, but losing all the pieces you’ve put together is a fate worse than death.

“There’s no way in hell I am ever going to let them give San that serum, even if it’s what he wants.”

Yeosang huffs air through his teeth but doesn’t comment further than that, and you take it as a sign that the conversation is concluded for now. When you lift your head again, movement from near the observation window catches your eye, and none other than Jisung himself stares over at you with eyes wide and searching. Like not a thing has changed in the past few years, and like those broken memories that plagued your dreams were nonexistent altogether.

Whatever comes over you is compelling enough to pull you off the desk. Yeosang follows your movements with his eyes, lips parting to ask what you’re doing, but you stop him by dropping a hand to his shoulder.

“There’s something I can’t wait on anymore,” you murmur. That is all the explanation you give before forcing your feet to move towards Jisung. A soft laugh echoes through the bridge as you draw closer to him, and Jisung greets you with nothing more than that and a rounded smile at first.

“Took you long enough to come speak to me like this. All those years of knowing each other for what?”

“For you to tell me the truth now.”

“Hm?”

“Hyunwoo told me before he went off to die that one day you would tell me the truth. So what is it?”

A frown paints Jisung’s lips.

“What are you talking about? Hyunwoo never said anything of the sort.”

“I distinctly remember it, as well as being strapped to a chair with Hyunwoo over me saying that they would only take a little bit. And I’ve been having odd dreams of memories that I have no recollection of. So just what the fuck happened to me before leaving the military and killing the king? Right now I don’t have anyone alive who can tell me that except for you, Jisung.”

Jisung folds his arms over his chest, eyes turning to narrow slits as he glares forward at you. Then, he slowly extends his right arm and poises to place the back of his hand to your forehead.

“Watch it.” You don’t need to turn to know whose voice that is, and you half-expect to turn and find Jongho at your side in the blink of an eye. However, when you glance back over your shoulder, Jongho is still beside Hongjoong’s chair, and the captain’s hand is placed ever so delicately in front of his chest that it hardly blocks the Berserker from moving. It’s moreso the gesture that keeps Jongho in check, and no matter how unhappy he seems with the order, he follows it without complaint.

“I have no intention of hurting her at all! Come now, would you take me for a fool? You should all know better seeing as the bargain I made in helping you was for her safety.”

“She might have made that bargain with you, but you made no such deal with me,” Hongjoong states without batting an eye. “And I will not allow you to force her to leave my crew, even if you have come to an agreement.”

“She made the agreement knowing full well what it would entail and because it’s what she wanted,” Jisung counters. His arm falls back to his side without touching you in the slightest.

“I didn’t,” you refute immediately. “I am only doing this for the crew, not because I actually want to be near you.” An almost feral noise tears through Jisung’s lips, and you flinch back just to put some distance between your bodies.

“After all the things I’ve done for you, all the sacrifices I’ve made, the risks I took to even make certain that you would make it out of that cell alive—”

Your body reacts before your head can catch up. Next thing you know, you have two fists curled tight around Jisung’s collar and are slamming him up against the observation window with a strength that surprises you as much as it surprises Jisung. Hongjoong must retract his hold on Jongho because suddenly the Berserker is at your side now, hand pressing hard on your shoulder. You knock his grip away without so much as looking at him; there is too much adrenaline running through your body right now, too much heat in your blood and fire in your bones, and nothing is going to stop you from taking out years of bottled-up frustrations on Jisung now.

“You have absolutely no right to dare to say such a thing. You don’t get to talk about sacrifice! The only person who took risks for me was Hyunwoo. The one who died In my place is the only one who gets to talk like that and claim that he’s made sacrifices. I buried you in my past the minute I was forced to dig an empty grave alone. You let me alone on that god-forsaken planet to bury an empty grave without so much as looking back! No matter how hard you try to justify it, there is nothing that will ever convince me that it was the right or fair decision to make! Anything you ever did for me — whether I remember them or not — it all pales in comparison to what Hyunwoo sacrificed.”

“Only people who die for you can sacrifice things? What of the people I killed for you? The innocent people I killed to keep your reputation untarnished? How much blood is on your hands, Y/N? You look at me like I am a monster but I am what you made me! Whether you like it or not, the truth of the matter is that Hyunwoo agreed to my terms. Hyunwoo is just as much at fault for what we did to you as I am. And what we did was necessarily because I guarantee if you remembered all the things you did, you would rather kill yourself than keep on living the way you are now.”

Your momentary shock is enough for Jongho to pull you off Jisung. He wedges himself between you and the Spectre, folding his arms over your hips to guide you further away from the man.

“It’s okay, Y/N. Stand down,” he murmurs. “You need to pick your battles, and this is not one for you to fight right now.” Again you feel that pull of warmth coming from him, like someone is trying to pull something from your chest, but it retracts almost instantaneously. Jongho falters. His eyes squeeze shut harshly, face contorting with something that almost looks like pain in your eyes, but that lasts less than a second before he’s recovered again. It’s not enough to stop the onslaught of emotions coursing through your veins.

“And what exactly is it that you and Hyunwoo did to me? Because I sure as hell don’t remember or understand anything! How long do you plan to lie to my face?”

“I can’t tell you,” Jisung says. There is a sudden drop to his tone, one that hits harder than it should. “As selfish as it may be, that is the one secret I will never disclose, and Hyunwoo would be a fool to ever believe that I would tell you what it is. If he wanted it exposed so desperately, then he can do it himself.”

You see red. It all feels like a blur yet simultaneously like the universe is moving in slow motion around you. You are hyperaware of the way you push Jongho out of the way to get back to Jisung, fist clenching so hard that your knuckles go white just before you sock the man in the jaw. The noise that resounds is disgusting and brutal, a sick crack that echoes in your ears like a battle cry.

“You don’t fucking get to talk about Hyunwoo as though he’s alive,” you growl, curling your fingers through Jisung’s hair and yanking his head back hard enough to make his neck pop. “You dipped off-planet without even seeing the execution through, without even waiting for blood to spill, so you have no right.” Jisung’s tongue darts out and wets the corners of his lips. “You have no right1” You repeat as though it will do any good. “You killed innocent people as though it was nothing! Was that all Hyunwoo was to you too? Just another bump in the road on your path to power?”

You swing for his face once more, but this time Jisung reacts before you can hit him. He pushes your hand to the side, expression relatively neutral compared to your own rage-filled one.

“I bet you couldn’t wait to see Hyunwoo die because that would mean the leader was out of the way and you could finally have that power you wanted! People would finally listen to you? Is that what you wanted? How could you do that to us, Jisung? We were a team, a family, you were all I had. How could you kill people in my name? Innocent people, who did nothing wrong killed for saying something trivial about me? How could you let innocent people be taken in my place? Wooyoung and San did nothing wrong! They don’t have that blood on their hands, they don’t carry the weight of that guilt on their shoulders, they aren’t bad people, Han Jisung! How could you? Why would you let that happen? Why would you put them in a place to be hurt and sold in my place? Who gave you the right to make that decision? You’re not some god!”

Jisung doesn’t move a muscle throughout your tirade, his face doesn’t budge nor does his disposition — it’s almost like yelling at a statue in an eerie and unsettling way. Then he speaks again, and this time it is with a haunting flatness to his tone.

“When have you ever known me to be cruel?”

“I-I thought the answer to that was never bu-but now I don’t know if I can trust that.”

Jisung blinks.

You inhale.

Then something hits your stomach so hard that you double over in pain, blind-sighted by the speed at which Jisung moves, and Jongho doesn’t have time to react either. Jisung doesn’t stop there though; no, he returns the favor and grips your hair close to the scalp to yank you back up to be eye level with him.

“I am merely… a cruel person, Y/N. I have always been cruel. And when it comes to protecting people I care about, there are no morals. There are no grey areas. There are no lines that I am not willing to cross. The universe has made me evil by taking everything from me, but I’ll be damned if I don’t get to have at least one thing I care about. And that one thing is you.”

Silence ensues. You don’t dare speak again; you aren’t sure you could even form words if you wanted to. Out the corner of your eye, you see a flash of metal and the barrel of a gun.

“If you so much as move a muscle, I will shoot you down with no hesitation.” You never saw the man move but that cold tone can only belong to Hongjoong. That suspicion is confirmed when Jisung releases his hold on your hair, letting you pull back and stand up straight once more. Hongjoong doesn’t lower his weapon even as Jisung raises his hands in surrender. “You call yourself cruel. Well, I am evil. Cruel, harsh, cold-hearted, and full of nothing but malice. So you can fucking bet that I won’t let you take her against her will. And if you even for a breath of a moment think otherwise, then I will put a bullet between your eyes and send you off to meet your maker.”

Jisung’s nose twitches as he sneers back at the captain.

“That’s not a risk you would ever take.”

“Ha, then you know fairly little about me, Han Jisung. I could sit here for hours and tell stories about the blood I’ve spilled, the blood my lieutenant has spilled, the things we have done as the most notorious and bloodthirsty pirates in the universe, or I could tell you of my own individual accomplishments. But if you truly think that I won’t do everything in my power to stop you from taking her?”

Hongjoong’s arm shifts and the barrel of the gun finds a new home, a new target.

On you.

Between your eyes.

Hongjoong cocks the hammer back. The click seems ten times louder than it is in reality. Jongho pulls closer to you, eyeing Hongjoong with a wary gaze.

“I can be evil if that is what you want me to be,” Hongjoong whispers, arching a brow at Jisung. “Such a thing would be easy for a man like me. But it comes with a price, and it’s one that you should weigh heavily. Take her against her will, and I’ll make sure the only thing you take is a corpse.”

“Good move, Captain,” Jisung replies. “I do so enjoy playing such mind games with someone who is actually of my caliber and on my level like this. Now, the move is mine to make, no?”

“You would treat her life as something as mundane and childish as a game of chess?”

Jisung clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Mind yourself, Captain. All I have to do is give the command, and my dogs will bite.” Hongjoong lets Jisung step around him and make for the edge of the bridge before lowering his pistol and returning it back to its holster.

“Han Jisung.”

Hongjoong’s words stop the man in his tracks, and your eyes find his in the brief moment of hesitation before he turns to look directly at the captain. Hongjoong doesn’t look back, at least not face to face because he merely glances over at Jisung through the reflection of the observation window. It’s an almost haunting sight, one that sends a chill down your spine and makes you stand up a bit straighter as you watch them level each other with glares full of contempt and malice.

“Hungry dogs are never loyal. They’ll eat with anybody who has food. And yours are ravenous.”

“The same could be said for yours, Scourge. Many wonder how much bending that Berserker can take before he breaks. Others say that the slave will turn tail and run the moment the doors of the whorehouse open. My money, on the other hand, is on the Spectre.”

If either man hears the audible gasp of panic that slips between your lips, they opt not to comment on it. Jisung’s lips twist a bit, curving into an ugly smile that makes you sick to your stomach.

“You’d be nothing more than a fool to believe that any of my dogs are not fed well under my care.”

“Is that what happened during your mutiny? Which dog were you, Kim Hongjoong? From the stories I’ve heard, you were starved to the bone.”

Hongjoong shows an admirable sense of restraint in that moment; he barely lets any emotion slip through his features or stance even though you are certain that he is just as shocked as you are.

“The weakest links are always the first to go. The ones with the most to lose, and thus… the Spectre will break first. Because whether you acknowledge it or not, I have something he is desperate to see again.” Jisung shifts to face you. His eyes glint under the fluorescent lights of the bridge. “What happens when you throw a hungry dog a bone?” It’s nothing more than a rhetorical question, one meant to scare you, and that it does because your heart clenches painfully in your chest and squeezes around itself until you can barely stand up straight. “He swallows it whole.”

You watch Jisung leave without daring to speak one more word to him. Hongjoong doesn’t move away from the observation window quite yet, and even as you look over his reflection in the window, you cannot for the life of you gauge what emotions are running through his body.

“Would you truly have shot me?” You ask before you can stop yourself. The adrenaline of having a gun pointed at your head with such little care for your life is not something foreign but to have Hongjoong be the person to do so… you want to give him the benefit of the doubt, but his tone was far too resolute for that. But then, he shakes his head in denial.

“Never. I made a promise to keep you safe, and I made similar promises to the rest of the crew that no matter what, I would always do whatever is in my power to keep you all safe. To keep our crew safe. I am not about to let Han Jisung take that from my crew.” Hongjoong folds his hands behind his back. His boots scrape against the floor as he spins on his heel and heads back to the captain’s seat.

“What… what did Jisung mean by his ‘dogs’ if he works under Vladimir?” Jongho is the one to pose the question, and it brings Yeosang away from the comms station to listen in on the conversation better. Hongjoong tilts his head from side to side, letting a quiet hum ring through the room before speaking again.

“Did you truly believe that when Jisung told you that? I thought I taught you all to think more critically than that. After all, who in the universe could want you badly enough to kidnap and work with deadly pirates?” Hongjoong looks you dead in the eye as he asks the question. You scoff to deflect the panic it sends through your system.

“With a bounty like mine, it’s enough for anyone to resort to violence of some sort.”

“Word gets around quickly, and people hear things fast in our little world. Pirates are good at transmitting information swiftly. Which means that everyone already knows you are now employed by the Black Scourge’s crew. So I’ll ask again: who could possibly want you badly enough to cross me of all people?”

There is only one answer to that question, and that answer just walked off the bridge not too long ago. You can’t bring yourself to admit it with your words, although you don’t need to because Hongjoong simply continues speaking without missing a beat.

“Jisung made no mistakes. There were no missteps. When we were in the arena, there was never any intention of kidnapping you. There was no hesitation on his part, he knew what he was doing, he knew how to play into your hands. He made a deal with Vladimir — allow his own crew to get into the arena so that he could take two of my crew, then he would kidnap Mingi for Vladimir as payment. Because Jisung knew there was an easier way to get you since he knew what kind of person you are from time in the military together. He knew that if he took your teammates, you would not hesitate to sacrifice yourself for their safety. And thus, he made his offer: an exchange of you for your crewmate’s recovery. In reality, he was the one who took them intentionally in the first place.”

A smile twists at the man’s lips, one that is almost unsettling and disturbing, and you find yourself shifting your weight from foot to foot as you look down at him.

“I played right into his hands then,” you murmur, glancing away to grant yourself some semblance of peace.

“That may be the case, yes… however, once something is mine, I don’t particularly like letting go of it. If there’s one thing I have in common with such a person, it’s that. I am undeniably selfish, Y/N. And now that you’re here with me, I don’t intend to let anyone take you from my hands. If he wants you so desperately, then he will have to go through hell to get you, and giving people hell is my specialty.”

“Is that the same reason you pointed a gun at my head?”

“Every man has his price. I find threats to be quite effective in securing bargains and deals. Before I placed that gun to your head, he didn’t imagine I could be so cruel. And now… I’ve only confirmed every suspicion that has been eating at my mind since I woke up.”

“And those suspicions would be what?” You dare to ask, leveling the man seated before you with a stare that he regards out the corner of his eye.

“Han Jisung is nothing but a hungry dog, and I intend to make him bite.”

✧✧✧ a/n: haha? 17.2k WHO?! gotta admit this is my fave chapter i’ve ever written the ending hits im v proud of her ! what did i say i said she would be a long one but even i didn’t expect this i cannot lie well as i said i am dropping and yeeting (to sleep) but i’ll be here to watch my chaos unfold a bit first ;3 as ALWAYS let me know what you think, give me the juicy deets, the theories, the screaming, the ‘caly how could you’, and all that jazz it’s SO good to be posting a mists chapter yall have no idea how happy it makes me to do this again fogijdfiogaj, she’s heavily unedited tho so im sorry in advance for grammatical issues

taglist: @faeriewoobin @sugarrimajins @atinyinwonderland @sparklychangbin @jeong-uwu @jeonartemis @anothershorthuman @xxbluestrifexx @haotheheckk @noonawriter @lostscenarios @nlost21 @mirror-juliet @okokokok123-45 @purple-aeon @theoinkypiglet @toothlessshiber @atinyarmyx1 @simpforhyunjin @hwangwoosan @vampire-jimin @softyubi @drumboydowoon @chatsgotmytongue @just-a-starfruit @babydolljo @scintillating-souls @khjssss @felixity @rawrrainn @hewwo-from-the-other-side @icekdy @fuckjoong

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cognacdelights · 4 years

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fluorescent adolescent [7]

the romantic tirades of indie routledge series masterlist

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add yourself to my taglist

fluorescent adolescent by arctic monkeys

summary: angry and upset at the way she was treated, indie gets her revenge on an oblivious jj. however, not before she gets the release her touch-starved body has been craving in his absence.

warnings: sexual content. dirty talk. public sex. underage drinking. angst. swearing.

There weren’t many skills in life that Indie Routledge had mastered; she was considered by most as a give-it-a-go kind of girl. Well, that was until it came to math, as Pope Heyward had come to realise after attempting to explain algebraic equations to her. Let’s just say, Indie thought of algebra as more of a foreign language, rather than a sub-branch of math. Cheerleading during her freshman year faired far better - motivation-wise, at least. The brief, three week period in which Indie had somehow made it onto Kildare County High’s award-winning cheerleading team had been plagued with a plethora of slips, trips and falls. A sprained ankle - and a broken nose on Thalia Ramos’ part - had swiftly ended the young Routledge girl’s career as a flyer. However, her career as an electric guitarist, not-so-astonishingly, was even shorter. After two weeks of out-of-tune strumming and accompanying tone deaf vocals, Big John had gently suggested that she retire from the demanding world of rock and roll and had promptly sold the guitar to a friend of a friend; not to mention, Wonderwall was banned from the Routledge household for the foreseeable.

However, there was one thing that she had come to master during her fifteen trouble-filled years on this godforsaken planet - besides raising absolute hell for her at-a-loss brother. Grudges. Indie Routledge could hold a grudge longer, and harder, than the best of them. There was no escaping the feisty, sharp-tongued hellcat’s wrath once you had entered into the notorious realms of her bad side. From the intense, acrimonious death glares, to the caustic, bitter snipes of her venomous tongue, to the suffocating quiet of her silent treatment; you would bare witness to it all, as the insufferably oblivious JJ Maybank had come to find out the hard way.

As his bare, sun-soaked shoulders leant against the cushioned back of the bench, he peeled the sweat-ridden skin of his thighs from the scolding leather and rested his hips nonchalantly on the edge of the seat. He brought the freshly-opened can of beer up to his lips - taking a long and generous sip - as the scorching, mid-day sun beat down above him. The reflective lenses of his off-brand sunglasses covered his murky, cobalt eyes, allowing him to shamelessly devour her curvaceous silhouette from the opposite side of the deck. His tongue dragged lazily along the chapped ridges of his bottom lip as her dainty fingertips bunched around the faded, stone-washed fabric of her over-sized t-shirt, pulling the garment up and over her tousled top-knot.

“Dude,” Pope’s reprimanding voice attempted to pull the shaggy-haired blonde from his hormone-induced trance, accompanied by an abrupt slap against his shoulder, “he’d kill you if he saw you looking at Indie like that.” Despite his quite adamant disapproval, the usually soft-spoken boy couldn’t resist taking a swift glance in Indie’s direction; the ruched, ivory bikini - which only just covered her most intimate of areas - was a stark contrast against her bronzed, olive-toned complexion, that glistened celestially under the Mid-Atlantic sun. She was utterly a sight to behold, and that fact was undeniable - no matter who you were to John B.

“I’m just admiring the scenery,” JJ responded somewhat casually, an air of dismissiveness present within his gravelly tone. However, whilst the blasé words that so effortlessly rolled off his tongue indicated one thing, his inconspicuous eyes suggested another; behind the over-sized, reflective glasses, his cerulean orbs were drinking in her scandalously-clad, slender figure and indulging themselves in all of her glorious liberties. His searing gaze fixated on her cleavage, refusing to relent as she obliviously leant forwards in an attempt to reach the tanning oil - the thin fabric of her bikini shifting ever so slightly to expose even more of her chest to him. A haughty, brazen smirk tugged briefly at the corners of his lips as he revelled in the sight before him; whilst Indie merely sported B cups, her boobs were delightfully perky and the two spear-headed, titanium bars which penetrated either side of her taut, rosy nipples were a definite turn on for him.

Leisurely regaining her posture, she adjusted the loosely-tied string of her bikini top, which had slipped uncomfortably high up her back. The lackadaisical movements allowed her to flaunt the perfect amount of sun-kissed side boob, and showcase the heart-shaped, do-it-yourself stick and poke tattoo that had been drunkenly carved into the left side of her rib cage. A lustful moan vigorously clawed at the back of JJ’s throat, desperate to surpass his beer-soaked lips and resonate through the salt-laced, open-ocean air. He suppressed the ungodly groan with a subtle cough as his hazy, indigo eyes continued to follow her cleavage - her love-marked breasts bouncing ever so slightly with each sprightly step she made towards him.

“Will you?” the sultry melody of Indie’s voice diverted Pope’s rigid gaze from the calm, distant waves of the horizon. His deep umber eyes swiftly fell upon the half-empty bottle of tanning oil, which she had half-heartedly thrust in his general direction - purposefully avoiding her barely-clothed silhouette at all costs. He would be downright lying to himself if he refused to admit that she was a radiantly beautiful temptress, and that the odd inappropriate thought hadn’t grudgingly crept it’s way into his typically innocent mind on occasion, but he knew it was wrong on so many levels; if he existed in the Garden of Eden, then Indie Routledge was the forbidden fruit that devilishly taunted him from the evergreen trees above. She was his best friend’s little sister, after all.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he admitted solemnly, bringing his almost-empty can of tepid beer to his lips. Once again, his cautious, mocha eyes concentrated on anywhere but her exposed physique as they peered above the metal rim, settling on her luminous, cinnamon orbs out of safety. Indie’s signature pout painted her olive complexion as her neatly-plucked eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. Pope stared back at her with a deadpan expression - as if it were completely obvious as to why he refused to place his sinless hands on her sun-drenched, bikini-clad body.

Outstretching his upturned palm, JJ interjected their conversation with a nonchalant offer, “give it here.” Indie was forced to finally acknowledge his presence after a prolonged period of subjecting him to her soul-crushing silent treatment, eventually allowing her mahogany eyes to fall upon his relaxed, shirtless silhouette as a sour scowl contorted her doll-like features. Her cold, impassive gaze trailed along the toned lengths of his athletic body as she silently mulled over her next move. She so desperately wanted to stand her ground with him, however a subtle arching upwards of his untamed eyebrow saw her reluctantly caving in to his demands with a defeated exhale.

“Just know that you were the last resort,” her vicious tongue sniped with it’s venom-laced words, as she forcefully placed the tanning oil down in his hand - the grease-coated bottle slapping loudly against his calloused palm on impact.

Pope let out a rapid breath of air in the form of an uncomfortable whistle tone before standing from the scorching, leather seat, “I’ll leave you two to it then.” His bare feet padded against the blistering fibreglass decking at an increasing pace, cautious not to burn the already sensitive skin of the undersides of his feet, as he approached the similarly scolding ladder. Wisely, he opted to launch his sculpted, over-heating body into the sweet, frigid relief of the open waters, instead of slowly and painfully descending down the fire-like steps.

In a sanctimonious display, Indie swiftly swivelled on the heels of her feet, leaving the teal-eyed boy with the glorious sight of her voluptuously pert ass. The corners of his upper lip twitched ever so slightly - a satisfied smirk creeping across his chiselled, stubble-lined features for a fleeting moment as he insolently admired the sight before him. She, however, stared out into the distant waves, observing intently as the remaining pogues frolicked carelessly around in the placid waves.

His audacious fingertips took it upon themselves to curl beneath the double-knotted ties of her bikini bottoms, inching her hour-glass figure ever close to him until he could feel the smooth lengths of her sun-kissed legs against his. The warm palms of his hands wandered the short distance to her voluptuous hips, applying a gentle touch of pressure to guide her petite frame into his welcoming lap; his ring-cladded hands carrying a certain authoritative and domineering contingence that Indie simply couldn’t ignore.

With his paw-like palms coated in a generous amount of tanning oil, JJ began tenderly caressing the dainty, sun-kissed broads of her shoulders - his masterful thumbs massaging the coconut-scented product into her skin in soothing circles. Indie’s incandescent eyes fluttered closed as her tense, aching muscles reluctantly relaxed under his delicate fingertips, an almost inaudible moan of satisfaction slipping out from between her slightly parted lips. Seven painfully long days and pining-filled nights had passed since she had last felt the invigorating touch of his fingertips against her searing skin, and the mere, innocent gesture of him rubbing in her tanning oil was slowly - but surely - beginning to douse the week-long, burning rage which she had directed towards him.

“You like that, hmm?” he hummed imperiously, his tone low and gravelly as his thin lips grazed ever so lightly against the soft skin of her neck with each spoken word. Her slender arms pricked with goosebumps - almost as if on cue - as she felt the faint scruffs of his stubble tickle against her exposed collarbone, and his taunting lips curl upwards into a haughty, satisfied smirk. In truth be told, JJ Maybank had missed their secret, intimate rendezvous; he longed for the subtle hint of watermelon that lingered on her plump, luscious lips and hankered for the euphoric sensation of her tight, dripping pussy clenching around his painfully hard dick once more.

“I’d like it a lot better if you shut up,” Indie spat with a sour tongue.

“Hey, watch the mouth, madam, before I put it to good use,” JJ responded with a playful warning, mistaking her seething snipes as her infamous, satire-laced flirting. The smug smile which had painted itself across his defined, rosy-tinged features grew ever so slightly, as the mischievous tips of his stubby fingers toyed with the loosely-tied knot of her bikini top. Teasingly, he pulled the thin, ivory band towards him before abruptly letting go - allowing the lax elastic to snap somewhat gently against her spine; of course, it wasn’t anything too rigorous, just a little something to capture and secure her attention.

“Try it, I dare you,” her dark, mahogany eyes peered upwards at the taller, shaggy-haired blonde, the back of her head resting comfortably against the brawny muscles of his squared-off shoulder, “I’m in a biting mood.” His murky, indigo eyes met with hers as his wandering palms slipped casually beneath the double-knotted tie and continued to carefully massage the sweet-smelling oil into her beautifully bronzed skin in effortless, gentle, circular motions. She was facing a real confliction of emotions in that moment; the insolent smirk which, not so graciously, graced his sunburnt complexion fanned the flames of her hurt-fuelled hatred towards him - however, the way his masterful hands tenderly caressed her back doused the fire just as rapidly.

“Mhmm, there’s that attitude that I love so much,” JJ countered her fiery quip with a lighthearted chuckle. His beer-stained lips placed several sloppy kisses into her tamed, chestnut tangles as he allowed his free-spirited hands to dauntlessly inch around her front. Indie’s gaze dropped - suddenly - to the two bear-like palms that had brazenly slithered beneath the thin, ruched material and cupped both her petite, bouncing breasts in a domineering hold. His audacious hands were pleasantly warm as they sensually fondled her cleavage - his masterful thumbs working every inch of her hickey-littered skin as heavy, jagged breaths surpassed her chapstick-coated lips. A quiet, lascivious whine echoed between them as his gentle fingertips toyed with her nipple piercing, twirling the titanium rods around in a painfully slow motion.

“The only thing you love is the sound-” Indie’s vindictive words were crudely interrupted by an elated gasp forcing it’s way out from the depths of her throat, as his mischievous fingers flicked against her hardened nipple. Frustrated by his teasing touches, she sunk her two front teeth into the rose-tinted flesh of her bottom lip in a desperate bid to discourage the searing, sensuous heat that was promptly building between her sun-soaked thighs.

“What was that, Squirt?” his taunting, husky voice questioned. Her terracotta eyes had focused themselves on the frayed, princess-printed beach towel that laid flat against the opposing, leather cushions, but she just knew from the blatant mocking in his inflections that an overbearing, pompous beam had plastered itself across stubble-lined features. This only enraged the dainty, sour-tongued virago further.

“The only thing you-” she began again, her tone significantly lower, resembling more of a resentful and infuriated growl. However, her malicious words were once again disrupted by a second high-pitched, pleasure-filled gasp as the calloused tip of his thumb flicked against her excited nipple once again and his sumptuous, massaging motions became increasingly more rigorous. As valiant as they were, her efforts to smother the lustful heat emanating from between her now clamped together thighs were futile - as her scant bikini bottoms dampened with desire.

Feeling the drenched material clinging against the exposed skin of this muscular thighs, JJ’s audacious fingertips retreated from the comforting shelter of her bikini top. Painstakingly slow and ever so lightly, he traced the concave outline of her hour-glass figure until he reached the soaking wet haven of her bikini bottoms. His chapped, beer-laced lips found a sweet spot nestled within the crook of her neck and began their salacious assault, as his work-worn palms allowed themselves to forcefully slip between the crack in her love-marked thighs. JJ proceeded to prise them apart with an authoritative touch of pressure, having her spread her bare, sun-drenched legs so he had full and unrestricted access to her gloriously sodden core.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he informed in his trademark, throaty tone - although he knew in his bones she wouldn’t; Indie Routledge had gone seven days without his tantalising, expert touch and her svelte, slightly-toned body was evidently just as touch-starved as his own.

Slipping his ring-clad finger beneath the utterly soaked fabric of her bikini bottoms, he ran a teasing stripe along her dampened folds - drawing a long, lecherous moan from the back of her throat. His sharpened teeth grazed against the now mauve-tinged patch of skin as his thumb found her acutely sensitive bud of nerves. He worked a, gentle at first, series of figure eight motions against her swollen clit, enticing a melodic symphony of pleasure-filled purrs and whines from between her slightly parted lips. With each passing second, his masterful motions grew rougher and more abrupt.

Pushing the juice-soaked fabric entirely to the side, he lathered both his middle and ring finger in her pearl-like nectar before thrusting them into her yearning warmth. Instinctively, Indie clamped her dainty palm across her mouth, muffling the emphatic, enraptured moans that soon followed his fast-paced thrusts. JJ abandoned his rhythmic figure eight motions as he focused solely on thrusting his fingers deep and hard into her dripping core - expertly curling them up against her delicate pleasure point. Her voluptuous hips rocked in synchronisation with his rapid momentum, the cool metal of his rings contrasting against the sweltering heat of her pussy.

Squeezing her clouded, cinnamon eyes shut, Indie released a barrage of sinful expletives and high-pitched moans into the safety of her clasped hand. She could feel the beginnings of her much-anticipated high building in the pit of her stomach as the already tight walls of her soaking pussy contracted around his stubby fingers. With a pleased-with-himself smile still contorting his sunburnt complexion, his thumb returned to it’s previous salacious cycle of pressing rigorous circular motions against her delicate rose bud. Her lubed-up walls clamped hard around his silver signet ring and he took this as his cue to hastily retreat from her warmth.

“Don’t you dare,” she whimpered at the sudden loss of contact - fury detectable in her strained, stringent tone. A low, tormenting laugh vibrated from the depths of his vocal chords as he nectar-drenched fingers drew cursive patterns against her inner thighs.

Minutes dragged by as his hazy, teal eyes watched her heaving chest regain it’s gentle composure, before plunging his two long and stubby fingers back into the depths of her still soaking core. Indie’s head subconsciously threw itself backwards - resting against the burly broads of his shoulders - as his pace quickened with each vigorous thrust. JJ’s calloused thumb found her swollen clit once more, reprising his previous cycle of sensuous figure eight motions alongside his momentous thrusts. Salacious moans continued to spill from between her chapstick-coated lips as she allowed his free hand to guide her seductive curves into a synchronised rocking - forcibly meeting against the juice-soaked balls of his knuckles. Once again, the rigid clamping of her core’s warm and nectar-stained walls around his masterful fingers triggered JJ’s hasty retreat - still sporting the imperious smirk which Indie had come to loathe with a searing passion.

“I hate you,” she spat, overwhelmingly frustrated. Taking charge of the unfolding situation, Indie’s lavender-painted fingertips tensed around his bracelet-clad wrist - dragging his loosely clenched fist back between the hickey-painted plains of her inner thighs.

“If you hate me, you wouldn’t want me doing this, would you?” his gravelly, sardonic tone tormented as his juice-stained fingers found themselves thrusting themselves vigorously back into the warm depths of her forbidden fruit. With great difficulty, she suppressed the raucous whines and elated moans which clawed desperately at the back of her throat as she indulged herself in the lascivious contact between them. Several sloppy, rigid plunges had her yearning, touch-starved centre clenching tightly around his fist for a third time. JJ - once again - attempted to deny the cinnamon-haired hellcat her release; however, her juice-stained thighs reacted much quicker than he could and clamped themselves together - trapping his teasing fingers within her sodden core. She was desperate for a release.

“Alright, you win, pretty girl,” JJ cooed into her ear, a deep laugh resonating through the salt-laced, mid-ocean air. Cautiously, her thighs relaxed their rigid hold around his bruised-covered fist and allowed his dauntless fingertips to ease back into their fast-paced thrusts. Within seconds, Indie was bordering on the edge of her orgasm for a fourth time; her hankering walls fell into a desirous cycle of clenching and un-clenching around his juice-covered knuckles in anticipation of the euphoric high she had been craving all week and her lecherous whines filled the oppressive, muggy air surrounding them. One set of ballerina-shaped fingernails dug themselves into the burly flesh of his thigh as the other carelessly sunk into the clammy palm of her hand - her dainty fist contracted into a tight ball as she bit down into the tanning-oil-covered flesh in a successful attempt to silence her pleasure-filled screams.

“Fuck, I wanna feel that tight pussy clenching around my dick so bad,” the shaggy-haired blonde let out a carnal groan - his chapped lips capturing hers in a steamy, lascivious kiss. Everything about their raunchy embrace was sloppy, needy and unchaste as his large, sweat-riddled palms guided her enticing hips so that they faced his. Her petite knees sat either side of his shirtless, athletic silhouette - trapping him beneath her aching, eager pussy.

“Mhmm?” Indie taunted with a sultry hum, her plump, luscious lips remaining in a salacious synchrony with his. Grinding her nectar-soaked heat against the very tip of his hardened dick, she felt his pulsing length continuing to grow as it strained uncomfortably against the unforgiving fabric of his swim shorts. Her desperate fingertips combed through the tousled waves of his fair locks, tugging carelessly on the straw-like ends.

“Mhmm,” JJ struggled to responded, his hormone-focused brain transfixed on the euphoric sensation of her damp, clothed pussy rubbing against his dick.

“Too bad, pretty boy,” she purred against her earlobe, her tone swiftly transforming from one thick with desire and lust to one laced with bitterness and revulsion, “you better sort yourself out before John B sees.” Adapting his harsh words from the previous week, she spoke with the same causticity and sourness - completely removing her scandalously-clad figure from his yearning grasp. An acidic scowl contorted her bronzed, doll-like features as her darkened, sorrel eyes bore into his unphased.

“What the fuck?” he questioned with an un-amused groan, completely perplexed by her abruptly sudden turn of mood. His still cum-drenched hand reached out to coil around her dainty wrist and coax her back into his welcoming lap - however, as his ring-cladded fingertips clasped onto her, she snatched herself from his grasp with a cold and impassive stare. “What is the matter with you, huh?” his now highly-frustrated tone pushed for anything resembling an explanation, “you’ve been one hell of a bitch all week and it’s wearing pretty fucking thin, India.”

“Did you just call me-” the utter shock of his use of her government name stopped her from finishing her exclamation - the venom-filled, rage-fuelled words getting caught in the back of her throat. Her bare, exposed chest heaved with jagged breaths as she struggled to contain her anger; JJ Maybank had never - not once - ever referred to her as India in the eight years that he had known her, until now. Indie’s cheeks flushed an enraged rouge, as did the tops of her ears, as she finally reached her boiling point. “Do you know what, Jesse James? You’re a real piece of shit. Fuck you, and your one inch wonder. I’m done with you and whatever this is.”

“This,” JJ gestured between the two of them with his forefinger, “isn’t anything. You’re just a smart-mouthed little girl seeking out attention that she can’t handle, and I’m not fucking entertaining it anymore.”

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716 notes · View notes

sorryimanon · 4 years

Text

Character: Katsuki Bakugou

Parings: Bakugou x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, characters are in their third year.

Word Count: 5.4K

The two honor students of UA so happen to be childhood enemies. During the succession that is exams, Y/N is determined to beat Bakugou.

Exam season has commenced on the campus of U.A. Students woke up in a frenzied state, slightly nervous to the late night studying they’ll endure for the weeks to come. Not enough caffeine can energize them to be in complete motivation mode. A couple of students have taken the leisure of paying those to exchange notes, considering most of the questions will be going over every little detail in each subject. The exams don’t begin till next week, but a few of the honor students have already hit the books, not once indulging in a break or two till the sun sets. One of those students just so happen to be you, an inspiring young hero with the hunger for being on top of everything. Ever since middle school, teachers would constantly praise you on your performance during tests. It was no surprise to anyone when you aced the entrance exam to U.A, a remarkable score leading you closer to reaching your dream. Although your scores on every test was superb, someone else would occasionally steal the spotlight with by topping your score. That person in particular has been tailing behind you ever since middle school, another honor student who also attends U.A as well. Did you mention he also is in the same hero course as you?

Katsuki Bakugou is his name. A name that burns the tip of your tongue whenever you gave roll call alongside Iida. The man is a ball of pure fury. He exuded nothing but anger and hostility whenever he’s in a room. Despite his aggressive exterior, Katsuki is an avid academic student who manages to score excellent grades in each of his classes. For the past 3 years of attending U.A, you two are considered the star studded scholars, never once failing a test, midterm, pop quiz , you name it! Now with your hero course almost coming to an end, you were determined to at least score the highest result this exam season, leaving Bakugou in the dust with his inadequate score. Maybe have him crying in the corner would suffice the drawn out rivalry you two established. No one verbally said it was an all out war between you two, but everytime those test results are posted on the board, everyone steered clear for the both of you to silently react. Everyone awaits for the day when one of you finally snaps and start clawing at each other. But alas, only the mere exchange of a side eye and a curt nod. Deep down you do want to slap the smirk that always resides on his face during those moments, showing him you weren’t just going to let him win by smarts.

That’s why now you sit alone on the cushioned couch in the commons area, books sprawled around you like a protective barrier. You had your eyes glued to a textbook about the history of quirks and their physiology, a class in which you needed to spend studying the most for. It’s been a a few hours into your little study session, and you were beginning to feel the drag of how much you needed to actually work on. All this including your current homework and your mandatory internship studies at an agency. It was all too much to handle. So, maybe you do deserve a break.

Pushing the book aside, you stretched out your cramped up arms and sigh in relief. In the corner of your eye you spot a familiar head of ashy blonde walking into the commons room, books and notebooks crammed into his armpit while holding what seems to be an energy drink. Your eye twitched watching him plop down onto the couch across from you, never once paying attention to your presence. Katsuki then rests his bare feet on the wooden coffee table, opening one of his textbooks with the swipe of his thump. For some odd reason, this really riled you up. And it was clear Katsuki noticed too.

“Am I bothering you? Hm?” He smugly asked, eyes not wavering from the text before him.

You scoffed.

“No. Just, don’t speak while I’m trying to study okay?”

He clicked his tongue at you.

“Doesn’t seem like you’re studying to me. Looks like you’ve given up already. What gives?”

His comment made you even angrier.

“Given up? Kacchan, you’ve barely started.”

Looking up, you can see a faint vein forming against the temple of his forehead. His fists clenched tightly, crumpling the sides of the textbook. His eyes now were averted to yours. The crimson death glare, you’d call it.

“I was training with Kirishima, dumbass. So of course I couldn’t hop onto my studies earlier,” he started. Katsuki opens his energy drink with one finger, the pop of the air leaving the can satisfying to your ears, and took a swing of it. “Also, don’t ever fucking call me that. If I hear it from your mouth again I won’t hesitate to use my quirk on you.”

An intriguing idea. Usually you’d be the one to threaten your enemy, but Katsuki like always beat you to the punch.

“No thanks, I’d rather be harassed by grape juice than be blasted from the likes of you,” the taunt in your voice triggered something within Katsuki, causing him to tense up in pure anger. “Besides, I’m planning on studying all day till my eyes fall out. So don’t expect me to leave this spot.”

His smirk was soon on full display, uncrossing his legs to lean forward so he can rest his elbow on his knee.

“Oh really? Just so you know we have an early training tomorrow in preparation for our final exam. Wouldn’t want ya to, cha know, fail?” He didn’t even sound slightly concern for yourself and your future study habits, you can tell he wishes for you to fuck up your sleeping schedule to miss the important training in the morning.

“I have an alarm set on my phone so I don’t miss my beauty rest. Wouldn’t want to pass up the opportunity of kicking your ass tomorrow,” you held your mobile device triumphantly, waving it back and forth to mock him.

With the roll of his eyes, Katsuki returned back to his studies, leaving you to sadly resume as well. Before he entered the commons area, you were about to head into your dorm room to take a nap, but now you were obligated to stay put without letting him think you’re already burnt out.

Silently, you both continued on with the unspoken competition.

Evening struck quicker than you expected, cascading the soft glow of the painted sky through the windows, illuminating both you Katsuki in a pink hue. Thankfully, Katsuki took your words into consideration and never spoke to you during the session, giving you an easy feeling of relaxation without him making it another competition.

Already you finished your notes for advance foreign language, quirk physiology, and mathematics. So far, you were ahead of everyone else, with the exception of Katsuki. Occasionally, you’d catch yourself glancing over at him working intensively in his small corner, highlighting and jotting down every minuscule detail in his notebook. This was your first time witnessing how Katsuki studies. To your disappointment, his regime was nothing out of the ordinary. Then how the fuck does he manage to score high grades? It simply baffled you.

A stampede of footsteps was to be heard coming from the hallway leading to the commons area. After what seems to be years, you cranked your head away from your notebook to see Kirishima and the rest of the gang marching towards the direction of both you and Katsuki, who was currently shooting daggers at the group of friends. The red head was the first to speak out of the four of them.

“Aye Bakubro! Wanna skip the studying for a little and eat with us at NoodleShop?” His smile gleamed brightly, showcasing his shark incisors.

“Y/N you too! Come join us. I’ll pay!” Mina chimed in.

Noodles sounded pretty appetizing right about now. You skipped out on lunch, too engrossed on the idea of getting a head start for the exams. Now you regret the decision of leaving your stomach on empty.

But you still had so much left to do. And knowing Katsuki’s competitive nature, he wasn’t going to move an inch from his spot.

“It’s okay Mina, I uh- already ate a big meal awhile ago,” you dismissed her, patting your belly to show you were indeed, full.

As if on cue, a loud growl erupted from the depths of your stomach, the noise reverberating across the soundless space. Denki and Sero both snickered.

To your amazement, Katsuki got up from the couch and trailed over to the group, slipping on his red hoodie that was draped on the arm rest. He took a quick glimpse at you and smirked over his shoulder.

“Watch my things for me will ya, extra?” And with that they all left the area as a group.

You huffed in defeat and stared back at your jumbled pile of notes, the writing transcending from neat to sloppy text. At least you don’t have an explosive blonde sharing the same air as you for now. You reached into your bag and grabbed another textbook, this one being more heftier than the others.

“Oh well, more time for studying...” you said to yourself as you skimmed through the pages of Hero First Aid: Volume 6.

The beautiful spring sky soon was replaced by the expanse of darkness, the twinkle of the bright stars catching your eyes. The moon alone helped cast a sheen of light, allowing you to work in the dimly lit up space. Bakugou didn’t return to retrieve his stuff, all of which were sat untouched in a hasty mess. You figure him and the rest of the gang would have been back on campus by now, but everyone in class 1-A have locked themselves in their dorms since lights out will commence in a few. Aizawa has yet to prohibit you from staying past the curfew. As long as you don’t go running among the halls like a lunatic and stay strictly to studying, he’s all game. And that’s exactly what you did.

A couple of students murmured as they passed by you, saying things like “Does she ever have a life” or “All she does is study...no wonder no one has asked her out yet”. As much as the comments sting, you knew they weren’t true to your heart. Last year, someone in class 2-B formally asked you to the dance. To their dismay, you rejected them on the spot. Only because you didn’t have time to date or talk romantically with anyone. It’s a distraction to both your education and future career.

Okay, so maybe they were partially correct. At least you had your first kiss before entering U.A? But the person who stole your kiss was obligated to do so, after being dared by their fellow acquaintances. Nothing more beyond that have you explored with another person.

Submerged in your own thoughts, you didn’t notice the presence of the angry blonde, hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie as he strolled to the couch that had all his materials. He began to gather his things when suddenly he freezes, remembering what you said about not moving an inch from your spot. He’s astonished to see you cemented on the same couch, in the same position, notes blanketing your thighs along with the pile books pooling at the edge.

You really are determined to beat him, he thought. Bakugou can’t deny he’s impressed with your ambition and drive to be the best among your peers, even if that means sacrificing basic human needs. Like food and sleep.

Although, looking at you right now in this state, with your eyes threatening to close shut, mouth slightly agape, and hair bunched up in a tight knot, it’s clear you were exhausted. He spoke without realizing it.

“Hey dumbass! The fuck you still doing here, huh? It’s almost lights out.”

His brooding voice startled you awake, causing the papers on your lap to spill on the carpeted floor. Bakugou coughed out a low chuckle, amused by how the mere sound of his voice scares you.

“Oh it’s just you,” you said, disregarding how that could easily irritate him.

“Yeah, it’s me. Anyway you should be getting rest. You’re smart enough to know that, idiot.”

Even though it was a subtle backhanded compliment, you couldn’t help but to appreciate him acknowledging your intellect.

“I can’t. I have to go over my flash cards for mathematics and then finish this week’s homework for tomorrow—.”

“Holy fucking shit shut up. Don’t you realize what you’re doing to yourself right now?” When you didn’t answer, Bakugou slapped his forehead. “You’re gonna burn yourself out dumbass! Then you won’t have any motivation left to study for when the exams are actually starting.”

Stunned, you watch as Bakugou stomps over to where you’re sitting at, crimson eyes never leaving yours. He then props his leg on the cushion next to your trembling thighs, out stretching his arm to grab ahold of something. Too focused on the proximity between you two, it didn’t register that he swiped your flash cards from your hands. What is wrong with him? Does he want to sabotage you this badly before exams?

“Bakugou! Give those back! I need them for my exam on Monday!” you ignored how whiny you sounded, not wanting to give Katsuki the satisfaction he thinks he deserves.

“You really think whining like a bitch will make me hand these over? Think again, dumb-.”

You cut him off with a surprise attack, shoving his entire body to the ground with the force of yours. Bakugou’s arms were pinned above him as you tried to pry the flash cards from his death grip on them. Stubbornly, he wiggles his body to keep you from reaching his arms, almost knocking you off his torso like a bull. Looking down, both of you were in a compromising position. Straddling his hips while he laid lifelessly underneath you, panting like a feral dog. You tried to keep the heat from spreading throughout your body as you felt his groin rub against your sex, but failed tremendously when he can obviously see the prominent blush creeping on your cheeks.

“What the fuck was that all about?! Why are you so adamant about beating me so much!” He yelled directly in your face.

A question that neither of you knew the answer to. Why were you so determined to destroy Bakugou? Shouldn’t a fellow honor student be happy that another is also making their education a main priority? Or maybe there is another underlying reason, something deeper under the dermis of your skin that you couldn’t quite reach.

You further the distance away from his face by leaning backwards, eventually hitting the front of his thighs and kneecaps.

“You don’t understand. I have to be good at everything. I need this in order to be the hero I’ve been wanting to be. Even if that means neglecting my own needs...” you paused, unsure if Bakugou was even listening anymore. “That is, until you came along and ruined everything.”

“Hah?!” His reaction was incredulous.

“Don’t “Hah” me! It’s been your plan all along since middle school to top me at everything. So why me?!”

“Well maybe it’s because I’ve always looked up to you dumbass! Have you ever considered that!”

The words tumbled out of his throat as if he’s been holding off on the sentiment. Bakugou Katsuki, the abrasive yet studious boy, just so happens to admire you? Never it occurred to you that maybe, just maybe, you also strived to be the absolute best solely because of him. The way he strides into a battle with confidence, not an ounce of doubt that he’ll lose. His diabolical strategies that somehow works out in the end. Or the way how underneath that rough exterior, he believes he’ll be the one left climbing to the top, along with his peers. It’s his sticky pride that kept the rivalry between you two so alive. But was it really a rivalry after all this time?

Eyes widen at the confession, you stay frozen on his lap, fingers bunching up the top half of his hoodie. The silence broke Katsuki. For once, he wanted you to at least admit it, that you were also in the same boat as he is right now. So, he hesitantly reaches out and rests his palm against your flushed face, basking in at your sudden reaction to him touching you.

“Why does everything have to be a competition between us?” His soft spoken voice was uncharacteristic for him, you were so used to his gravelly tone after years of being the victim to it.

You felt the traces of his warm finger tips tickling lines on your outer cheek, as if he’s done this before.

“Isn’t that our dynamic? Competitive enemies?” The comment made him quirk an eyebrow at you.

“Enemies? You were never one in my eyes in the first place...” He trailed off, getting distracted by how close you’ve gotten to his face. To his lips.

“Then, what am I to you?” you leaned in closer, hoping to catch a glimpse of something in his eyes. You took notice that his pupils were dilated, making his eyes darker than usual. The hand rubbing lines on your cheek snaked around behind your head, taking full comfort on the base of your neck. The feeling was quite foreign to you. How long you yearned till days on end for someone to touch you tenderly like this. Especially from someone like Katsuki Bakugou.

“Does this answer your question.” Was all he said before smashing his lips to mount yours, the sudden contact making you shiver in his arms.

You felt him breathe out in surprise against your mouth when you took the initiative by swiping your tongue on his bottom lip. The kiss was exquisitely slow and intense. So intense that Bakugou forgot where he even was at the moment, too engulfed at the texture of your tongue asking for entrance. The fingers digging into the back of your neck started to hurt, but you didn’t mind the pain, the pleasure overwhelming all your senses. You can hear the harsh undertones of his breathing every time you slightly moved the lower half of your body.

“Stop moving, idiot,” he said breathlessly.

He knew he was fucked by seeing the smirk forming on your lips.

“Oh, you mean like this?” You then grind your hips in a harsh motion, relishing in the bashful look on Katsuki’s face.

He let his hands go freely, attaching themselves on both sides of your hips, grounding you to stop altogether. He sat in an upright position, encasing you between his legs and hard chest, your legs wrapping around his torso. Any other time it’d be comforting, but right now you felt like a bird trapped in a cage.

“Who knew the good girl would be so disobedient? Kind of hot not gonna lie.” He bent his head to where it was directly hovering over the sensitive spot on your collarbone. “Even when we’re just making out, you have to make everything a goddamn competition huh?”

A gasp left your throat once his tongue licked a clean strip on the surface. He chuckled, loving the feeling of you squirming in his muscular arms and continued the attack on your skin. His feather-like kisses switched to full on feverish sucking and biting. He proceeded to suck on the area, letting go with a definite ‘pop’, then returned back by making out on the bruised skin.

The combination of his tongue, the death grip on your hip, and the bulge protruding from his loose sweatpants was too much stimulation already. Before you knew it, Katsuki abruptly stood up from the floor, along with you, and placed you back on the plush couch. Your legs were wide open, giving him a good view of your white panties beneath the school skirt. You clamped your legs together after seeing the blonde lick his lips at the sight.

“D-Don’t be such a pervert,” you squeaked out.

That didn’t stop him from slipping his hand in between the crack of your legs, spreading them wider than before.

“Stop lying to yourself. You’ve imagined me between these thighs haven’t you?” The silence following his question was enough to suffice him. “Such a naughty girl.” Those crimson eyes stared straight ahead as he tugged your panties down a notch.

Here?! Right now? Why couldn’t he reside both of you in his dorm? It was literally at the end of the hallway. Plus, the thought of your teacher, Aizawa, catching you would be mortifying.

Your hand quickly latched itself around Katsuki’s forearm, halting him from proceeding his lustrous actions.

“What are you doing?! We could get caught you idiot!”

Katsuki grins and says, “You’re right. We need to find a way to shut you up.” Without preamble, he practically ripped the thin panties with sheer ferocity, causing you to yelp. You were about to scold him for ruining your favorite pair when said panties got shoved into your open mouth. “Remember, don’t want to get us caught right? Now be the good girl like you are and stay quiet for me.” Obediently you nodded at his order and prayed that whatever he’s going to do to you won’t be too much.

Katsuki hummed, obviously pleased at how well you’re going along with this. He wonders how far you’ll go till you break. With the swipe of his tongue, Katsuki dragged it up and down on the opening of your drenched sex. You mewled at the new sensation, legs already trembling as he his own salvia covered your folds. He bit and nibbled on the sweet spot, the clit, and lapped a few lazy strokes with his pointer finger in circular motions. Before you could stop him, he inserted the lubricant finger into your hole slowly, pumping it a couple of times to get you loosened up. Muffled moans perked up the ears of Katsuki. Looking up, he saw the beautiful sight of your eyes rolled behind your head along with the familiar tint of red on your cheeks. Just like the secretive slut you truly are, you swayed your hips to create more friction. Katsuki acknowledged your needy movements and dipped his head between your legs again, returning back to kissing your sex open mouthed. The lewd noises of him sucking on your wetness elicited a long drawn out moan from you, making Katsuki’s own cock twitch at the glorious sound.

“You’re so fucking cute like this. Almost coming from just my tongue and fingers. Fucking slut,” he said between suctions. “God, what were we thinking...we could’ve just resolved our issues like this every time.”

You grabbed a handful of his spiked up hair and raised his head away from your lower region. While doing so, you spit out the soaked clothed panty from your mouth, letting it drift off to the floor.

“Just s-shut up and do something about m-me,” you manage to croak out. You flicked your eyes on Katsuki and to the hand buried inside your skirt.

“Ah, want more than just my fingers? Could’ve just said so. Why are you being so quiet with your needy demands, babe?”

This newfound nickname plucked a heart sting within you. You shook off his snarky comment and stood up from the couch. If it’s a competition he wants, then it’s a competition he’ll get.

“Take off your pants and sit on the couch.”

Craning his head back, his own roar of a laughter bounced across the quiet room. Laughter dying down, his expression changed seeing how serious you actually were.

“Tch. Whatever you say dumbass. Don’t want you to explode on me now.”

He did as you said and removed the article of clothing, leaving him in nothing but his red boxer briefs. The bulge grew bigger the longer you stared at it. He laid back on the plush cushion and rested his arms behind his head.

“Alright, I’m waiting Y/N,” he taunted you.

One by one, you unbutton your school uniform and let it fall off your shoulders, along with your plaid skirt pooling at your ankles. Arms crossed on your chest you tower over Katsuki, who was surprisingly not staring at your goods, but your eyes. Beckoning you forward with his glare, you straddle him immediately, hands resting on his broad shoulders.

My, all these years of being in the same class and never once did you take advantage of appreciating how chiseled he looked in his hero costume. Sometimes you’d glance his way or pretend to be busy, but really, you wanted to see him in action. The way how his muscles would contract with each swing or punch. It was enough to make a girl swoon. Now you were swooning for sure. On his lap to be precise.

“Oi, you gonna do something nerd? My cock isn’t going to finish off itself.” His voice snapped you back to reality.

It took a few minutes, but you were finally hovering over the tip of his throbbing member, the glistening of his pre-cum coating your fingers. You teased him by rubbing just the tip against your entrance, lubricating the member even more. He tried to muffle his whines, but failed tremendously after feeling his tip graze your sex. Both of you were heavily now, anticipation radiating off of your sweaty bodies. Tenderly, you kissed him open mouth while sheathing yourself on his cock.

“Holy shit, holy fuck fuck fuck,” the vulgar words spilled from his mouth against yours as you bottomed out. You stayed in that position. Still unsure what to do and what you got yourself into. Pretty sure you’re torturing Katsuki by the minute.

“F-Fucking move," He growled in your ear.

Leaning in closer you whisper, “You have to beg for it then.” You nibbled the loose skin on the bottom of his ear and tugged it gently.

“Hell no! God-fucking-damnit don’t make this a competition right now Y/N.” The palm of his abnormally large hand pushed your face away from his. You giggled.

“C’mon Bakugou, there’s no harm in it. Just say please?”

“Fuck you shitty woman...”

“That’s not begging,” you pouted.

He pursed his lips. Bakugou admittedly is getting more turned on by the minute, and not just because you were practically inside him.

“P-Please fucking move. I w-want you to fuck me so bad you have no idea. Please Y/N...”

Smiling, you raised your hips to where the veins on the side of his member scraped the walls within you. It made your cunt twitch in pure ecstasy. Slowly, you lowered yourself back down, only this time you weren’t stagnant. You repeated the same vertical movements, clashing your hips with his. Bakugou titled his head back on the couch, degrading sentiments leaving his mouth as his hands grasped the sweaty flesh of your ass, squeezing it harshly every time you bounced on his dick. The tip of his member taking your breath away as it prodded the spongy walls.

“Yes- oh fuck yes. Ngh, keep doing that. Yeah like that. Hah-fuck, don’t stop,” he said between the constant panting.

Due to your rapid bouncing, your boobs were flailing in the air, occasionally hitting Bakugou in the face. Katsuki took matters into his own hands and latched his mouth around one of your perked nipples. You squealed at the sudden sensation.

“B-Bakugou...don’t do that...it’ll make me come faster,” you moaned as he grazed his teeth on your taut nipple.

For revenge, he tugged back the areola till it reached a few centimeters from your chest. Painful yes, but you couldn’t deny it felt amazing. He quickly let go and returned to sucking on the tit, lathering it up with his own spit. All the while you were riding him till the muscles and tendons in your legs gave out. Steadying your hands on his shoulders, you grounded on your knees to give yourself a better leverage. Feeling touch starved, Bakugou shoved your hands from his shoulders and laced his fingers between them. Like a missing puzzle piece, you fit in perfectly with him. Everything about you was perfection. You defined it. Sitting here watching as you take him well, physically or not, he was completely enamored by the mere sight of you. He craned his head to brush just the tip of your nose. A nose he unmistakably mentally captured because he loved the feature so much.

Although, he couldn’t think straight after that once you bottomed out again and rolled your hips in tune to his panting. You made a mess out of the aggressive blonde. Each time you swayed your body to the side he’d grunt out a low moan, trying to contain his usual loud profanities from waking up your classmates. Bakugou reached down and teasingly rubbed the sensitive bud, getting revenge for all the times you’ve pissed him off. Under your breath, you moaned out his last name.

“Say my name,” he grunted, hands continuing to expertly work on you from below.

Confused, you obeyed and moaned, “Bakugou!”

Suddenly, a painful sting sparked throughout your lower back. Eyes glued shut due to the searing pain, you whimper feeling a calloused hand smooth over the spot on your ass.

Katsuki spanked you. And you liked it.

“My actual name, dumbass. I wanna hear it coming from your mouth.”

With a thrust, you continue moving up and down on his cock, never once missing a beat.

“K-...Katsuki. Katsuki-Katsuki...” his name sounded ethereal, as if he was a higher being.

Katsuki returned the favor and fisted your hair in a tight knot, your scalp screaming at how harsh he was pulling.

“That’s a good girl.”

With a playful slap to your behind, Katsuki roughly shoves you to mount his lips again. Lips parted, both of your tongues twisted against each other, sharing a decent amount of saliva. He slipped out and pecked your lips a few times before biting down on your bottom lip. It didn’t hurt like all the times he inflicted pain on you previously. But this time you swore you felt the trickle of blood trailing down to your chin. The coppery taste infiltrating your taste buds only increased your arousal. What a masochist.

Bakugou noticed the pacing of your movements decreasing, indicating you are already feeling worn out, and steadied his hands onto your hips.

“Just let me do the work here, dumbass,” he said as he thrusted sharply into your womb, causing you to whimper into his neck. “I’ll take good care of you. You deserve a break from studying after all.”

You woke up feeling dizzy and fatigued, body aching from your toes to your head. From what you can remember, you were in the middle of studying when...

Katsuki happened.

Then you realized you weren’t in the commons area anymore. Somehow, you were laying in a medium sized bed, covers strewn over your naked body, along with a muscular arm draped across your torso. To your side you can see a passed out Katsuki snoring quietly into his pillow. Even when he’s asleep, he still looks angry.

Jolting upright, you carefully pry his arm from your body. No prevail. He’s got a strong hold on you.

He shuffled in his sleep and tightened his grip around you.

“Mmm...not leaving...stay a little longer,” he mumbled.

You rolled your eyes. “We both can’t walk out of your dorm in the morning. People will get suspicious of us. Not to mention Aizawa,” you retorted back.

“Oh? Don’t like the idea of ‘us’ huh? That’s not what you said last night.”

You didn’t need to look to know he was wearing his infamous shit eating smirk.

“Shut up.”

For the first time you heard Katsuki genuinely laugh without forcing it. You looked over and saw his eyes wide open now, staring at nothing but you.

“Whatever, you love me Y/N.”

“I DO NOT!”

Grabbing your face with his rough hands, he pressed a tender kiss to your lips.

“Go to fucking sleep nerd, we have a pre-exam in a few hours.”

(You can obviously tell I got lazy at the end LMFAO. This has been in my drafts for a LONG time. Also, this isn’t edited so please excuse the horrendous text that is this post. Xoxo)

#bakugou smut #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou headcanons #bakugou imagine #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #bnha bakugou

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sokkagatekeeper · 3 years

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there have been many misinterpretations of the way zuko annoys his way into sokka’s quest to the boiling rock but i believe one of the reasons zuko insists on going with sokka even though sokka is five seconds away from trying to kick his ass into the sun is that zuko doesn’t want to die anymore.

it does seem conterproductive given the reasons he doesn’t want sokka to go alone is because 1) it’s most likely to end in death or another painful alternative, and 2) zuko does not want sokka to die or face other painful alternatives. it is obviously because zuko is very kind and brave that he offers sokka his company, however taking into account the little time he spends trying to convince sokka not to go at all i believe the sort of unconscious motivator for zuko to be so on-board with the entire thing and inserting himself in it so quickly and is that he kinda sees himself in sokka, not only in the aspect of chasing redemption, but in the aspect of chasing an almost unreachable redemption. when sokka tells zuko he needs to “regain his honor” and zuko echoes the word honor and tells sokka that he gets it, well. he also gets what it’s like to be willing to die if it means he’ll make up for one mistake.

don’t get me wrong, sokka does a more than excellent job in hiding his death wish throughout the series somehow despite being quite blatant his jokes being merely a way of coping with his own mortality. but zuko, who has been hating himself for two books and a half, is not easily fooled. i do not know how deep zuko’s knowledge went on sokka’s guilt and martyrdom intentions but he sure noticed sokka was not having a great time after the invasion, namely more than aang or katara or toph did. and namely because zuko also sort of lost during the invasion – it’s just that he doesn’t hate himself over his failings against his father anymore.

now, hakoda has been a factor that caused sokka to act irrationally in the past, when he left ba sing se and the invasion plans to katara of all people in order to meet with him after so many years, and when you think about it sokka is not wrong exactly — it was a mistake that he made on the day of the invasion, but let’s be realistic. abandoning the group and infiltrate an enemy high-security prison all alone in order to find and free his father that might not even be there at all, is foolish and irrational and impulsive and nothing like sokka’s previous plans or his extra careful nature. sokka is not looking for redemption, he’s looking for punishment.

the boiling rock serves zuko’s redemption as much as the firebending masters and the southern raiders do, and it is as much a semi-redemption for him as much as it is for sokka at least from their own perspectives. but up until a few episodes ago his idea of redemption had been capturing the avatar. zuko had been putting and getting himself out of the stupidest, most dangerous situations possible out of desperation, he had been forcing himself to be a person that he could never be, at his very core, because of one mistake he beat himself over and over again whenever he overperformed a ruthlessness that choked him without him even realizing it.

when sokka says “it was my idea, it was my decision to stay when things were going wrong, it was my mistake and it’s my job to fix it” zuko can also hear himself “it was my idea, it was my decision to speak up when they explicitly told me not to, it was my mistake and it’s my job to fix it”. zuko has some way to go in his redemption and recovery still but he has gotten over his guilt, he has gotten over his self-hatred. sokka’s mistake was a serious one but it cannot be fixed the way sokka is trying to, and zuko’s mistake had been coming for a long time. it’s the guilt over being human instead of the fearless commanding leaders and perfect sons they believed they should be, that makes sokka so sympathetic to zuko, and motivates him to be a sort of support system for sokka as he figures out what zuko struggled so hard with but eventually understood. he wants sokka to understand forgiveness towards himself as well.

#sokka #zuko #zukka #zukka interactions overanalysis time!!!!!!!!!!!!!#tho it's not an overanalysis it's in the text. but i digress #analysis #n #dustbowl dance mumford&sons #< kinda #no id #ugh zuko rlly saw one cute boy who happened to be depressed and he was like “i can fix him”#and then he did!!!!!!#JustLikeSuki #i guess sokka just has that effect on people #so many emotionally expressive idealists falling for sokka... comes with being a fixable brooding teen boy i guess #i've said it before and i'll say it again sokka is The Perfect Man #sokkas kms complex

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djarinbarnes · 4 years

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Nothing Personal - Dave York (2/2)

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

summary: after finding out data from the CIA’s security sector has been stolen, the Director finds you to be the perfect fit to find out who the mole inside the office is.

pairings: Dave York x female reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: 18+ smut, minor spoilers from The Equalizer 2, mentions of blood, character death,

a/n: here’s part two!!!! let me know how you liked this! It was so fun to write, and I really appreciate the feedback on the first part!

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

part one

The next few months passes in a blur between stolen glances and frequent hookups at your apartment during the twilight of the night. There had been no useful leads in the case, and one of the only things keeping you in the affair with York, was the director.

“Something is leading me to believe that it is him. Y/N give him one more month. If there’s no more useful leads, you’re free to end whatever the two of you are doing. Remember to keep your heart out of this. We don’t need unnecessary drama here.”

All of a sudden, brief talks with the director were the new normal for you. One more thing that was the new normal was Dave getting more handsy with you than you would have liked him to be. Yet you found yourself enjoying it. A lot.

By the end of said month, there was something comfortable about the reassurance his persona gave you, and you found yourself slowly falling for the man, even though your orders were clearer than day. Keep your heart out of it.

Slowly, you found yourself unable to do just that. With all the flowers he’d been giving you, the gifts, his time. And the pleasure. Sweet, sinful pleasure. You had no idea that a man was able to fuck like that.

You quickly realized that you were giving Dave everything his wife wasn’t. You found yourself getting lost within the pleasure he was supplying, easily giving into him and letting him do whatever he wanted with you.

You found out what he liked and how he liked it, his favorite positions and his wettest dreams. Whatever deems necessary. You found yourself indulged in things you’d never imagined; positions you didn’t even know existed and unsuccessfully trying your best to tire out the libido of a starved man.

And tiring out the libido of Dave York was a challenge. He was insatiable. You’d both agreed that you wouldn’t dare fuck in the office, but the parking garage during lunch break was apparently an exception.

The pressure on your clit was jarring, the thrusts of his hips raucous in the small confinements of the backseat of his car. Your whimpers and moans were muffled by your hand, your teeth digging into the soft flesh just under your thumb to further silence yourself. The parking garage was only that private.

“Just need to fucking have you, at all times…” his voice was strained, his hands gripping your hips tightly, his thrusts increasing in pace. The groans spilled from his lips as you arched your back further, making his cock hit at just the right angle inside of you.

“Fuck, baby, get on top,” He groans as he pulls out of you, sitting down on the seat he was previously kneeling on. You shift and swing your knee over his thighs, straddling his hips before sinking back down onto his cock. “That’s it...”

You moan out when he’s fully sheathed inside of you, his hands gripping and pulling your cheeks apart slightly as you start to move on top of him. You quiver in his arms, your climax building rapidly in your belly. He scoots his hips just a little bit further out on the seat, and it gives you a much better angle to ride him.

“God damn it.” He shudders underneath you, and you relish in the sound of his groans and the squelching noises coming from where the two of you are connected. Your whimpers are triggered by the rapid snap of his hips combined with the movement of your hips.

“Fuck, Dave,” you moan out as he keeps the pace, along with keeping the movement of your hips going. A string of fuck leaves your lips as you feel yourself nearing your tipping point before you’re falling over the edge, your cunt violently convulsing around his length.

“Fuck, that’s it baby…” he groans into your collarbone, only slightly bared by the dress shirt he’s managed to pull off your shoulder. You dig your nails into his shoulders as he keeps moving you, dragging out your orgasm further, making you see stars.

“Fuck, where do you want it?” It’s merely a whisper, his hand pulling your head to his, foreheads resting against one another while he’s trying his best to keep his orgasm at bay. You found out the second time you were together that he absolutely despised condoms, and since you were both clean and you were on the pill, you both didn’t seem to bother anymore.

“Fuck, inside, give it to me!” you throw your head back and his lips attach themselves to the underside of your chin as he comes, his breaths ragged against your skin, his hands tightening on the plump cheek of your ass.

You both come down reluctantly, not wanting to give up the moment you both found yourself in. His fingers tipped your head down, his lips attaching themselves to yours, his tongue slowly sliding over your bottom lip, emitting a giggle from you.

Belgium.

It had been just a few days since you had arrived, and what a few days it had been. Between the suspected murder-suicide of one of the agencies’ affiliates and his wife and the murder of one of your colleagues, you finally had reason to believe York had something to do with it.

Even though you had been in bed with him and attached to his hip for most of the week you had been in Brussels investigating, everything slowly started adding up. Although it just didn’t sit right with you.

You had seen so much in your time, but the stab wound between Susan’s ribs was so expertly placed you knew it had to be someone with expertise and knowledge. And also, the fact that she had been killed while Dave was out to bring you lunch and the Belgian chocolate that he had promised you.

Now you just needed the information from the bug. And it came shortly after your return to the United States. From the director herself, in a direct distress call to your phone.

He’s here. He’s come alone. He’s figured me out.

Your heart was pounding as you sped towards her mansion, hands shaking so bad you were afraid you were going to swivel off the road. You had never been in a situation like this, and you found yourself slightly panicking over everything that could go wrong.

He could know it’s me. He’ll shoot me upon entry. He’s already killed the director.

You turned your car off a few yards away from her house, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to yourself. You relished in the happiness of him coming alone to the directors’, so you wouldn’t have to take down more men than necessary.

You kicked your shoes off in the grass of her garden and slowly approached the door she had left open for you for an easy and stealthy access to her house. You made your way into the quiet house, the lights dimmed way more than you would’ve liked.

You had your gun in your hand, the security on the Glock cocked off. You raised the gun when you heard a slight commotion, before strained voices made their way to your ears. You stealthily moved between the shadows of her furniture.

The director was sitting again the wall of her living room, hands tied in front of her, with the lifeless body of her husband beside her. You were thankful she had marbled floors that didn’t creak as you stepped over the stones barefoot.

“You see director, you’re the only one in my way as of this moment.” You recognized his voice immediately. You could recognize it anywhere by now, since you’d gotten so used to it. It had been so many months since you first had him in your bed.

“Susan would have figured out the motive of that double murder within days. So, naturally, I had to get rid of her.” A few minutes passed in silence as you awaited his next move.

“I figured out what game you’re playing.” You heard the director whimper, making your heart beat faster in your chest. “Trying to distract me while you investigate?” You heard the sound of Velcro, which made you furrow your brows as you stood in the darkness of her house. Her muffled voice reached your ears.

“Who’s your acquaintance?!” you heard him raise his voice before the sound of skin slamming against skin echoed through the halls. He ripped the duct tape off her lips, making her cry out. You flinch slightly when you hear her strained voice, insisting that she didn’t know what he was talking about.

You leaned forward just a bit, finally getting a glimpse of him. He was in all black, crouched in front of the director, her lip now split and a visible bruise showing up on her cheekbone. You noticed the gun with the silencer on lying beside him as he twisted his hands together, trying to get the director to talk.

You stepped out of the shadows, making your presence known to the director. You watched as she visibly relaxed yet keeping your arrival a secret. You make your way toward them slowly, keeping your ears perked for anything that could give you away and for what he was saying to the director.

“Is it her? Huh?” you watched as the director’s eyes widened, his hand coming up to strike her across the face again. “That agent, the one you convinced to fuck me for information?” The back of his hand makes contact with her cheek and she cries out a no.

“So you’re trying to tell me a young, attractive agent with her morals in check from one day to the other is suddenly interested in me? Interested in fucking me? Willing to screw over my family?!” He hits her again and you scrunch up your face at the sound, cringing at the assault you’re witnessing.

“Screwing over your family over was your own doing.” The director spit out a mouthful of blood, challenging him even further to keep him oblivious to your presence. “She’s a tough girl. Admires you. She might even love you.”

The sound of his laughter filled your ears, but it wasn’t like the laughter you were used to. This one was harsh. Mocking, almost. “Love?” He snorted, his head falling slightly before he brought it up again. “If she loves me, I feel bad for her. She doesn’t deserve it.”

Did you? Did you love him? Yeah. You did. Even though it was hard to determine at this point. It was hard to keep your feelings in check, no matter what your mission had been. You watched as he repositioned himself, picking the gun off the floor and pointing it to the director’s forehead.

“You know director… I’ve liked working for you. Especially the time before you turned into a stuck-up bitch.” You watch as he tilts his head before rising to his feet. The aim of your gun follows him as he straightens his back. You raise your aim slightly.

“Ellen…” you hear Dave speak again, watching as he weighs the gun in her hand, towering over her. He takes the aim, and you step closer to him. There aren’t more than a few feet between the two of you. “This is nothing personal.”

“No.” You finally speak up, watching as his shoulders visibly tense up, before he turns to you. You watch as the color drains from his face as you make eye contact over the cocked gun. “It’s not.”

The shot echoes through the living room, along with the heavy thud sounding as his lifeless body falls to the floor. A few moments pass before you step over him and free the director, gently brushing your fingers over the bruise on her cheek, helping her to her feet. You lean down to feel her husband’s neck, finding a faint pulse before giving the director a nod.

There’s a pool of blood spreading on the white marble of the director’s floor, and you wince at the sight of him. “I’m sorry it had to end like this.” You crouch in front of Dave’s body, pressing a kiss to your fingers before laying them against his parted ones. “I really did love you.”

With a heavy sigh and tears burning in your eyes, you walk up to the director and grasp her face in your hands. You brush your thumbs over her teary cheeks, her eyes clearly startled by the situation she was just in.

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

#dave york #Dave York x you #Dave York x reader #dave york gifs #Pedro Pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x you #the equalizer 2

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wlntrsldler · 4 years

Text

Flawless (Bucky Barnes Imagine)

Prompt: Bucky and Y/N are friends with benefits. They found a new thing to play with in the bedroom. The Winter Soldier.

Song Inspiration: Flawless by The Neighbourhood

Warnings: SMUT!!!!!!! only 18+ please. don’t read if you’re uncomfortable w rough sex.

MAIN MASTERLIST

The whole arrangement had never been innocent, not even from the start. It was toxic.

Y/N hated the way this new society aimlessly threw the word “toxic” around when none of them truly knew the real definition of the dirty word. Toxic wasn’t just running back to the guy you told your friends you’ve cut off. No, toxic wasn’t just that.

Toxic was reciting those trigger words, ten, little, poisonous words, that ignites a monster inside someone she had no business even being around. It was the feeling of absolute adrenaline that she felt when she heard the squeaks of his metal arm, the grunting coming from his pursed lips, and the evil twinkle in his eye. They knew this was dangerous. They were playing with fire that could leave them burned and their arrangement in ashes but they didn’t care. They didn’t care that his fingers might just press that much harder against the skin of her throat and -poof- she’d be a goner. They thought it was hot, living on the edge, knowing that their possible demise was just one step away, crossing the line from pleasure to death.

That’s toxic.

Not the teeny-bopper definition of it. What Bucky and Y/N had, was toxic.

But that never stopped them from doing it.

The first time they tried it, Bucky was apprehensive. Bucky was never one to be experimental in the bedroom and he had spent a better part of his new life trying to detangle himself from the monster they created. So when Y/N’s soft whisper, so soft that he almost didn’t hear it- thank God for his super-soldier hearing- he blinked a few times trying to comprehend exactly what she wanted from him.

“You want to what?” He asked through gritted teeth, his eyebrows were furrowed. “You want to recite my trigger words to see what it’s like to fuck while I’m the Winter Soldier?”

Truth be told, when Y/N first approached him with the proposition of being friends with benefits, he was overjoyed. There had been months of sexual tension building up between the two Avengers and Bucky hasn’t had anything but his own hand for years. A sexual release was nice. He knew he needed it.

What he didn’t expect was for sweet, innocent, talks to insects she sees in the garden, Y/N, to be so goddamn kinky. The young agent was experimental, sometimes too experimental for Bucky’s old mind to keep up with. But this idea she has to fuck while he was in Winter Soldier mode was the most outrageous, yet somewhat enticing, idea she’d ever had.

“I know, it’s a little extreme,” She sighed, already making her way out the door of his room. “Forget I said anything. I’m sorry.”

Bucky sat on his bed, dumbfounded for a second, weighing his decision. Any mentally stable man would know that the idea that he could quite possibly snap her in half like a Kit-Kat, should’ve been enough to shoot the entire possibility down. But Bucky was far from mentally stable and it was evident when he ran towards you as you placed your hand on the doorknob and kissed you like his life depended on it.

He felt you smirk under the feeling of his tongue on your lips. You always win. God, it was so dangerous. What you were about to do were so fucking dangerous but the only thing that Bucky could think about was how absolutely wrecked you would look under him while he destroys you.

Your hands traveled under his tight shirt, the one you bought him. He complained when he first opened the pack, stating that it was a size too small. You winked at him and said, “That’s the point, Sarge.” You sighed in adoration as the brief memory escaped your mind, your thoughts suddenly going in overdrive as you feel the pricking of his stubble against your neck. You clawed at his abdomen, feeling the sense of euphoria that only James Buchanan Barnes could ever deliver to you.

“You sure you wanna do this?” Buck breathed out in your ear, his lips finding your sweet spot underneath your earlobe.

“Been dreamin’ about it,” You confessed, pulling his head back so you could look at him in the eye while saying your next words. “I wake up with my hand between my legs.”

Bucky groaned at your words, his lips finding yours again. His metal hand dips past your bodies and stops right at your clothed core. “So, so filthy.”

You started to push him back down on his bed. His metal hand drawing figure-eights, making it just that much more difficult to walk. He sensed your difficulty and hoisted you up to wrap your legs around his waist, where you felt his hardening bulge.

“You know how to bring me back right?” Bucky asked, breathless, hair in disarray with the way you were tugging on it, helplessly.

You merely nodded and looked at his face for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. You were met with a smug-looking Bucky, nothing of the earlier feelings etched on his face. Instead, his eyes were dark, looking at you in a much harsher way than you’re used to and for a moment, you wondered if he was already activated in Winter Soldier mode.

The first night prompted the start of many others like it. Yes, you loved having sex with Bucky and nothing could ever beat the way he pleasured you. The way he has you withering away underneath him and the way you wake up with a dry throat the following day. He would run you dry, his super-soldier stamina coming in handy, and you loved it.

But sex with the Winter Soldier was something out of the deepest crevices of your dirty mind.

Something about the way it felt with the Winter Soldier was addictive. You found yourself craving it, most especially after a day of leading missions consisting of irresponsible new recruits. You were a born leader. You were bred to be the best of the best but sometimes it was nice to be dominated. And that’s exactly what the Winter Soldier did to you.

He dominated you in every way possible. He would throw you around like you were a toy to him, fucking you senselessly until there was an imprint of where your body once was in his disheveled mattress. He fucked you like there was no tomorrow- the snapping of his hips, the bites he left on your tender neck, and the countless orgasms that he would bring out of you. You didn’t even know your body was capable of coming undone that many times.

If anyone found out the way you two operated, they would kill you both with their bare hands. Not only did you put yourself in danger by triggering Bucky and then pressing yourself as close as humanly possible to him, you also endanger everyone in the compound every time you do. The Winter Soldier was dangerous, you knew that. But you always liked living on the side of danger.

It had been a long day of trying not to shoot the newest recruits when they managed to blow your covers during your mission. They might as well have written, “I’m a spy!” on their forehead and it would’ve been less obvious. Nonetheless, you completed the mission, but it took way longer than you would’ve liked.

Bucky knew what was coming next. He knew how you were feeling with just the way you ignored everyone in the compound when you arrived. The rest of the team, shot knowing looks at the new recruits who limped in behind you, white as a sheet, like the living crap was just kicked from them. You were never one to use violence against people who didn’t deserve it, and although those recruits did deserve to have their asses handed to them, you opted with a good ol’ fashion lecture. You learned it from Cap himself, being the one on the receiving end just a few years back.

Bucky excused himself from the rest of the team and made his way to your room. He heard the water running and the sound of you muttering about how recruits get worse and worse every year. He laughed under his breath, undressing himself to join you inside the shower.

“Y/N,” He murmured, his hand reaching over to slide your shower door open. “I’m coming to join you.”

You just replied with what seemed like an, “Okay.”

Bucky knew it from the way your back was tense under the scalding hot water- which he still had no idea how you enjoy. Your wet hair was sticking against the nape of your neck and the sinful bubbles from your shampoo were cascading down the small of your back, stopping before the curve of your ass. He pressed up against you, rubbing his hard on against your flesh and his metal hand moved found your neck, slightly squeezing it.

“Tough day?” He asked, lips teasing the skin on your jaw. He peppered kissed down your body, stopping at your collarbone to turn you around so you faced him.

“Very.” You whispered, your soft fingers trailing down his arms and down to his abdomen. You traced the outline of his abs, biting your bottom lip when your eyes met the tip of his dick.

“My friend wants to say hi,” Bucky chuckled, darkly. His voice was deeper than usual and his eyes were glued to yours. It always amazed you how he was able to use his words, dripping with seduction and lust, and still managed to look so utterly beautiful. “He hasn’t come out in a while.”

Your hand grazed down to his dick, slowly stroking it from the base until the tip. Bucky’s confident demeanor slowly subsided and he was panting, whimpering, under the mix of your touch and the sensation of the hot water on his skin. Your lips found his chest, leaving animalistic marks of your own. “I missed him too. Shall we bring him out tonight?”

The tip of his tongue poked out the side of his lips, slowly coating his dry lips with a layer of slickness. He looked down at your small hand, wrapped around his length and he let out a broken sigh at the sight. Bucky looked up at you, the facade of innocence enough to drive him over the edge. “Let’s.”

You smirked, slowly increasing the pace of your strokes.

“Желание.”

He shut his eyes, his face twisting in a mix of pleasure and pain.

“Ржавый.”

You kissed down his body, your hand not leaving his hardened length.

“Семнадцать.”

You were on your knees now, a hint of Bucky still resisting to fight the Winter Soldier because he wanted to see you on your knees before he gave up his control.

“Рассвет.”

Your lips wrapped around his length, feeling him moan at the feeling from above you.

“Печь.”

You looked at him under your eyelashes, the mascara you wore being nothing but a messy smudge under your eyes now.

“Девять.“

His hands grabbed your hair, softly. You could feel it was still Bucky you were with, with the way he caressed your head after tugging on it.

“Добросердечный.”

“Y/N,” Bucky moaned, his hips bucking up against your mouth despite how hard he tried not to. “Fuck, baby.”

“Возвращение на Родину.”

You heard the crunching of the metal plates on his arm, the sound of the vibration sending shivers down your spine.

“Один.”

You bobbed your head up and down, your other hand taking care of the parts you couldn’t take in.

“Товарный вагон.”

You felt his demeanor change. His body felt heavier. His hips snapped against your mouth, mercilessly. You felt the tears brimming your eyes, your jaw starting to numb with his force. You choked on his length as it hit the back of your throat, your gagging made him groan at the feeling. You gripped on his thighs, your fingers digging into his flesh.

He continued to fuck your mouth, his metal hand grabbing a handful of hair with every rock of his hips. He took his flesh hand and slapped the side of your cheek, making you look at him. You could tell it was no longer Bucky.

You felt the sticky liquid coating the inside of your mouth. You kept your lips on him until he physically pulled you off him. Once you were faced with him, you saw the empty look in his eye. He looked at you with nothing but lust, a complete 180 from how Bucky looked at you during these intimate moments.

You licked your lips, still tasting him on the surface of your lips. “Welcome, soldat.”

The soldier followed you out the shower, his eyes trailing the every move of your body. He clenched his fist, wanting to wreck you as he watched you sway your hips.

You looked over your shoulder, curling a finger towards him to signal him to come closer. “Come on, soldat. You know your mission.”

He nodded, his arms grabbing you towards him. You gasped when you felt his rough touch, his hips rolling against your back. You let out a small scream when his hand made his way down to your core, spreading the growing wetness around. His teeth nibbled at the exposed skin of your back.

You stumbled back on the bed, allowing yourself to fall captive to the stare of the Winter Soldier. He was propped up on top of you, his forearms holding himself up. He stared at you for a moment, taking in your current state. You looked wrecked. Your lips were puffy and red, your jaw hanging because it was numb, and your eyes looked at him with absolute desperation.

He laughed, his chest rumbling with the sound, “You look so pathetic like this.”

You breathed out, gently lifting your hips to meet his, hoping he’ll get the hint. He pushed down your hips, swiftly. His fingers dug into your hipbone. You knew you would be bruised but God, you did not care about that right now. You just wanted him.

“So desperate for me,” He whispered, head dipping down to quickly peck you on the lips before making his way down to your breasts. He sucked on your left nipple, using a hand to play with the other. “Such a needy slut, aren’t you?”

“Only for you, Soldat.”

He let his metal hand make its way down to your aching core. You shivered at the sensation of his hands pleasuring you. He stuck in two fingers unexpectedly, causing you to nearly jump. He didn’t give you time to adjust. He quickly pumped them in and out of you, the sound of his fingers entering you mixing with the sounds that left your lips. He pulled his fingers out and tapped them on your bottom lip. You opened your eyes to look at him while you sucked on his coated fingers.

He flashed you a devilish smile, loving the way your tongue swirled between his two digits as you licked them clean. Once he pulled his fingers out of your mouth, he replaced them with his lips. This kiss was sinful.

Teeth clashing, hands grabbing at anything, everything, and moans being silenced by his hand wrapping around your throat. He silenced you with a simple pinch against your neck. He pushed his hips against yours, the feeling of his tip rubbing your clit nearly making you come undone.

You pulled away, breathless, “Need you.”

He glared at you, taking his hand and wrapping it around his own member. He tapped his tip against your wetness, hissing at the pleasurable feeling. You allowed your legs to open wider for him but he simply just rubbed against your clit, not daring to put it inside. “You get me when I say you get me.”

He gripped both of your wrists in his metal hand, not allowing you to touch him. You groaned, wanting nothing else but to claw down the soldier’s muscular back. You couldn’t do anything else but arch your back off the bed, trying to get him closer to you.

“No,” He snapped, tightening his grip on you. “Do you not listen to what I say?”

You immediately stopped. You gulped, watching his hand slowly move up and down his cock. The slickness of you and his pre-cum made the muscle slick and it shone under the light of your bedroom. You watched hungrily as he picked up the pace. You moaned, wanting it to be your walls to milk him.

“Soldat,” You begged, your voice dripping in desire. “please. Let me.”

He simply smirked, pumping himself until his second release. He groaned, his hand squeezing his member softly and prompted his undoing. White strings of cum oozed out from his tip, landing on your chest. He let go of himself, dragging two fingers on your chest to collect his release.

He was about to wipe it off when he heard you whimper. He cocked an eyebrow, letting go of your now bruised wrists. Your eyes were glued at the white substance staining his fingers. “Want it?”

You nodded, crawling over to him where he extended his two fingers. He watched as you moaned at his taste. It wasn’t long until he was hard again. He grabbed your jaw, forcing you to straighten up and kiss him once more.

His tongue was in your mouth, tasting himself and your own sweetness on your tongue. He palmed your ass, picking you up so you sat right on his lap. His member was poking your entrance, earning a gasp from you. He helped you roll your hips against his, his hands not finding a steady place for him to grip you. His metal hand smacked your ass until it was as bright as a cherry. You groaned upon seeing your reflection in your mirror.

The print of his hand was so prominent, it looked so much like a tattoo. He pushed you off him, turning you around so your back was faced towards him. He faced you towards the same mirror, allowing you to watch him as he took you from the back.

He pushed the small of your back down into the mattress, wanting your ass to be up in the air. Your face was smushed down the sheets, eyes darting to the mirror in front of you. He caught your eye from the mirror. He grabbed your face, forcing you to turn and look at him for a quick second. “Want you to see how good I fuck you. If you look away, I stop. Eyes on me the whole time. Understand?”

You merely nodded, which was a mistake. He slapped your ass again, accompanied by a harsh tug of your hair. “Understand?”

“Yes, soldat.” You gulped. “Understood.”

He let go of your hair, letting your head fall with a thud. He spread your legs some more, pushing down on your back to maintain the perfect arch. He rubbed his tip against your entrance and finally, he entered you.

“God, yes.” You moaned, shutting your eyes for a quick second.

Slap.

“What the fuck did I say?”

“Eyes on you the w-whole time.” You managed to croak out. He continued to push into you, the sound of your ass slapping against his thighs. Along with his hips, he pulled you off him and pushed you back down with every thrust. He was throwing you around like you weighed nothing, your cries of absolute pleasure nearly drowning out the sound of skin slapping.

You felt beads of sweat drip down your back. You watched him in the mirror as he disappeared inside you after every thrust. He was staring at you, lip caught between his teeth. He watched your face contort into pleasure when he hit that spot. He knew what he had to do next after that.

He flipped you over, pulling out of you for a quick second. He found that spot again, hitting it over and over again. He knew that once he hit that spot, you would be coming undone soon. And he loved to see you wither under him.

He continued the same pace, his fingers finding their way down to your core. He rubbed your clit with his metal hand as he thrusted into you, a shrill scream emerging from your lips. He laughed in a sultry manner, increasing his pace.

“Oh-oh-oh,” You moaned out, the rest of the English words suddenly leaving your mind. You forgot every other word you knew, opting to just make sounds to convey your pleasure. His metal hand was vibrating on your clit. The coolness of the metal felt so good against your hot skin.

He continued to fuck you through your first release. Then through your second. And third. His metal hand not slowing down its vibrations and coolness. It was like it had a mind of its own. It played with you like it was loving the way your arousal coated it. You moaned, feeling the sensitivity of your core.

“Soldat, I can’t.”

You knew he wanted to make you cum one more time. But your body was worn out, especially with the way he continued to hit that same spot with the snap of his hips. “You can and you will.”

The sternness in his voice was enough to motivate you. His thrusts were becoming sloppy, you knew he was close. He pulled out of you and sat down. He pulled you on his lap again, this time allowing you to sink down on his dick He turned you both to the side. “Watch us.”

You stared at the way he pulled you off his dick and you watched it as it disappeared into you. The mirror was starting to slowly fog, the room smelling like sex and arousal. You watched him, hair sticking to his forehead and eyebrows furrowed. “Soldat, I’m close.”

“Me too.”

He picked up the pace, breaking his trance from watching you on the mirror and allowed himself to close his eyes. His lips sucked on your nipples, another wave of pleasure making its way down your body. You moaned to release one last time and that did it for him. He spilled inside you, groaning and biting the skin of your shoulder as he filled you with his seed.

He pulled you off him, watching as his cum oozed out of you. You were too tired to do anything but you knew you had to bring Bucky back before the soldier decided to go rogue. You leaned towards your dresser, wincing at the pain of your lower half. You retrieved the injection that Bruce created for Bucky.

The soldier looked at you, chest rising up and down. He knew it was his time to go. You smiled softly at him before jamming the injection in his right thigh. He hissed at the feeling but soon his shoulders slumped down and his breathing pattern changed.

Bucky smiled at you tiredly, wrapping his arms around you to pull you closer. “Hopefully that made your day a little better.”

“Mhm,” you mumbled against his lips. “Much.”

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trashcatsnark · 3 years

Note

WHY THE FUCK WERE UP SO LATE??? FUCKING UR SO LUCKY I CANT BEAT UR ASS OTHERWISE ITD BE KNUCKLE CITY

anyway, speaking about johnny boy i was thinking about him + nibbles and our like collective desicion that he is essiently a cat and it is really weirdly fitting that it just makes me like ???? so like cats themselves are a reoccuring motif within the game from the start, when u go to viks, when ur chatting up takemura and at the end with the rooftop that also doubles as like the millionith matrix reference. they follow v and they take up the role of the bakeneko, which i think in the game is defined by them appearing near death ? or just disaster. the obvious thing is that it is to do with v's inpending death and their whole sitation but like the general point is like the cat symbolises the death that follows v as the cat follows them. this puts johnny in an interesting sitation from his catlike nature to how he seems to like and get along with nibbles, he is linked with cats. he is also the parasite that is killing v. he is V's bakeneko. their signal of death. the events start because of his relic, jackie dies for him, and soon does most of the cast from act 1, and a large part of the death from then on is a direct result of them trying to solve the relic and johnny's whole presence is a signal for hey v ur fucking dying. he is death for them. the bakeneko.

makes me wonder if his catlike attributes were intentionally done cause that boy aint right or we just accidently walked on a really thematic fitting landmind

Spoilers within, again, also leave my sleeping schedule alone, I do not function. Additionally, I have a lot to say about Nibbles, omens, cats, and pets then how they all relate back to Johnny so congrats on opening a flood gate my friend!

think the thematic thing with Johnny and cats and the bakeneko has to 1000000 percent be intentional, because he even sees a cat when Alt is kidnapped. And that goes back to Cyberpunk Red. Like that was used and utilized and then became such a large part of the story.

Johnny is clearly meant to be a bakeneko; he’s actively next to the cat in that conversation, leaves when it does, see the same cat before Alt’s death, and is again the visual representation of what is happening to V. He is the symbol of their death, whether he wants to be or not.

I think it’s also interesting to note, the Bakeneko, which is described as an omen of death and misfortune isn’t the only way we see cats used thematically within the game. Albeit, this way is more subtle and perhaps intentionally so. We also see the maneki-neko; the lucky cat statues are everywhere in game. In V’s apartment, Misty’s shop, Vik’s clinic. Everyyyyyywhereeeeee.

So, we see two mythological cats from Japanese culture. One brings misfortune and one brings good luck. And Johnny exemplifies both.

Johnny is a visual representation of all that is destroying V. His mere existence and presence a constant reminder that their death is around the corner. An ever present omen that V’s clock is ticking. He also often pops up to have a comment just before massive relic malfunctions and disasters. The end of every main game quest is punctuated with a relic malfunction and a lecture from Johnny.

But without the chip and by extension Johnny, V would already be dead. If the chip hadn’t been the exact right place to be damaged and activated by the gunshot; it would have killed V right then and there. And while this wasn’t an active choice on Johnny’s part, he is the visual representation of the chip. Even then, he later does make an active choice to save V’s life. When V is hit with the worst malfunction yet; Johnny grabs them, “you aren’t dying yet, I got you” and he takes them to safety. He refuses to watch V seize and die in a puddle of their own sick in the middle of nowhere (for me it’s always at the sunset hotel, idk if this changes based on the order you do the events tho) So, he takes control, he eases their pain and takes them somewhere safe, somewhere that means something to him, and swears to die for them.

Luck both good and bad. Fortune and misfortune. A sign of better days and an omen of death. A maneki-neko and a bakeneko. The time bomb in V’s head and the guy who saved their life. He is both.

Now, stepping away from the mythological aspects. Lets talk about Nibbles the cat, Johnny, and pets within Cyberpunk 2077. Animals and by extension pets are considered a luxury in Night City. They’re taxed to fuck and back, generally only the wealthy can have them. Its also often brought up that real friends and family who stick by you are very difficult to come by. V becomes through Nibbles one of the rare people to have a pet. One of the other people who had a pet is, Barry their neighbor.

Barry and his mission is one of the first you can unlock and see in the game. He’s V’s downstairs neighbor and his story is played out so fucking similarly to V’s. Barry lost his best friend, he’s quit his job because he can’t handle the weight of the NCPD’s corruption, and he’s thinking of taking his own life. V has lost Jackie, its stated in game they get less work than usual because of Konpeki (cant be put on a crew), and very early on can say to Misty “be better off putting in my head”.

But for Barry that friend ends up being a pet tortoise. And its clear what that tortoise represents; a constant companion, a safe place, and a comfort. Something Barry couldn’t find among his peers until later on when they learn just how much he’s been hurting. And this is treated as such a tragedy, that he only has a pet to turn to.

And so V gets a cat, because they too are fucking hurting and having a little meowing bundle of skin running around their apartment helps. Something to come home to, something to make that apartment a little less empty, a little more alive.

So, how does this particular aspect of Nibbles/cats/pets relate to Johnny, I hear you wondering (as well as wondering when Im going to shut up). Well, we know Johnny is linked symbolically with cats and thats the choice of pet for V. And we knows pets have been likened to support without judgement; a companion who you can tell everything too and they won’t abandon you.

And while Johnny has heaps of judgment and is a dick. He is V’s only constant companion. I know a good junk of people don’t like him or his commentary; but imagine V’s life without Johnny in it through the game events. Imagine how lonely they’d be.

Johnny is the only one who knows everything and is there with V from the start to the final moments in Mikoshi.

Vik and Misty know, but they’re no edgerunners, they have no idea everything V is doing out there. Part of why as much as I do love Vik, his frustration with V hurts so much in the end because he talks like V hasn’t done anything to save themselves. Because, Vik doesn’t know what V’s been doing this whole time.

Each part of the main quests in Act 2 are linked to an NPC; Judy, Panam, and Takemura. And not one of them know or are there throughout the entirety of V’s journey. Judy doesn’t get told the full details of what’s happening until later in and stops helping V one Evelyn is saved. Panam doesn’t learn the full details or anything really about the chip until much later. And her quests become her own personal journey once V finds Hellman. And then depending on V’s choices, Panam can come in to help at the end. Takemura knows V is dying and is there to help with the parade and then he’s gone; either dead or in hiding. He refers to anything that doesn’t involve him as V’s shady dealings and leaves it at that. He’s there to interrogate Hellman but he doesn’t know all V did to find him. None of them know everything, none of them have been there the whole time. And that’s not a condemnation of them, I do not expect them to drop everything to be glued to V’s side 24/7 but, I can’t fucking imagine how alone V feels.

River has no involvement in any main quests and only finds out anything if V chooses to romance him. Kerry knows what Johnny told him and depending on the ending may even leave V. Again, wanna be clear, that isn’t a condemnation on his character. I understand why he does this and i understand his hurt and how it led him to that.

But this is about how truly fucking alone V is in all of this. Not a single person there start to finish, not a single person knowing all that they have suffered, all that they have been through and are going through.

Except Johnny. He tells V in the oil fields, closest to him by far, there 24/7, yet they don’t seem to hate him. And he’s that for V too; there the entire way, their demon never leaving. Johnny knows everything happening; because he’s part of what’s happening. He’s been there through every struggle, every step, every slap in the face as V’s tried to save themselves. Has felt their pain as they lose themselves, has known the people who’ve had to die for them to get this far, as felt their heart break when all they found was betrayal by the Voodoo Boys, Ai Alt asking how V’s life is her problem, getting recommended a hospice by Hellman.

And as dickish as he is, his comments help. V always has someone there, as much as he sucks. He always has something stupid or naggy to say to help keep some of that weight off their shoulders. Imagine if they didn’t even have that. If Johnny never talked to them, never showed his face.

A constant companion, like a supportive pet cat except he can talk and did a lot of meth.

And this is a sidenote that has nothing to do with cats specifically, but that through Samurai music this isn’t the first time Johnny could be compared to an omen. Its no secret that the music was largely created around the game and as such, many of his songs have direct parallels and messages related to the game. Never Fade Away while in universe written in regards to Alt’s death also has so much in common with his journey with V. This brings me to the song Black Dog.

“Black Dog inside my head, guiding me until the end.”

Black Dogs are figures in Irish Mythology who much like bakeneko’s are talked about in game; are omens of death and misfortune. I just find it interesting I suppose, like Johnny is either a dirty alley cat or a big mangy dog, but either way he’s here cause someones about to die.

Okay this is well over a thousand words, Imma shut up now. This is probably a mess, but anyone here for coherency is in the wrong place.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #cyberpunk 2077 spoilers #johnny silverhand #silverv #tender-wounds

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the-odd-job · 3 years

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Close Your Eyes to This Disaster Chapter 3: Now I’m a Bird...

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Chose Not to Use, Rape/Non-Con Category: Other Fandom: Transformers G1 Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Megatron/Sideswipe, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Bluestreak, Tracks, Mirage, Ratchet, Ironhide, Megatron, Soundwave Additional Tags: Dubcon, Sticky, Abusive Relationships, Mind Games, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Canon-Typical Violence Words: 3593

( Previous )

Once their recharge cycles ended at the time they had assigned, they found Bluestreak already awake but still in their berth, watching as their systems onlined fully. He knew well enough to stay still and quiet during the process, lest their reflexes kick in effect before conscious thought caught up and resulted in injuries. He was a brave enough mech to risk that every time, but as most times, nothing bad happened. The twins merely woke up as they should have and turned their helms to meet Bluestreak’s optics.

He smiled at them. “’Charge well?”

“Ayup,” Sideswipe nodded, a smile already beginning to creep onto his face. He barely ever seemed to get rid of it. “What about you? How you feeling?”

“Good.” Bluestreak answered, seemingly honestly. “Thanks for letting me stay the night. I don’t want to be a bother but it’s always so helpful when I don’t need to be alone and I didn’t want to disturb Prowl because he already barely recharges enough despite Jazz always trying to get him to take proper care of himself– Oh! You have a patrol, do you need to go?”

“About now to get my morning stuff done, yeah,” Sideswipe said. They were somewhat glad he didn’t need to interrupt the talkative gunner when Bluestreak did it himself, this time.

But true to what they said, the twins pushed themselves to sitting, Bluestreak following suit. He was the first to get up, offering both of his servos to pull them up—one for Sideswipe, one for Sunstreaker. Both of the brothers took the smaller mech’s offer, and up they were. “What do you need to do before your patrol?” Bluestreak asked.

“Get in on Smoky’s bet for one,” Sideswipe told him, stretching his arms above his helm to some pleasant strain of stiff parts, and a few cracks. “Then hit the washracks so I’ll be all pretty and shiny in case we run into any Decepticons. Gotta look my best when kicking aft!”

Bluestreak laughed lightly and they all headed for the door, twins to see if Smokescreen wasn’t in the rec room, and Bluestreak to… Whatever he was going to do wherever. “Have a safe patrol without any ‘Cons showing up!” the gunner wished them in parting. Both of the twins gave him a wave of goodbye before they continued in the opposite direction down the offensively orange corridor.

Smokescreen was indeed in the rec room already, and Sideswipe wasn’t the only one who wanted to bet. His contribution was accepted with a wide grin from the Praxian and a, “You know you won’t win, right?”

Sideswipe just laughed. “Talk like that and a mech will start to think you don’t want anyone to bet. Nah, one of these days someone is gonna up Jazz. He’s not all-knowin’. I think.”

Smokescreen chuckled too. “Your loss, my profit.”

Their funds successfully reduced, the twins continued their way to the washracks. They weren’t the only occupants this time of the morning, but they ignored Tracks and Ironhide and merely claimed free showerheads for their own use.

“Don’t ya two have a patrol comin’ up?” Ironhide asked them, frowning in mild bewilderment at their somewhat unreasonable behavior.

Sideswipe had more giggles on offer. “Patrol’s no excuse to not be pretty!”

“…Riiiight,” was all Ironhide said to that, glancing from them to Tracks—likely with the thought that he was presently surrounded by some vain ass mecha and would find no understanding for his far more pragmatic approach to his looks. The old mech left soon after, clean but not particularly shiny. Sunstreaker shook his helm in disapproval before they focused back on the task at hand, resolutely ignoring Tracks as Tracks was ignoring them. Now maybe wasn’t the best time to get into a tussle. They wouldn’t have the time to fix themselves back up from all the scuffs and scratches that would result in.

Plating clean, they shined themselves up, finishing their work just in time for their damned patrol. Time to go undo everything they just did. Sigh.

They transformed at the Ark’s entrance and peeled off with speed Prowl would have disapproved of, but what was the point of following the ridiculous human rules when they weren’t humans? The inherently inferior organics may not have been able of safely driving at the speeds a Cybertronian could handle easily with their superior senses and reaction times, but that wasn’t exactly their problem, was it? They wouldn’t crash into anyone, so no harm done.

All that in mind, they barely slowed down when they reached the populated roads, weaving through the human traffic and earning themselves countless of blaring horns. It was quite aggravating, and more often than not Sunstreaker was returning the same sound with far more aggression. And the humans thought they knew what road rage looked like… Give him enough reason and he’d show them.

But it was a long patrol they were on and eventually it took them back to more remote areas where they didn’t really see any of the fleshbags. Things went from exciting to relaxing as they drifted around curves in the road with screeching tires, leaving black marks behind as they controlled their bodies just perfectly enough that they didn’t go shooting straight off the asphalt. Prowl would have still given them slag for it, but he wasn’t here to see and the tactician wasn’t prone to act without actual proof of misconduct.

Which he usually had, but not in this.

Sideswipe’s singing of some random Earth song was mostly drowned out by the rev and roar of their engines, but Sunstreaker still tuned in on that sound to enjoy it. If nothing else, Earth was relatively worry-free for low ranking soldiers like them, that didn’t have any too heavy responsibilities and mostly just needed to follow orders. Some might have considered the fact the war was still ongoing and they very much at frontlines of it quite stressful all on its own, but those were the kind of details that didn’t bother the twins all that much. War and battles gave them something to do and let them live according to their nature, and it wasn’t as if they feared pain and injuries—or death, even if the goal was to stay alive.

Speaking of staying alive, though… The ping on their scanners was entirely unexpected when patrols were often completely uneventful, but there it was and they couldn’t deny it when both of their frames registered. And not just that, but there were two pings once they looked closer.

And they could recognize them. The desire to not suffer a painful death had them hitting their brakes and coming to a halt to hesitate in peace, because Megatron was a mech even they weren’t good enough to take on—and Soundwave wasn’t that much less dangerous, in all honesty.

What the pit were they doing here, though? There was nothing here, as far as the twins knew. Besides, it was just Megatron and Soundwave—and possibly his symbiotes—and no one else, unless someone was masking their signature.

::Sideswipe to Ark.::

::Bumblebee listening. What’s up?::

::I’ve got Megatron and Soundwave on my scanners at these coordinates.::

There was barely a pause before Bumblebee was already redirecting them to Prowl.

::Fall back and do not engage,:: came the clearly spoken order. This was the Prime’s business and the twins were to do no more than turn their pretty afts around and return to the Ark before anyone got the idea to attack them. If they were close enough to the Decepticon leader and his Third to sense them, then Decepticons were certainly also aware of the twins’ presence. Going all stealthy and trying to figure out what they were doing here wasn’t much of an option, especially so because the twins weren’t particularly trained in or built for stealth to begin with.

Sideswipe pouted, but… They were outmatched, and possibly outnumbered too. Engaging would be little short of a suicide. For those reasons, ::Copy that,:: was all Sideswipe said and they indeed followed the SIC’s instruction, turned around, and drove back for someone more suitable for the task to take their place and maybe learn what had brought Megatron to the area.

—————————————

But then that incident repeated. The twins would be away from the Ark, either patrolling or just otherwise enjoying their free time, and three more times they came close enough to Megatron and Soundwave that they could sense them. Each time they contacted the Ark, and each time they followed the orders to leave without engaging the Decepticons. It became just too much to be a mere coincidence, especially when it happened to no one else, but the twins were as confused over it as the command was when they were questioned on if they knew any possible reason for the odd behavior.

It did become a cause for some extra caution on their side, because despite what things sometimes looked like and what some thought, they didn’t have a rampant death wish. Or really any level of death wish. They would rather continue living, and the chances were good they weren’t going to do that if they took on Megatron and Soundwave with no backup—especially because there were the symbiotes to take into consideration, too. They were exceptionally good at beating the odds, but in this instance the odds were a little too much against them for even their own comfort. Just what were the chances they’d manage to off Megatron and end the war?

Slim. So slim.

Despite their increased awareness of their surroundings whenever they were further from the Ark, though…

It was just a joyride to burn off some of their restless energy. Sparring and fragging were all well and good too, but sometimes you just wanted to feel the road beneath your tires and the wind whipping over your hood. Some strangely acting warlord wasn’t going to take this away from them, and there was nothing in their scanners or other sensors any step of the way. They knew Teletraan was monitoring the situation as well, trying to compile enough data for Prowl to figure out what the rhyme and reason to Megatron’s behavior was when the only connecting element seemed to be the twins’ presence.

So they were pretty sure they were safe in the moment. That was, up until they took a sharp turn out of the forest to arrive to flat fields, and there he was in all of his towering glory, silver plating glinting in the bright sunlight.

The brothers transformed at once, skidding into a stop on their pedes. It didn’t take a genius to realize Megatron had opted to mask his signature this time around when he hadn’t done it the previous times.

For whatever reason.

And Soundwave was there too, of course, and when they tried to contact the Ark to let them know there was a bit of a situation happening, they found they were entirely blocked, likely by the telepath.

Sunstreaker growled, his optics snapping from the blue mech to Megatron, meeting the red gaze boring into him. Megatron’s focus was beyond intense in a way that Sunstreaker had certainly never experienced before courtesy of the tyrant, having not even been in his proximity before their unfortunate Earth landing.

And then Megatron moved. Sunstreaker jerked out of the way, Sideswipe into the opposite direction only to be accosted by Soundwave, but Megatron spun in place with surprising grace and then he was already an arm’s reach away from the golden twin—a bit closer than Sunstreaker would have liked him.

Well, slag that. With a rev of his engine Sunstreaker went on the offensive because playing some fragging game of evasion just wasn’t his style. He pulled his thermal sword from his subspace, which predictably had Megatron respond by extending the sword from his arm. What was more surprising was the fact Sunstreaker got the first attack in, as if Megatron was almost waiting on him.

But that aside, things progressed as expected—for a while. Megatron matched the harmful intent of Sunstreaker’s attacks and they both gained some injuries because dammit, Sunstreaker was good enough to provide even some opposition despite Megatron’s own power.

But it was his own skill and experience that, before long, alerted him to something being a bit off. How Megatron aimed his attacks… He had the opportunities to try for serious injuries, the kinds that would have left Sunstreaker open to the very real possibility of death were they successful, and that was what he would have expected the warlord would do.

Yet, he didn’t. Oh, Megatron was out to injure him, there was no doubt about that, but his aim seemed to be to cripple him just enough that Sunstreaker couldn’t have fought back anymore, instead of going for the kill directly.

It was a valid strategy, but one that seemed rather unnecessary right now. There was no doubt Megatron was the better fighter of them. Sunstreaker could hold his own, but only so for so long. Even now it was him that had more injuries on him, although none of them severe, and it was rather obvious he was the one who had to work harder to avoid greater damage.

He was confused, and Sideswipe’s situation didn’t clear matters any, because it looked a hell of a lot like Soundwave’s aim was the same: put him out of the fight, but not kill. Soundwave wasn’t a warrior of Megatron’s caliber so Sideswipe was having a bit more success on his end, but not so much he could have helped attack Megatron with Sunstreaker.

But out to kill or not, the brothers didn’t exactly fancy losing either. Who knew what Megatron had in store for them in that event—that, unfortunately, looked a bit inevitable as things stood. They were outmatched, simple as that.

Soon, though, not outnumbered. The roar of two familiar engines heralded the unusually welcome arrival of backup moments before Tracks and Mirage revved onto the scene from the forest. Ugh, saved by Tracks… But beggars couldn’t be choosers. Rather that than learning what exactly Megatron’s intent for them was, when there was no fucking way it was anything good.

As soon as they’d transformed, Mirage and Tracks already had weapons in hand, ready to assist, and that was where things deviated from what they would have expected, again. Instead of trying to slag the lot of them like Megatron very well may have been able to do, he… Retreated. As did Soundwave.

As in, they left the scene entirely. Both transformed, Megatron into a jet around Soundwave’s small boombox mode–

And then he was gone. Sunstreaker couldn’t do more than stare after the quickly disappearing triplechanger, befuddled.

“Are you alright?” Mirage asked, stepping up to him. Sunstreaker glanced at the spy, took stock of his damage reports, then nodded.

“Nothing major,” he grunted, turning back to the now rather destroyed road. Tracks was standing a few paces away with his arms crossed over his chassis, looking a little too smug. “Shove it,” Sunstreaker growled at him, jabbing a digit in his direction. “You try fighting that unmaker.”

Tracks only shrugged, not overtly impressed.

“How did you know to come? We couldn’t contact anyone,” Sideswipe asked, walking to the rest of them. Sunstreaker turned his attention back to Mirage at that, too.

“You fell off the radar entirely,” was the answer they were given. “We were redirected from our patrol to see why.”

“Good timing,” Sunstreaker conceded, earning a small smile from Mirage.

“I can still transform,” Sideswipe spoke up, inspecting his limbs. A little worse for wear, but still in one piece. “And probably drive too.”

Sunstreaker nodded that that held true for him as well and Mirage returned the gesture at the both of them. “If you don’t need Skyfire, we can drive back. We were given permission to not finish our patrol.”

They were getting an escort now, too?

Ugh.

———————————————

Again the command had so fragging many questions for them, most of which the twins had no answers for. No one had the answers. It was becoming clear Megatron was targeting them specifically and changing his methods to succeed in cornering them, but why?

No one had any good suggestions, especially after that day’s show. If it wasn’t to kill the twins and strip the Autobots of two of their best frontliners, then what the pit was it all for?

“I heard what happened,” Bluestreak said as a way of announcing himself, seconds before he sat down opposite from the twins at the rec room table they had claimed. “It’s really, really weird… Are you worried at all? It’s Megatron and he’s always bad news, and I’m worried ‘cause I don’t want anything to happen to you, you know?”

He was going to say something more too, but Sideswipe beat him to it before their friend could get going all proper and make it all the harder to get a word in. “Gotta admit it’s a little… Disconcerting?” his brother said, then leaned back in his seat and huffed, “But slag me if he’s gonna get to me.”

They had no idea how to take care of the whole situation, but their desire to not let Megatron do whatever the pit he wanted with them was very, very real. One way or another, they would find a solution, or pit, maybe Megatron would just get it out of his system and leave them alone despite taking such a sudden interest in them the moment they ended up on the same battlefields.

Bluestreak perhaps had a bit too much trust in them and their abilities, because he seemed satisfied with that answer—as if it really was as simple of a matter as ‘I don’t wanna’. The change in topic that followed when Bluestreak moved onto other subjects was at least welcome, and they spent another two hours listening to the gunner talk, sometimes squeezing in a comment of their own. Bluestreak was the one who excused himself first, having the late shift in monitor duty—he made a face when they told them that much and Sideswipe laughed—and the brothers left with him to return to their quarters. It was undeniably late.

But as it happened, Ratchet and Ironhide were standing right outside Ironhide’s door on the twins’ path, and completely heedless to the conversation he was interrupting, Sideswipe bounced right on over and wrapped his arms around the both of them. He got matching growls from the two old timers, and true to form, ignored that too. He still pulled back when Ironhide firmly patted his waist, grinning at the medic and the veteran warrior.

“So. Megatron?” Ironhide asked gruffly, crossing his arms as soon as he had enough room to do so and glaring at the brothers.

Those were the type of glares that meant Ironhide was worried, not that they hadn’t already known as much. Ratchet was too, after the earful and suspicious shortage of wrenches they had gotten during their repairs. The medic’s scowl also spoke of his concern.

“Sure is,” Sideswipe said chipperly, rocking back on his heels.

“Yer not worried over the whole… Thing?”

“I mean…” What to say, what to say. The two would just worry twice as hard if the twins admitted to harboring their own concerns, because the twins weren’t really smart enough to worry about most things—if they did, something had to be wrong. So, Sideswipe just shrugged after their pause of quick thought. “Not gonna gain anything by worrying over it.” That wasn’t a lie.

“You better be careful,” Ratchet growled at them. “I don’t want you in my medbay again because of this.”

“Yer damn bad at the fear business, and I ain’t saying you shouldn’t be, but I’d suggest still usin’ yer heads some,” Ironhide said. “You ain’t a match to him and you both know it.”

Sideswipe tilted his helm back and cast his optics to the ceiling with an exaggerated sigh. “Thanks for the lecture, dad. Totally already forgot how dangerous ol’ Megs is.”

Ironhide grunted, opened his mouth to say something–

And like quicksilver Sideswipe changed his own mood and demeanor to something salacious. He slithered back up to the older red mech, brushing his servo along Ironhide’s low back with that kind of grin. “Wanna come to my quarters an’ take my mind off things a little?”

“Oh for frag’s sake–“ the veteran started in a huff, but Sideswipe interrupted him right away.

“Exactly. ‘Less you’re busy?”

His brother’s optics shifted to Ratchet as well, but the medic put his hands up. “Don’t look at me, I’m not joining this time.”

Sunstreaker snorted. “Your loss.”

“Absolutely,” Ratchet deadpanned at him, but Ironhide took the turn to slip his servo to Sideswipe’s aft. The red twin squeaked when he gave it a squeeze.

“Alright, you have my interest,” Ironhide confirmed his intent and Sideswipe’s grin widened all the more.

“Sweet~ Come on, the night’s getting as old as you. No time like the present!” After a caress across Ironhide’s codpiece, Sideswipe skipped down the hall with such a bouncy step.

Ironhide rolled his optics after him with a, “Brat,” but nevertheless followed, as did Sunstreaker.

“Now’s your chance to frag that out of him,” Sunstreaker smirked.

“Damn well will, too,” Ironhide promised, earning himself a laugh from the golden twin.

Right along with Sideswipe’s hollered, “I heard that!”

( Next )

#transformers #maccadam #maccadams #sunstreaker #sideswipe #ratchet #megatron #soundwave #ironhide #bluestreak #tracks #mirage #fic #2021 #disaster

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captain-tch · 3 years

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All That I Can Give

summary: kiko is a struggling business owner thrown into the chaos of the borderlands. when she makes a mistake that will threaten her life, she learns just how far she will go to keep herself alive.

TW: DEATH, MENTIONS OF ATTEMPTED SUICIDE, MENTAL HEALTH, TOXIC RELATIONSHIPS, VIOLENCE

chapter 7: snapshot of time

previous chapter

Kiko had always tried to find the good in a bad situation. She prided herself on it, having taken advantage of her poor financial situation to convince herself that it made her reassess her priorities in life. Key word being convince. She despised losing her creature comforts and some essentials, all to battle the growing debt. When she first arrived at Borderlands she believed that finding even the smallest light in the suffocating darkness would be impossible.

It wasn’t the first time in her life she had ever been wrong.

She was looking up at the proof right now. The stars were dazzling in the night sky. Her breath caught as she traced patterns and shapes in the night. The moon was full tonight, acting as a beacon amongst the abyss coating the earth. Kiko wasn’t sure she had ever seen the night sky look this clear. Usually, a heavy film of pollution diluted the raw beauty, leaving behind a mere shadow of it’s true self.

“What are you doing up here?” Kiko bolted upright, snapping in the direction of the voice. Her fist unclenched as she saw Tetsu shivering on the roof, features impassive. “Do you have any idea how cold it is?

Kiko shrugged.

“It’s freezing up here. Get downstairs before you get a cold.”

Kiko ignored him, falling back on the roof. Her hands tucked under her head, the loose tape on her bandage pulling at her hair, she turned her full attention on the sky up above. She quickly found herself lost in its darkness once more, sensing a comfort she rarely felt.

“You really are a pain in the ass.” Tetsu fell to the ground besides her. “What you thinking?”

Her lips curved slightly at the edges. Unable to rein in her words, she spoke, a strain in her voice. “I thought I’m just your body guard.”

Tetsu sensed a level of hurt behind the words. He shrugged, sending her a lopsided smirk. “Humour me.”

Thousands of thoughts ran through the human mind in a minute. How could she just grab a hold of one and focus on that? She didn’t particularly want to divulge all of the details of her mind to a stranger. She didn’t want to tell him how she couldn’t look at her hands without feeling like the world was spinning. Kiko definitely didn’t want to tell him about the pressure laying heavy on her chest.

Out of the corner of her eye, she took in Tetsu. He felt like a completely different person than the one she met over a week ago at her first game. There, he was almost submissive. It was as if he was ready to give into whatever fate the game had lined up for him. Now, there was a bravery in his words, of how he so boldly spoke what was on his mind. An image flashed before her eyes - a boy around Tetsu’s age, slightly smaller, with sharp features mirroring Kiko’s. He had a cheeky glint in his eye as he told her where to shove it.

“You remind me of my brother.”

“How?”

Her mind flicked to the most recent memory she had of Riku. He was trembling under her hands. Just two weeks earlier she had been caring for his black eye. The cheeky glint had faded to a speck. “Undeserving of the situation he ended up in.”

She could see the question forming on Tetsu’s lips. A smile cracked onto her face, stretching her cheeks uncomfortably. “Aren’t the stars a beautiful thing?”

Tetsu darted a glance upwards, back to Kiko and up to the sky once more. “I don’t see the big deal. They’re just lights, do you see me staring at a light bulb because they’re pretty? No.”

A gasp ripped out of Kiko’s throat. Before she could help it, she was spouting an endless stream of facts. If he couldn’t see their beauty, she was going to show him. “Light takes so long to come down to earth that we’re not seeing what’s actually there. Isn’t that insane? We are looking at a snapshot of time and that is our now. We’re literally watching the past.”

“I witness history in the making every day.”

“You’re far too cynical for your age.”

“You’re too whimsical for yours.”

Kiko snorted a laugh. Of all the things she had been called in her life, whimsical was not one of them. Though he delivered it with a sharp edge, Kiko felt her heart warm.

The pair of them fell into a comfortable silence. Even though Kiko had started to feel the goose bumps rising on her skin, she felt glued to the spot. She was far too captivated by the insignificance the stars blessed her with. It made her feel as if she could do anything. She felt... light. All worries whirring through her mind had vanished.

Tetsu cleared his throat. He clambered to his feet awkwardly, stretching out his limbs the way a cat would. After his body made a few alarming cracks, he offered Kiko a hand.

She contemplated staying out here all night long. She would fall asleep under the stars, relish in the insignificance they offered and just exist. The shadows creeping in her mind would fade for a few short hours as she fell into the land of dreams. Time could freeze right now and she wouldn’t mind at all. She would happily live in a suspended moment as long as it was this moment.

A shiver shook her spine. Her body had seemed to have made the decision for her. With a final glance at the sky, she took his hand gratefully. Together they walked back into the warmth of the pharmacy, not looking back as red lasers marred the darkness.

Kiko climbed into her make shift bed of blankets and throws, tucking herself in as much as she could. Tetsu hopped over her, laying out flat on the couch. She looked over, a green monster lingering behind her eyes. Bruises from the tagger had started to blossom on her back - this flooring was not going to do it any good.

Before she could help it, a witty remark escaped her mouth. “You need to think of your elders.”

“Finders keepers.”

For a brief moment, Kiko forgot about the days ticking down on her visa. A warm feeling bloomed in her chest. She was telling the truth when she told Tetsu he reminded her of Riku. It seemed the more she spent time with him, the more she saw the mirror image of her brother looking back at her.

It made her feel like she was at home.

The pair bade each other good night. Kiko closed her eyes. She tried to slow her breathing down, tricking her body to lull her into sleep. The silence made her mind whir. Riku sprung to mind, as he always did when her mind was at peace. It injected an ice, cold feeling in her veins as she wondered frantically where he was. Did he arrive in this hell, and if so, was he still alive? She couldn’t imagine her brother surviving if he did.

Purposefully, she yanked her thoughts in another direction. She tried to make a mental list of items to bring with her to her next game, having realised how underwhelming prepared she was for the last one. Images pressed against her lids screamed at her calming mind.

Coffee eyes forever still.

A pair of heels lying amongst a pile of dead bodies.

The blood pooling out of the horse mask.

Kiko kept shuffling around. Her limbs felt awkward and everything seemed extremely hot. Her eyes sprung open. The images washed away. The effect they had remained - heart beating erratically and hands tugging on her blankets in a death grip.

A gruff voice murmured into the darkness. “Can you keep it down.”

“Sorry.” Kiko apologised half heartedly. She whispered back just as quietly, “I can’t sleep.”

From looking at Tetsu, she realised he was in the same predicament. His arm was laid across his forehead, eyes staring up at the ceiling, as if the ceiling held the answer to a good nights sleep.

“The dead bothering you?” Tetsu sighed. He turned so he was leaning on his side, giving Kiko his whole attention.

From the slants of light escaping into the room, Tetsu saw Kiko nod her head. “And the living.”

“Me too. How inconvenient.”

In other circumstances, his dead pan tone would have made Kiko snort. This time, she felt no reason to laugh.

“Do you mind me asking you something?” Tetsu hummed in response. “How long until your visa runs out?”

“I need to play a game tomorrow night.”

“We need to play a game tomorrow night,” Kiko corrected.

She couldn’t see very well, but Kiko swore she saw a grim smile mark his face. Kiko wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light, but the bags underneath his eyes appeared to be darkened in that moment.

“We should better get some sleep if we want to win.”

She couldn’t help it - she needed an answer now. From his indifference to the dead, the weariness in his face and the state of the room they were currently sat in, Kiko had a sinking feeling what the answer was going to be. Hesitantly, she finally asked him the question that had been playing on her mind for two days. “Tetsu - how long have you been here?”

There was a pause. Kiko wondered if she had overstepped the boundaries, an apology ready to be released into the tense silence between them. He surprised her with an answer she was certain she was going to get.

“You really don’t want to know.”

Kiko barely slept a wink that night.

#alice in borderland #alice in borderland fanfic #alice in borderland fanfiction #aib fanfic #aib fanfiction

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olivarryprompts · 3 years

Text

Fanfic Friday #7

Welcome to Fanfic Friday! Each Friday I will post a new fanfic here and on A03. Enjoy x

Read and save it on A03 here https://archiveofourown.org/works/32577124

{the anatomy of caring}

Ships: minor stevetony, focused on Tony & Peter

Warnings: none, it’s just fluff :)

Wc: 2355

It was obvious to anyone who knew the two well. It was Steve and Tony, Iron Man and the Captain. It simply made sense. If the logic wasn’t enough, the two looked at home with one and another. They slipped together like puzzle pieces. Tony always helped Steve through the confusion of a new world, and Steve always knew just how to help Tony deal with the anxiety of their reality. They were the perfect couple, and they both knew that.

Then, the spiderling came along. Tony saw a mirror image of himself in Spiderman. A young, ambitious boy who had the curse and gift of superhuman powers. He defied death each day he swung between buildings, and Tony couldn’t help but be enthralled. He couldn’t help but figure out who the kid was (It was pretty easy to figure out it was a kid, considering he only showed up outside of school hours). Steve, knowing his lover so well, knew instantly how protective Tony felt over the kid he’d merely stalked on the internet.

So when Tony explained the plan to show up at Peter’s with the “Stark Internship” it was no surprise to the captain. To the rest of the team, who’d all moved into the tower, it was a complete shock. The fact that Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, wanted to help this kid hone his powers and skills.

“You,” Bruce said, “Want to help this kid..what? Be a superhero?” “Well, someone’s gotta,” Tony explained like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Someone has to?” Nat questioned. “He can’t go around swinging off rooftops and beating up bad guys without any training. Or backup.” “Correct me if I am wrong, but didn’t your idiot ass do that?” Sam questioned. “I was not a kid. And I had money, friends, people,” Tony wildly gesticulated. “I am beyond confused,” Nat laughed. “Same train as Romanoff,” Clint agreed. “Guys, this is not that hard. Come on. Let’s take this scenario. He ends up meeting some guys, and, instead of, say, winning, he loses. And either he dies, or gets badly injured. Who does he have? No one? He bleeds out. He’s a kid for fuck sake.” “Cap’s been awfully quiet,” Clint pointed out. “What? I knew this was coming days ago,” Steve explained with a smile, “I know my man. He wasn't just gonna let this kid get himself into trouble if he could do anything about it. Plus, Tony doesn’t keep tabs, he violently invades lives.” Tony shot him a look. “With love, invades with lots and lots of love,” he quickly fixes, flashing his million dollar smile at his boy. Tony just rolled his eyes and focused on addressing the group, “Look, I know it’s a lot, but I think it’s just what I have to do. And I own the tower, so, my choice,” he said with a hint of banter in his voice. Tony headed towards the elevator. “Where the hell are you going?” Sam asked. “The spiderling’s.”

Tony left before he could hear any of the exasperated responses. It was a fair drive down to Queen’s where the boy lived. He parked outside the small building, and he then climbed the seven flights of stairs to the apartment. He knocked on the door and greeted, “Hello, I’m Tony, Tony Stark.” He smiled his media smile, extending a hand towards May. “I-I know. Mr. Stark, hello, w-what are you doing here?” “Well, your nephew Peter applied for the Steptember Grant, and well, he got it,” Tony said, thrusting all the enthusiasm he could muster. He maintained his fabricated nonchalant, disregarding manner in most places. “Wow this is, this is incredible! Peter will be home any minute now. Come in, come in. Can I get you a drink?”

He was back at the tower, recapping his meeting with Peter to Cap. “-can you believe no one knows? Well, now it's knew. No one knew this kid was swinging around. And he got these powers with no one to help him through it, and god, it must have been awful. But, he’s good, Cap, he’s so good. He feels the need to help people, beyond just guilt. He’s, he’s-” “Tones,” Steve said, kissing his cheek, “Take a deep breath.” To be fair to the man, he hadn’t slept for at least 36 hours. With all that coffee in his system he had the right to be a bit uncomposed. The two were sitting at the breakfast bar, well Tony was sitting and Steve was behind it, cooking some eggs for the younger man. “I’m just glad I found him before he killed himself trying to save the world.” “Me too. How long has it been since you’ve slept?” “J?” “Sir, it has been 36 hours.“ “Tonyyyy,” Steve said, clearly disappointed. “Steveeee.” “I’m forcing you to bed.” “I have work to do. Plus it’s only eight o’clock.” “Eat then sleep, honey,” Steve said in that voice that you just didn’t ignore.

At first the “Stark Internship” started as Tony upgrading Peter’s suit, monitoring his patrols, and teaching how to fight. Well, Natasha taught him how to fight. After she offered, Tony was in no place to deny. It was overwhelming to Peter. He was being taught about tech with Tony Stark and being taught how to fight from the black widow.

For the first couple weeks, he was a nervous wreck in the tower. He’d hardly speak to anyone and only do and touch what he was told to. He’d change, head straight to the gym, and then Natasha would train him. At first, the training was silent, other than Nat’s coaching. Then, slowly, the two began talking. It started with Nat asking how he first got his power, then it moved to her first missions, and then suddenly Nat knew a lot about Peter. And Peter was one of the few people in the world who knew a lot about Natasha. “-so what, you fought alien robots sent by Thor’s brother?” “Yeah, that's about right. I had to get up to one of the buildings, so, with Cap’s shield as my trampoline, I launched myself onto one of their flying machines. Pretty fun time up there.” “Holy shit, that’s incredible. How’d you stop them?” Peter knew how the battle had gone down, afterall he’d been in New York during the attack, but it was something else hearing it from an actual Avenger. “Well, it was quite complicated. The scientist-” Nat reminded him to keep his wrist straight. He made the fix, and went back to punching the bag. She launched back into the tale,”The scientist, remember him, who Loki’d controlled woke up mid battle. He’d installed a death switch for the portal, but to access it we needed the scepter. But, the thing is, the government basically sent a nuke toward New York in an effort to contain the aliens, so Tony grabbed the nuke and aimed from inside of the portal and threw it at their main spacecraft. This turned off all of the alien tech. He was a he-” “Hey Kid, Nat. Please don’t tell me you're telling the New York story,” Tony said from the entrance. “Hi Mr. Stark.” Nat rolled her eyes, “I am telling the New York story. You were a he-” “Don’t say it. You almost done?” “I’ll call it. Good job today kid.” “Thanks.”

Similar to the gym, he’d become far more comfortable around Tony and in his lab. At first he’d sit silently, doing his work. Then he got used to Tony’s eccentric tendencies, he memorized the layout and where everything was, and he’d also been unofficially given a workspace. It became easier and easier to feel comfortable. The late night coffee and deep chats were simply a bonus. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, it felt like he had a father figure. It was nice.

One day, Tony was vibin’ to ACDC and chatting with Steve whilst working on Mock 50 of his new suit design when Peter showed up. Steve being in the lab was something Peter had also become accustomed to. “Jarvis, please get some good music on in here. Queen perhaps?” Peter requested. He did it to annoy Mr. Stark, and it did just that. “Hey kid,” Cap said. “Don’t “hey kid” him,” Mr. Stark said, faking anger, “Did you just insult my music? How dare you? I am revoking all Jarvis privileges.” Peter laughed alongside Cap. “Sir, you can’t do that. I quite like the kid, and the innovations he is creating require my attention.” “Why did I program you to have a goddamn personality?” Tony said, focusing back to his work, “And Jarvis, put the quality music back now.” “Anway, how was school?” Steve asked. “Good, yeah. The same really. We had another one of your “fitness” videos for class today. Real good,” Peter joked. “Oh god, please don’t tell me they really use those.” “They really use those,” Peter smiled, “I’m going for a shower. See you in a flash.” “Wrong superhero, kid,” Mr. Stark called. “Idiot,” Peter heard Cap mutter into the top of Mr. Stark’s head.

Upon returning, he noticed the absence of the team leader. “Where did Cap go?” “Actual work or something stupid like that.” Peter just smiled as he settled down at his workstation. He wanted to try out some new formulas for his web fluid. He’d had an idea in spanish class, and scribbled it down in his notebook. He fished for it in his backpack.

It was so easy. Too easy. And so so comfortable.

“Come on, I’ve got something to show you.”

Peter had just finished sparring with Nat, and Tony, unusually, came up to the gym to “collect” him. He hadn’t done that for months. Mainly because Peter stopped coming straight down to Tony’s lab. Instead, he went to the kitchen and, mainly because Steve forced him, ate some food. He usually ended up in a random chat with Sam or Bucky. Occasionally he would catch Banner, and he’d end up in a different laboratory. He was always happy to learn about what the incredible doctor was up to. Sometimes, he was even able to provide a suggestion or two. Bruce always looked impressed by the boy. It made Peter smile.

Then he would actually make his way down to the lab, but not before trying to find Hawkeye. He'd wanted to learn some tricks with the bow and arrow. Somehow, Clint would be dragged into teaching Peter how to fire a bow once a week. At least. Clint pretended he minded through teasing and jokes, but realistically he loved hearing about the kid’s week. He’d always been good with kids. It became a running joke that Clint would let Peter know about all the tech upgrades he wanted, and then Peter’d report them to Tony. Most of the time Tony replied with something snarky like, “Tell the idiot he shouldn’t have picked a dumbass weapon like a bow and arrow,” or “do it yourself if you care that much.”

The Avengers Tower had become home just as much as his apartment in Queens was, and it was clear that Tony knew that. Hence the, “Come on, I’ve got something to show you.” He took the little Avenger to the elevator, hitting floor 80. He was a little confused given that floors 75-90 were all bedroom floors for the avengers or just spare bedrooms. “Mr. Stark-” “You’ll see, kid.” In reality, Tony was nervous. He and Steve decided a while back that Peter deserved his own space in the tower, but he had been scared that Peter wouldn’t like it. That he picked the wrong colours, or mattress, or well, anything.

The doors opened and there were two doors facing one another. Tony opened one of them with a key he pulled out of his black suit. The door opened and he was met by a beautiful and modern room. It had a huge bed and tv. There was a desk equipped with the latest stark Holographic technology. In the corner was a suit, specifically a spider suit. That is when it clicked. “Mr. Stark, is, is this all mine?” “Yeah kid, sorry if you don’t like anything. Cap and I did the best we could knowing what you like. And ye-” Peter cut him off with a hug, “thank you.” “Anything for you, kid. Just say the word. Want a tour?” Peter eagerly nodded. “Alright so that’s the bed, obviously. No more sleeping in the guest rooms or that couch in the worksho-” “You sleep ther-” “Don’t say that I sleep there, I am no role model for sleep schedules.” Peter just smiled. “This is a little workshop area I mocked up. You can’t really tinker up here, but do all the designing you want,” he pulled up the most recent project Peter was working on, “Then, just through there is the bathroom, a little lounge area over there and yeah, that’s all. Oh, there’s two mini fridges by the lounge area.” Just as Tony finished his explanation, Steve showed up. “Tones, you showed it to him without me,” Cap complained. “Sorry, babes, you took too long.” he turned around and placed a little kiss on his lips. “It’s fine. How do you like it Pete?” “It’s, it’s-” Peter couldn’t think of any words to describe how incredible it was to have a room at the Avengers Tower, but more importantly how incredible it was to have so many people looking out for him. Before he had just one, Aunt May. She is amazing, but he’d always longed for just a little more. Then, with the Avengers, he’d been given a lot more. They became his family. And now his home. “Thank you,” was all Peter could muster before falling onto the floor.

The two of them, now in each other's arms, just looked down fondly at the boy. “We did good,” Cap whispered. “We did good,” Tony agreed. They did good with more than just the room.

#avengers fanfic #basically peter being unofficially adopted by the avengers lol #irondad #peter parker #tony stark #stevetony #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #fanfiction #avengers #the avenger #found family

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booksimp · 4 years

Text

Begin Again - Azriel - Part One

Synopsis: Azriel and Alora broke up six months ago. Alora still isn’t sure exactly why Azriel shut her out, and she can’t stand to be in the same room as him. With Nesta’s help, Alora has been avoiding Azriel at group events since the breakup. Inspired by “Into You” by Julia Michaels.

“So he’s gonna be there then?” I whisper into the phone, trying to keep my voice from breaking.

“Actually, the asshole’s already here. I’m sorry, Alora. He was supposed to be away for work until next week.”

Nesta’s voice is hushed, her irritation obvious. I sigh, my breath creating a cloud of ice in the air around me. I stop walking and turn on my heel, heading back the way I’d come. I had been walking to Feyre and Rhysand’s baby shower, gift for their little one in hand. But Azriel, my ex-fiancee, has decided to make an unscheduled appearance. I scowl to myself and shove the wrapped parcel into my coat pocket. Rhys and Feyre are some of my dearest friends, and I was really looking forward to being there today.

“It’s okay, Nesta. I’ll just give Feyre her gift later. Can you tell them I’m sorry, something just… came up?”.”

I sigh again, hating that I have to miss their big day and even worse, lie to them about it. Though I’m sure they see right through it, since Feyre knows every dirty detail about the breakup.

Nesta has been acting as my personal Azriel detector since he and I broke up six months ago. I’m beyond grateful for her help, but I know the responsibility of it is starting to wear on her patience.

“You know you’ll have to be in the same room as him eventually, right? You guys have a lot of friends in common.” Nesta says frankly. I flinch slightly, but I know better than to take her words personally. Nesta is nothing if not painfully forthright.

“I know. I just can’t be in the same room as him and Mor right now. I can’t see how he looks at her.” I pause to shudder, flashing back to the night I’d found them dancing at Rita’s, a mere six weeks after Azriel and I ended. She was all over him, and he was grinning like a fool. I hadn’t seen him smile like that for quite awhile. I suppose I should be happy he found his smile again, even if it wasn’t with me.

“I’ve been thinking of moving back home to San Diego.” I blurt, as if getting it out faster will make it easier. Nesta is one of my best friends, but she still scares the shit out of me. I know she’ll like the idea of me leaving about as much as a bull loves the color red.

For a few beats, Nesta is entirely silent. I chew my lip nervously, bouncing on the balls of my feet as I wait for my turn to use the crosswalk. I’ve lived in Chicago for three years now, since I moved here to pursue a career in publishing. I met Nesta and her sisters almost immediately. Soon after, they introduced me to their friends, and we’ve all been inseparable ever since.

“You’re not actually fucking serious, are you? You can’t just run away because that idiot broke your heart. This is your home.” Nesta growls, and I hear a door shut from her end of the line. Oh shit, she really has something to say if she felt the need to find a more private venue. Nesta isn’t one to hide her outbursts. Seeing as I’m not in the mood to get my ass chewed and spit back out, I retreat. Strategically, of course.

“I’ll let you get back to the baby shower. I have to go anyway.”

Nesta snorts, and I can hear the scowl in her voice.

“Okay, coward. We’ll talk tomorrow, I’m coming over.”

I roll my eyes and pocket my cell phone. If there was ever a way to describe Nesta, its ‘Tough love’. I walk the three blocks to my apartment in a huff, trudging through ankle deep snow all the while. I take my frustration out on fluffy piles of snow, kicking at them as I walk. By the time I’m locking the door behind me, my socks are soaked and I’m shivering despite my massive winter coat. You can take the girl out of California, but you can’t take California out of the girl.

I take a burning hot shower, dress in my warmest pajamas, and I’m curled up in bed in no time. I’m halfway through White Christmas when a text pings on my phone.

Azriel: Nesta says you’re moving back to SD. Can we talk?

Instantly, I’m cold as death beneath my plethora of fluffy Christmas blankets. That all too familiar pang in my chest returns in full force, so insistent that I can’t seem to catch my breath. Without meaning to, I’d read the text in his voice. I haven’t heard his voice in months, but it haunts me, a ghost I can never exorcise. I hear it in my dreams, in crowded rooms, in the harmony of some of our favorite songs. A second text pops up.

Azriel: Please, Alora. I know that you’re seeing this. You can’t keep shutting me out. I’m sorry, okay?

I scoff indignantly, my vision going red. I can’t shut him out? Him? I spent months trying to get him to talk to me, to tell me what was so obviously eating him up inside. Instead of letting me in, he pushed me as far from him as possible. And then, there was The Mor Incident. I knew he’d had a massive crush on her in college, but I thought it was long over. How naive of me.

For weeks after I moved out, Azriel tried to contact me everyday. He would text and call constantly, and ask our friends to get me to talk to him. At first, I was too hurt to respond.I needed my own time and space for a while. And when I saw him with Mor, I decided he’d never get a response from me. I knew what I needed to know. If anyone deserves to be iced out, it's the man who proposed to me and changed his mind about it like he was changing his order at starbucks.

Azriel: Talk to me. What can I do?

I grind my teeth and explode up out of my bed, too angry to even sit still. I pace my bedroom, my stomps probably heard by my downstairs neighbor. What can he do? For shit’s sake, if only he’d asked himself that question six months ago. A deluge of memories flood through my mind, dragging me beneath their frigid depths. Our one sided battles, where I begged and pleaded for him to let me in, and he refused. The nights he slept on the couch, or at Cassian’s. But the one that hurts the most, is the last one.

“Jesus christ, just talk to me! Please, Az. I just need you to talk to me.” I plead, tears running freely down my cheeks.

Azriel keeps his back to me as he hurls clothes into a duffel bag, the muscles of his shoulders tensed to the point of breaking.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Lora.”

His voice, that deep, melodic voice I love so much, is empty. Devoid of all feeling, all the love that used to shine through in every word he spoke to me. My chest feels like he’s cracked it open, and scraped me empty. Stolen all the warmth, all the joy. The fireplace crackles nearby, and yet I don’t feel a lick of its flame.

“There’s everything to talk about! I don’t even know why you’re leaving. You’ve been in pain, but you won’t tell me why. You won’t let me help.” I’m yelling now, but he still hasn’t so much as looked my way. A dark, heartrending thought creeps in.

“ Are-are you leaving me?” The question comes out in a broken whisper. I can hear the heartbreak in my own voice, and he curses under his breath.

Finally, he turns to face me. His face is nearly as empty as his voice, save for the deep purple circles beneath his eyes. Those gorgeous, hazel eyes that are filled with a nameless agony he refuses to share with me. His hair is more tousled than usual, his shirt wrinkled, shoulders slumped. He looks like a man defeated.

“Fuck baby, of course I’m not leaving you. I just- I need some time. To clear my head.”

His eyes finally meet mine for a second, and he reaches for me. His fingers barely brush my cheek before he yanks them away, fisting them at his side.

I’m close on his heels as he storms into the living room, towards the front door.

“But you are, Az. You’re choosing to leave instead of talk to me. We’re supposed to be partners, remember? We're getting married, Az .” I’m desperate now, my voice climbing an octave for every step he takes away from me.

He stops with his hand on the doorknob, looking over his shoulder at me. But he refuses to meet my gaze again. Like he can’t bear to look at me.

“Maybe we shouldn’t.”

His words hit me like a punch to the stomach, and all the breath leaves my body. A trembling begins in my hands. I feel untethered, like a boat abandoned at sea.

“You don’t want to get married?” I rasp, hugging my arms around myself. Cold is seeping into my bones, my chest. I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again.

Azriel struggles for words a few moments longer, a battle raging in the eyes I love most. He turns to me again and I see the tears building in them. I search his face for an explanation, silently begging him. Stay. Please stay. His voice is thick with emotion when he speaks.

“We can talk about it later. I’m gonna stay with Cassian tonight.”

He turns towards the door once more, but I can’t stop myself from asking the question that's been buzzing in my head for weeks.

“Is that really where you’re going, Az?”My voice is clipped, cold to my own ears. He pauses, confusion clear on his face.

“Are you sure there’s not someone else you’re seeing when you ‘go to Cassian’s’ ?” I demand, placing a hand on the dining table to my right.

If he gives me the answer I’m expecting, I may well need the support. Azriel’s face goes blank with shock, and he leans back against the door, not able to stand on his own.

“Jesus, Lor. I’m not fucking cheating on you.” He spits out, as he hoists the duffel bag over his shoulder.

My relief is short lived.

He wrenches the front door open, and the ancient thing groans like it might very well come off its hinges. In that moment, something snaps inside me.

“If you walk out that door, you might as well be leaving me. If you walk out right now, we’re done.”

I expect the words to finally wake him up, to reach where he’s hidden himself away, and bring my Azriel back. The Azriel that planned a picnic for our first date, or ran through the ER with me in his arms when my appendix burst. The Azriel that asked me to marry him, then made love to me under the stars.

But wherever that Az is, he’s far, far away.

“I need to go. I’m sorry, Lor”

After a moment of hesitation, he walks out the door. The sound of it closing like that of the lid of a coffin, sealing me inside. Alone.

I stay up all night, waiting for him to come back. Praying that he comes back. I lay alone in our bed, the sheets suddenly frigid and too abundant. All the extra leg room is a slap in the face. I watch the flames in the fireplace dying as the sun rises. Until all that’s left of that once roaring fire are embers. I watch until those too burn out, and go cold.

I blink, the sound of another message breaking me free of the torturous cycle of memories. I wipe traitorous tears from my cheeks and retrieve my phone from where I discarded it.

Nesta: Hey, I might’ve let slip to Elain that you were thinking of moving home. And of course she told Lucien, who told Azriel. Apparently, he wasn’t pleased. I’m sorry, Lor.

I sigh, type a quick reply and check the time. 9:58pm. Jesus, today has felt like a lifetime. I look around my apartment, at how dark and empty it's become as night has fallen. When I moved in, a week after Az left, I couldn't bring myself to decorate it. Because that would mean that this is home now, and not the house Azriel and I bought together. It would mean that the beautiful victorian in the suburbs was as gone as the life we could’ve lived in it. So, six months later, boxes sit in the corners. The walls are bare, the fireplace unlit even on the coldest of nights. And every night since has been glacial. Suddenly, the loneliness is nearly suffocating. I can’t spend another night just staring at the solitary wasteland my life has become.

All of my friends are together already, and he’s there. So going out alone it is.

I blast music as I get ready in a rush, effectively drowning out every unwanted thought. I go a little heavy on the eyeliner, hopefully concealing any evidence of tears. I slip into my newest dress, gifted to me by Feyre on my birthday. It's the perfect balance of elegant and sexy. A lovely slip of wine colored silk, skin tight and just the right amount of revealing. Looking at myself in the mirror, I smile for the first time all night.

Half an hour later, I’m shooting whiskey at Rita’s, scouring the dance floor for my next conquest. Probably not the healthiest coping mechanism, but I digress. The vast room is dark, the only lights being flashing rainbows of color timed to the music. Thick smoke snakes around the dancers, thanks to a mixture of incense and hidden fog machines. The scent of patchouli, sweat, and alcohol tickles my nose. Peculiarly enough, it's not a bad combination.

As I’m scanning the crowd, nursing a glass of scotch, a pair of unusual green eyes catch my gaze. He’s easily six feet tall, dark haired, and moderately handsome. He’s sitting with his friends, but no longer paying attention to the conversation. Instead, his eyes are shamelessly undressing me, lingering on my exposed legs. When he eventually meets my eyes again, I give him a slow, inviting smile. It only takes him a few moments to cross the bar, and sit on the stool beside mine.

“What’s a beautiful woman like you doing alone on a saturday night?”

I barely restrain an eye roll at his creative opening line. Instead, I lean closer and give him an obvious lookover. He’s definitely fit, his tight black shirt revealing a broad chest and toned abdomen. But I can’t help but note the lack of tattoos and scars. Once I’m done comparing him to Azriel, I meet his eager eyes again.

“I’m not exactly alone now, am I?”

The man smirks, and places a hand on my thigh.

The next morning, I hurry my house guest out the door as soon as he wakes up. He tries to get my number, but I carefully maneuver my way out of that one. The sex was good, but not that good.

I shower and dress, then scarf down a quick breakfast. As I’m drinking my second cup of coffee, I finally look around at my sad excuse of an apartment. It's not that the actual space isn’t nice. The hardwood floors are new and shiny looking, the walls a neutral gray, the countertops a gleaming marble. But like last night, it's overwhelmingly empty.

I take a deep breath and decide today is the day. Hesitantly, I walk to the closest box and start cutting away the packing tape. Each stroke of the scissors is like another nail in the coffin of my old life. I ignore the tears that burn in my eyes and keep cutting. With my heart racing and eyes closed, I reach my hand in and grab the first object I touch. I take three deep breaths in an effort to center myself, and look down at what’s in my hand.

“Oh for fucks sake.” I exclaim, my heart squeezing painfully.

The cellophane wrapped bundle of blank wedding invitations glimmers in the morning sunlight, like the fangs of a poisonous snake. Beautiful, but deadly. With a cry, I hurl the invitations across the room. They land with a satisfying thunk against the far wall. I plop down next to the box, letting my head fall into my hands. The wound in my chest is raw and throbbing, an ever present pain.

Of course it had to be the wedding invitations. It couldn’t be something easy, like a throw pillow or a bunch of CD’s.

I lean my head back against the wall, and let my eyes fall closed. Would this ever stop hurting? Would there come a day where I wake up, and I don’t reach for him?

I’m staring at the box like the dangerous, wicked thing it is when a knock at the door rescues me from my own pity party.

“Thank fuck.” I mutter to myself, eagerly jumping to my feet and practically running to the door. Nesta had said she’d be coming over today, and I thank my lucky stars at her timing. At least this way, I won’t have to unpack my old life alone. Nesta will help me. I’ll cry, she’ll make me laugh, and we’ll get drunk. Very drunk, knowing us. Maybe we’ll call Elain and Feyre. They’ll spend the night, and tomorrow will be easier. I’ll start looking at apartments in San Diego. As I’m opening the door, I take my first easy breath in days.

“Thank god, Nes I need-”

But it isn’t Nesta on the other side of the door. It's Azriel.

“Hey, Lora. Can I come in?”

#acotar #azriel #sarah j. maas #the night court #rhysand #fanfic #azrielfanfic #smut #acotarsmut #acotar fic

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ephemerlskies · 4 years

Text

in the stars tonight | pjm

⇢ pairing: jimin x reader

[other members - seokjin, taehyung, namjoon]

⇢ genre: series, ANGST, enemies to lovers au, actor!jimin, actor!oc, (eventual) fluff if you squint

⇢ word count: 8.4

⇢ genre: Landing a role that might launch your entire career as an actor had come with the most unpredictable and daunting circumstances: grappling with the tragic loss of your boyfriend, Namjoon, and co-starring in a film with the vexing yet enchanting (and famous), Park Jimin.

⇢ warnings: explicit language, themes of grief/loss, themes of depression, (many) mentions of death, mentions of driving under the influence (please stay safe!!), themes of alcoholism, themes of escapism, mentions of alcohol, mentions of marijuana, unhealthy coping mechanisms, lots of internal dialogue with one deceased boyfriend, arguing/bickering, seokjin being seokjin, eventual love triangle (ish) feud

♪ playlist: dynamite - bts, move! - niki, saint nobody - jessie reyez, through the night - iu, ilomilo - billie eilish, the truth untold - bts, slow dancing in the dark - joji ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 (coming soon)

a/n: i, and i cannot emphasize this enough, can't believe this came out of me.... it was just a lil idea in my head, but then it expanded into this entire story that was way too long to fit into a one shot. so, here's me serving up a hot plate of enemies to lovers with a generous side of angst and longing!!! i hope y'all enjoy (and hate) arrogant jimin as much as i did hehe <3 ps i have no idea how long i want this series to be i'm lowkey winging it

The world does not slow down for anything. Not for catastrophes or miracles or even something as devastatingly common as death.

When your boyfriend of three years, Namjoon, lost his life due to another's drunken mistake, you realized this. The world revolves on a scheduled orbit, and not even your tragedy wedged a wrench big enough to halt life just a moment. Just to let you breathe and grieve without feeling left behind. However, you were left behind, both by the world and him.

Every sun and moon, every skipped meal, every unfulfilled rain-check, every isolated Saturday night, and every cancelled audition that came as quickly as they left paid tribute to this merciless phenomenon. It seemed you now existed just to watch the days pass, just to balefully relive the moments before Namjoon's passing. And that seemed to have been the only way you could have survived. To make a recluse of yourself because if the world was careless enough to let someone as amazing as him go, then what held it back from spilling even more wreckage into your life? For the past six months, you stuck to the cold, dead past. It was all you had to hold onto; letting go meant plummeting into a depth far too unknown and inescapable.

You and Namjoon were steadfast. You were still steadfast, or more appropriately, stuck now that you had no one to be loyal to anymore.

You and him were one of those couples other people saw and wished they could replicate into their own lives, but when it came down to it, rooted for your happy ending with him. The type similar to that of highschool sweethearts who beat the odds, or the type whose encounter fell along the silver lines of fate. Something beautiful that automatically made all the love poems authenticated by you and him. And when he held you, the idea of worry or evil seemed like concepts that did not exist past fictional tales. So warm, so loving, now gone.

The way in which you and Namjoon grew over the three years you were able to love him was in a convergent manner.

Your branches and vines were woven into his, and his into yours. Even your roots, the elements of your past, began to entangle beneath the soil. To root between each other meant there had been a foundation from which you grew, a stability that was once neat. There was no boundary of which would discern your life from his. And at one, more favorable, point in time, your life did belong to him. Namjoon was someone you only knew for a mere fraction of your life, however the moment he wandered into it, you had unlearned how to continue without him.

You didn't think you would have to relearn.

But then one decision forced you to do so. One person, who decided paying fifteen bucks for an Uber was not a wise enough investment, ripped out the plant of his body from your shared soil by means of inebriated judgment and a missed red light. You had no choice but to absorb the cruel sustenance of the sun completely alone. Most of your branches of life were left barren, with torn twigs where your body once borne fruit and leaves and beauty. But the roots were where most of the pain inhabited. A stubborn, sharp ache resided in your chest, deep enough that you might have had to be cut open and searched through to find the source.

It had been six months of 'Sorry for your loss' and 'Gone too soon' and your personal least favorite 'He's in a better place now'. It made you angry, because was there a place better for him that didn't have you in it? How could anyone know what was better for him when they didn't experience something as tender and gentle and loving as your relationship?

But none of the sympathetic smiles or half-hearted condolences made you quite as angry as the monster who was too selfish to call someone to drive them and consequently punctuating the eternity you were meant to spend with Namjoon. You always followed the virtue that an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. Forgiveness was a sweeter release than anything else, but if you could, you would take that drunk driver's life in a heartbeat. You would have gauged out your own eyes if the chance fell into your reach.

Though, no matter how hard you screamed at the universe for hurting you, despite the countless pleas to somehow retrospectively tell Namjoon not to go out for something as trivial as toothpaste so he might be alive today, holding your hand in this waiting room, telling you that you're going to do great, you knew the world wouldn't stop for you or your sorrow.

It revolves, waits for no one, and you had to pace yourself to jump back into the turning carousel of life.

"___. We're ready for you!" His voice was ten notches above a volume that wouldn't irritate you. The only hint you let slip that his tone made you want to throw this script at his crotch was the muted sigh.

You knew this audition was going to play out like the rest. They would ask you to read, stop you in the middle of your monologue, then say something like 'Thank you for your time, we'll get back to you soon' which was show business code for 'We are not giving you the role'. The only reason you were here was because you had been out of work for too long, the piles of overdue bills on your kitchen table a cruel reminder of that. Plus, you knew Namjoon would have told you to go.

He would have said something like, 'Get your lazy ass out of bed and go to that audition! You don't want Hollywood to miss out on a star just because you want to sleep in fifteen more minutes'. And it would have worked. It always had. Now, the only motivation that came to your aid was the echo of his voice, and even that had begun its slow descent into forget. Other than that, guidance of your own volition was as fleeting and disarrayed as a violent wind.

"Hi, my name is ___, and I will be auditioning for the lead. Jordan." Your hand must have been fielding its way through a nervous tick. The person you assumed was the director was eyeing the way it had been contorting at your side, and you hated showing that you were nervous.

"Perfect! We've already casted the other lead role. This audition will mostly be based on whether we think you'll have good chemistry with him." Him. So your possible running mate was a man. Before a list of names engraved on rows of stars cemented into the Hollywood walk of fame ran through your head, you lifted the script and collected all the air your lungs would allow.

Maybe, you thought, my courage and passion might come with it.

And when you opened your mouth, something magical that you credited to talent claimed sovereignty over your body. Now, you were Jordan. Jordan didn't have a dead boyfriend, now ex boyfriend, or luggage enough grief to sink a depression into the crust of the Earth. Jordan was a kind, low-energy, and sentimental artist coming into an age of overwhelming success and fortune —and love.

That's what alluded you in acting. For a moment, you could escape your life, leave your pain on the back burner while you emerged into someone who was unacquainted with the pain of losing the love of your life. It was akin to a drug, administering an intoxicating fill of temporary serotonin. Instant relief, and if you got this job you would have your fix of this twisted sort of high that tempered the Namjoon-sized void in your life. And Jordan's life definitely seemed to have, quite literally, all the things yours lacked.

"Wow, ___, was it? That was absolutely incredible!" The hand-covered whisper that followed this appraisal gave you time to begrudgingly peel of the Jordan mask. Within a half second, all the pain seemed to compound into your body. If you hadn't already shaped your entire life around that weight, you would have fallen over. Though you had done this, and even worse, you had been shouldering it for so long, you would have felt naked without such a burden. "Okay, well, we have a few more auditions but I think we have our Jordan! We'll send your manager the full script along with the schedule for the first week of shooting in about two weeks."

"Uh-" If you had not said something quick, the opportunity might have slipped away all too fast, the way Namjoon had. You vowed to grab hold of anything remotely good that arose into your life, giving you more than late nights of choked sobs and transfixed gazes out of half-curtained windows. This offer was clutched tightly in your fist. "Oh... Th- thank you! Thank you! Fuck, thank you so much. This means so much to me, thank you!"

Before you proliferated the meaning of the words thank you and the director's smile turned into rolled eyes, you stumbled your way out of the door. Waiting on the other side was a world that might strike against you with partially docile cruelty. The wind pressed against your skin, almost blowing away all your grief with the help of this successful audition.

That feeling, as always, was as comforting as it was fleeting. Because the scars of your past would not have budged for any brash current. Because your next thought disrupted the scant flourish of joy. It was the thing that came easier and sooner to you than eating and blinking; telling Namjoon any news of both good and bad ranks, sharing your life to celebrate or stress over. One of the many things that remained by an undissolvable adhesive along your mind. You tried to soak it away with liquor or smoke it out with weed, but there was no breaking of habits you loved almost as much as Namjoon.

I did it, Joon. I landed my first role. You thought, because that was the closest you could have gotten to relaying the news.

Your heart began to physically hurt. Heartaches were literal in your case. Literal and grim. You felt the grip of loss pierce its sharp thorns into your flesh. It had nearly been as painful as all the times your words were met to deceased ears, speaking to someone that had not belonged to you anymore. Six months had passed and pain cannot tell time in the way people can. So, you knew the marathon of your grief was one that followed its own metaphorical clock. You just had to keep running in hopes you could make it out alive.

Though, being Jordan for the next six months would help momentarily satiate your grief. If there were a remote for your emotions, this role would be the mute button. Your pain would still move as it usually would, but now it would be silent. You wouldn't have to listen to its unforgiving taunts and crippling obscenities. It was only just that you were paid reparations for six months of utter misery with six more months of narcotic, soundless distractions.

Two Weeks Later

If the universe had given you one good thing, it was skill and dedication to your craft. The script was memorized in just short of four days, and even a sizable amount of lines of the other characters had been stacked atop your memory. Doing an acceptable job at this role wasn't something that was worried you. In fact, the idea of wearing another's life on your body and on your heart was something you looked forward to.

It was a bit difficult to convince yourself how good this natural born gift was when the universe took something that felt a thousand times more crucial to your existence. Acting, or anything else that planted joy in you, was a consolation prize for merely participating in life. Namjoon was the reward you were meant to win in the end.

And you had no idea what the hell to do when the prize becomes in all of the sense of the word unattainable.

You hadn't driven in six months, despite the run-down Honda parked in front of your street, desperate to be given some sort of purpose. It was too much. Ever since the accident, the idea of manning a wheel that could take away more than it could ever offer was a responsibility you felt entirely too daunted to assume. Even though seat hogs, missed busses, and overcrowded walkways had been inconveniences of an indescribable level, it wasn't enough to put your body into the same vehicle that derailed your life.

Luckily, the bus stop was only three blocks away from the studio. It gave you plenty of time to get into character, however it also nestled in a span of time for Namjoon's voice to filter in and out through running your lines.

He talked to you a lot. As much as it made you want to cry, you held onto it, feeling as though it might be the last of his voice you'd be able to recall. If Namjoon's internal commentary were to suddenly disperse, you might forget his voice entirely. And you wouldn't admit this to anyone else, but you would always answer back. Sometimes out loud, and sometimes, when company forced you into sanity, you responded mentally. It kept you separate from life and any form of interaction with actual people, but it felt better than living in a world without him. Additionally, it helped keep his voice alive, which when you thought about it, was such sick irony. His voice, alive, his heart and mine and soul, dead.

And that was the only downside to acting. When there was another mind you had to engage in, Namjoon couldn't have broken the barrier and his voice wouldn't even register as an echo. Perhaps that was why you waited so long to dive back into your job. It felt synonymous with betrayal to do anything that would sever your connection already hanging by a single, fragile thread.

"___? Hello?" You were immune to every condescending gesture or vernacular weaponized in Hollywood by now. Your makeup artist's snaps fell into the base of annoyance you had grown used to. "Did you hear me? You're all ready."

Her voice wasn't too abrasive. If anything, you should be the one apologizing for dazing in and out of consciousness. Though, Namjoon's sweet compliments about how beautiful you looked with your stage makeup should have been the one to acquire this remorse.

"Sorry. I'm, uh, tired. Not used to waking up at six in the morning quite yet."

"Well, get used to it, or you'll have a rough few months ahead of you." Her laugh had shed whatever shell of pretentiousness once veiled her previous impression. "I'm Nayeon, by the way. I've heard many great things about you, ___. Let's hope you live up to the hype."

Nayeon's nudge was friendly, and it comforted you that within the first day you hadn't pissed off the person who could easily turn your face clown-like with a few heavy strokes of her brush. She was beautiful, too. If she hadn't been dressed in a black T-shirt strewn with foundation and powder stains, then you would have mistaken her for an actress.

"Let's hope so... I guess the director was selling me better than myself." Your eyes scanned the area, though no one seemed a fitting candidate to be your lead. "So, who's the other lead?"

"Park Jimin. I'm surprised they didn't tell you yet. I guess it's some obscure, artistic director decision to keep you in the dark. I’m lowkey fangirling right now… But, don't tell anyone that." Before you could respond, let alone react, Nayeon had collected all the products she needed for her next subject and was about a yard away from you. "Good luck, rookie!"

Park Jimin. You've definitely heard of him, but it surprised you that someone like him accepted a role in a romantic, indie, coming of age film that had not the budget to pay half of what he usually made in his repertoire of previous movies. He was certainly what one would consider an 'A-list' celebrity. The type paparazzi actually cared to stalk, and fans recognized in public, but were too shy to approach due to his sheer intimidation. It hadn't eased your nerves that he was notoriously withdrawn when it came to the behind the scenes portion of shooting a movie.

And, like any decent person, you did your very best to refrain from placing judgments without the opportunity for them to fill in their own narrative. Most of what you ‘knew’ of Jimin had been hearsay. However, you had some hunch Jimin wouldn't qualify as one who labored tirelessly for the roles he had landed or authenticated any sort of compassion with his rising fame.

See, acting and snagging a big role in a movie was characterized as a tall building for you. If one reached the top floor, then they would assume a wealth of opportunities and Oscar nominations and acclimation. Of course, this film industrial structure had various modes of climbing to the top. Some had stairs which called for more excretion and effort but still, all you needed were persistent legs, then each step would eventually get you where you wanted to be.

You had more of a ladder. Each wrung was slanted at an angle of which only deepened your brawl with success and had not been sanded down enough to save you from a generous supply of splinters. After a while, your hands began to ache and the fear that some high-society type would kick the base of your ladder always stalked the forefront of your worries. It certainly had not been a choice means of arrival to whatever awaited you on that top floor, however it was the only one available.

And while you had a ladder to overcome, Jimin had an elevator. The most he'd ever expend to reach that coveted floor was a few presses of a button. And perhaps his only sacrifice would be sharing the elevator with one or two others. Things just worked out for people like him. And an elevator’s delivery was always in a manner that was quicker than the likes of a staircase or a ladder.

When he arrived on set, dragging himself like his own body was a weight he shouldn't have to carry himself, you fought that instinct of yours to assume everything you needed to know from him.

Just because he's wearing sunglasses inside doesn't mean he's some arrogant asshole, even if that is the most cliché character trait of one. This internal lecture was certainly of Namjoon's doing, since he was always one to never run out of allotting the benefit of the doubt.

Yeah, I guess. But, come on, he looks like a fucking idiot. You replied as if he were really there before walking up to the callous man with your gauntlet thrown down by default. No need getting on Jimin's bad side, because you were sure it's complement was being blacklisted from the film industry. Instead of sharp edges you offered him a non-threatening smile and handshake.

Play nice. Namjoon reminded you before you had the chance to decide what you wanted to say.

"Hi! It's such an honor to be working with you. I'm ___." Jimin looked at your hand like you had filled it with mud and were intending on smearing his Gucci jacket, which you assumed was worth more than your monthly apartment rent. "Um, wanna touch base before we start shooting or..."

If his admonished glare at your hand wasn't encouragement enough to retract it back into yourself, then what he said, or more fittingly, what he didn't say next was.

The way his sigh infused a scoff within it made you feel small. It felt like fire, how thoroughly it burned you into a pile of ash, but then it felt like a gust of prickled wind that would scatter your remains completely. If it had not been for the way his head shifted from your head to your toe, you wouldn't have known that his shielded eyes were trailing the length of your body. Such a glare seemed like a calculation of your worth; it must have totaled out to that of a fly he had to swat away because the second you stood on the outside of his peripheries you stopped existing in his world altogether.

His back made a longer impression on you than his eyes, and that was your que to huddle yourself in the corner and stick to the two things you were best at.

Imaginary conversations with Namjoon and rerunning through your already memorized lines.

Before you say anything, I already think he's a prick. It might be pathetic to have instigated theoretical conversations with your dead boyfriend, but the world wouldn't know he would have scolded you first for already constructing an agenda to avoid Park Jimin whenever you could. You just felt an itch to lay down the first word.

You never know, maybe he had a bad day.

Yeah, well people like him don't need to be professional unlike the rest of us. I mean, I'm on the verge of openly conversing with you and I'm the one that has to turn the other cheek? Your script was decorated with a number of wrinkles. Proof that your anger was sleeping from your insides in the form of tightly gripped hands that were pretending to pinch Jimin's skin instead of the script. For once, you felt some grain-sized semblance of luck for having a grasp of acting to pull off pretending to love Jimin.

"Hey." You weren't quite thrilled to meet the person you had imagined pushing down a staircase standing over you. Without his glasses, it was difficult to remember why you had been so angry with him and you hated that. His eyes consisted of more than just irises and pupils, though you would not have been able to place what exactly accompanied these features. They were just eyes, after all, parts of a body. Functional. Mechanical facets of being. And yet, his seemed more than that. More than just sense mechanics. Perhaps beauty.

But for him to have been beautiful, it would have tainted the very idea of beauty.

"We're about to start shooting. Don't make this difficult, I'm trying to leave on time."

"Okay... Sure." Those were the two words you substituted for the 'fuck you' itching to crawl from your throat.

"I'm Jimin, but you know that already." The way he spoke was punctuated as though it was a waste of his time to spend any attention on you. If you weren't already drained of your strength from that tube of toothpaste that was some sort of paraphernalia of the night Namjoon became an article of your past, then you would have rolled your eyes or retorted with something that would knock him down a peg.

"I do." Your own weak will bothered you more than Jimin. "Um, I-"

"Let's not." Though he had no idea what you were about to say, a part of you agreed to not even indulge in small talk with him. It would be too forced and uncomfortable and that might leak into your performance on camera. Still, he had an abrasive way of going about it that made you want to disagree with him just to be able to lie contrary to him.

"Fine." It rolled off your tongue easily, like silk. His lingering eyes had you wondering if you somehow impressed him with your passive agreement or insulted him for not groveling for his approval. Either one would have satisfied you.

"Alright! Looks like you two got acquainted. We're jumping right in." The director, Kim Seokjin, was chirpy. Even if this project wasn't necessarily mainstream or highly anticipated, he was the type to salvage all his passion and pour it into anything he created. It comforted you knowing someone other than you found this to be somewhat life changing. "Please, Jimin, ___, on your marks. This is the scene where you two meet, so we're hoping you two can infuse that feeling of being slightly awkward but nevertheless enthralled in each other's presence. Got it?"

"Yessir." You said, and Jimin only produced a nod which seemed generous for him. Fighting the urge to snarl or squeeze your brows together came as a difficulty you had to practice at.

"Slate! Quiet on set..." Seokjin’s voice filled the empty space of the entire studio.

"Scene one, take one." Just as the snap of the slate reverberated through the room, your eyes changed just as abruptly. Your gaze upon the set transformed it into your reality. You looked at Jimin and now saw Laurie, a young soul filled with enough dreams and kindness one could have mistaken him for a cloud; the kind that spoke in loving whispers and gentle caresses. He reminded you a lot of someone else you knew.

You tucked Namjoon's voice away with the rest of your grief and became Jordan.

Amazing things seemed to happen when you least expected them too. You guessed that was the nature of amazing things, for if you expected them then they probably wouldn’t feel so amazing. About halfway through the scene, after a number of cuts, re-shoots, directorial notes, you noticed something. Or more so, this something willed you to notice.

Once you fell into stride with your character, it became easier to pick up on the person acting opposite of you. Maybe you hadn't given Jimin enough credit before. You knew maybe was an understatement, though you felt a sting admitting talent had fallen into his hands just as all his accomplishments had.

Jimin's acting rested on the side most polar to your own. You replicated, he revolutionized. You became your character, shrinking yourself enough so that one wouldn't have been able to tell who you were beyond who you were playing. Jimin, however, made the character his own. There was no minimizing his own body to fit into the mold of the character. Jimin was the mold, and he sculpted the character to fit along himself. He forged his movements, voice, and confidence into whichever role he played and brought life to someone strewn with a signature of his own soul polishing said character. All the while, he was inventive with each intention and emotion that were strung into his lines.

It was difficult to pull this off, being that you could easily begin to just play yourself in a movie and neglect any character mannerisms that you were supposed to portray, however Jimin seems to slip in and out of his role with ease. And with each take, he peppered in more dimensions to a character. He gave meaning and depth to a person constructed onto a paper script until you couldn't believe this person didn't exist in real life.

That was the amazing thing that kept your well-rehearsed lines behind an impermeable wall of reluctant admiration.

What hadn't helped, though seemed to have been timed to a tee to unwind your sensibility, and timing had always worked against you like you had done wrong to it, was the part when Laurie was written to sneak his hand along your waist after Jordan stepped backwards into his body.

His palm felt so warm. So warm that the entire world felt too cold for you to be anywhere but apart from his touch. Then, all your lines spilled from your recollection. He was standing close behind you, the plush of his cheek tickling your ear and sending the entire world away so you and he could reserve this moment just for yourselves.

"Your line." His whisper wouldn't be picked up by the mic, though it had no trouble debilitating the rest of your senses. Did he intend for it to blur any sort of attraction his character felt for you into the life beyond the camera?

The director called cut to the scene, and it felt like a lifetime before you were released from the entrapping heat of Jimin's body. When you spun around, hoping you could at least dig through your throat to pull out a deflated apology, the smirk laced along his lips illustrated every bit of his arrogance and once again shut you up.

From the way his eyebrow was arched, you assumed he must have read your mind. He knew what he did to you, and it reminded you of everything you disliked about Jimin. Presumptuous, prideful in his taunts. It also reminded you that he stood many floors above you in this architectural competition of acting. You were grabbing hold of each wrung as you went, unprepared for something as disarming as Jimin. All he had to do was peer down at the sight of you to make you feel a hundred times lower than him.

“___? What’s wrong?” You looked over to find Seokjin’s half worried, half irritated expression.

“No, nothing. Sorry, I just blanked for a second.” Jimin’s snide chuckle at your confession to a faulty performance didn’t help simmer the burn of embarrassment.

"It’s okay, I get it.” The director offered a smile as a peace offering, and since he looked not seven years older than you, it had you assuming he was the laid-back type. “Let's take five. We'll block a few of the scenes and finish the rest of this and we'll call it a day."

You made your nest over at the snack bar. Shoving half of a donut into your mouth had almost resurged your energy. Nayeon made a swift return to pat your face with more powder.

"Hey, you're pretty damn good." You were stuck with a mouthful of donut to null any chance of responding. "Except for when you kinda just shut down at that last scene."

You would have felt embarrassed, or rather more embarrassed than you currently did, if it weren't for the light laugh that followed. All you had to reply with was a shrug.

"I mean, I don't blame you. Jimin's pretty hot and if I were cozying up to him during a scene I'm sure I would also fuck up my lines." Nayeon finished applying whatever touch ups she felt necessary, not without a suggestive eye arch. This either meant she was going to shuffle over to another actor in need of visual repair or she would stay and talk. Her continued monologue advocating for Jimin's talents and good looks proved the latter was what you had in store. "I mean, damn. Also, I'm pretty sure he's got abs under that shirt. So, are you into him? Is that it?”

"It's not like that." The harsh delivery gave an impression contrary to what you said. "I mean, I just... He's just really good at this. I guess I got kinda intimidated."

Normally, you would have sought Namjoon's voice ringing in your head about how you could do this, reminding you how he believed in you. It would have gotten you through the scene however, Jordan didn't know Joon.

"Well, he won an Oscar for a reason, babe." You finished the rest of your donut and begun a prowl for another savory comfort food. "I mean, damn, twenty-five and already winning Oscars and getting nominations. It ain't for nothing."

"Yes, this is helping so much, thank you." You twisted in sarcasm as if that would make you seem any less intimidated. Again, Nayeon laughed off any shroud of roughness coating your words.

"What, do you want me to lie? Is that how you want to start this friendship, with lies?" Her elbow nudged you, and that alone communicated more than the brief exchanges you two shared. Now, you had a friend. Someone else to talk with that wasn't a figment of your own imagination.

Look at you, already making friends. Your smile was not as hidden as you attempted for it to be. Namjoon's little encouragements had that effect on you.

"What's that smile for?"

"Oh, nothing." You scarfed down the mini muffin, turning towards Nayeon. "Just happy my makeup artist goes easy on the blush."

She winked, and you felt ready to be sent back into the throes of this film. You weren't keen on Jimin feeling closer to a competitor than a partner in this project, however if that is how he wanted it to be, you were never one to submit so easily. You were determined to level this playing field, and your communion with victory felt like a well-deserved birthright.

"Thought I told you I wanted to go home on time, rookie." You watched his lips shape such venomous words, since his eyes, the unnamed, nearly beautiful presence, might have sunk you back into that state of speechlessness.

"I take it you're not a method actor, since Laurie is so sweet and you're a fucking ass." It felt good for all of one second before a series of reprimands fueled by none other than Namjoon now had you on the brink of apologizing.

"Feisty, huh?" Again, his lips eased out sharp words as if they would not nick the plump skin as it went.

You hoped Joon had nothing to say about how you were now tracing the lush of Jimin's lips. And yes, it had been six months, though you knew your love-ridden heart had yet to free its hands from grabbing hold of Namjoon, still, the feeling of attraction, no matter how brisk it might have been, felt like you were committing adultery. Adultery, over someone who was dead. You weren't the one who left him behind, and at the same time, you never got that shiny patent of closure. There was no break-up, so perhaps that was an explanation as to why your heart was foolishly stuck in love, never realizing its oath to loyalty was graced upon the deceased.

You thought of love now, while you were supposed to be getting into character. You thought of the one thing you once had held worn so easily, and now you had been chasing it knowing your legs weren’t enough to catch up.

There was a well in your eyes, supplied by the same source which fossilized a ragged lump in your throat. And you must have blinked twice as many times as you normally would since Jimin's eyebrows met halfway between his forehead as he watched you. Or, more disappointingly, he might have noticed your tendency to grow red in more places than just the whites of your eyes when you were about to cry. Holding those tears in hadn't helped with keeping your skin less flushed.

It frustrated you that he might have noticed, which only twisted you tighter into the verge of crying. You knew it was unlikely that his watchfulness of your pre-breakdown expression was due to a lapse of genuine concern. For all you knew, he was subtracting even more value from your worth, plummeting you into negative integers.

And if you weren't so dedicated to your craft, then you wouldn't have the ardor nor the ability to pull off acting like you loved him.

Nayeon is a good makeup artist, I think you have a thick enough cover of foundation and powder to hide it. That of course, along with any sliver of light in this dark tunnel, had always been attributed to Namjoon. He was the reason you kept going, the reason you had been able to get out of bed to drink a glass of water once in a while, the reason you did not completely break down every time a tube of toothpaste fell into your line of vision. Him and the memorialized voice was what chipped the lump free from your throat and dried your tears before they had the chance to spill.

"What-" Whatever motivated Jimin to ask you something had been gone almost immediately after it sprouted.

"Quiet on set!" There was no way you'd figure out what he was going to say if the director had mandated pre-shooting silence.

The rest of your day went accordingly. Nothing too devastating happened that cleared away the momentum of excitement of this being your first big role. Though, not that you weren't beyond grateful for this chance, you made a chore of reminding yourself to be aware of your good fortune.

And, with the help of a few well-placed improvisations that made you seem somewhat of a visionary in your craft, your previous mistake had been washed with water under the bridge in the director's eyes. It escalated your ego and confidence to watch Jimin scavenge for an unpracticed reaction to go along with the slight details or lines you infused into the scene. At a certain point, you could almost describe him as impressed with your acting. Maybe enough to bump your worth up a few decimals, not that that should be occupying your worries.

"Wow, ___! Look's like we hired the right thespian. Great work! By the looks of it, things will flow easier from here." The director, who you finally felt on a first name basis with, approached with a hug. Though, usually this would have sent red alerts, you could tell Seokjin had no ill intentions of the predatory type. "Also, you two have chemistry, but it's not quite there yet. I want this to be believable. There has to be some real life element of camaraderie if this story is going to be genuine."

"So, what exactly are you asking of us?" Jimin, of course, sounded all but thrilled with whatever Seokjin was suggesting even when it hadn't been specified yet. And though you hadn't expressed it outwardly, this aversion for what Seokjin has been suggesting was shared.

"I don't know, get to know each other? Method acting works usually. I mean, Jared Leto did it for that movie and he seemed pretty crazy." The attention was never yours to claim once Jimin had already pressed his phone to his ear and Seokjin was off reevaluating the shots taken today.

You were alone again. Surrounded by an entire crew and cast, but alone nonetheless. Your version of escapism was never as consistent as you needed it to be. All it took was a moment of stillness for you to drift into some place much darker than your current reality. Jordan was sealed away for now, and you were trapped in your own body. It felt horrible. Being you without the man who loved and cared for such a kindred soul felt no different than writhing in pain. Being you without him was empty. Before long, you might have fallen faint in front of your coworkers.

The only target you could acquire as of now was Jimin, taken away from the world for reasons much less burdensome than your own. Where you had a plight of grief to sift through, Jimin had a phone and most likely a supply of friends to text and busy himself with. Seokjin wanted you to get to know him, try your hand at method acting so to speak, and that was the excuse which allowed you to walk over and try to kindle some sort of conversation.

"Hey, so, uh..." The pause came to no avail, since it seemed as though you could have said nothing at all judging from his reaction. "Hey."

It took a fictitious clearing of your throat and three more seconds of unwavering silence to lure his eyes from his phone.

"What?"

As it had been for this entire day, everything involving Jimin was made to be some sort of challenge. A feat you had to overcome without an ounce of reprieve, just to remain standing.

"Seokjin said we should, like, get to know each other. Or, at least get along. I think that's a good idea." His eyes gave absolutely no clues to anything below the exterior of an expressionless face.

"Why are you trying so hard?" You waited for him to laugh, or even for a laugh of your own to slip and loosen the tension. A laugh to make what he just said a joke, victimless banter, because it would have been wildly insulting if that were the most genuine thing he had said to you all day.

"What the hell does that mean?" Your arms were crossed as if that would keep your heart safe from his cruel tactlessness.

"I'm not taking this shit seriously." He laughed, but it wasn't the one that you wanted previously. It sunk wounds deeper, with such a dull edge too. "It's just a side job so people think I'm humble, or whatever my manager said."

The puzzle began to piece together, it took this admittance from Jimin for the picture to emerge from ambiguity. This movie was some form of damage control for his reputation, and that might be because your accurately placed criticisms of his lackluster humbleness did not stand solitarily. Your big break had been reduced to a convenient plot of image reconstruction. You were familiar with anger, it was one of your trickier stages of grief to surmount, but it still affected you to the same degree as before.

He didn't expect a response. You could gather that much from the way he instantly turned back to his phone, rendering you nonexistent once again. Namjoon would have told you to remain civil. But Namjoon was gone. It hurt to think that way, but if his voice hadn't emerged to mitigate this situation now, then Jimin was yours for the taking.

"You're a fucking ass." It seems brash was the only approach to seize immediate attention from Jimin. His eyes widened as if you had grown twice as large and the vision of you wouldn't fit in his narrowed, judgmental glare. "This may be a joke or a throw away gig for you, but this means a lot to me."

"Wanna back off, Jesus. I only-"

"No, I don't wanna back off. I haven't had the best year, and having a co-star that treats me like shit isn't really helping either. And, I get it, you're some sort of elitist who thinks they earned their success." You scoffed, tethering his eyes with yours as though there were a string tying them together. And with each step closer you took, the knot only secured tighter. "But people like you, men like you, don't do shit to earn where they are. But it's so cute the way you think you did! Truly, it's embarrassing watching you flaunt your ego around like you actually have something to be proud of."

"So it's like that, huh? You know, I was almost starting to respect you." The fact that his delivery suggested this was some sort of badge of honor made him all the more pathetic. You should not have put it past Jimin to boast over paying a fundamental level of respect where it's due.

"Wow," You doused a generous layer of sarcasm over your throat so the words came out so. "Basic human decency? From you? How can I ever repay you for such kindness?”

"I said almost."

"You're pathetic."

"Like you're one to talk."

"Yeah, well at least I don't pretend I'm hot shit." The tip of your shoes finally closed the gap between his. Again, you were snared in his warmth, however it didn't feel as tranquil as before. Now, it was closer to a pot of boiling water, evaporating flesh and bone until you were steam floating along the air, bendable and displayed out thinly.

"You don't pretend because you're just that bad of an actor, huh?"

It suffocated you, being this close with him; the blurry details of his face became sharp this way. His eyes were hypnotically watchful of your lips, preparing for your next gambit. You surrendered only a smirk, hoping it would antagonize him. And you could have sworn standing at the furthest point of the Earth from Jimin wouldn't appease this invasive thronging. The universe had yet to expand wide enough to provide an acceptable distance away from him. Until then, you were left with shallow bouts of breath tasting of metallic hatred, hoping those would alchemize into words that would make you seem more intimidating that you really were.

"Please, I could act circles around you. Your performance is transparent. Anyone with a scope of the basics of acting could see through you."

"Is that so?" You hated how quick you had been to notice his tongue slip along his lower lip. He must have found this delicious, patronizing someone who only had 'friend number five' or 'cashier' as proof of their employment. Jimin was greedy, devouring all the blood spilled from his wounding retorts.

In some perverse way, being the focus of his attention had you feeling fulfilled. Jimin, the man commonly sought after among the demographic of teenagers and middle-aged women. Not only were you proving your merits of qualification to act alongside him, but you had something to prove to yourself. You weren't going to let Jimin push you around without pushing him right back. You were strong enough to fight. It seemed to have come natural to you to enjoy provoking anger in him. It felt as if you were finally accomplishing something that was unattainable to anyone else.

And even if you wanted to retreat, his gaze guaranteed your obedience. It was a battle, along with every other exchange you have had with him. Even when silence was the only parcel between you two, when the only semblance of noise was heavy, jaded inhales, it felt as though you and he were at wits to gather more air than the other. To see who would fall breathless first.

"You're pathetic." His words hit like physical blows, and you might have had to check for bruises along your ribs and torso from the churning sensation in your stomach.

"If I'm pathetic, I don't know what that makes you." You wanted your rebuttal to feel like fire. You wanted to scorch and sear blisters along his flawless skin for proof of any successful hit. “A privileged boy with enough of daddy’s money to get him any job he wants. But, I’m the pathetic one?”

He appeared unscathed, with one end of his lips rugged upwards, mocking you without needing any of the words to do so. Perhaps he'd gotten the best of you, as you were searching through your arsenal of refutes only to find it overspent. It would not have surprised you to discover his supply of acidic insults piling without a visible dent.

His eyes looked fully employed in studying you, and you felt disrobed to be under such scrutiny from a stranger. Jimin seemed to have been reading you like words on a page, armed with a twisted smile that was unnervingly addictive, but you tried your hardest to keep your book closed. You didn’t want him to know how weak you really were.

"God, you're so-"

"Oh, great! Both of you are still here." Seokjin's voice reminded you that there was a world of events beyond you and Jimin. For a moment, you had felt secluded into a universe constructed especially for any collateral destruction that might have come of whatever war was about to be waged. "I have some notes for you two. Go home, read, digest, and come prepared tomorrow! I have full confidence in the two of you."

"Thanks." Succinct yet not lacking any tonal sentiment, Jimin got the first word in with the director, leaving you scrambling to find yours.

"Thank you." You were frustrated in how recycled your responses felt after Jimin handled them. Actors like you always fed on scraps of the higher-ups, and they were never as appetizing or filling as you would hope.

"See ya, ___." Your name sounded awful on his tongue, like his voice had filtered out the good parts of it and the waste remained spilling from his lips. Like dirt or decayed flesh, or both, and saying your name was akin to saying a slur.

"Fuck you." Those words couldn't sift through your screwed jaw or muffled throat, but it gave you satisfaction that it had been said in the slightest.

It wasn't until you were halfway to the bus stop that the realization pummeled you down a hole you hadn’t recollected being dredged. That whole time, what might have been the product of a mere ten minutes, was the longest segment you had gone without thinking of him.

It was the most intimately you had ever engaged in a conversation with someone other than the late, imagined voice in your head. And it was the most you've gone without consulting with said voice before speaking. You simply spoke, and listened, and responded; like you were normal. You couldn't tell whether that was good, because maybe you would finally be able to move forward with the world, perhaps catch up with the life you were supposed to be living. But, at the same time, the guilt festering something acrid in the pit of your stomach had you convinced this wasn't entirely sunny skies and bright futures.

"I'm sorry." What frightened you, besides your mental slip to keep the words meant for Namjoon in your head, was the unreturned sound of his ringing through. It took the longest ten seconds of your life for the mental silence to be furtively trimmed by your own train of thoughts.

Jimin had done this to you, that you were entirely sure of. Jimin and his carnivorous tongue and greedy glare had drained your head of its second conscious. The one it had adopted when Namjoon's body could no longer harbor it. And that's how he lived on, through you.

Jimin took that away, somehow. You could almost kill him for it, but you had not favored a life in prison nor tabloids that headlined the Park Jimin being murdered or 'Crazy, Jealous Co-star On Murderous Rampage Targets Jimin'. So, for the time being, all that was accessible was quiet hatred.

And you took that over nothing. You hated Park Jimin.

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