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im-whatchamccallit · 5 years ago

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When They’re Jealous//ATEEZ

A/N: An attempt was made lol

Hongjoong

“This sounds incredible!” You couldn’t stop smiling as you listened to the song you had just finished recording, your producer doing as you asked and not auto-tuning your voice like the previous ones had.

You were making your comeback album and needed a new producer immediately, one that understood you were talented without vocal enhancements and could respect that, but all of them ignored you and only followed what they thought sounded right, causing the general public to mock you as an artist. But then you met Jihoon, or Woozi as he wanted you to call him. He was an excellent composer and an even greater producer, having a great ear for music that he even helped you find your range, something your vocal coaches even ignored or struggled with.

You were enjoying the moment until you felt your phone vibrate erratically, your heart sinking into your stomach as you read Hongjoong’s name from the screen. You excused yourself from Woozi as he continued to touch up on a few songs. He was always so immersed in his work.

“Joong,” You breathed out once you removed yourself from the room to drown out the noise inside.

“Hey. I came by your apartment so we could eat dinner together but I forgot you said you’ll be at the studio tonight. You mind unlocking the door for me once I get there?”

“I-uh-how about we go to the cafeteria upstairs? People get mad when we bring food in the studio anyways.” You said, biting on your bottom lip in hopes he would agree, but you knew that was too much to ask.

“I’ll make sure we clean up well this time. Besides, I wanna help out on a few of your songs.” You wanted to cry at this point, knowing there was nothing stopping Hongjoong from walking into his worse nightmare.

“O-okay. I’ll leave the door open for you.”

“Thank you, baby. I’ll be there soon, love you.” You gave a small ‘I love you’ before hanging up, rushing back into the room only to be met with a soothing melody played on the studio provided keyboard, but it didn’t ease your anxiety.

“Woozi, listen, you need to go before Hongjoong gets here.” You said bluntly, watching as his fingers stopped before looking at you, his eyes filling with worry at the sight of your own panicked expression, your bottom lip close to bleeding from how hard you were biting it.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“I just can’t have him know you’re here. Please, you just need to trust me-“

“Is Hongjoong hurting you, (Y/n)?” Woozi asked with genuine concern and a hint of outrage.

“No, but he’ll hurt you if he knows your my producer so you need to-“

“(Y/n/n)…”

You turned around and tried to hide your fear with a large smile, Hongjoong staring at you with an almost pained expression that made you let out a small whimper despite your seemingly casual appearance.

“Hongjoong! This is Woozi. He’s a-“

“Producer, I know. So you helped on (Y/n)’s album?” Hongjoong stated with a bitter yet monotonous voice, handing you the large bag of takeout before making his way into the room and taking a seat next to Woozi, your heart ringing in your ears as you watched them interact.

Hongjoong was always begging you to collab with him on a song or album. You could just picture his smile as he talked about how he’d listen to it over and over again, reminding himself that, even though your relationship wasn’t allowed by your company and he wasn’t able to show the world how great you were together, he’d be able to say you were great together as musicians and collaborators. But you crushed those dreams by asking Woozi to help with your album instead.

Hongjoong couldn’t deny he was hurt, and maybe even a bit jealous. Woozi was an amazing composure and producer, but so was he. Did you think he wasn’t good enough and that’s why you didn’t ask for his help? Or maybe it’s because you always liked Woozi better. Hongjoong recalled all the times your absentmindedly praised the older male’s musical abilities, a mixture of anger and self-doubt consuming him as he gave half-assed comments on the tracks Woozi played from your upcoming release. They were perfect, and that only made Hongjoong feel worse.

It took some time for you to regain your composure as you set the food down and stood beside Hongjoong, listening to him give a bit of critique to your title track, praising it despite his entire demeanor showing he was less than pleased with the situation.

“I’m gonna head home now to give you two some space. You need me to come by tomorrow to work on that bonus track?” Woozi asked while packing up his belongings.

“No, that’s fine. Thanks again for today.”

You both watched as he finally left, the tension in the air nearly suffocating you as you tried to find the words to say.

“He’s a great producer. Glad he helped with your album.” The tone of his voice was so defeated and sad, the small sigh you released doing nothing to relax your tense body.

“I wanted to ask you but you were already focused on Ateez stuff.”

“I would’ve made time for you.” He finally looked at you, his gaze soft despite the painful thumping in his chest fueled at the thought you went to another man for help. It almost felt like he was just cheated on.

“That would’ve been the most selfish thing for me to do and you know it. But look,“

You walked around to the seat Woozi previously occupied, finding the notebook you kept for all of your songs and picking out a loose sheet of paper. It looked a bit faded and old but you could read the lyrics perfectly.

“I wanted to make a bonus track that’d be released before the album and, considering we wrote it together, I thought it’d be wrong of me to have Woozi work on it.”

Hongjoong gently grabbed the sheet and read over the page that had strange doodles in the header and margins, a small smile appearing on his lips. He wrote this for you as a confession while he was still a trainee, giving it to you as a birthday gift before you returned it with drawings and extra lyrics added, you both going back and forth like lovesick kids until both sides of the page were filled.

“Are you doing this to pity me?”

“I’m doing this because you’re a great producer with amazing talent that will make this song better than I could ever imagine.” Despite your words being genuine, he felt you were only telling him what he wanted to hear. And he was okay with that.

“Alright, should we get started now?” He asked eagerly, moving to the keyboard to find a perfect melody for the love song.

“Let’s eat first. I’m starving.”

“Nope. With me it’s business first, leisure second.” He said with a nonchalant yet peppy tone, your body sinking into the seat as you realized he alone would go days without a meal until he perfected a song, so there’s no telling what you’ll have to endure with him. Maybe you should’ve stuck with Woozi on this one.

Seonghwa

You couldn’t read him at all. He was smiling like usual but his eyes were somehow narrowed with a glare. His body was so relaxed yet the arm around your waist was holding you into his side so tightly. And his voice; he was holding a conversation like normal yet sounded so sarcastic and bitter.

You could never pinpoint Seonghwa’s jealousy, he was a master at hiding it. But he knew when it kicked in, especially with the way your work husband, as he introduced himself, came rushing towards you with a bear hug during your company’s recent office party. He knew there’d be someone at the office interested in you, it’s hard not love someone so kind and energetic. But he also had to make a point of you being his, and what better way to do that than with class?

“Every day I come in, (Y/n) manages to make it better. It kinda bummed me out when you told me you were with someone, cause I would’ve had you for myself by now.” You coworker joked with a laugh, you and Seonghwa returning the laughter before the same arm around you tightened once more and you were certain you’d pop any second now.

“Well, let’s just consider you unlucky, right?” Seonghwa’s joke left an uncomfortable silence between you three, your eyes going between him and your colleague.

“I think (Y/n)’s incredible, sweet, talented. I’d say you’re a hard worker but that’s pretty obvious since you practically live at your office, right?” Seonghwa continued, facing you as you tried to make sense of what he was thinking and feeling, slowly piecing it all together with his little rant.

“But I think the greatest thing about you is that you’re mine and mine alone, and no work husband could ever compare to your real one.”

“My what?!” You snapped out of your trance as your coworker finally spoke up, apologizing if his comments made either of you uncomfortable, your head shaking frantically as he excused himself.

He was the only fun person you worked with that was around your age, everyone else in their 30s or 40s and having no time to joke around. His presence made your job bearable, and now you probably lost that thanks to the passive aggressive fool next to you.

“Why would you make up a lie like that? I should’ve known you were just jealous from the start.” You grumbled, wanting to remove yourself from his arms and apologize to the man that would usually give you a coffee with a joke written on the cardboard sleeve.

You gasped as you were pulled back once more, not too harsh but enough to make you turn and face Seonghwa, staring down at you in such an intimidating yet passionate way. It was scary yet exciting.

“I didn’t lie at all. You’re mine just like I’m yours and, we may not be married now, but it’ll happen soon.” He clarified, standing upright and looking away from you as a familiar smirk played on his lips.

“And I never get jealous, you know that.” Liar.

Yunho

Jealousy wasn’t something Yunho typically felt, but when he felt it, it hit him hard.

He wasn’t sure why he was so jealous, you were only talking to an old friend, one that you introduced him to as your “first crush”. But those feelings were from years ago, you were with Yunho now so there shouldn’t be a problem. Until he remembered he was also your crush at one point, you pining after him for two years until he caught on and accepted your feelings. If you could wait that long for Yunho, who knows how long you’d wait for this guy.

You were in a public space, walking alongside one another in the park Yunho always took you when he was stressed from work and practice, but this situation was just as stressful. Yunho felt like a kicked puppy at the way you gave all your attention to someone you haven’t seen in years and, from the sounds of it, had nothing in common with anymore, just fond memories. He didn’t want to start pouting because he’d be too obvious about his envy, his eyes rolling whenever you laughed at a lame joke he said. Seriously, he wasn’t that funny.

“Yunho, I forgot to ask what you did for work.” The other man, Chris, spoke up, causing Yunho to finally give him his attention.

“(Y/n) and I work together. I’m an idol while they’re our makeup artist.”

“Makeup artist? I can’t believe that’s still your dream job after these years. Congrats.” Chris smiled down at you before reaching to place his hand on your head, ruffling your hair as you let out a cute faux-whine and that was the last straw for Yunho.

You gasped as you were suddenly spun around, crashing into your boyfriend’s chest as he held onto you tightly, trying to hide his glare as he looked to a shocked Chris.

“Sorry but I just reminded myself we’ve been on break too long and I have to get back now.”

“Oh, well (Y/n) and I can hang out while you head bac-“

“No.”

You barely managed to give a proper apology and goodbye to Chris as Yunho dragged you off in the opposite direction, your body fighting against his until he released you, only to grab onto your hand with a gentle yet iron-tight grip. You’ve only seen this side of Yunho once before, and it was when you first began dating, the head makeup artist being a male that you had to give your undivided attention to in order to learn properly.

The lack of eye contact, the way his lips formed a pout despite him licking them occasionally to erase it or at least hide the fact it was there only to have it come back deeper than before, and the stand-offish yet clingy affection he gave you, almost as if he was angry at you but desperate for you to comfort him. He was jealous, and it was honestly amusing.

“You know, you have to stop getting jealous like that.”

“I’m not jealous.” He said bluntly, a small giggle leaving your mouth.

“Okay, sure. I bet you were fine with the fact Chris kept calling me his ‘love’ too, right?”

“When did he say that?!” You couldn’t stop the laughter leaving you at his outburst, ceasing his steps to face you with a devastated look.

“I’m sorry, I was only kidding, I just love how cute you get when you’re jealous.”

“I was jealous that you weren’t including me in your conversation. Him calling you love is just disrespectful to our relationship.” He clarified, your head nodding understandingly.

“Well, that doesn’t matter because he’s not my type.” You paused to kiss the hand holding onto yours, looking at Yunho’s face with a small smile.

“I prefer giant crybabies.”

Yeosang

You couldn’t contain your excitement as you stood alongside Park Bo Gum in the makeshift apartment on set, your heartbeat ringing in your ears as you watched him recite his lines for the third time that night. Sure, he was probably annoyed and exhausted because you could only stare at him in absolute admiration which led to you forgetting your own lines, but the words he spoke never got old to you. The character he was playing was confessing to you, something a rookie actor like yourself could only take to heart, especially when the man opposite of you was your celebrity crush.

But that only made Yeosang stand far behind the camera sulking. Seeing as you were always so excited after the end of filming each day, Yeosang took it upon himself to come watch you, only to realize this was the cause of your joy. When you said the leading actor for the upcoming drama was a ‘surprise’, he didn’t think you meant Park Bo Gum, yet here he was: staring down at you with soft eyes and a toothy smile that made Yeosang want to roll his own.

After various attempts, you final managed to deliver your lines, you and the slightly older male ending the day with a seconds long kiss that would be edited to last an eternity, the entire cast and crew relieved that you got it together so they can wrap up and go. Yeosang couldn’t help the way his face burned with irritation as he swallowed his jealousy, it always happened when he did. He also couldn’t help how cold he was acting as you approached him with a large smile.

“Did I do well? Did you like it?” You asked hopefully, Yeosang slowly cracking at the nervous and childlike gaze you gave him, a sigh leaving his lips as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Yeah, you did really great, sweetie.”

“(Y/n)!”

Yeosang’s bitter scowl came back as Bo Gum approached, his typical smile planted on his face and the poor boy couldn’t help but admit he was a real life prince. No wonder you could barely speak in front of him.

“Sunbaenim!” You greeted, bowing politely before gesturing to the obviously angry man next to you.

“This is my boyfriend, Yeosang.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you. (Y/n) talks about you all the time.”

You watched as he kindly extended his hand, Yeosang’s eyes staring at it pathetically before drifting upwards to glare at your elder, a shocked gasp leaving you as you apologized to the equally shocked, but honestly amused, actor.

“I’m so sorry. He’s a bit socially awkward outside of his performances so you’ll have to excuse him.”

“It’s fine, I get that way sometimes. But you did great today, don’t forget to practice more when you get home.”

You nodded and watched as he strolled away to return the outfit used for today’s filming, your head snapping to your boyfriend’s unbothered figure.

“What the hell is wrong with you? You just disrespected Park Bo Gum! Are you insane?”

“Stop talking about him like he’s some god. He’s just like anyone else.”

“Even if he is, that doesn’t excuse you being rude.”

You huffed as you walked away from him, the crew and director putting their items away as he stood awkwardly with his arms crossed over his chest, upset but still willing to wait for you to collect your items so he could take you home. You didn’t know why he acted like such an angry brat when he was jealous, but you could understand that you having a romantic scene with someone you’ve admired for years would obviously be an ego killer for him. You couldn’t help that you put Bo Gum on a pedestal, it was the fangirl in you. But your boyfriend was just as famous and meant even more to you, so why weren’t you treating him the same?

Yeosang heard your timid footsteps stop just in front of him although he refused to look at you, your arms wrapping around his torso as you pried his own apart with your head so he could hold you properly, staring up at him with a pout.

“Stop being angry with me.” You tried to say in your cutest voice, Yeosang trying hard not to break his sour puss persona.

“Act cute all you want, but I think Bo Gum would probably like it way more than I do.”

“I’m too young for him. Besides, he probably doesn’t like weirdos like me.”

You felt two warm hands cup your face before squishing your cheeks together, making your pout more prominent and fish-like, Yeosang finally smiling as he playfully tilted your head from side to side.

“Yeah, you are pretty weird.”

Everything seemed fine and well for you two again, especially when he leaned forward to plant a small kiss to your lips, only to retract instantly with his previous stone-faced expression.

“You didn’t wipe your mouth after he kissed you, did you?” Your eyes widened in realization just after he released you, turning on his heels to walk away only for your body immediately follow his, preparing to fix things once again.

“Wait, I forgot to! I didn’t leave it on purpose! Yeosang!”

San

It all happened last night: San taking you out to dinner, the waiter flirting with you heavily, you giggling in a mixture of awkwardness and flattery, and San biting back his jealousy. All of that was last night, so why the hell was San romancing the hell out of you now?

You watched carefully as he maneuvered himself around the dorm’s dining room table, standing at your side as he cut your steak for you and even opted to feed you, his eyes staring into yours lovingly as you chewed although you were starting to feel a bit overwhelmed, finally bringing yourself to look away.

“Shouldn’t you take a seat and eat as well? I feel weird having you do this for me.”

“Nonsense. I’d rather starve before I learn you haven’t had your meal first.” Your eyes widened at his words, staring at him in disbelief as he eagerly held another piece of meat to your lips.

The jealous San you knew was pouty and clingy, but this one was suave and charming, making your heart skip a beat whenever he looked at you. But you could tell he had some impure motive behind this, most of your instincts telling you he wasn’t just spontaneously feeling enamored.

“Well, I can’t take another bite knowing you aren’t eating either. Please eat, Sannie.”

He gave a small smile before setting your utensils down and pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth, making his way back to his own seat where he didn’t even look at his food, just stared back at you with the same gaze as before. You mentally groaned, knowing this would be a long night.

And, by god, it was.

From the painfully uncomfortable dinner, to the way he held your hands and complimented you as he presented a necklace with his name on it, to the way you slow danced in the center of their dorm. You just couldn’t handle it. But you still allowed him to sway your bodies together as he held the same joy on his face, almost oblivious to the fact you wanted to push him away, a simple sentence leaving him that made you snap.

“I just want you to know that there’s no other man in this world that’ll treat you like I do.”

You glared up at San before removing yourself from his grasp, walking towards his phone placed on the nearby table and turning off the music he had playing before returning to stand in front of him.

“Listen, it took some time for me to figure out you were jealous, but to go through all of this? You’ve clearly lost it.”

“I just want to show you how much-“

“You love me? Because this ain’t it, San. You just wanted to one-up a waiter that I laughed at because I was uncomfortable and wanted him to leave me alone.” His eyes widened at your words.

“So you didn’t like him talking to you?”

“Hell no. I was hoping you’d do something besides sit in your corner having a pity party. Now, here we are, in the middle of your dorm slow dancing while you’re in slacks and a dress shirt and I’m still in my pajamas. And we both know Seonghwa made that steak, so don’t take credit for it.” You’ve said so much already yet your rant didn’t end there.

“I think the worse part of all of this is that I asked you for this necklace when we started dating last year, and to finally receive it under these circumstances makes me not even want to wear it. I honestly prefer your usual whiny self to this.”

A brief silence, your hard gaze boring into his shocked one, neither of you knowing want to expect next until San acted first, wrapping his arms around your body and pulling you into him with a whimper.

“You promise you didn’t like him more than me?” You couldn’t help but smile and place a comforting hand on his back. This was your San.

Mingi

He felt so childish and stupid for being jealous, but how could he not be when his own partner was sitting on his lap but giving all of their attention to Hongjoong.

He was happy you were getting along with his group members, but hearing how you laughed and talked with his elder, your body perking up at every word he said, your conversations dragging on as you discussed your shared interest, something you and Mingi struggled to do as you were totally different people, his eyes widening whenever you mentioned a new fact about your life. He sat back and silently wondered if you preferred Hongjoong over him, if you ever wonder what he’d be like as a boyfriend. His thoughts were so negative, only growing grimmer and sadder with each scenario playing through his mind, his arms loosening from around your waist as he abruptly stood, your lips no longer moving as you stopped your conversation to check on the giant leaving you.

You followed him into the kitchen silently, his back to you as he rummaged through the fridge, not wanting to see or talk to you as of yet.

“I was gonna head out to eat soon, wanna come?”

“Why not go with Hongjoong?” He muttered, not being able to help that the snarky response slipped out.

“Because the main person I want to be with right now is my boyfriend.” You were met with silence, causing you to sigh and desperately grab onto his arm until he finally faced you.

“Mingi, what’s wrong?”

“Do you like Hongjoong? Like, are you interested in him?”

The laugh you let out was loud enough to cause Hongjoong to questioningly glance towards your direction although he couldn’t see you, your body doubled over as you tried to ease your hysteria.

“Holy fuck, no. What makes you think that?”

“You two just have a lot in common and get along a lot better than we do.” You sighed and reached down to grasp his hands, staring into his eyes despite him shyly looking away, obviously still battling with his insecurities.

“Hongjoong is a great friend, but I’d be so bored with him. I like to talk about our hometown, and how we both love Iron Man films, sure, but you’re always teaching me new things and increasing my hobbies. Remember how I didn’t like rap before you? Now I love it! And it’s because I chose someone I can stay with forever and learn something new about every day.”

You felt your lips tug upwards as he finally looked at you, unable to contain his smile as he pulled you into him, a light squeal leaving you as you held one another in a tight embrace. As much as Mingi wanted to scream to Hongjoong that he won, having you choose him and only him, he stayed silent and mentally celebrated his victory.

Wooyoung

Unbeknownst to you, Wooyoung liked to make you jealous. He found it cute when you shoved his arm and told him to stop being so flirty with other people, only to apologize and remind you that you were his one and only. It was a stupid and silly cycle he loved. But the second you started being cute and flirty with anyone else, hell broke loose.

You didn’t know you were coming off flirty, thinking you were your typically friendly self as you spoke with a fellow idol, congratulating them for their win on tonight’s music show and praising their talent. Sure, he gave a few winks and flirtatious remarks here and there, even stepping closer to you as you continued to converse in the backstage area, you completely unaware of the angry body quickly approaching yours, but Minho catching onto his presence quickly.

“Wooyoung! You did great tonight.” The older star said, Wooyoung giving a curt smile and nod, wrapping an arm around your waist and bringing you to face him, your eyes wide and cheeks burning at the sudden action.

“Same to you. I’m just upset our song wasn’t part of this week’s voting, we would’ve won thanks to my good luck charm here.” If your face wasn’t bright red before, it surely was now, not used to Wooyoung being this touchy in front of others.

Minho’s eyes widened as he finally realized the situation, bowing respectfully and apologizing for not realizing you two were together, your hands gently pushing Wooyoung to pry him off, not liking the way he stared at you with amusement and an almost predatory glint.

“A lot of people don’t know about us, and I think it’s because I’ve never gotten them a necklace or something to show they’re taken. But I think I have a better alternative.” You gulped as you once again tried to escape, knowing exactly where this was going.

“Wooyoung, don’t you dar-“ You were cut off by your own whimpers, eyes shutting in embarrassment as Wooyoung latched his lips onto your throat, sucking harshly and squeezing your body closer to his.

You knew how Wooyoung got when he was jealous, he was possessive and willing to do such risky things to show whoever was entranced by your natural beauty and presence that you were his and only his, and that a simple touch from him would prove that true as you only craved more.

You released a sigh you didn’t realize you were holding as he finally pulled away, admiring the purple and red mark stained onto your neck before finally giving Minho a glance, the other boy staring at you both in what you could only assume was embarrassment and shock.

“Now, I’m gonna head home. You can come with if you don’t feel like staying out too long, okay? Congrats on that win again.”

Wooyoung went back to his usually cute self, kissing your cheek and casually turning away to stroll from the room filled with a few forgotten people that took in the scene, your bottom lip being sucked into your mouth before bowing and apologizing profusely and rushing out the door. Not because you were mortified, but because you needed to catch up with Wooyoung, unsure if you wanted to yell at him for humiliating you or finish what he started.

Jongho

As a barista, your job was to provide excellent customer service and, not to brag, but you were beyond excellent. Your friendly smile and bubbly personality made it impossible for people not to gravitate towards you, leaving you in a loop of minutes long conversations about nothing with each and every customer while also serving them with their order. Seriously, you were basically perfect.

That kind of perfection is what caused Jongho to fall for you, coming by your shop every day for the same drink just to have more conversations about nothing, and you enjoyed his companionship, your typical work related jokes becoming personal rants that he happily listened to, loving how you both finally grew closer to one another. Of course, he hadn’t asked you out yet, but that was his main and only goal for the day as he entered the small shop. Until he realized you were giving the same undivided attention you gave him to someone else.

They were the only customer as it hasn’t hit peak hours yet, you both sitting at a table just by the window, your head tilted as you listened closely to his words, nodding along as he smiled softly and spoke. Jongho didn’t want to intrude but he was curious. What did this man possess that was similar to or, worse, better than him? The light giggles you occasionally let out didn’t put him at ease either. This man really must be something.

“You’ve honestly really made this day better, (Y/n/n). Seeing you doing well on your own is making this moving thing a lot easier on me.”

His hand, reaching across the table to hold onto yours, brushing his thumb over your skin as you stared ahead giving a shy laugh and smile. Your body shivered as a strange chill ran down your spine, your body feeling stiff and tense as if something was looming behind you menacingly and, once you turned to invalidate your suspicions, you let out a loud yelp that they were true.

“Jongho! I can’t believe I didn’t hear you come in! Come on, let me make your usual.” You said cheerfully while standing from your seat, only for the stone faced boy to ignore you, eyes boring into the man he still had no idea about, but a lot of opinions of.

“You must be Jongho. (Y/n) talk a lot about you.”

“That’s good to hear, since they don’t mention you at all.”

You stood there with wide eyes, blinking away your disbelief before hurriedly looking towards the male, apologizing profusely much to Jongho’s dismay. The unidentified man took the hint that there was a bit of tension from his presence and decided to leave, avoiding giving you a hug as he usually would. As soon as he was out of sight, you crossed your arms, ready to give Jongho a piece of your mind until he cut you off.

“Don’t let anyone else touch you. Or look at you. Especially when you smile because that makes them want to talk to you more.” He stared at you with a small pout and round puppy like eyes.

“And since when have you become my boyfriend?”

“Since now.”

Quite honestly, this was the coldest confession you’ve ever received, but it made your face heat up all the same, a playful smirk making its way onto your face as you approached the still pouty and jealous boy.

“I think I can accept that, as long as you direct your jealousy to someone that isn’t my brother.”

The realization and embarrassment that crossed his face was an instant pass to your forgiveness.

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rmnamjoons · 6 years ago

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Castaways [KNJ Oneshot]

➳ summary: You’ve always hated the ocean. Open water terrifies you, and you stay as far away from it as possible for self-preservation and peace of mind. Despite this, your friend somehow convinces you to go on a luxury cruise with her, her boyfriend Hoseok, and Hoseok’s nerdy friend Namjoon, who’s almost cute enough to distract you from your debilitating fears. When a sudden storm hits, however, you and Namjoon are swept overboard and find yourselves castaway on a desert island somewhere in the vast South Pacific.

➳ pairing: Namjoon x reader

➳ genre: smut with plot, slow burn, fluff, a pinch of angst, and a happy ending

➳ word count: 25.5k (this is a completed oneshot)

➳ tags: so much teasing, non-completed foot job in public, sensual massages, cuddling for warmth, nursing ur loved one back to health, relying on each other, face-riding, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, breathplay, cumplay, biting, rough sex, sweet gentle loving sex, fucking in water, sex outside, a small hint of a daddy kink, so much dirty talk, like 6k of this is just dirty talk

[read on ao3]

➳ a/n: Though I do try to make this somewhat realistic, this isn’t at all meant to be some dark, gritty tale of survival. They’re super lucky in their circumstances and everything is fine. This is basically just two people fuckin' a bunch on an island. Bon appétit.

➳ warning: This story contains graphic descriptions of almost drowning, having a panic attack in a terrifying situation (y/n is afraid of open water and they’re swept overboard during a storm without even life jackets), and dehydration symptoms including vomiting. They find an island with freshwater and everything is fine and peachy pretty quickly if you can make it through the rough stuff. I had to make it at least like 15% realistic, guys.

You fucking hated the ocean.

Like, ponds were okay. Streams? Great. Swimming pools, ideal. Rivers and lakes were fine, you guessed. It was the ocean that you hated and were downright terrified of on a pathological level. You had no idea what was down there, you didn’t know how deep it went. Reading about it made you want to throw up. Being out in open water you knew was deeper than five feet made you panicked and anxious and sweaty. You just couldn’t do it.

You had agreed to go on a cruise with your best friend Mina because she loved the ocean, for some fucking reason. When you’d gone on your senior trip back in high school together, you’d compromised: high school senior trip you’d go to New York for you, and college senior trip you’d go on a cruise for Mina. A selfish, immature part of you had figured you probably wouldn’t even be friends that far in the future, because that’s what happened when people went to college. People naturally drifted apart as they grew. You’d also figured that Mina would forget or find a new thing to fixate on. Maybe in four years she’d really love London or Bali or the desert and not the fucking ocean.

Instead, you’d remained close friends that whole time, and Mina still loved the sea. She’d majored in marine biology and spent most of her time down by the bay, where she met her lifeguard boyfriend Hoseok, a ray of sunshine, just like Mina. You had no way of knowing for sure, but for some reason you were willing to bet money the two of them had done some kind of mermaid sex fantasy roleplay before, as cheesy as they were and as much as the two of them loved the ocean.

You and Mina both finished your undergrads and then boom, just like that, you found yourself on your way to Sydney, Australia for the “South Pacific Grand Adventure,” just like you’d promised Mina four years ago. You distinctly remembered never ever promising to a fucking three week cruise, but, as always, you couldn’t say no to Mina.

Hoseok and his friend, a man you didn’t know, had been invited to come along as well. Once you knew she wouldn’t be by herself, you’d debated faking a serious injury or illness, but Mina was onto your tricks and dragged you along, insisting you’d have a good time once you were there and that you’d probably forget you were even on a ship.

Hoseok’s friend, a tall man with thick glasses and a backpack full of paperback novels, seemed to be as equally thrilled to be here as you were. Mina had introduced him as “Joon,” and he’d quickly corrected her, pushing his glasses up his nose and saying that his name was Namjoon, thank you very much. You noticed the way he grimaced when Hoseok and Mina openly made out on the too-long plane ride and how he rolled his eyes when they called each other over-the-top cutesy pet names. Namjoon seemed much more willing to show his distaste for the happy couple’s antics than you were, and you were now debating taking a page from his book.

You and Namjoon ended up stuck together pretty quickly, and you both seemed to realize that at the same moment, sitting beside each other in silence on the shuttle bus heading over to the port, while Mina and Hoseok sat together a few rows away, baby-talking to each other and cuddling and giggling. They were the only people on the bus making any noise this early in the morning, and they seemed not to notice that fact.

It was going to be a long cruise.

You’d had to wake up entirely too damn early to get on this bus, you were jet-lagged to shit, and the moment you saw the harbor and the cruise ship there waiting for you, you just knew you were going to very deeply regret this. The only solace you had was that Namjoon was stuck here with you. Maybe you could at least come out of this with a new sarcastic friend.

The four of you got off the shuttle and went up the ramp onto the massive cruise ship, and checked in at one of the front desks. You attempted to pretend this was just a normal hotel and was not going to take you out into the middle of nowhere in the awful ocean.

Mina did all the talking during the check-in process, Hoseok right by her side with his arm around her. You and Namjoon hung back with all the luggage, and you kept catching yourself staring at him and having to force yourself to look away.

Namjoon was tall, his messy dark hair sticking out from under a backwards baseball cap, his black thick-rimmed glasses slightly crooked on his deceptively cute button nose. He crossed his arms, his muscles there making you bite your lip, and you figured he was a man of contradictions. He was nerdy and kind of awkward, but was absolutely jacked, his chest nearly bulging out of his shirt. He had a cute, seemingly innocent face, but his resting expression seemed to be rolling his eyes at Mina and Hoseok’s expense. You decided you liked him.

After getting the keys to the rooms, the four of you went down and dropped your luggage off and then went to grab some lunch in one of the ship’s restaurants, and on the way there you only thought about jumping off the ship into the harbor and swimming back to Sydney once.

Hoseok and Mina sat beside each other and kept giggling and touching their foreheads together and cuddling, even giving each other a few quick kisses as they grinned at each other. Across the table, you and Namjoon sat there, just watching the two of them. Mina and Hoseok were lost in their own little world, while the two of you sat in an awkward silence, too embarrassed to say anything to your friends or each other. You mostly stared at your phone or the table in front of you, while Namjoon seemed very fascinated by a painting on the wall across the room. The waitress showed up and you ordered a mixed drink, figuring the only way you were going to make it through this trip was if you were highly intoxicated for most of it.

As you sat there during the course of the meal, you watched Namjoon’s reactions to different things Mina and Hoseok did as he leaned back into the corner of the booth, sprawling out, one arm across the back of the booth behind you. The two of them nuzzled their noses together, and Namjoon rolled his eyes. Mina leaned her head on Hoseok’s shoulder and snuggled in, and Namjoon tilted his head back, his tongue sticking out to the side and eyes rolled back in his head as he silently pretended to keel over and die. Everything the two of them did with each other, Namjoon reacted to it in some quiet passive aggressive way, mostly to amuse himself, but definitely amusing you.

Halfway through the meal, he realized you were watching him and silently giggling. When Mina and Hoseok started baby-talking and feeding each other, Namjoon looked at you with wide eyes and bit his lip, his body almost shaking as he tried so hard not to laugh at them. You put your hand up and hid your face, turning toward Namjoon so he could see you trying to hold in your laughter, too.

So far, Namjoon was more than making this trip bearable. He was turning out to be the best part.

***

Two days at sea passed. The ship was headed to New Caledonia and was set to get there the following morning, where you would have almost a full day to explore the port town of Noumea. After that, you’d be heading deeper into the South Pacific toward Fiji, another two days out on the open sea. On the map, it all looked so close together, but you saw at one point that it was over twelve hundred miles just from Sydney to Noumea. You tried not to think about it.

The next morning, you’d be on land again in Noumea, at least for a few hours. You just had to last until then, and then you’d have a brief break from the ocean. You tried to stop yourself from wondering if New Caledonia had an airport that could get you back to Sydney, where you could just hang out until Mina finished her cruise.

That being said, you actually weren’t having too awful a time, you had to admit. The ship was nice and had a lot of fun stuff to do, and Mina wasn’t spending every second of her time with Hoseok.

You did spend most of your time with Namjoon, though. You knew you were definitely attracted to him, and you’d caught him looking at you enough times to wonder if he was attracted too. He was so funny, and you’d grown to find his nerdiness endearing, and good lord did that man have muscles. You wondered more than once where on earth a little bookworm like him got a chest and arms like that. Every time he awkwardly pushed his glasses up his nose, his muscles in his arms bulged under his shirt. When he lounged on the ship’s deck reading yet another one of his novels, which he seemed to go through one of a day, you just stared at his thick thighs, imagining yourself riding them.

You learned a few things about Namjoon very quickly, the first being that he was very awkward and shy around new people. With everyone, from you at first to waiters to the random women who tried to flirt with him at the pool bar, he couldn’t look them in the eye and stumbled over his words, not knowing what to say when someone attempted to have a simple conversation with him. The man was terrible at small talk, though you could tell he was really trying his best. You’d tried so hard not to laugh at him on the first night at dinner when the captain came around to all the tables and introduced himself, and Namjoon had stuck out his hand for a handshake and the captain didn’t see him at all, and Namjoon had just sat there with his hand out for a few seconds until he dropped his hand to his lap, looking like a sad little kicked puppy.

The second thing you learned about Namjoon was that once he was comfortable around someone, he was a sarcastic, flirty tease, and this seemed doubly true for his interactions with you. At lunch on the second day, he’d taken a sip of your drink without asking, and when you’d turned and caught him, he’d just smiled at you smugly and winked, your straw still in his mouth. He’d then offered you a bite of what he’d ordered, holding up a piece of food on his fork, and when you’d opened your mouth and leaned in, he’d smeared it all over your cheek, apologizing profusely and insisting it had been a complete accident while smirking to himself the entire time. Underneath his shy awkward nerd exterior, he was all teasing and winks and sarcasm.

You dished it right back to him when you could. You’d stolen his book when he’d gotten up to get a drink at the pool, just for him to come back and see you reading it and refusing to give it back to him. You’d rubbed a bite of your dessert on his nose after offering him some at dinner. His eyes always lit up when you teased him right back, and with Mina all but ignoring you, Namjoon was proving to not only be your perfect distraction from the ocean, but a wonderful way of entertaining yourself on the ship.

It was now the third day, and you and Namjoon went to the pool together while Mina and Hoseok did some expensive couple’s massage all afternoon. As you walked out onto the pool deck together, you caught yourself staring at him yet again. Namjoon was shirtless, his swim trunks obscenely low on his hips, his chest so large, his big arms defined so beautifully. You were nearly drooling by the time the two of you found two lounge chairs together in a nice spot.

You had an idea for how to get some more attention from him, and you decided now was the perfect time to begin your plan.

“Joon? Will you do me a big favor, pretty please?” you asked, overly fake-sweet, as the two of you sat down and settled in. He’d unsurprisingly brought a book and was already laying down and opening it, but he tilted his head to look at you.

“What do you want?” he said, matching your sarcastically sweet tone.

“Will you put some sunscreen on me?”

“What, like on your back?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“All over me,” you said. “I don’t want to get sunscreen on my hands.”

“Neither do I,” he protested, pouting. “I’m the one reading a book, with paper. Do it yourself.”

“Ugh,” you huffed as you sat up. You reached into your bag and pulled out your sunscreen. “Please?” You made your voice higher and more feminine, almost a moan as you pouted and begged, holding out the sunscreen and batting your eyelashes at him when he looked over at you.

“Why can’t you do it?” he said flatly, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“I told you,” you said, “I don’t want to get sunscreen on my hands. I hate that feeling.” That was partially true. You were much more focused on the prospect of Namjoon’s big strong hands rubbing sunscreen all over your almost naked body, covered only by the skimpiest little bikini you’d brought on the trip.

“Fine,” he said, grumbling as he set his book down on the little table between you. “Where do you want it?”

“On my skin,” you said, smiling up at him innocently as you leaned back, reclining lazily in the lounge chair, your body on full display as you put your sunglasses on.

“But of course, your highness,” he said, sarcastically over-serious as he opened the bottle and squeezed a bunch of the sunscreen out onto his hand. “How could I not have known that?”

Whatever you were going to say was cut off by him suddenly smacking his hand down on your stomach, the cold sunscreen splattering out equally as surprising as his sudden movement. You gasped, squeaking in surprise, and Namjoon smiled to himself as he started moving his hand.

"Oh, I’m so sorry. Did I surprise you?” he deadpanned, spreading the sunscreen out across your skin.

“Not at all, Joonie,” you replied, relaxing under his touch. As sarcastic as he’d been, he was actually being normal about it now, sitting beside you on your chair as you laid back and let him touch you. He was also letting you get away with calling him “Joon” or “Joonie” lately, not correcting you or even reacting most of the time.

Namjoon was gentle yet firm, the cold sunscreen contrasting the warmth of his large hands so wonderfully it made goosebumps spread across your skin. You took in a deep breath and held it as you felt the tips of his long fingers slowly skim along the bottom of your bikini top, just barely going under the fabric and teasing the underside of your breasts as he rubbed the sunscreen in across your ribs. You sighed as he moved down your stomach to oh-so-gently massage your hipbones and navel, running his tips of his thumbs under the waistline of your bottoms just enough to make you raise an eyebrow at him.

He noticed your questioning look and smirked, moving back up to more neutral ground on your sides and massaging there instead.

“That feels good, Joon,” you murmured, relaxing again under his touch, and you noticed the way Namjoon slowly looked up at your face at your words, his lips parting as his eyes drug up and back down your body, drinking in the sight before him.

After getting more sunscreen on his hands, Namjoon started on your legs, touching you slowly and firmly, spreading his fingers out as he moved across your inner thighs. Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head, and you were thankful you were wearing sunglasses so he couldn’t see that. You wondered for a split second how much trouble the two of you would get if he fingered you right here on the pool deck in front of all these people.

Namjoon moved up to the top of your chest, spreading the lotion out there, and then up to your neck, where he stopped for a moment, his palm over your throat. You held your breath as his hand just rested there, and you knew he had to be able to feel how fast your heart was racing. He squeezed so gently, barely at all, and your breath caught in your throat, not from the tightness of his squeeze but from the intimacy and dirtiness of this moment. There were so many people around. All he’d have to do was squeeze a little harder. You were dripping wet for him, biting your lip and struggling to keep your eyes open. And then Namjoon moved his hand like he was rubbing in the sunscreen there completely innocently, stroking up and down your throat and then across your shoulders, returning to normal.

Namjoon moved back down to your legs. He put it on your inner thighs for the second time, and you noticed that but said nothing. You spread your legs just slightly, giving him easier access, and you could almost hear the small moan that escaped his lips when he touched the stitching of your bikini between your thighs.

He growled at you to roll over, a noise that went straight to your already throbbing core, and when you complied, he spread the cold sunscreen there, even pausing to carefully untie your bikini straps so he could cover your back fully. His massage was rough and thorough, rocking your body slightly with each of his movements. You almost moaned out loud, feeling his fingers digging into your flesh as he kneaded and spread out more sunscreen.

Namjoon used both hands on the backs of your thighs, dipping just his fingertips into the back of your swimsuit bottoms as he stood over you, stopping just before he was fully grabbing your ass with both hands under the fabric.

When he finished, Namjoon wiped his hands on his knees and then carefully tied your bikini back together. Before he even sat down, you jumped up and grabbed the bottle of sunscreen from his hands.

“Your turn,” you said, throwing your sunglasses down onto your chair. Namjoon’s eyes were dark, glinting with desire, and he immediately leaned back in his chair, ready for whatever you were going to do to him.

You straddled him, pouring sunscreen directly onto his tanned chest, making him hiss from the surprise of the cold liquid. He held you by the backs of your thighs as you rubbed it in with both hands slowly on his hot skin, feeling his muscles forcefully, spreading out your fingers. Namjoon didn’t take his eyes off of you the whole time, his jaw set as he watched you so intently. You felt his firm chest, his strong shoulders, his tight muscles, his large body seeming even bigger under your small hands. The whole time you worked, his chest steadily rose and fell, his breathing thick as he watched you with hooded eyes, his pupils blown.

You made him roll over. As you rubbed his back, you sat gently on his ass, still straddling him. You reveled in the feeling of massaging the cool liquid all over his warm skin, and you swore you felt him almost groan at one point when you really dug your palms into his lower back.

When you finished, you got up, smiling down proudly at him.

“There,” you said. “Now neither of us will get sunburnt.”

“That’s good. Skin care is important,” he said, rolling over slowly onto his back once again. You hadn’t touched him there, but somehow his hair looked ruffled and slightly messier than normal, his eyes almost satisfied, as if the two of you had just finished something much less innocent.

You could feel him staring at you intensely as you bent over, putting your sunscreen back in you bag. You bent at the waist and faced away from him, giving him the perfect view of what he wanted.

“I’m going to get a drink,” you said when you stood back up. You looked over your shoulder at him. “Do you wanna come?”

He blinked a few times, staring at you like you weren’t speaking a language he knew.

“Yeah. Yes,” he said when it finally processed. He stood up and followed close behind as you took his hand and led the way over to the bar.

While the two of you ordered, he stood close behind you, moving with you when you stepped off to the side to wait for your drinks. When you accidentally took too quick of a step back, partially bumping into him, you felt him through his swim trunks and realized that he was attempting to hide the fact he had a semi.

You definitely weren’t thinking about the ocean right now.

***

When you got dressed for dinner that evening, you picked out your skimpiest little dress, ready to taunt and torture Namjoon. You knew that packing your stockings, garters, and suspenders was a good idea, and you hoped Namjoon would potentially get to see them tonight if all went well. When packing, you’d anticipated a potential one-night stand with a crewman or fellow passenger, but this situation with Namjoon was far better than anything you’d imagined. You were sharing a room with Mina, but maybe you and Namjoon could sneak off together to some deserted part of the ship and he could fuck you against a wall, or something else equally sexy, passionate, and depraved.

Mina and Hoseok were meeting you at dinner and had already left, and Namjoon had texted you earlier, asking if you wanted to head down together. He came to your room to pick you up, and, when you opened the door, you grinned when Namjoon’s gaze immediately fell to your chest, his eyes wide. He quickly looked back up at your face, blinking in surprise as if shocked he’d let himself do that so openly. His cheeks were bright red, his lips parted as he tried to say something but couldn’t. He was so thoroughly flustered, and you stepped out of your room, brushing past him and knowing he’d follow.

You walked ahead of him down the hallway, accentuating your hips as you walked. You could practically feel that filthy boy’s eyes glued to your ass. This was going even better than you’d anticipated. Maybe he’d snap and fuck you against a wall before you even got to dinner.

You eventually found Mina and Hoseok, and the four of you sat together in a small booth near the center of the busy dining room. Waiters buzzed around like honeybees, and every last passenger on the ship seemed to all be here in this grand room. It was lively and exciting, a live band playing on the second floor and the kitchen staff loudly preparing course after course in the next room. If you were to look up, you would’ve noticed the chandelier swaying oh-so-slightly from the waves outside, nearly undetectable here in the belly of the ship.

You sat across the table from Namjoon. Part of the way through the meal, you decided to play with him some more and slipped off one of your heels. You continued eating normally, not letting your face or upper body show any signs of what you were doing.

You moved your foot up the inner side of one of his legs, feeling him jump only slightly when he first felt you. Your foot traveled farther and farther up until you were at his crotch, slowly moving the heel of your foot so that you pressed against him, teasing in a slow, circular rhythm.

You didn’t look up at Namjoon, but you felt him grab you by your ankle and squeeze. You cracked a small smile and tried to keep moving your foot despite his grip, and you could already feel him growing hard. He didn’t move or push your foot away. He held you right there in place, biting his lip as he moved forward in his seat, pressing his chest against the table as if he were simply sitting up eagerly.

“What did you two do this afternoon?” Mina asked politely, smiling at the two of you.

“Just hung out, mostly,” you said. You glanced up at Namjoon and saw his cheeks flushed red, nostrils flared, and you kept slowly moving your foot against him as he held your ankle. “Joon did some reading and I tanned.”

“It’s Namjoon,” he said, his voice deeper than normal, and when you looked up at him he was glaring, leering at you, eyes dark under those thick glasses you’d grown to adore. Mina and Hoseok seemed not to notice Namjoon’s suffering.

You smiled at Namjoon politely. You took a slow sip of your drink before speaking, maintaining eye contact with him the whole time.

“How could I forget? Namjoon,” you said, tasting his name on your tongue as if for the first time. You stroked him through his pants with your foot faster now, and you could almost see how fast his heart was racing in the veins in his neck and forehead. He was squeezing your ankle so tight you felt like you were losing circulation there, but you kept going.

Namjoon suddenly stood up, dropping your foot and turning away from the table and walking away as fast as he could, not looking back. Mina and Hoseok both looked confused, turning and watching him as he left, asking where he was going.

You slipped your shoe back on and excused yourself, saying you’d check on him, and quickly followed him outside.

Namjoon wasn’t hard to find. He stood out in the hallway, facing away from you when you walked out, arms crossed. You were in your own private little part of the ship, right near a balcony and where nobody could see or walk in on the two of you talking.

Before you could say anything, Namjoon turned around and looked at you.

“How would you like it if I just touched you like that while we’re in public, around all those people?” he said, glaring at you.

“Do you not like it?” you asked seriously, watching the way he set his jaw and looked away. Behind him, you could see out a large window that the sky was darker than it should be at this time. You could feel the sway of the ship way more than usual, but Namjoon’s distress pulled you back and made you focus on him.

Namjoon sighed before speaking. “You’re playing games with me,” he said, his voice deep and gravely. He shook his head like he was disappointed, but you saw how he looked back at you, his eyes falling to your legs and how short your skimpy little dress was.

“Do you not like games?” you asked, tilting your head and smiling now. He stared at you for a moment, his eyes now lingering on your mouth.

“I don’t think I like being played with,” he said, not taking his eyes off your parted lips. He watched you lick your lips slowly, and you swore you almost heard him growling.

“Well that’s a pity,” you cooed. “Because I love playing with you.”

Namjoon sighed, turning away from you and running a hand through his hair. “Fuck,” he mumbled, mostly to himself, and he walked out of the hallway away from you and out onto the deck.

You followed as he went out onto the balcony to get some air, both of you still under the large overhang. You froze in the open doorway, though, eyes wide and horrified as you looked out at the ocean, finally seeing the full scale of the situation.

Rain poured down as the dark waves churned and threw themselves against the ship, the angry water covered in white caps and sea foam. The sky was black, the roar of the wind and rain near deafening. The humidity out here was suffocating, even as you still stood in the doorway. You’d barely noticed it before, but now that you were paying attention and away from the center of the large ship, the vessel was rocking with the waves, your stomach lurching with it. You grabbed onto the doorframe, holding on for dear life.

“When did it start storming?” you said distantly, eyes wide as you stared out at the large, dark swells in the water.

“I don’t know. While we were eating,” Namjoon said. “Jeesh, it’s really coming down. It must’ve started up in just the last ten minutes or so. It was so nice this afternoon.” He continued talking about something, but you didn’t listen. Instead, you braced yourself there on the doorframe, eyes wide as you stared out at the water, feeling only the ship rocking side to side. The rocking wasn’t even that bad and you were both more than ten feet from the railing, but even being exposed to the outside air just this much was overwhelming.

You needed to get out of here. So many people had told you that you could barely feel the intense waves of a storm when you were in the middle of a ship, so you just needed to turn around and go back to your room. You heard an announcement on the ship’s broadcast system vaguely in the distance, but couldn’t hear what they were saying over the wind, rain, and the pounding in your ears. Beside you, Namjoon seemed to finally notice how you were reacting.

“Hey, are you okay?” he said, resting a hand on your shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you said, voice cracking, not looking up at him. You were pretty sure you were going to throw up. After a few seconds of Namjoon not saying anything, you spoke again, now trying not to hyperventilate. “Okay, I’m really really afraid of the ocean, and right now is like my worst nightmare, and I think I might pass out.”

“You’re afraid of the ocean?” he said in disbelief. “What the hell are you doing on a three week cruise?” When you didn’t respond, Namjoon moved so that both hands rested on your shoulders gently, grounding you. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked, his voice much softer as he tilted his head to look at you better.

You didn’t answer. The ship swayed and rocked with the harsh waves, and you tried to get used to it, swaying with it. Instead you just felt sicker. You knew it was near impossible, but you felt like the ship was going to flip over or break in half, and it kept getting worse by the second, the rain only coming down harder and harder. Lightning cracked and thunder immediately followed, making the whole ship rumble.

You needed to get out of here. You needed to go lay down in comfy pajamas and listen to music and not concentrate on the ship rocking and the sound of rain and thunder and huge waves. You needed to forget you were on a ship.

You stepped away from the doorframe, and Namjoon stepped back from you, giving you space.

The ship suddenly jerked side to side exactly three times as huge rogue waves hit it on each side, tossing it around like it was nothing, the ship tilting back and forth and making dishes inside fall off of tables and shatter.

The first wave threw both of you forward against the railing, nearly ten feet away from where you had been standing, the ship listing so dramatically so suddenly that you weren’t sure if you’d been thrown or just fallen. You fell into Namjoon and Namjoon fell against the railing, and he cried out as his back hit it sharply and you slammed into him.

The second wave threw both of you in the opposite direction, away from the railing and back towards the middle of the ship, the large wave coming up over the railing and soaking both of you. You coughed and gasped as Namjoon tried to both grab onto you and grab at the wall you’d been thrown against, both of you nearly tripped over each other on the now slick floor. You’d hit the wall beside the door you’d walked out of, and Namjoon had crashed right into you, unable to stop himself, both of you being tossed around like children’s toys.

The third wave threw you both back against the railing again as the ship tilted dramatically, and both of you, while still holding onto each other, fell overboard.

You felt like you were falling forever. When you hit the water, it felt like slamming into concrete, and a huge wave immediately sucked you under, into the darkness.

You couldn’t feel Namjoon anywhere. You were thrown against the side of the ship, pressed there, still underwater, the back of your head hitting the ship so hard you saw white. The force of what held you there felt like enough to grind you into nothing, and then, just as quickly, you were sucked back out away from the ship.

You didn’t know which way was up. Wave after wave hit you from every direction, making you spin and twist and throwing you around like you were a ragdoll. You didn’t have time to think, you just tried to find the surface, survival instincts taking over.

Your lungs burned. You couldn’t breathe. You felt like you may as well be a hundred feet underwater, and for all you knew, you were. For a split second you felt like you got your head above water, but you were immediately swallowed by another wave before you could even take a breath.

This felt like it lasted for hours, but in reality it was less than a minute. Eventually you got yourself above water and took in a deep, agonized breath, gasping for oxygen and coughing up seawater. A huge wave came toward you but hadn’t crested yet, so you floated with it, letting it bring you up and back down again.

Looking around in all directions, you tried to find the ship or Namjoon. You saw neither.

Your isolation and terror hit you like a freight train.

You were in the middle of the ocean. Alone. During a storm. With no ship in sight.

You had no idea if Namjoon was even alive. You couldn’t see the ship anywhere — had you been under that long? Had you been pulled one way while the ship sailed another? Or was the ship lost to the storm too, everyone else now drowning and being pulled to the bottom of the ocean?

This was you worst nightmare coming true. Your imagination and intrusive thoughts kicked into overdrive; you imagined what could be underneath you, what monsters and leviathans could be swimming up toward you right now, ready to swallow you whole. You screamed, trying to swim upwards even though your head was already above water. You kicked your arms and legs furiously, hyperventilating and gasping as you entered complete panic. The waves still tossed you around, but they were big enough and most were not cresting, so you could float and stay above the surface mostly. The rain poured down on you, and you felt like the rain alone was going to drown you.

Namjoon surfaced then, about twenty feet away from you. Gasping, he saw you and swam toward you, and you swam franticly toward him, you arms and legs moving violently. As soon as he reached you, you grabbed onto him, wrapping your arms and legs around him and moving like you were trying to climb on top of him to get yourself completely out of the water. You were kind of vaguely aware of the fact you were screaming and gasping and maybe sobbing.

What you were doing made Namjoon’s head go back under the water again, and he tried to get you off so he could breathe. You curled up into a little ball, twisting your body so that your legs could stay up near his chest and your arms could wrap tightly around his neck and shoulders.

“Help me! You’ve got to help me!” You were screaming near-gibberish, holding onto Namjoon as tight as you could as you wept and gasped, a small part of the back of your mind recognizing you were having a panic attack.

Namjoon hadn’t even had the chance to react yet other than his basic survival skills keeping himself above water and keeping you from drowning him. His feet were treading water desperately, his neck twisting as he looked around for the ship. His hands went up to hold you in place as he looked, his attention not really on you as he tried to find your way back to safety.

“I don’t see the ship,” he said loudly to be heard over the storm, eyes wide in horror. “Where’s the ship?”

You didn’t respond, instead twisting yourself so that you were wrapped around him again, clinging onto his body as tight as you could with all of your limbs. You were crying and gasping for air, your mind simultaneously blank and full of every panicked thought you’d ever had as you wept and hyperventilated.

A huge wave crested above you, pulling you both under for a moment. You kept yourself on him, and Namjoon got both of you to the surface. You clambered up him wildly, trying to climb him again as you gasped and cried, tears streaming down your face with the rain and seawater.

“Y/N, stop—” Namjoon started to yell, but you accidentally pushed him under the surface, cutting him off short. He got himself back up and wrapped his arms tight around you, if only to stop your movements, using just his legs to tread water. You held onto him like a leech, shaking, hyperventilating, sobbing as your panic consumed you.

“I can’t keep us both above water,” Namjoon said loudly, thunder crashing around you. “You’re gonna have to swim. You’re going to drown us both—”

A wave swallowed you both then, sucking you deep under yet again.

You lost consciousness before you reached the surface.

***

When you woke up, the first thing you were aware of was that your face, arms, and legs were sunburnt to hell, your mouth unnaturally dry, your tongue like sandpaper. Your entire body felt bruised and sore, the back of your head throbbing, the dull ache intensifying with each pulse. You felt like you’d been hit in the back of the head with a baseball bat, and, remembering how you’d been thrown against the side of the ship underwater, you kind of wished you’d been hit with a bat instead.

The second thing you realized was that the sky above you was now clear and blue, and it was daytime. You were floating in the water on your back, the hot sun beating down and filling your corneas, all but blinding you. You were partially submerged, the gentle, calm water lapping at your sides.

Beneath you, you felt Namjoon holding you in place against him as he gently tread water, floating on his back as you laid on top of him. One of his arms was around your stomach, the other slowly moving in the water as he kept you both above the surface. Your head was back on his shoulder, strands of your hair floating loosely in the water.

“You’re awake,” he said then. His voice was lazy and deep, and you realized his movements weren’t just slow, they were sluggish, exhausted. You tried to shift your head and look back at him, but couldn’t at the angle you were at.

The sun where it was in the sky, perfectly above you, you guessed it was midday. Namjoon must’ve been awake since the storm last night, which meant he’d been awake for almost thirty hours, keeping you both above water during and after the storm all night and all morning, treading water all this time.

“Jesus, Joon,” you said as you realized that, but started choking on the dryness of your throat.

“I haven’t… seen the ship,” Namjoon said slowly. He sounded like he was drunk or half out of his mind, moments away from giving out from exhaustion. “I saw a plane, a few hours ago. I… I tried to signal it.” He held up his hand weakly, showing you he was wearing a watch. You didn’t catch the time on it. “I tried to use it, like a flare. A light flare, a re… reflection, from the sun. I don’ think it saw us though.”

“That was smart of you,” you croaked, your voice almost gone from dehydration and dryness.

“My phone… it fell out of my pocket las’ night, or maybe I forgot it at the table,” he slurred. “I don’ remember.”

“Namjoon…” you started. You wanted to ask him to trade places with you so you could tread water instead and he could rest and lay on you. The thought of being the one on the bottom, the one much more exposed to the ocean sent a shiver of pure terror down your spine, but it was the absolute least you could do for him. You could give him the chance to rest after keeping you both alive this whole time.

He kept talking, apparently not hearing you.

“I’m sorry I did this, but I… I checked to see if you ‘ad your phone. I’m sorry… I know some girls, keep it in your bra. I didn’t look much.”

“That’s fine,” you said. You completely understood and would’ve done the same. “Hey, Namjoon, here, let’s trade places.” You started to move, but he held you in place.

“No, 'is 'kay,” he said. His speech sounded like it was becoming more and more slurred every time he spoke. “I know you’re… 'fraid of the water. Jus’ keep looking up at the sky. 'Is okay.”

“Namjoon, really, let me take a turn. You need to rest.” You moved off of him and his arm fell off of you into the water, as if he were unconscious. You felt almost lightheaded as you shifted, moving upright instead of laying down for the first time in so long. You held onto his hand so he wouldn’t drift away as you started treading water on your own, your muscles sore and stiff.

Namjoon was worse off than you’d thought. His eyes were bloodshot and vacant, like he’d been forced to keep them open way too long in the bright sun. He looked exhausted and drained, deathly pale yet sunburnt to a crisp. You swore you could almost see his veins through his skin. You knew it wasn’t possible in the time frame, but he looked like he’d somehow lost a little weight.

His sunburnt skin was somehow already peeling, though one spot on his cheek looked more like a saltwater sore than a sunburn. His lips looked as dry as yours felt, and his lower lip was chapped, split, and bleeding, the blood just starting to run down his chin toward the water.

You immediately brought your hand up and wiped his chin with your thumb, keeping his blood from touching the water. You brought your thumb up to your mouth and sucked. You knew that bleeding in the water, especially warm waters like this, was a very, very bad idea. For all you knew, ten sharks were already circling the two of you below the surface right now.

Namjoon breathed slowly through his mouth, nearly wheezing, like just breathing agonized him. In your clinical paranoia and anxiety, you’d read a lot about surviving in open ocean: you knew that spending a lot of time in water like he had — and he’d kept you mostly out of the water for a lot of this, so you weren’t feeling it yet — the pressure, even at just a foot or so deep, started to affect the body. It constricted breathing, changing the way the chest cavity moved and expanded, and was even used as a torture technique in some places: making someone sit in water until they couldn’t breathe, even though their head was above water the whole time. That, plus the fact he’d been treading water for two people and exerting himself that much over such a long period of time, was more than enough to drain a person.

Being in saltwater this long also affected the skin, and you knew that if you didn’t find a way to get out of the water within the next day, your skin would start to deteriorate, loosen at the pores, and rot away. That was if dehydration and exhaustion didn’t kill you both first.

“What are we going to do?” you said. You really didn’t want to become panicked again. You held yourself back, refusing to let yourself break down now, but you still asked him that anyway, just to voice your fear.

“'Is okay,” Namjoon said. As he spoke, his eyes blinked slowly, like he was starting to nod off. “Don’ worry. We’re okay. We’ll jus’ float an’ find an island, or a ship’ll find us. It’s okay.” Namjoon was not a talented liar when half-dead.

You refused to let yourself cry or even think about the water, your odds of survival, any of that. You needed to focus. Namjoon had kept you above water all last night and this morning, and now it was your turn to return the favor.

Fish. You knew your best chance right now at not dying of dehydration was catching and eating fish, and using the fish oil you consumed to stay alive. If it rained, you’d need to find a way to collect the water. Now, though, you needed to focus on a way of finding, attracting, and catching fish, which you’d have to then eat raw and alive.

Wait — you also remembered that shark attacks, especially in warm waters, were something to stay alert to, and leaving bloody fish guts in the water was a very quick way to attract predators.

You were going to die.

Before you could say or do anything, you watched Namjoon suddenly slip out of consciousness, his eyes all but rolling back in his head. He slumped forward in the water, face down, and you caught him, pushing him back up so that his mouth and nose weren’t in the water. You moved behind him and held him the same way he’d held you, laying his head on your shoulder and keeping him flat on his back, just floating.

You floated like that for at least an hour. At one point you pulled Namjoon’s arm up and checked what time it was, but his watch was waterlogged and had stopped working at 9:15, and you didn’t know if that meant it had broken last night or this morning. You checked for his pulse a few times, each time finding it still going steady, albeit very slow.

At one point, something suddenly touched your arm. You screamed in surprise, pulling your arm away and trying to get yourself and Namjoon away from whatever it was, but stopped when you looked over and saw it was a piece of driftwood. Namjoon hadn’t stirred, even when you’d screamed.

You didn’t know what for, but you figured the driftwood could be useful at some point. You didn’t have a free hand to hold it, so you laid it on Namjoon’s stomach. It was light enough you could barely feel it in your hand, like it was made out of something just slightly heavier than styrofoam.

You started talking to Namjoon, blabbering on and on just to keep yourself entertained and to keep yourself from thinking about how deep the ocean was beneath you.

“I don’t really like tap water. I feel like it tastes really different, from whatever they put in it. Fluoride, right? I hate the taste of fluoride. I could really go for some fluoride water right now, though. I think my favorite kind of water is Smart Water. You know those really big bougie bottles? I love those. Or Fiji Water. We were supposed to be in Fiji… three days from now? We were supposed to be in Noumea today. I bet Mina and Hoseok haven’t even noticed we’re gone.” You laughed at that dryly. “I bet they got up and left while we were gone at dinner, and haven’t even left the room since then. Oh man, last night at dinner, I ordered this big ol’ tilapia with mashed potatoes and green beans. I’m so hungry right now, I might eat this driftwood later.”

You felt like you were losing you mind. Namjoon just floated there, still unconscious, and you kept checking to make sure he was still breathing.

Something else hit your arm, making you jump in surprise. When you looked down at it, you saw three little fish swimming by. You watched them go, and you realized something here was very off. You looked down in the water and didn’t see a dark abyss. You saw golden sand.

You could see the bottom of the ocean, and the water was only ten feet deep, maximum. You’d drifted far enough to find shallow water.

You spun around, looking around wildly. Above your head, two large white birds flew by. You saw it then. Maybe a football field’s length away was a small island, overflowing with green.

You nearly started crying in relief as you pulled Namjoon along, swimming as hard as you could.

“Joon, Joon, wake up, there’s land! We found land!”

Namjoon remained unconscious, but you dragged him with you as you swam with your legs and free arm. You almost cried out when you felt your feet touch the bottom, and as soon as you were in shallow enough water, you stood up and started pulling him, splashing through the warm water.

You immediately fell over, your muscles weak from exhaustion and not being used to gravity and normal weight. The top half of Namjoon’s body fell on your legs, and you shifted yourself and him so that you were pulling him along, dragging him and yourself up onto the sand.

You managed to get both yourself and Namjoon up to where the water just barely washed over your legs before collapsing. You laughed, nearly hysterical, feeling the wet sand between your fingers, holding onto it in handfuls. Tears streamed down your face, your heart bursting from joy and relief in catharsis.

After probably a half an hour of just laying there on the sand and just breathing, you managed to get yourself sitting up. In front of you was the ocean and nothingness on the horizon. To each side, beach curving away. Either the island was small or you were on a peninsula. Behind you was dense jungle. You could hear birds and noisy bugs — there was definitely an ecosystem of living plants and animals, which meant there would be fresh water and some kind of food supply.

Standing on shaky legs, you got to where you could move behind Namjoon, who laid on his back, arms out where you’d dropped them. Even while unconscious, he looked so weak and fatigued, the saltwater sore on his face and his split lip now both bleeding.

You still had on one of your heels. You must’ve lost the other one at some point in the storm, and you were shocked you hadn’t lost both. You bent and took off the one you still had, tossing it behind you further up the beach. Digging your feet into the sand, you dragged Namjoon up onto land by his arms. The white sand burned the bottoms of your bare feet, and you moved as fast as you could to get him up into the shade, only falling over from exhaustion a few times during the process.

The piece of driftwood was still on his stomach, and when you got him under a cluster of palm trees, you moved it from his stomach and used it to support his head, moving him as gently as you could. You took off his soaking wet shoes and socks, not wanting him to get whatever it was, that disease World War I soldiers got back in the day from walking in wet socks, and his belt, to help him be more comfortable.

You took off your garters and suspenders, peeling off your hose. You hung your hose and Namjoon’s sock on a branch nearby. You figured your suspenders would be useful at some point, as well as maybe the wire in your strapless bra. Namjoon’s belt would definitely be handy. Maybe you could use some of this stuff to make something to go fishing, maybe a net with the hose and—

Your thoughts were cut off when Namjoon, still unconscious, started gagging. You froze in shock and uncertainty, watching as his body shook, convulsing upward as he began throwing up. He was on his back so it had nowhere to go, and you watched, still frozen, as he began choking. Hearing that made you jump-start, and you quickly turned him onto his side, moving him so that he threw up onto the ground instead.

You felt Namjoon’s forehead, holding his head in place so he didn’t slide facedown into vomit. He was feverish, so hot to the touch you felt uncomfortable just touching him. His skin felt strange, deathly dry but also covered in a cold sweat, and it felt as if his skin were less movable and elastic. You gently pinched his arm, and his skin was unnaturally slow moving back, like his flesh was made of loose putty.

When he stopped throwing up — and he didn’t throw up much, just bile — he started moaning weakly, barely opening his eyes. His breathing was fast and shallow, catching in his throat with each agonized breath.

You moved your hand to his neck, feeling his pulse. You had trouble finding it, but when you did, it was racing and irregular. He moaned in agitation, weakly trying to move away from you, like just your touch was bothering him.

Namjoon showed every sign of severe dehydration you’d ever heard of, plus you had no idea what he was going through from exhausting himself so much and treading water that long. You needed to find him water and you needed to do it right now.

“Joon, I’m going to go find some water. You’re gonna be okay,” you said sweetly, trying not to speak too loudly and surprise him.

Namjoon mumbled a string of words you couldn’t understand. The only words you caught were “tree,” “dark,” “sun,” and “sea” between his harsh gasps. He looked back at you, barely able to keep his bloodshot eyes open, and said something else. He wasn’t making sense or saying anything coherent, just quiet gibberish as he breathed hard, lost in delirium.

You needed to go, but you didn’t want to leave him laying here alone. He could just roll over onto his back the second you walked away and throw up again, or he could get worse. Well, you figured, he was going to get worse no matter what if you didn’t go find water.

“Namjoon, you need to stay laying on your side,” you said, gently rolling him back over so he wasn’t looking at you. He moaned in irritation. “I know,” you cooed, stroking his hair back out of his face.

You couldn’t do anything for him here. You had to go and find the spring. You knew there had to be one, with this much wildlife, and it was your only chance at staying alive or helping Namjoon.

As you ran into the jungle, the end of your dress snagged on a low-hanging branch. It ripped, a few inches of it splitting. You’d all but forgotten you were still in your fancy skimpy dress, now discolored and faded from being in saltwater for so long. You were lucky a shark hadn’t tried to eat you, thinking you were a big colorful fish.

It took you about ten minutes to find it. The ground became wetter and wetter, the flora taller and stronger. You felt around with your bare feet, feeling your toes almost sinking into the wet moss. You turned around, looking around yourself wildly, and tripped backwards, falling on your ass right into water.

You were sitting in a pond. A small waterfall fed into it, the water coming out of a crevasse near the bottom of a large rock jutting out of the ground. The water was perfectly clear, probably only five feet deep at the lowest part. Tall palm trees and tropical leaves and ferns surrounded the area, shading it, the clearing surrounded with colorful flowers, bamboo stalks, and light gray rocks. A fish the size of your pinky swam by where you sat, not at all concerned by your presence.

You needed to find a way to get this back to Namjoon. Thinking fast, you stood up and walked over to one of the leafy plants, your dress dripping down your legs and onto the jungle floor. You found the biggest leaf you saw, pulling it out. When you cupped it and shaped it with your hands, it probably had enough room for about a bottle’s worth of water.

You waded into the water, heading straight for the direct source of the spring water, figuring that was the best place to get the cleanest water. You held the leaf there, letting water gently collect, and once you had it full you slowly and carefully made your way back toward Namjoon.

When you found him, he was unconscious again, thankfully still alive and breathing. You sat behind him, careful not to get yourself or him in the vomit still laying there, and had him sit up a little so he could drink as he leaned back on you. You held the leaf up to his mouth, but he didn’t wake up, sending a spark of panic through you. You moved so that his head tilted back and forced some water into his mouth. A lot of it ran down his chin and onto his chest, but at least some of it went into his mouth and down his throat. You saw him swallowing after a moment, and let yourself sigh in relief.

You got him to drink about half of the water before he started gagging. He threw up again, but was self-aware and awake enough this time to turn himself to the side and not throw up on himself or you. You held the leaf up above your head, careful to make sure he didn’t knock into you and spill it.

You drank the rest of the water and then went back to the spring, this time making a path for yourself on the way. You used rocks and large branches to move the foliage aside, leaving behind a clear trail you could easily follow. This would also help you get back faster, and you wouldn’t have to move around the thick plants while holding a leaf full of water.

You got Namjoon to drink about half of the next leaf too, and you figured that was enough for right now. You swore you remembered reading that giving someone too much water when they were dehydrated would make them sick, so you’d give him more very gradually.

You now focused on setting up a shelter. You were in survival mode, not allowing yourself to think about anything except your next move and how you were going to keep yourself and Namjoon alive.

A little bit down the beach, you found a tree near the tree line with a branch about four feet off the ground, and another tree maybe six feet away with a similar branch. You walked into the foliage, looking around for a huge, narrow stick. When you found one, you brought it back to your two trees and set the stick on the branches, making a bar. Now, you just needed to find more large sticks to lean against your bar, and then you could tie leaves to those sticks to make a thick barrier that could protect you both from the elements. You always knew your years in Girl Scouts would eventually pay off.

Setting up your plan took a while. You stopped part of the way through and went back to check on Namjoon, still laying there unconscious or sleeping. His breathing was normal now and he seemed more relaxed, but he was still feverish. You went back to the spring and drank a lot yourself before bringing water back to Namjoon. Even while not awake, he drank without hesitation this time, immediately swallowing instead of just laying there unresponsive. You stroked his hair back from his forehead, wiping away the sweat there.

Before standing up to leave him again, you leaned in and almost kissed Namjoon on top of his head, but caught yourself. What the hell was that? You shook your head and got up, gently easing him back down on his side.

The shelter was done by sunset. You cleared the ground underneath the slanted roof — it was still sandy there, so you figured you probably wouldn’t have to worry about bugs too much. You still laid down a layer of large leaves anyway, setting up a kind-of mat to lay on. This was about as good as it was going to get right now.

Your stomach felt like it was trying to eat itself. You didn’t have time to find food now, though — wandering around the jungle at night sounded stupid at best, and you still had things you had to do before the sun went down. The hunt for food would come tomorrow.

You went back and found Namjoon again. He seemed closer to sleeping than unconscious, and that comforted you. You went back to the spring one last time, filling yourself up and then taking one more leaf back to Namjoon. Once you got him to drink, you dragged him down the beach to your shelter, which took quite some time. He was a big boy, and you were fucking tired, your muscles still weak from being in water so long. You pulled him by his arms, though, and eventually got him there and rolled him under the lean-to.

After that, you went and found your discarded heel, garters, and hose and Namjoon’s belt, socks, and shoes, and brought them all back, keeping your stuff together and close. The spring was about a five-minute walk down the path you’d made from the shelter. Everything was fairly close together, and for that you were thankful.

You laid Namjoon on his side in the shelter and then climbed in behind him. You didn’t know how cold it got here at night, but you laid behind Namjoon, spooning him, partially for warmth and partially to make sure he didn’t roll onto his back at any point in the night.

The sound of the ocean was eerily lulling. You listened to it, the gentle waves lapping against the shoreline in the dark, and when you really listened you could hear Namjoon’s steady breathing. The jungle behind you was silent.

***

When you woke up, your arm was asleep. You’d used it as a pillow because of your lack of anything else, and that had been a minor mistake. You stretched it out as you got up and climbed over Namjoon, looking out at the early morning ocean.

The sun was just coming up, which meant with its position, your spot on the beach was facing north. You didn’t know why knowing that comforted you. Maybe knowing more about the situation, even inconsequential stuff like that, made you feel a little bit more in control of everything. Your head didn’t hurt as much today, and you felt your energy coming back, albeit only slightly.

You looked back at Namjoon. He hadn’t thrown up in the night, which meant he was keeping fluids down, finally. You felt his forehead — a little warm, but not clammy and feverish like he’d been yesterday. He had to be a little warmer than usual because of his sunburn, too, so that was okay. At least you couldn’t see his veins through his skin anymore.

Your own skin was peeling, too, your face and shoulders the worst. It itched so bad, but you kept yourself from touching it. You knew in the back of your mind that going into the ocean would help heal your skin — living with Mina, you knew all the little things about the ocean like that, about how clean saltwater healed wounds and made sunburns not hurt. Right now, though, the last thing you ever wanted to do was go back into the ocean.

You were hungrier than you’d ever been in your life. You needed to find food today. Namjoon wouldn’t be able to take anything besides water for a little while, so this was just for you. First order of business, though, was getting more water in both of you. Your number one priority was keeping both yourself and Namjoon hydrated.

You made your way back to the spring. As you walked, you thought about how you would try to make a fire today, and maybe start using big rocks to spell out “HELP” on the beach. Your mind kept wandering to food; not even you favorite foods, but basic stuff — bread, red meat, and fruits. You pictured a big, juicy steak and nearly whined out loud.

When you got to the spring, you saw something that made you freeze in your tracks. A wild boar, about the size of a fat house cat, was drinking from the pond.

Your mouth started watering just looking at it. Your mind just saw sizzling bacon as you stared blankly at the boar, unmoving as you stood there at the tree line of the clearing. It looked up at you and didn’t really seem to be afraid of you, just going back to drinking after a few seconds of a glance.

You pushed it out of your mind. The meat would probably go bad before you could even make a fire to cook it. You’d just find something easier, like fruit, and hold onto the knowledge that there were boars on this island for a time when you’d be more prepared to cook it. You’d probably also need to make some kind of defense weapon, in case this little guy was just a baby, and papa boar was around and angry.

You drank directly from the spring for a moment, letting yourself feel almost full, and then found another leaf and filled it up. When you got back to Namjoon, he was almost stirring awake.

As you sat down behind him, he tried to sit up, but was too weak.

“No, shh, stay down,” you cooed softly. You brought the leaf to his mouth and he drank slowly, a few drops spilling down his chin. When he finished, you set the leaf aside and looked down at him, wiping his chin and stroking his hair back off of his forehead.

You took his dress shirt off of him — it was long-sleeved, and you didn’t want him to overheat during the heat of the day today. You moved him onto his side again and bundled up his shirt, using it as a pillow underneath his head. Namjoon drifted back to sleep as you moved him.

You saw a large yellowish-purple bruise across his lower back and remembered how he’d hit the railing so hard when the ship had been tossed around in the storm. Reaching out, you let your fingertips skim against his skin, feeling his bruise. There wasn’t anything off about the way his spine looked, at least externally, and he’d been using his legs just fine when you saw him treading water. You hoped his kidneys were okay, since the railing must’ve hit him hard there, but you knew you had no way of telling what kind of pain he was in until he woke up.

Sighing, you stood up, leaving him. You then began your search for food, walking down the beach.

After a few minutes of walking along the tree line, you saw a plant you thought you recognized. A tree about three feet taller than you grew right beside the sand, fruit growing out of the top of it below its leaves. You recognized the fruit, but the name wasn’t coming to you. It was shaped like a fat eggplant and was a mix of green and yellow in color.

Papaya. You knew that’s what this was.

You reached up and pulled one off, and brought it down to look closer at it. You squeezed it with your hands, looking at it intently. You had no idea how to tell if papayas were ripe or bad, but this one looked as good as any.

You just bit right into it. The skin was hard to chew, like eating an orange peel, so you spat that out into your hand and bit off the meat of the fruit, leaving behind just the skin. You repeated this all over the papaya until the skin was gone, and then you devoured it. When you got to the seeds, you spat them out, unsure if they were safe to eat, but you ate every last bit of the meat of the fruit until there was nothing left.

You ate two more papayas before you moved on. About ten feet down the beach you found a banana tree, but all the bananas were small and green.

You kept walking. You wanted to see how big the island was, and see if there were maybe other inhabitants there. For all you knew, you were on a resort island, and you’d walk around a bend and see a big five-star hotel.

You found a few more papaya and banana plants, some of the bananas even ripe, and saw some coconuts and a few things you didn’t recognize. One looked like a huge blueberry, another like a bumpy green lump, and another like a small, light pink pear. You only gathered the ones you knew for sure, and figured that eventually you could test the others to be certain.

You kept walking and walking, and then you saw Namjoon laying under the lean-to. You’d walked around the entirety of the island, seeing no signs of civilization, and had done so in an hour at most, and that was with you stopping and looking at fruit. The perimeter of the island could only be a mile or so. You and Namjoon were definitely alone here.

You took your armful of fruit over to the shelter. You didn’t want to waste anything by picking it too early, so you’d only brought two yellow bananas and a papaya. You planned to get just a little bit of food into Namjoon tomorrow if he seemed up to it, starting with banana, since people could usually eat that when they were sick.

Namjoon was still asleep. Judging by the sun, it was nearing midday now. You went to the spring in the woods and drank, and brought some back for Namjoon, methodically keeping him hydrated, and then moved on, starting your call for help.

You spent a large part of the afternoon finding large rocks to arrange in the shape of HELP across the beach. Each letter was probably fifteen feet long and half that wide, and you only got halfway through the E before getting too tired to keep going today. The last thing you wanted to do was wear yourself out, so you figured tomorrow you’d finish E and do L, and then do P the next day.

You continued your routine. You checked on Namjoon. You went to the spring and drank some water, and then brought back a leaf full for Namjoon. You ate two bananas and called that a late lunch.

Late in the evening, you sat on the sand a few feet from the shelter. You faced out toward the ocean, watching the waves as the tide slowly went out and the sun set far to your left. At the highest point of high tide, the water was about forty feet from you. That comforted you, being that far from the waves.

You were thinking about how you could try to make yourself go fishing eventually when you heard Namjoon stirring, and you turned around, looking back at him.

“Hey, sleepy,” you said, smiling warmly.

Namjoon opened his eyes slowly, blinking as he got used to what he was looking at. As far as you knew, this was the first time he’d been aware of what was going on since that first night in the water.

You moved and went to sit beside him.

“You’ve been out for about a day,” you said. “There’s a spring a few minutes away, with clean freshwater. I found a bunch of fruit, too. I checked and the island’s small, no people. There are animals, though.”

Namjoon blinked a few times slowly. “Animals?” he asked, his voice deep, gravely, lethargic.

“I saw a boar,” you said, smiling. “That means there’s more, unless this guy swam here like we did.” You giggled a little at that, trying to lighten the mood, but Namjoon just laid there for a moment, thinking and looking out at the water behind you.

“What happened?” he said, his face blank. You bit your lip, not sure if you wanted to scare him, but figured you may as well tell him everything.

“You kept me alive until I woke up,” you said, watching his face to see if he’d react to anything you said. “It was afternoon when I woke up, and you seemed delirious. You passed out, and I kept you above water until we drifted and found this island. You were really dehydrated and sick, and I found the spring and got you to drink some water and rest. You’ve slept for over twenty-four hours. Probably twenty-eight, if I had to guess.” You added the last part nervously.

Namjoon nodded slowly, listening to all that. Behind you, the waves hit the shore steadily. You were getting sick of hearing that noise.

“I didn’t feel your pulse after that big wave,” Namjoon started, staring out at the water, speaking slowly. His eyes were blank and vacant, still bloodshot, though not as bad as they’d been. “I kept your head above water, just in case. I figured you’d swallowed some water, or maybe drowned. I tried to do CPR but it was kind of hard, with the waves and the rain.” He took in a few deep breaths, as if just speaking that much had worn him out.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, looking down at your hands in your lap. Your heart swelled from his words, and you almost felt yourself tearing up. He’d worked so hard for so long to keep you both alive. It must’ve been terrifying, thinking he was alone in the middle of the ocean, the only person with him potentially dead.

You glanced up and saw Namjoon slightly shaking his head, brow furrowed.

“When you didn’t wake up the next day or the following night, I started to get really worried. I felt you breathing, though, so I kept going.”

You looked up at him suddenly, eyes wide, heart all but stopping in your chest as your blood ran cold. “Following night? What do you mean?”

Namjoon shook his head again slowly. “The storm happened and we had that night in the rough waves, and then there was a full day and another full night where you were out, and then I don’t really remember anything after that.”

“Jesus, Namjoon,” you said, eyebrows about in your hairline from your shock. No wonder he’d been so exhausted — he’d had another twenty-four hours more than what you’d thought, and just what you’d thought he’d gone through was enough to kill him. Another twenty-four hours of keeping himself and you above water. Another full day of being alone with his thoughts and fears while adrift in the ocean, keeping an unconscious person above water just in case you were still alive. How the hell had he survived?

This meant that you had been unconscious for almost two full days. Didn’t being unconscious that long mean brain damage? You felt fine now, but shouldn’t you not be fine? You remembered hitting your head on the side of the ship, and you were certain going into shock from your panic hadn’t helped that at all, but your head barely hurt anymore, other than when you were exerting yourself too hard. Had you been in a coma or something? What the fuck?

Namjoon started to sit up then, but you stopped him, moving over to him and putting your hand on his shoulder to make him lay back down.

“You need your rest,” you said.

“I’ve rested enough,” he said, trying to sit up again, but he was too weak to even push against your hand just barely resting on his chest. You didn’t say anything, instead just watching him huff and lay back down.

A few moments of silence passed between you. The sounds of the ocean and waves mingled with distant birds and the gentle wind moving the leaves on the tall trees.

“I wrote ‘HELP’ with some rocks,” you said lowly. “Or at least, I started to. I’ll finish it in the next few days.”

Namjoon rolled onto his side and stared out at the ocean blankly. Just moving that much seemed to wear him out.

“That’s good,” he said flatly. “I’ll help tomorrow.”

“No you won’t,” you said. “You need to keep resting and recovering.”

“I’m not dying, I–”

“You were,” you shot at him, your expression and words turning harsh. You stared at him intensely, all but snarling. You were prepared to make him keep resting, even if it meant tying him to a tree with vines from the jungle.

“Well, I’m not anymore, and I want to help,” he said, not giving up on it.

“Too fucking bad,” you said, setting you jaw.

Namjoon glared at you. Apparently just to spite you, he sat up, pretending not to be dizzy once he was upright as he braced himself.

“I’m going to get more water,” you said coldly, standing up. “I’ll be back in a few minutes so I can put water in your mouth for you and help you drink, again.”

Without waiting to hear a response, you turned and walked down the beach to your path to the spring.

***

The two of you didn’t speak much the rest of the day, both of you too stubborn. That night, when Namjoon found out what the sleeping arrangements were, he huffed and pouted but didn’t comment, apparently still annoyed at you for refusing to let him help.

The two of you did talk for a little while seriously. You figured it was warm enough at night without a fire, but you’d need one to cook any eventual meat or fish and to keep warm if it rained or the temperatures dropped, and it would of course be great for signaling rescuers. You planned for Namjoon to work on that tomorrow while you worked on the “HELP” letters, since beating rocks together to make sparks was stationary and he could sit down and take his time with it. He seemed like he really wanted something to do, to feel helpful, and being put in charge of the fire seemed to please him. He tried to pretend he was fine, but he was still so exhausted.

You’d found some baby coconuts earlier and were fairly confident you’d be able to get them open, and tomorrow you’d have Namjoon try the milk to start getting used to something besides water, and then you could use the husks as tinder for the fire.

When the sun went down, it was a little bit colder than the night before. You curled up against Namjoon, who’d laid on his back, and he wrapped his arm around you, gently pulling you closer to him as he also felt the chill, your head on his chest, your hand over his heart. You used his dress shirt as a blanket, laying it over both of your upper bodies. You hooked your leg up over him, your thigh resting across his thighs, and he put his large, warm hand on your knee. He moved his thumb in small circles on your skin, sending sparks to your core. He was so warm, and you tried to remember and focus on how he’d been warm on the ship too, when he’d put sunscreen on you at the pool. His fever wasn’t so bad anymore. He was just a warm person. You didn’t need to worry about his fever anymore, you told yourself.

The ocean was so loud right now. Your mind drifted to how close to death you’d both been, especially Namjoon, and how you were probably going to die on this island. How could you possibly survive here long-term? What would happen if one of you got a little cut that got infected, or if one of you got seriously hurt? Just a broken bone or toothache could kill you. What if nobody every came looking for you? The ocean was so fucking big — how could anyone find anything? How had you even managed to find this island at all?

You felt and heard him sigh then, your hand and head both rising and falling with his chest.

“What are we gonna do?” you asked. Your voice sounded so small, nearly cracking as you spoke.

He didn’t answer for a moment. You wondered if he was actually asleep.

Namjoon did answer, his warm voice a low, comforting noise you could almost feel rumbling in his chest. “We’ll stay alive.”

He turned his head and kissed the top of your hair, resting his mouth there as he breathed slowly. The ocean didn’t sound as loud now.

***

Namjoon’s snoring only woke you up twice. You found yourself getting used to it, much preferring it over the awful sound of the waves you knew were going to eventually drive you crazy. You almost found his snoring comforting after a while, because now you knew for certain he was alive and sleeping, not unconscious or worse.

In the morning, after you’d gone to get your and Namjoon’s first drink of water, you went and found Namjoon some rocks to try to make his fire. You set up the pit, circling up some larger rocks to contain it and arranging some dry leaves and sticks. You helped Namjoon move over to where you’d set it up, since you didn’t want it right beside your very flammable shelter, and you helped him get settled in his new spot.

He started working, and you went and got one of your baby coconuts. You hit it against a tree nearby, and after only two hits it started to burst. You hurried over to Namjoon and held it as he drank from it eagerly. He brought his hands up to hold the coconut tighter, his fingers on yours as he drank up every last bit of liquid. A small amount of it dribbled down his chin, running in a long, thin line down the column of his neck, which you tried very hard not to stare at as he drank and swallowed, his large Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

You peeled the coconut open and found the meat inside. You saw the way Namjoon was staring at the meat intently where he sat, mouth watering, and you reached in and brought some of the meat up to your own mouth.

“No solids for you until tomorrow at the earliest,” you said between bites, and he huffed, annoyed with that.

You put the dry parts of the cleaned out husk in the fire pit and went and cracked open another. Namjoon drank, you ate, and you threw it in the fire pit again.

You got to work on the “HELP” letters, working slowly not to overstrain yourself. Around midday, you took a brief break to get some water to Namjoon and get him another coconut. You had two papayas plus a leaf of water and the coconut meat.

In the afternoon, you continued with the rocks. Namjoon wasn’t having much luck actually starting a fire, but he was starting to make sparks and absolutely insisted that he’d eventually get it.

When you walked out of the jungle with yet another rock, back to the beach on what you told yourself was the last trip, you saw Namjoon standing and walking into the ocean, only in his boxers and already up to his knees in the water. You threw the rock in your arms off to the side and ran to him.

“Namjoon!” You sprinted, moving yourself as fast as your legs could carry you. You didn’t know what he was planning on doing, but with him as weak as he was, there was no way he’d be able to fight a riptide or maybe even just the normal waves pulling him out.

You splashed into the water and when you got to him, you wrapped your arms around his waist, physically dragging him back to shore.

“Stop it, get off,” he grumbled, trying to wiggle free. “I’m just trying to get clean. Neither of us have bathed in days.”

“Sorry, buddy. There’s a rule about this,” you said, still attempting to pull him back. “No swimming in the ocean when you almost died two days ago.”

“I’m fine,” he whined, begrudgingly allowing himself to be pulled backwards until you both stood with just your feet in the water.

“Nuh uh, Joon,” you said, letting go of him and walking around to face him. You were ankle-deep in the water and tried to ignore the small spike of fear even just this now brought you.

“Yeah huh, Y/N,” he said, matching your tone.

“If you’re fine, do ten jumping jacks right now,” you said, putting your hands on your hips. Namjoon didn’t say anything and definitely didn’t do what you’d asked, instead just setting his jaw and glaring out at the water behind you.

You smirked at him, knowing damn well that he wasn’t able to do that right now, and he knew it too.

“I’m going in and you can’t stop me,” Namjoon declared. He moved to step around you, and you sidestepped, standing right in front of him. He tried to do it again, and you just sidestepped again, smiling now.

“I can do this all day, Joonie. You getting tired yet?” you said.

Before he could say anything, you felt something touch your ankle and you screamed, jumping out of the water and up onto the sand. Namjoon used your distraction to walk straight out into the waves.

“Namjoon, stop,” you begged, walking in after him. You saw what had touched your ankle: a little piece of seaweed maybe an inch long.

You went right into the water after him, ready to pull him back again, but he moved down, dunking himself under where it was only about three feet deep. He stood back up, running his hands through his hair.

You looked down at his muscular, broad body as he faced away from you, his caramel-toned skin glistening from the water in the bright sunlight and thoroughly distracting you from your worry. It didn’t seem to fit, him still looking like this but you knowing he’d been starving and dying the past few days. You knew logically that of course he wouldn’t change size too much or in any way reflect his complete lack of food yet, but still. It felt odd seeing how muscular he was and remembering how frail and weak he’d been.

Namjoon dunked himself back under one more time, and then walked back onto shore.

“See? I was fine,” he said as he walked by. You ignored the way the droplets of water ran slowly down his firm chest and stomach and the way his smug smile made you want him to bend you over something.

“And if you’d been caught in a riptide, I’m sure you would’ve been a-okay,” you said, turning and walking back up to the shelter with him. When you got there, you decided to give him some privacy, and to go off and take a bath of your own.

You went to the spring. On your way there, you saw a low-hanging palm tree with more baby coconuts, just off the path. You got one and carried it with you.

You had nothing to use for soap, but maybe using coconut milk on some of your body would be the same thing as coconut oil or lotion. You knew that was an ingredient people used in soaps and stuff, and had read about fresh coconut milk being used on the skin. You could just rub it in and then wash it off with water. You were probably doing something really stupid, but you didn’t even care. You just desperately wanted to not smell like sweat anymore.

When you got to the spring, you stripped off your dress and took off your strapless bra and panties and laid them all out on a large flat rock near the edge of the water. You cracked the coconut against a tree and carefully set it on the rock beside your clothes.

The first thing you did once you were in the water was wash your panties. You didn’t want to fully transition to full-time commando, especially not with your short dress, but the time you’d been wearing them now was already far past way too long. You soaked and scrubbed them with just water, and then laid them out to dry.

You leaned back and dunked most of your hair in the clear water. Getting a little coconut milk on your hands, you ran your palms over your shoulders and upper body, rubbing it in and pretending it was a nice body wash back home in your shower.

It smelled so good and pleasant here. The little waterfall from the spring was the only thing you could hear besides the leaves and flowers moving in the gentle island breeze. You dunked yourself completely under the water, letting it soak into your skin. You ran your hands all over yourself, and felt, for the first time in days, almost clean. Your skin had been so dry from the salt water and pained from the sunburn, and the coconut milk felt like a thin lotion, exfoliating you skin.

You moved toward the deepest part of the pool, where you could still touch the bottom if you were on your tiptoes. You really didn’t mind being in this water. It was clear and you could see around you, and it was small enough you could see all of it. There was nothing hiding here.

“Hey, you.”

You nearly screamed in surprise.

Namjoon had followed your path and now stood near the entrance to the clearing, still dripping wet in his boxers, which were so low around his hips you could almost see a bit of dark hair. He seemed completely unconcerned with the fact you were naked — you had been facing the other way before, but when you’d spun around and saw him, you’d covered yourself, knowing the pristinely clear water would do very little to distort his view of you. You covered your breasts with one arm and crossed your legs, wrapping your other arm around your body instinctively.

“Fuck, Joon. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Language,” he said sarcastically. “And it’s Namjoon to you.”

Namjoon walked around the clearing, looking at the different plants and making his way over to the spring. He didn’t seem to notice or care that you were on edge, turning yourself with him so he wouldn’t see your ass.

“Uh, do you mind?” you said after a moment.

“Not at all, go ahead,” he said, sitting down on a rock beside the crevasse where the spring water flowed out. He cupped his hands and drank some before continuing. “I can’t see shit without my glasses, which I lost in the storm. You just look like a little skin-colored blob to me right now, especially this far away.”

You rolled your eyes and huffed. You’d been so relaxed and calm before he showed up, and now you were standing here covering yourself. Though, realizing that he’d lost his glasses and couldn’t see well without them did make you feel almost bad for him.

“So I was thinking,” Namjoon began conversationally, and you bit the inside of your cheek, preparing for a full conversation with him like this, with you covering yourself. “We can use your pantyhose as a fishnet. Nothing big, but enough to catch something we can eat. We don’t have enough for a mosquito net, but I haven’t really seen any mosquitos, even here with all this sitting water. We don’t need to make a rain filter since we have the spring, so our only real use for your hose is fishing or drying foods.”

“You know how to dry foods?” you asked. You were still covering yourself fully, but relaxed some as the two of you talked seriously. He wasn’t leering or trying to catch a glimpse, and he couldn’t see that well anyway, but he did look over at you and make eye contact when you spoke. His expression was serious and businesslike.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just hang it up and keep it in the sun for two days or so. It’s easy, I used to do it all the time when I hiked more. Bananas would probably be best, but we’d have to cut it up somehow. I’m not sure mashed bananas would be very good dried.”

“We can use the wire in my bra,” you suggested. Namjoon raised an eyebrow, but nodded after a moment in agreement.

“We can also use the prong on my belt, if we can get the buckle off, as a spear tip. Just tie it to a nice stick, and boom, we have a spear to use on that boar you saw. Twenty-first century arrowhead. We can probably tie it with your sexy little leg straps.”

“Sexy leg straps?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding seriously. “You know, your hose thingys?” He made a straight line motion with his finger, drawing up and down the side of his outer thigh.

“They’re called suspenders.”

“Whatever. You knew what I meant.”

You looked at him for a moment. You were still standing there in the water covering yourself as much as you could, and he didn’t seem to have any plans for leaving any time soon.

“Yes?” Namjoon said when he noticed you staring at him. You could see the smallest hint of a smile on the corner of his smug mouth.

“Get out,” you said simply, smiling fake-politely.

“I’m just here to drink water,” he said, feigning innocence. “Remember the whole dying of dehydration thing? Plus we were talking about plans to survive. You plan on wearing that dress every day?”

“Were you planning on going permanently naked any time soon?” you said.

“Pants don’t last forever, and neither will that pretty little dress of yours.”

You set your jaw. Before you could say anything to him, he stood up, eyeing the water beside where he stood.

“Uh, what are you doing?” you said in surprise, realizing what he was doing.

“Going for a swim,” he said, like it was obvious. He pulled down his boxers, and then there he was, completely naked before you. You only looked up at him in short glances, your eyes wide, careful not to let him catch you staring. Even in the cool water, you felt the heat and slick wetness starting to build between you legs. You didn’t let yourself look at him anywhere below his stomach, but you could see even when not looking directly at him that he was a big boy, short dark hair surrounding his thick length, so big even when flaccid like this. He seemed completely at ease, this moment not sexual to him at all as he eased himself down into the water.

“Didn’t you just swim in the ocean?” You made yourself look only at his eyes.

“You barely let me go in at all, and I see you invented some coconut soap, which you didn’t share,” he said. “I wanna be clean and not smell bad, too.” Namjoon waded over through the waist-high water to where your coconut was sitting on a rock. You watched him glance at your panties drying there, the corner of his mouth quirking.

Namjoon got some coconut milk on his hands and rubbed it on himself. He was still facing away from you, so you stared blatantly as he rubbed his hands across his arms and shoulders, the muscles in his back moving and stretching.

He continued talking to you as he worked. “So, when are you going to let me start eating? Or is your plan to starve me out?”

You snorted. “How are you feeling with the coconut milk you had earlier?”

“Good.” He glanced back over his shoulder at you for a second, and your eyes snapped up to his eyes from where you had been staring at his ass through the crystal clear water. “Hungry as hell, and ready to start eating something.” He spoke normally, apparently not catching on to your leering, thankfully.

You didn’t answer him. You relaxed yourself a little, still keeping yourself covered but not letting your muscles stay as tense as they had been. After a moment, Namjoon spoke, still facing away from you and rubbing coconut milk on his upper body.

“I gotta ask. Where was all this shyness and modesty when you nearly jerked me off in public with your foot? Or is it different for you if you’re playing a game?”

You froze. You’d all but forgotten about how much you’d teased him on the boat. All of that seemed so long ago now.

“What game?” you said.

He turned around and looked at you, one eyebrow raised. You smiled at him innocently.

Namjoon moved slowly through the water, coming toward you. His dark eyes were so intense, you couldn’t look away if you wanted to, though his smile was playful. Your legs were still crossed and one arm still covered your breasts, but as he approached, stepping closer to you, you dropped your arm and moved to stand firmly on two feet. You were where the water came up to your breasts, the water level teasing your nipples as the gentle waves from your movements swelled around you.

To his credit, Namjoon didn’t look down at your breasts. You were standing nearly chest-to-chest now, though he was so much taller than you. Under the water, his hands moved slowly to touch your sides low on your hips, his fingertips just barely skimming against your skin as he gazed down at your eyes. You stood up straight, eager, leaning back just slightly as if presenting your chest to him.

Namjoon leaned in a little, looking down at your mouth with an absolutely depraved look in his eyes, his lips parting. You parted your lips too and watched his eyes darken as he took in a deep breath. This close to him, you could see the freckles he’d gotten from the sun, and the little moles he’d had before that you hadn’t really noticed before this moment. You studied the curve of his nose, the lines of his plush lips, all the details of his handsome face. You wanted to touch him, you wanted to feel his face with your hands, your breasts, your inner thighs.

One of his hands moved slowly around your hip toward your ass, lightly tracing his fingers there, his touch so gentle you could barely feel him. He moved around the swell of your ass and straight up your spine, watching you shiver as he moved. You looked up at him through hooded eyes, arching your back and wordlessly begging him to touch or even just look at your breasts.

Namjoon looked down, admiring you finally, and he leaned in so that his mouth was less than an inch from yours. You closed your eyes and could almost feel his mouth on yours. You felt his warm breath on your skin and nearly whined, a small moan escaping you. His hands traced up your ribcage, resting just below you breasts. Other than his hands, he didn’t touch you, though the rest of him was close enough to tease your skin with light touches and traces in the water.

His hands were so big and strong, you thought you might pass out just thinking about what he could do to you. His fingers touched the undersides of your breasts, moving upwards so slowly.

“This game,” he said then, pulling back completely and smirking at you.

You should’ve known.

You sighed and rolled your eyes as he moved back in the water, looking at you with a shit-eating grin on his face. You knew you were flushed and hot and bothered, and he’d gotten you so desperate in such a short amount of time, all but begging him to touch you.

Two could play this game.

***

It had to have been about ten days or so on the island by now.

You had yet to see a boat, plane, or any hint of other humans existing within a hundred miles of you. You would’ve been nearing the end of your cruise by now, you thought with a sigh. You had yet to get your period, guessing that was about due next week, and you were not looking forward to that experience at all.

The day after your game with Namjoon at the spring, you’d finished making the “HELP” letters and Namjoon had gotten a fire going. He’d eaten some bananas that night and didn’t get sick, so you considered that a success.

In the following days, you both got used to your routines. Namjoon worked on getting his strength up. He ran laps around the island, did push-ups, swam in the ocean — staying close to the beach, at your insistence. You even caught him lifting large rocks at one point, and made fun of him for that quite a bit. He’d insisted that he was doing it just to test if his strength was fully back yet or not.

You both went fishing and hunting. Namjoon made a spear like he’d said, sharpening the point on his belt buckle and using one of your suspenders to secure it there. He found and killed a small boar, which you roasted over the fire and split between the two of you. Namjoon made a joke about you eating a baby Pumbaa, which made you want to hit him. The following day you caught a huge fish and split that, too, though Namjoon seemed to not like seafood all that much.

You tested one of the fruits you didn’t know over a few days and found it was edible and wouldn’t kill you, and when you brought it back to your little camp proudly, Namjoon was sitting by the fire, cleaning the fish he’d caught that day.

“Noni?” he said, looking up at you as you walked over.

“Huh?”

“The thing you’re holding,” he said, motioning up toward your hands. “It’s called noni fruit.”

You looked down at the fruit you were holding. You’d spent days testing to make sure it wasn’t poisonous, and had wanted to present a new food to him as a nice surprise, and Namjoon had known the whole time what it was. Figured.

You had a fish and noni fruit dinner, finished off with coconut meat and milk and a leaf of water split between you afterwards. You didn’t have many complaints food-wise. You figured the two of you were about as lucky as you could get not to have ended up on an island with nothing, and even luckier to have ended up on an island at all. The place you’d landed pretty much served up all you needed to eat, and the only thing you really had to work for was meat, but even that helped give you something to do.

That night, you both sat by the fire talking for hours. You’d done a lot of that since you got used to your routines and set everything up. There wasn’t very much to do, besides hunt, collect fruit, and keep the fire going so potential rescuers could see it and the smoke.

Every night, you slept right beside each other, cuddled together. In the light you both were cocky and play-fought each other, teasing and bickering, but at night you held onto each other, neither pointing out aloud how much you depended on each other. A few times, you’d started crying in the middle of the night, and Namjoon always hugged you tighter and stroked your hair and told you it was going to be okay. You’d done the same for him when he’d broken down, and learned that night how much he liked and was comforted by you stroking his hair and humming to him. You were both so terrified, and at night you clung to each other like you were still lost and adrift in the middle of the sea.

When you went to bed that night, Namjoon just wore his boxers and you your panties and his dress shirt. You washed your clothes in intervals, wearing one outfit for two days or so and washing the other at some point in that time period. Namjoon was pretty much always shirtless now, to your delight, so he alternated between his dress pants, which he’d ripped into shorts, and boxers. You’d basically torn apart your bra when you got the underwire out to use, so now you alternated between your dress and Namjoon’s shirt. Both of you were clinging to the last semblances of modesty and normality you had left for as long as you could.

Tonight you laid facing in, turned away from Namjoon and the ocean, and after you’d been laying there for a while, you felt him turning toward you. He wrapped his arms around you, nuzzling his face into your hair, the tip of his nose touching your scalp. Your legs were bent and he bent his too, right along behind you, fully pressing his body against you from nose to feet. He was so gentle with you, and you immediately, reflexively, melted back into him. Namjoon exhaled, a hint of a small moan in his deep sigh.

You only ever felt truly safe at night, like this in his arms.

***

You woke up in the middle of the night. Namjoon was asleep, his erection pressed hard against your ass, and you sighed, snuggling back against him, using the slight friction for warmth. You loved when you woke up and could feel he was hard. The tension between the two of you had yet to be resolved, and nothing had happened after that day in the spring. You wanted him so bad your pussy almost ached when you looked at him, and when you woke up and could feel his huge length hard against you, it always made you shift and snuggle back into him, loving the feeling and idea of him being aroused by you so much, even if he was asleep.

He groaned in reaction to your movement. Still asleep, his arms tightened around you and pulled you even closer against him, holding onto you firmly with his muscular arms you loved so much.

He smelled so good. Earthy, like sea salt and smoke from the fire still burning a few yards away, with a hint of coconut and his musky natural scent and pheromones. You wished you could just lay here and smell this forever.

You turned over slowly, careful not to wake him. Once you were facing him, you nuzzled in against his chest. Namjoon tightened his arms around you again, sighing.

Facing him was even better. He was so warm and smelled so good, and you were right up against his bare chest. This close, you could see the hints of very slight stubble on his chin and the freckles across his face and shoulders from all the sun he’s been getting. Namjoon was so broad and muscular and big, and you brought one of your hands up to rest over his heart, very subtly feeling his pectoral muscle and heartbeat.

At your touch, Namjoon’s eyes shot open and he rolled both of your bodies, moving so that he was directly over you, straddling you, his face buried in against you neck.

You let out a small squeal in surprise, grinning and gasping in delight. He moved slowly, grinding his erection into you as he let out a low growl. You moaned, your eyes rolling back in your head as you felt his thick, hot length pressed against you through his boxers.

“What are you doing, Y/N?” he murmured against your neck, moving so that his lips brushed your skin while slowing down the pace of his grinding to downright torturous. He had to know that he was rubbing right against your clit, every sudden movement making you gasp.

“Nothing,” you said, your voice high-pitched and breathy.

You couldn’t see his face — the only thing you could see was the low light from the fire yards away dancing across the ceiling of the shelter above you — but you could feel him. The tip of his nose touched your pulse point on your neck. His breath both warmed and made goosebumps spread across you skin. He braced himself with both arms, caging you there, his hips grinding into yours.

“Are you sure?” he murmured right against your ear, his breath hot.

“Yes,” you said, closing your eyes. Right after he’d finished speaking, he’d taken your earlobe between his teeth and pulled gently. Your fingers dug into his bare shoulders, holding onto him desperately as he moved against you still.

“Tell me to get off,” he said, his voice so deep and gravelly and low you had to close your eyes. The tip of his nose traced your jaw playfully as he spoke. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll get off and never touch you again.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, your centers pressed together fully through your thin clothes.

“Don’t get off.”

He didn’t even respond. Namjoon thrust so hard against you, your entire body rocked. He did so repeatedly, quickly humping and grinding against you through both his boxers and your panties. All you could hear was his breathing directly against your ear, low growls and breathy moans escaping him through the exertion of how forcefully he was moving. He was saying something you could barely understand, though you thought you heard “Yeah, you fucking like that?” after you moaned loudly.

You tried to meet his thrusts but he moved one of his hands down to grab your hips, roughly holding you in place.

“You’re so fucking good, so beautiful,” he growled, biting along your jaw. “I wanna fuck you forever, baby. God, I wish we could, so fucking bad.”

Before you could say anything, a sudden loud thump hit the roof of your shelter, and you both jumped and froze, waiting and listening for any other sounds.

Your heart raced. Namjoon looked down at you, eyes wide, and slowly moved off of you, shifting to his knees and then to a standing position outside the shelter.

He grabbed the spear from where it leaned against the tree, slowly walking where you couldn’t see him. You quickly jumped up too, watching him walk around the shelter, looking for what had made the noise.

He bent over and you couldn’t see him, and then stood up again, holding a coconut. You both looked up above you: you had set up your shelter underneath a palm tree that now had three coconuts hanging from it, and a fourth had just fallen and hit the roof of your lean-to.

You both laughed in relief, and Namjoon tossed the coconut behind him into the jungle, since you had no way of cracking into a non-baby coconut.

Namjoon walked straight for you then, throwing the spear off to the side. His eyes were dark and intense, and when he reached where you stood, he picked you up by your thighs, wrapping your legs around him as he sucked on your neck roughly, carrying you back to the shelter. His hands ran over your back underneath the shirt as he walked, feeling your bare skin desperately, and you tilted your head back in ecstasy and gasped, completely willing to let him do whatever he wanted to you.

He laid you down inside the shelter, his mouth still connected to you. He kissed you roughly, hungrily, claiming your mouth with his own, his tongue so deep inside you. You wrapped your legs around Namjoon tighter, pulling him down against you harder. He kissed you ravenously, one of his hands behind your head, knotting in your hair, holding your head just how he wanted you.

You could feel his erection through his boxers and your soaking wet panties. He ground himself against you roughly, bucking his hips, again nearly fucking you just like this through both your clothes.

“I’ve wanted you under me since the moment I saw you,” he growled against your ear, biting at your jaw. “So fucking beautiful.” He dipped his tongue into your mouth, so deep you swore you felt him in your throat, growling again.

You loved every moment of this. He moved so desperately, he was rough with you without hurting you, and god, the things coming out of his mouth were obscene. Namjoon brought his lips to your ear and whispered all the things he wanted to do to you, all while grinding himself against you harder and harder. You nearly cried out, just his words and his hips bringing you close already as you felt him moving against your clit through your clothes. His voice was deep and gravelly, contrasting his usual smooth-as-honey tone. You felt his growls and moans deep within you, all the way to your tight, throbbing core.

“–And then when you’re writhing and begging me, your beautiful legs spread so wide, I’ll kiss your pussy, taste your sweet, wet cunt. I bet you taste so fucking good, don’t you, baby? I can feel how wet you are right now, and it’s all for me. I wanna kiss and lick every inch of you so bad, I swear I could swallow you whole. Do you want me to call you ‘baby girl,’ sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you gasped, clawing at his back.

“I knew you would,” he growled against your ear, still thrusting against you, and you could almost feel his smile. “I want to kiss every inch of your beautiful skin, baby girl. I want to bring you pleasure with just my mouth, I want to please you, praise you, worship you. I want you to know what I can do to you. I want to feel you cum for me and taste you as you cum all over my face. I think about that so much, baby.”

His hips bucked faster, spreading his knees apart to spread your legs even farther as you whimpered from his filthy words.

“You think about me?” you managed to say, your voice so much higher than normal, you barely recognized yourself.

Without answering, he brought his mouth to yours, the tip of his tongue nearly touching the back of your throat again as he tilted his head, trying to dive deeper still. He kissed you and fucked your mouth with his tongue, groaning obscenely into your mouth when you sucked on his tongue.

He parted from you after a moment, gasping for air. He kissed along your jaw as best as he could while trying to get his breath back, and bit at your earlobe playfully again before answering.

“You’re the only thing I think about, baby girl,” he growled, bringing one hand to your breast, squeezing roughly. “I imagine fucking you on your hands and knees and making you scream for me, stuffing you full of my cum ’til it’s dripping out of you. I imagine making love to you, so fucking sweet, holding you so tight to me as I take you over and over, holding you like you could break. But I know you can take it. I know you like it rough, princess. And I’ll do anything you want. You want me to make you feel good, even if it hurts too, because you like it. You like pain with your pleasure, don’t you, princess?”

“Yes,” you moaned, arching your back up against him, so far gone by just his words and him dry-humping you through your clothes. How he’d managed to work you up this much without even touching you under your clothes was beyond you.

“I wanna fucking drown in you,” he growled, your earlobe between his teeth again. He pushed himself fully against you, so hard you could feel his cock throbbing. “I bet you feel so fucking good, and taste even better. I wanna fuck you every moment of every day.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. You brought your legs down from around him, and Namjoon started to move off of you, surprised and confused. You only let him move enough so you could get your panties down and off of you and the buttons on your shirt undone, and then you brought him back down to you, pulling his boxers down to his knees and letting his erection spring free, bobbing up against his stomach, painfully hard. God, he was big, so long and thick and perfect. Your mouth watered just looking at him, already so eager to be filled up and stretched out by him.

“I don’t have a condom,” Namjoon said, biting his lip and holding himself off of you as you wrapped your legs around him again.

“Obviously,” you deadpanned, looking up at him. You giggled, shaking your head. “What? You mean you didn’t run down to the store and buy any?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, hiding the smile he had from your teasing.

“Don’t worry,” you said, sobering after a moment of your giggles, your need for him taking over. You spoke quickly, nearly babbling in your excitement and need. “I have an IUD. Birth control for two years, no condoms needed. The doctor said it’s more than ninety-nine percent effective and it’s the most effective of all the birth controls, bla bla bla, and it may be stupid but I’m definitely willing to take that risk right now. Now get inside me.” You tried to pull him closer to your throbbing core where you needed him so badly with your legs, but Namjoon stilled above you.

“Huh?” he said, tilting his head and looking down at you. He didn’t follow, mostly because he was completely lost in a haze of lust, barely seeing straight, and you realized that you had kind of spoken about a hundred miles a second. His eyes twinkled in the light of the fire, but they looked glazed over, lost in his desire. He was breathing hard and already breaking a sweat, and you could feel his heart racing, his whole body throbbing from his need.

“I have a birth control implant in my uterus that lasts two years,” you said much slower, calming yourself down and looking him in the eye. You put your hands on either side of his face, making him focus. “Basically, I can’t get pregnant for at least another eighteen months. Now get inside me, daddy.” You added the last bit with a smirk, watching his reaction as all of that slowly sunk in.

Your words registered with Namjoon, and he immediately jumped into action, apparently also willing to take the less than one percent risk of pregnancy. You figured this island might be the actual worst place on the planet to get pregnant, but you trusted your IUD enough and were so far gone in your lust, you were willing to be stupid.

Namjoon reached down and lined himself up with your entrance, and then thrust into you in one smooth motion. You cried out as he stretched you, and he kissed you, swallowing your moans. A deep, broken noise escaped him as he felt your walls clenching down on him and adjusting to his size.

“You feel so fucking good, I knew you would,” he groaned, his words turning into a whiney moan as pleasure almost completely overwhelmed him. He was so big, and even though you were soaking wet, it was a tight fit. You’d had a while of intense foreplay and dry-humping, and now both of you were barely holding on by a thread.

“Keep talking, naughty boy,” you said, pulling his hair. You tightened your legs around him, and he began slowly moving, muttering praise and more dirty talk, his nose and mouth directly against your skin on your neck.

“Your pussy’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever felt, baby girl. You’re so fucking good, I’ve wanted this for so fucking long. I wanna make you feel so good, sweetheart, that’s all I want, I–” He cut himself off as he picked up his pace, and you arched your back and brought your legs up even higher around him. One of his hands held onto your thigh, bracing himself and holding you in place exactly how he wanted you. “You feel so fucking good, Y/N…” He moved his hips so quickly, you knew you both weren’t going to last.

You knew exactly what you needed for him to do to push you over the edge. You reached down and took his hand he wasn’t using to support himself, and brought it up to your throat. You squeezed your hand around his, making him choke you.

Namjoon took the hint and squeezed his hand tighter, and you gasped, your vision going blurry as he pumped pure bliss into you body. Every stroke filled you perfectly, the head of his cock hitting you deeper and deeper with every thrust, stroking a spot within you that made you see stars as his thick girth stretched you out. You tried to bring your legs up even higher around him, and then he was hitting you at the exact perfect angle.

You tried to scream out in pure uninhibited pleasure, but his hand on your neck made the noise choked off and broken. The hand that wasn’t around your neck was in your hair now, and he squeezed his fingers there too, just hard enough to hurt. He pulled you so that you head tilted back almost painfully, showing off your neck to him as he squeezed there tighter.

Namjoon’s movements were becoming erratic and brutal. He wasn’t speaking anymore, just moaning and grunting. He loosened his grip on your neck just long enough for you to wheeze in a shaky breath. Tears streamed down your cheeks from the force of it all, your eyes watering from asphyxiation and pure pleasure. His thrusts filled you so hard, you were sure the sound of his skin smacking against yours could be heard on the other side of the island, if they weren’t drowned out by both of your moans.

Namjoon buried his face in against your neck, his nose against your rapid pulse and feeling you trying to breathe and moan, his hand now squeezing your throat harder again. You couldn’t even see anymore, the only things your mind registered were his voice and the feelings of his cock moving inside you and his hand on your throat.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he groaned. “Your pussy’s so fucking perfect, I could fuck you forever. I wanna cum in your tight little pussy just so I can lick it clean. You want that? You want me to eat your perfect cunt, princess?” He paused long enough to lick once up the side of you face, slowly, his tongue wide, which would’ve made you gasp if you could breathe.

He rubbed his cheek against yours roughly, completely animalistic and primal, as he continued. “I’m gonna make you fucking scream, I’m gonna make you cum so hard you can’t see, can’t walk, can’t think. I’m gonna fuck you so good, the only thing you’ll know how to say is my name. Fuck, you’re so good. Scream when you cum for me, baby, or I’ll spank your ass raw.”

If you had any air within you, you would’ve screamed as you came. Instead, you tried to gasp, unable to inhale at all with Namjoon’s hand tight on your throat, and he only moved himself harder and harder, savagely pulling every drop of pleasure from your body. You’d never felt anything like this, your orgasm completely overpowering you. He must’ve loosened his hold on your throat, because you somehow screamed, and he came right as he heard you and felt you clenching and spasming around him.

Namjoon quickly pulled out, finishing himself off with his hand on your stomach, his head buried in your neck as he kept himself mostly up off of you. You gasped desperately, his hand gone now as he stroked himself furiously with it, thrusting into his own fist as if he just couldn’t make himself stop, moaning in pure ecstasy as he fucked his own hand and spilled his cum all over your stomach.

Namjoon let out a noise from deep within him and just barely managed to keep himself from collapsing on top of you when he finished. Instead, he held himself up with his arms and knees, giving you plenty of room to breathe and recover as you both gasped for air. His arms and legs shook like at any moment his limbs might give out, but he focused solely on keeping himself up. You noticed, and you turned your head and kissed the corner of his mouth, trying to pull his body down onto you with all of your limbs wrapping around him.

He reluctantly let himself rest his weight on you, only partially. You didn’t mind; if anything, you loved feeling him on top of you. Feeling the weight of his big, perfect body was so comforting, and you still just wanted to be closer to him. His cum pressed between your bodies, smearing on both your stomachs as he let himself put more of his weight on you. It was a sticky mess, but god, it felt so dirty and filthy and good.

After a moment of catching his breath, Namjoon started kissing your shoulder. He peppered your skin with his love, his breathing still deep and slow, his voice in his breath muffled against your skin as he moaned with almost every exhale, and the sound was music to your ears.

He made his way down your body slowly, and you only had the energy to lay there and enjoy being worshipped. His tongue circled one of your nipples, and you brought your hands to his hair, knotting there. He sucked your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it lazily, and you arched your back, letting out a lazy moan and closing your eyes.

He kissed down to your stomach and started licking you, tasting his own cum and your sweat from the exertion of what you’d just done. He held you with both hands, holding you perfectly in place, his hands nothing but gentle as his fingertips skimmed along your ribs and his tongue lapped up every drop on your stomach, licking you clean, just as promised.

As Namjoon licked his cum off of you, he moved his mouth so slowly, so gently, so sweetly, like he wanted to do just this for days. He moved down your body slowly though, and dipped his tongue into your belly button playfully when he reached it. You felt him smiling against your skin when you giggled in reaction.

He got to your legs and spread your thighs gently. He kissed your cunt so chastely, his lips pressed together like he was a gentleman kissing a lady’s hand. He tilted his head and kissed your folds, his mouth opening and his tongue moving on you. You knotted your hands in his hair and moaned as he dipped his clever, evil tongue into you.

“Joon,” you moaned, spreading your legs wider, and Namjoon moaned back to you in response, the noise muffled against your pussy.

He opened his mouth as wide as he could, covering you from entrance to clit, and then he started sucking roughly, drinking you, tilting his head as if kissing you deeper as he slowly moved his lips back together and slurped. You cried out, pulling his hair roughly as the new source of such intense pleasure overwhelmed you. As he sucked, he thrust his tongue in and out of you rapidly, fucking you with his tongue and moving his whole head around like he was trying to fucking motorboat your pussy, or maybe attempting to bury his head inside you.

He closed his lips on you with an obscene wet slurping noise and started drinking at your entrance, his tongue quickly lapping into you as you felt nothing but his talented mouth.

“Joonie, that feels so good,” you moaned, trying to thrust up against him. He groaned against you and moved his hands then, grabbing your ass with both hands and pulling you tighter against his face. Namjoon sucked and drank and fucked you with his tongue, every moment such sweet bliss.

He’d planned to work your entrance for a while before going up to your clitoris, but you didn’t even last that long. Your whole body shook when you came, holding onto his hair with both hands. This time you did scream fully, and you thought you heard birds all over the island flapping away from the trees, as if spooked by the noise. You scream-moaned with every exhale, and Namjoon kept moving his mouth and holding you close to him, working you through your orgasm roughly.

You laid there gasping, staring at the ceiling of the shelter, dazed and fucked out and so far gone. As you recovered, you felt Namjoon leaving hickeys on your inner thighs and hipbones, entertaining himself with marking your skin.

You glanced down at Namjoon when you felt him pulling back. He stared up at you, eyes dark and mouth nearly dripping from your wetness. After a moment of eye contact, he leaned in again and licked you slit, as if he were trying to lick up the new wetness that now dripped from you from your orgasm. He watched your reactions as he slowly worked, seeing you spasm and squirm as you moaned and arched you back again in overstimulation.

Namjoon pulled back again and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before climbing on top of you. He moved in close, pulling your legs up around him and nuzzling his face in against your neck.

“You taste so fucking good, baby,” he murmured, his deep voice a low rumble, grinding his erection against your stomach, hard again just from eating you out. “I knew you would. So fucking sweet, princess, I can’t get enough of you. I’m gonna eat your beautiful pussy forever.”

Namjoon slid into you again and you screamed, full-out actually screamed, crying out in ecstasy and overstimulation as you gripped at his sweaty shoulders. You swore he was going to kill you, he felt so good.

“God, baby, keep sounding like that and I really will fuck you forever,” he groaned, his hands on your body squeezing you tighter.

This time he moved so much slower, holding himself up with his arms and spread knees. He kissed your mouth, slowly moving his tongue deep within you, hitting the deepest corners of your mouth and completely dominating you as he moved his tongue in time with his hips. His large arms caged your head, and he was the only thing you could see or feel at all.

He pulled his mouth back enough just to say, "See how good you taste?” before dipping his tongue back into you, hungrily, so slowly claiming your mouth. He growled when you started sucking on his tongue, thrusting in hard once and circling his hips when he was inside you as deep as he could get.

You moaned into his mouth and he moaned right back, not taking his mouth off yours as he kissed you and rolled his hips over and over, just fast enough to keep you desperate. He pinned one of you arms down above your head by your wrist, holding it down tightly but not painfully, lacing his fingers with yours.

As Namjoon moved, you felt him becoming more and more desperate. He began bucking his hips, kissing the corner of your mouth sloppily. His breathing picked up as his pace did, and he gasped, the two of you cheek to cheek as he brought one of his hands down to hold onto your hip.

You started encouraging him. “Yes… fuck, you’re so big. Fuck my tight little pussy, Joon,” you groaned, tilting your head back as he slammed into you so hard and fast you could barely breathe. He moaned with every exhale, so far gone, only moments away from falling apart again.

“What’d you fucking call me?” he growled, not stopping or slowing his pace at all.

“Joon?” you moaned, closing you eyes.

Instead of answering, he suddenly bit down on your neck so hard it had to have broken skin. You cried out, and as Namjoon kept biting down and kept thrusting, going even faster somehow, you kept screaming, short cries with each exhale between desperate gasps for oxygen.

“Joon,” you repeated, loving every moment of this, and he bit down again, harder, now where your neck met your shoulder. You felt the sharp pain in your shoulder throb, and it felt incredible, the pulsing matching that in your aching cunt. He licked at the part of your skin between his teeth, and you swore you felt him moaning.

You repeated “Joon” one more time, and Namjoon stopped suddenly, pulling back and glaring down at you, seething. Saliva and traces of your wetness covered his chin and lips, a wild look in his eyes.

“Call me that one more fucking time,” he snarled, “And you’ll fucking regret it, you little slut.”

You must’ve looked scared, because Namjoon’s eyes immediately softened, a concerned, terrified look on his face. He leaned in and kissed your cheek gently, murmuring against your skin.

“Only if you want to, sweetheart.” He kissed your cheek again. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you just surprised me,” you said, your voice so small and high-pitched you barely recognized it. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, angel. I’m sorry I scared you. I’ll never do that ever again.” He nuzzled in against your neck gently. He was still inside you, your bodies joined so perfectly, and he shifted his hips, trying to get even closer to you.

“You can do it again, I was just taken by surprise this time,” you said. “I’m sorry I kept calling you Joon.”

“No, it’s my fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. You can call me anything you want. I won’t do anything like that ever again, I promise, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” He kissed along your neck, avoiding the bite marks he’d left there before.

“I want you to do it again.”

Namjoon froze when you said that. He pulled back just enough to look at you and see your serious expression.

“Yeah?” he said, watching you carefully with a small smile spreading on his face.

“Yeah.” You nodded, biting your lip and looking up at him through your lashes. “I want you to fuck me like I’m your little slut, daddy.”

He flinched when you said that, apparently no longer in that kind of mood, so you corrected yourself.

“Namjoon,” you corrected, smiling up at him. “Joon,” you added, smiling, and Namjoon smiled too.

Namjoon moved to the other side of your neck, pressing kisses on your skin there. One of his hands went up to your ribs, just under your breast, resting there lightly as his mouth teased you.

“Tell me exactly what to do and I’ll do it, angel,” he murmured, his breath hot in your ear.

You could tell that he was trying to make up for his perceived wrongdoing by saying he’d do anything, and that he really just wanted to take it slow and gentle right now, scared out of his rough ‘daddy’ mood he’d been in before.

“Make love to me,” you moaned, holding onto his shoulders, and Namjoon complied.

Rolling his hips, he moved slowly in you, not lazily, but deliberate. Every gentle thrust brought your bodies closer together, the head of his cock stroking you so deep, exactly where you wanted him. You moaned, encouraging him with how good he made you feel.

He whispered soft praises in you ear. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N. I’ve never felt anything so good, ever. You’re so tight, so wet for me, so perfect,” he said, holding your body tightly to his. “I could make love to you forever. You taste so good, and feel even better. Your pussy’s like milk and honey. Like warm, wet silk.”

Your orgasm was gentle this time. Namjoon had to work for it, making love to you exactly as you’d asked, and when you finally came you let out a long, anguished moan that made him gasp and still, cumming into you as he felt you clenching down on him so tight. You froze when you heard what he was saying as he came, muttering almost unintelligibly as he spilled into you and hugged you.

“Don’t leave me. Please, don’t ever leave me here alone. I need you. Please, please, I need you, I love you. Please….”

This time he did collapse on you, completely spent. He breathed in sharply, rasping for air, and got himself off of you as soon as he could, propping himself up on his knees and forearms. You breathed steadily and tried to will your heart to stop beating so fast and hard as you looked up at him.

Namjoon started to roll off of you, but you leaned up and kissed him, holding onto the back of his head. He rolled anyway, keeping your mouths connected, both of you rolling until you were on top. He hugged you tightly, your breasts squeezed against his chest, and he moved one hand behind your head to hold onto your hair, pulling it back from your face for you.

You pulled back just enough to look down at him. He looked completely love-struck, hearts in his eyes as he gazed up at you, a lazy smile on his face. You could barely see his face in the darkness, the dying fire and the moon’s reflection on the water your only light. The warm red glow of the fire covered one side of his face and twinkled in his eyes.

You cupped his face, stroking your thumb on his adorable round cheeks. Namjoon closed his eyes and snuggled into your hand, letting out a small sigh. His hands rested on you lower back, his fingers drawing small lazy circles. You turned and kissed his cheek gently, closing your eyes too.

***

You weren’t aware of it, but you’d fallen asleep like that on top of him. When you woke up in the morning, you were still laying on top of him, your face turned in toward his neck, your cheek on his shoulder. Your hand rested over his heart, feeling his steady heartbeat, and you rose and fell gently with his breathing. Namjoon was still asleep, but his hands were where you’d last felt them, on your lower back.

He must’ve felt you stirring, because started Namjoon waking up slowly, too. You heard his deep sigh-moan as he stretched his muscles, and when he realized what was on top of his body and under his hands, he smiled lazily, bringing his arms up to squeeze you in a lazy hug.

“Good morning, baby,” he said, his husky voice so deep from his sleep.

You pulled yourself up, sitting up and straddling him as you stretched your arms. The ocean seemed louder today, the waves nearby crashing on the shore. The breeze was just a little stronger than normal, but the sun was bright, not a cloud in the sky.

You looked down at Namjoon and saw him staring at your breasts, mouth all but watering, eyes darkening from lust already.

“I see you staring,” you smirked, rolling your eyes.

“I wasn’t hiding it,” he said, matching your playful tone but still not taking his eyes off you chest. His hands rested on your thighs, holding you in place where you straddled him, his thumbs drawing small circles on your hipbones.

“I slept on you last night,” you said then after a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” he said quickly, looking up at you. “Don’t be sorry. Do it again, as much as you want.”

“Really?” you asked, incredulous. “It doesn’t bother you, having a person laying on top of you as you sleep?”

“It feels amazing. Kind of comforting, too. And not to be rude, because I know talking about weight is a bad thing for a lot of girls, but you barely weigh anything and I love feeling you on top of me,” he said, his eyes so dark and intense and loving and playful all at once.

You shifted. You knew you didn’t weigh nothing, but hearing that he loved feeling you on top of him made your heart flutter.

You knew where this conversation was going, and you cut it off before it got there. You had shit to do today before more fucking.

“All right, we need to get up,” you said.

Namjoon groaned, his hands on your thighs gently massaging you. “Why?” he whined.

“We need to eat breakfast so we can keep our strength up, and I want to take a coconut milk bath at the spring.”

Namjoon’s eyes lit up. “Can I–”

“Yes, you can join me,” you said before he could finish.

Namjoon sat up, kissing you deeply and wrapping his arms around you.

***

After breakfast, your bath at the spring consisted of ten percent bathing and ninety percent fucking in the water. You wrapped your legs around him and he thrust up into you, holding onto your hair and pulling your body closer to his.

Namjoon carried you back to your shelter bridal-style, both of you giggling the whole way. When you got there, Namjoon fucked you on your hands and knees, his hand resting on your lower spine as he thrust into you savagely, his hips smacking against your ass so hard it sounded like he was spanking you. He did actually spank you at one point with his hand, and you came near instantly at the feeling.

After that, he laid you down and got down beside you on his side, propping himself up on one arm and looking down at you as you laid on your back. He leaned in and kissed you while his free hand moved down your stomach, his fingers playing with your curls as you spread your legs for him.

You gasped when he stroked your folds, and he smiled, sighing as he looked down at your face. You bit your lip and barely held in a groan as he curled two fingers into your soaking heat.

“You look so fucking beautiful like this,” he groaned. You held onto his wrist with both hands, feeling his tendons moving as he pumped his fingers inside you.

The two of you just laid there, Namjoon fucking you with his fingers and watching you as you reacted, moaning and writhing. His thumb circled your clitoris, pressing hard and moving slowly. You felt his erection against the side of your leg, and he seemed to be holding himself back, not wanting to lose control of himself but already so desperate for friction.

“Please, Namjoon, please,” you moaned, hips rolling, trying to fuck yourself on his hand. “I need you.”

“I’m here,” he murmured, leaning in and kissing the corner of your mouth as your lips fell open, breathing roughly as you felt yourself drawing close. “Let me take care of you, baby.” His fingers picked up their pace and you gasped, coming with a long, breathy moan.

Namjoon almost came just from watching your face in pleasure and feeling you squeezing his fingers. He quickly pulled out and moved on top of you, and even as you gasped for oxygen, you brought you legs up around him, wanting him, wanting this. You cried out when he slid into you, and he brought his fingers up to his mouth and sucked them as he started bucking his hips, desperate to finish himself off.

He held himself up higher off you, not trapping you and keeping you immobile with his body so that this time he could look down at your breasts bouncing with each quick, hard thrust. You arched your back, giving him an even better view and presenting your breasts to him like a gift, and you moaned and squeezed his cock purposefully and brought your legs higher up around him. Namjoon’s breath caught in his throat, his mouth agape and eyes nearly rolling back as he spilled himself into you, his thrusts sloppy and erratic.

Namjoon let out an agonized moan that almost sounded like your name before collapsing on top of you. You held him there with your legs, stroking his hair with one hand and resting the other on his shoulder. You loved feeling him on top of you just as much as he did you.

When he had the strength, he rolled both of you so that he was on his back and you were on top of him, just like how you’d slept. You leaned up about halfway, but Namjoon moved both his hands to your breasts and you stopped. He basically just supported your weight with his hands as he felt you, massaging slowly and watching your flesh between his fingers as he squeezed and kneaded you, your hard nipples against his palms.

You moaned, closing your eyes, and Namjoon lowered you down so that one of his hands was still on your breast while the other held you up by your shoulder and his mouth moved to your nipple, sucking and licking and biting.

After a moment, Namjoon suddenly pushed you up so that you were upright, and then pulled you forward by your thighs. He moved you around his arms and you let him, Namjoon moving your whole body like you were nothing. He positioned you so that you were straddling his face, and you gasped when you felt his tongue moving along your folds, surprised by all he’d just done but immediately tangling your fingers in his hair when you felt him sliding his tongue inside you.

You tilted you head back and closed your eyes, trying to spread your legs even further as Namjoon tried pulling you down on his face harder, both his hands on your ass as he sucked your cunt and fucked you with his tongue, making it rigid for you as you ground down against his face. You could hear him moaning against your pussy, the waves hitting the shore, the obscene slurping noise he always made when he sucked you dry, but there was something else you were hearing, too.

You suddenly froze as you listened, realizing this sound was something new. Namjoon kept going, unaware, but you looked out at the water, biting your lip to hold in a moan.

Out in the distance, a huge ship sat just on the horizon, and your heart skipped a beat when you saw it and realized you weren’t hallucinating. You thought you could see shipping containers on it, and the whole thing had to be the size of a football field. A small inflatable boat with a motor was headed directly for you, and would probably be here in a few minutes, its motor a quiet buzz in the distance.

“Namjoon!” you said, quickly moving off of him and jumping to your feet outside the shelter.

“What..?” he said, dazed, lost in his lust, looking only at you, still laying there on his back. His cock was half hard against his stomach already, his mouth, chin, and cock all glistening from your wetness. You grabbed your dress from its spot hanging on a tree nearby and quickly pulled it on, and Namjoon must’ve looked over and seen the ship and boat too because he started pulling on his boxers as fast as he could, jumping to his feet as well.

You both ran down to the surf, making yourselves much more visible to the people on the smaller boat, waving your arms. You were jumping up and down in your joy, holding onto Namjoon’s arm as you tried to hold in your tears, looking back and forth between him and the boat. Namjoon was grinning ear to ear, moving to hold your hand as he waved his other arm wildly at the smaller boat. You looked up and saw him tearing up too, and when he realized you were looking at him, he turned and kissed you, both of you barely able to press your lips together from smiling so wide.

The boat reached your shore a few minutes later. A cargo ship on its way to New Zealand had seen your fire earlier that morning, and had finally made its way to you after preparing its small rescue boat. You really really hoped they hadn’t seen any of what the two of you had been doing that morning in your lean-to, if they’d been looking at the beach with binoculars or something like that.

The three men on the speedboat had shock blankets and water bottles for the two of you, one of them realizing who you were and saying that the two of you had made big news all over the world the past few weeks. You and Namjoon gathered up your scarce belongings, each carrying the remainders of your clothes, and were escorted onto the little boat to be taken over to the ship.

As you sat in the back of the boat together, you in your faded, torn party dress and Namjoon in his boxers and his unbuttoned, worn-out dress shirt, the two of you cuddled close together, sharing one shock blanket. Namjoon closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against your temple, smiling softly.

“We made it, sweetheart. We’re safe,” he murmured against your cheek before kissing you there. He could tell you were nervous being out on the water again, so he held you close to him, his arm around you and nose nuzzling your cheek.

You tried to stop yourself from crying, but holy shit, you were saved. You weren’t going to die on that island. You were both safe and healthy, and you were together.

#btssmutclub #namjoon smut #bts smut #namjoon #kim namjoon #bts scenario #kim namjoon scenario #namjoon scenario #rm scenario #rm smut #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #marnie text #my writing #i wanted to write some fuckin on a beach and accidentally wrote a fully developed short story

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consumeconstantly · 5 years ago

Text

Small Buff Girl Sightings Ch. 2

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | ao3

It’s now the end of Damian’s first week in Paris, and everything is ready for him to transfer into Francois Dupont. He really thought he had dodged the pointless education bullet by coming to France, but of course his father wouldn’t let that slip. However, if he has to continue getting an education he doesn’t need, he will at least get something productive done during the hours of his experience; he will explore the so-called akuma class that he has read up about. One Caline Bustier’s class, the same class that the Ladyblogger is in. The same class that Marinette is in.

He hopes it’s the same as it was in Gotham, or at least similar enough. He expects his reception to be a little different, since his last name has been changed to Grayson to avoid any unwanted attention. Maybe this means that his classmates won’t try to talk to him solely for the purpose of connecting to his family. That doesn’t mean that he wants to talk to any of them. Unless they’re all like Marinette; his brief interactions with her have been bearable, bordering on pleasant. He doubts her class will be similar, though, judging by the quick sweep that he does on all of the student’s social media accounts and the hours that he’s spent on the Ladyblog. From what he has gleaned, the social situation in the akuma class leaves much to be desired. Lila Rossi, who appeared on the Ladyblog multiple times two years ago in rather ridiculous interviews that have since been taken down, seems to be the crux of the class currently. The rest of the class, other than Marinette, who hasn’t appeared in most of the group pictures that her classmates take for the past two years, seem to have little common sense.

When he walks into the classroom, there is a huddle around Lila Rossi, who sits near the front of the classroom and looks astonishingly bored as her classmates talk to her. The members of the class don’t even look up at him when he comes in, instead looking at Lila with almost cult-like devotion, despite the awful shade of lipstick that did not look good on her-- seriously, who wore orange lipstick on a day to day basis? He spares them a moment of observation, decides that he’s not going to get along with his classmates at all, then takes a seat in the back. There is only one desk that has both seats empty-- or is at least currently unoccupied, judging by the lack of items on it. The desk in question is near the back of the classroom next to an exit. He prefers this to sitting in the front, at least.

Right before class starts, a girl drops into the seat next to him, the one that’s closer to the aisle instead of the exit, but the way that she pauses for a moment makes him think that she typically sits where he is, now.

“Damian?”

What luck. Marinette is his seat partner. One of the only people in Paris that he’s talked to that seems to be fairly tolerable. With the added bonus of her being fairly intelligent and able to hold her own. There isn’t much more that he could ask for in a seatmate.

He is confused as to how such a girl is still in this seemingly god-awful class, but small blessings. He’s not going to complain about having Marinette by his side.

“Oh, you must be the transfer from America.” She pulls out a binder from her bag, sends a quick glance sent to Lila, then settles into her chair. Lila sends Marinette a look that Damian can’t quite decipher, but it’s not unfriendly. “If you want to get acquainted with the school, you can ask Lila or Alya. Lila’s the one with orange lipstick and green eyes. Alya’s the one in plaid with glasses. They’re the class president and deputy this year.”

Damian takes a few more moments to observe the class dynamics, particularly how Lila and Alya interact with those around them. The former holds a blonde boy that Damian is fairly sure is Adrien Agreste, and while he seems accustomed to having Lila hang off his arm, he doesn’t exactly look comfortable either. Lila’s eyes unsettle Damian. They look eerily similar to his mother’s, though there is much less ill intent held within them. Alya looks spineless and clingy, clearly uneducated about topics that she brings up one after another. He can’t hear what they are saying clearly from this distance, but he is certain that the small blonde girl was asking Lila to tell the story of how she saved Jagged’s kitten one more time, even though that story’s years old because Lila’s just so humble and modest and amazing. Surprisingly, Lila turns down the girl’s request, and continues to barely interact with her classmates while she continues to hold onto Adrien’s arm.

Jagged as in Jagged Stone, Damian assumes, and though he’s no fan himself, factoids about the rock star’s life have been shoved down his throat by Tim and Dick for the past five years, so how the hell could he not know that a) the star’s manager was deathly allergic and b) the star said that Fang was the best pet that could ever be and he could never want for anything more.

“You can tour me around instead.” To be completely honest, he doesn’t need a tour around the school at all; Damian did do reconnaissance before starting this mission. He knows the school’s layout like the back of his hand after pouring over maps and information about Francois Dupont. However, he is particularly interested in the dynamics of the akuma class, and he might as well get insider information while he still can.

Marinette looks at Damian appraisingly. “I don’t know about that, Damian. Lila and Alya are fine at giving tours. You’d be in capable hands.”

“Hands capable of what?” Damian can’t imagine that Lila’s claws are good for anything except skewering people who tried to disprove her seemingly outlandish tales. He almost feels bad for Adrien, then thinks better of it; he doesn’t seem that uncomfortable with Lila, he just doesn’t seem to like her hand on his arm.

Marinette laughs, softly, focusing on the group. She moves her mouth so little that if anyone looks, it will appear as though he is talking to her without response. “Very funny. Seriously, if you want a tour, ask Lila or Alya. I’m really not the best person for the job.”

The teacher comes into the room, and the students slowly disperse back into their seats.

When lunch comes around, Marinette packs her stuff up and gets out of the classroom so quickly, he wonders if she’s not some sort of athlete.

“You’re Damian, the transfer from America!” Lila puts a manicured hand on his arm, and Damian almost thinks that he sees her lick his lips as his forearm flexes at the unexpected contact. He restrains himself from his initial thought to deck her, but barely.

He takes a deep breath and gets his disgust under control. He can control himself. Alfred and Dick have spent years ensuring that he knows what a normal reaction is to someone touching him. When his eyes aren’t seeing red anymore, he turns his attention back to the hand on his arm. Her nails are the same garish orange as her lips, and it’s the case of the chicken and the egg all over again. No matter which came first, though, the color looks bad on both. Jason will say that Damian can’t criticize the girl because of his own awful sense of color coordination, but there’s a reason why he doesn’t have any color in his wardrobe besides his Robin suit.

“Come, sit with us.” Orange’s voice is nauseatingly fake.

Damian doesn’t outright refuse, but he does shake off the girl’s hand. She feels too similar to Talia up close. Her eye shape is eerily similar. She must be manipulative and cunning to have such a hold on the class. But, he might as well see exactly what the akuma class is all about.

He is escorted into the cafeteria, pushed next to Adrien, then given a lunch tray that has foods that look decidedly less than nutritious and possibly stale. At Gotham Academy, the food was always prepared by the best, so this is unusual for him.

“My name is Adrien. It’s nice to meet you.” Damian thinks the blond boy is nice enough, but he sounds tired and worn out.

Moments later, Lila comes back from the bathroom and squeezes herself between Damian and Adrien, looping her arm through Adrien’s and then attempting to do the same with Damian. But his arms are so tightly at his side, that it’s impossible for her to wiggle her hand through. Damian is glad that he trained himself to eat with both hands, and quickly takes up a fork with his left. Her laugh is high and breathy, like she’s changed her voice to sound different.

He has to say that it feels disgusting, because it feels like she’s treating him as some sort of arm candy. For the first time in his life, he actually thinks about his gender and is very glad that he was born a boy. Had he been born a girl, there is no doubt that this kind of situation may have happened more often; Damian knows he’s attractive. His mother and father both have very good genes both look wise and talent wise.

Not even ten minutes go by, and Damian sees why Marinette high-tailed it out of the classroom so quickly. He wishes that he went with her instead, though he gets the feeling that he isn’t welcome to do so.

The stories that Lila weaves for her life as of late are more convincing than the ones that his classmates have told him of her heroic deeds in the past. Damian can almost believe that they’re true-- helping out with food drives, volunteering with the Red Cross occasionally-- but he doubts the validity of any statement that comes from her mouth after finding the cache of interviews from three years ago. She’s focusing more on friends, she says as she tries to catch his arm again. She leans closer, and Damian can smell the floral perfume on her so strongly that it makes him nauseous. His mother never wore perfume. Nobody from the League of Assassins did. Perfume is something that’s traceable. After he was introduced to Gotham City, all of the women he came into contact with rarely wore perfume and when they did, it certainly wasn’t this floral fruity-fresh fragrance that Lila was drenched in.

She leans on him, and Damian’s pretty sure by the curve of the girl’s smirk and the glint in her eyes that he’s supposed to find the slight touch of her cleavage on his arm attractive. This paltry attempt at seduction is laughable. Even as a nine year old, his mother had him training against attacks like these. He was taught never to give into lust, and after living in a family like the Waynes, girls and boys alike threw themselves at him. If he wants a relationship, physical or otherwise, he can have one. He certainly doesn’t want a relationship with this Lila Rossi. Still, he doesn’t see why she has so much control over the classroom and certainly doesn’t see why Marinette is so excluded from their class.

It’s the longest hour of his life, but Damian makes it through and nearly flees for the safety of the back seat in the classroom. Nearly, but not quite.

By the time Damian gets into the room, Marinette is already sitting at the desk again. She looks up, looks at Lila who has looped her arm with Adrien’s and is smiling at Damian like a cat who got the cream. Damian reads sadness and maybe a touch of concern when she looks at Adrien.

“Lunch was awful.”

“Was it.” It’s phrased like it should be a question, but it doesn’t sound like Marinette is curious.

“You could have told me.”

Her lips purse. She’s copying notes from the last class over again, making them neater and more organized. “That’s not my place.”

“You’re my seat partner.”

“So?”

“Somehow, you seem a lot more morally righteous when you’re out on the streets.”

“That’s different. Paris is Paris; class is class. There’s a time and place for everything.”

From the cacophony near the front rises Lila’s high pitched voice. Damian thinks that she’s modulated it in order to seem more innocent, more believable. “Oh, Adrien, I’m so happy that we’re going to have dinner together with your father tonight.”

Marinette’s eyes raise from her paper. They search for Adrien. Adrien, whose shoulders are hunched in a way that speaks of tiredness and defeat. Adrien, who has eye bags that even concealer cannot fix. Adrien, who looks down at his hands and refuses to meet Marinette’s eyes and their soft, sad questions.

Slowly, Marinette’s eyes lower. She blinks at her paper, then continues copying her notes.

At the very least, Damian is glad that he’s sitting back here with the only sane person in this class. It isn’t like Damian is here to make friends anyways. It might have been helpful, but he doesn’t need other people’s help. He can manage on his own.

Scratch that, he could not manage.

Damian now understands why Hawkmoth had not been captured even though it had been three years since his appearance. Magic is really annoying.

He reports back to the Justice League that yes, the reports were true and no, he did not think it was a good idea to send anyone in yet and yes, he would continue to work on reconnaissance and figuring out who Hawkmoth was.

Despite three more akuma attacks(of increasing intensity) and hours prowling the internet, clues about Hawkmoth’s identity are few and far between. Early on in his mission brief, he was encouraged to not make contact with the Paris superheroes unless the situation got really bad and not to go patrolling the rooftops as Robin at all. They didn’t want to destress the Parisian heroes who had, at first, asked them for help, and then pleaded with them to not send anybody. All of the lack of information and lack of action gave him undue stress, more so than when he was back in Gotham. At least back there, the high stress situations he encountered would promptly be worked off by fighting a villain, sparring his brothers, or patrolling. He can’t do any of that here.

The coffee he ordered finally arrives, and he downs it in one shot, surveying the streets in front of him. Parisians are weird. His classmates have one collective brain cell that resides with the orange monstrosity, Lila, and the people he meets on the streets are way too open and friendly for people who have been terrorized by a supervillain for three years. They should be more like the citizens of Gotham-- keeping their heads down, minding their own business. Instead, he’s been approached by countless people as he wandered around the city-- unsurprisingly, mostly from girls sent by a larger pack in attempts to get his number or ask him on a date-- and also by random people who want to cheer him up. What kind of person tries to cheer up random people on the streets? Apparently it’s something that many Parisians have taken to doing, in attempts to prevent more akumas. Damian doesn’t think it’s very successful on that part, and is more just an excuse for people who want to stick their noses where they don’t belong.

Marinette is the only Parisian who was better than decent at holding her own Damian’s seen so far; in the past week, he’s stopped three bag snatchers, two stalkers, and two random fights. It’s surprisingly lively for a city that is plagued by a villain who takes advantage of strong emotions. He asks one of the people he saves why this is so.

“Well, it’s been three years. For the first year, yes, we very much lived in fear. But Ladybug and Chat Noir always come to save the day, and they told us that holding in our emotions is even more unhealthy.” This, a man he saved from his stalker. “That talk came after they fought off a stream of very strong akumas that totalled the city, all because they had been repressing their emotions until the breaking point.”

That is useful information. It definitely explains why the city is the way it was, though with the number of tourists that Paris has, he’s surprised that this hasn’t become headlining news internationally. He finds a few threads on Twitter talking about it, but most people are convinced it’s some ongoing stunt for attention. Apparently there’s a movie out about Ladybug and Chat Noir? Damian knows that Mayor Bourgeois put an initial block on information about the akumas from getting out, but that shouldn’t have stopped the Justice League from getting their hands on information about the situation in Paris. However, the teams that have been looking into the situation since they found out have had very little luck finding anything other than conspiracy theories. If Damian hadn’t seen an akuma battle with his own eyes, he’d have thought he was sent on a wild goose chase.

Damian feels a cross of pity for the Parisian superheroes and a brief moment of anger at Hawkmoth. From what he’s gathered, the Ladybug and Chat Noir are largely on their own. In that first year, there were a few other heroes in the mix-- a fox, a bee, a dragon, and a snake-- but their appearances became sparse and after a mass akumatization, they never appeared again. Ladybug and Chat Noir definitely stepped up their game in that second year, with Ladybug taking the lead so strongly that Damian isn’t sure that he can call them a pair of superheroes.

Sure, the battles end more quickly with Chat Noir there, but there are plenty of occasions where he doesn’t show up at all and other fights where he stays out of the battle entirely. Oftentimes, in the second year, both heroes looked extraordinarily tired and peaky. Then, something had changed, and Ladybug no longer seemed to be bothered. That was when Chat Noir started staying out of more and more battles, and the few times that he showed up, he always ran off first. Their media appearances, which had been rather heavy in the first year, dwindled down to a few periodic and important announcements. Other than that, they never gave more interviews to smaller blogs, like the Ladyblog. He has to say that he’s not surprised; even though Alya has taken them down, Lila’s interviews were still riddled with lies and she had posted them. Ladybug must have felt that the blog's integrity decreased.

All of this meaningless information leads him nowhere. The Ladyblog and several other news sources have contemplated Hawkmoth’s identity and purpose, but they all seem far fetched. Motivations include everything from world destruction to believing that this is all just a ploy to get Ladybug and Chat Noir media attention. There’s not even any concrete conclusion on Hawkmoth’s gender, though the majority opinion holds that he is a man.

He sees Marinette from the coffee shop windows. It’s amazing that this girl seems to be everywhere all at once. She always ends up near the akuma attacks, but he never spots her during them, which is curious. There’s only so many reliable places to hide. Today, she’s facing down some adult while holding a child behind her. The lady looks furious, red-faced and spittle flying. In contrast, Marinette looks calm and cold, and addresses the woman cordially, though not with respect.

A crowd gathers, but as in all things that might be dangerous, they form at a distance, with phone cameras at the ready. Damian joins them and watches the situation unfold.

“He’s my child. I get to decide how to discipline him.” The lady is wearing an expensive looking suit that is a little over the top. Her hair is perfectly coiffed, and her handbag costs at least two thousand dollars.

“Even if he is your child, that doesn’t mean you can hurt him like this. Mademoiselle, I suggest that we go to the police station now.”

“I don’t have time for that. This brat already cost me an hour of my time to pick him up from school because he was misbehaving, and I have to get to the office now.” The lady hisses, draws closer, ready to push Marinette and grab her child. Marinette side steps, pulling the child behind her.

“You’re a mother. Make time for your child. We are going to the police station, Mademoiselle, or I will call the police here.”

“I am one of the head managers of Silverstein and Company’s Paris branch. You are just a teenager. You have no place arguing with me over parenting tactics.”

“I am only a teen,” Marinette conceded, “But even a child knows when something is wrong and should be stopped. And abusing your child, Mademoiselle, is very clearly wrong.”

Marinette brings out her phone-- she must have the station on speed dial. Now, the woman approaches Marinette with a heavy hand, ready to slap her. The kid is hiding behind Marinette and quivering, very much afraid of his mother. He’s holding Marinette’s hand so tightly that Damian can see her fingertips have begun to turn blue.

Damian figures this is as good a time as any to intervene, so he puts himself between Marinette and the lady. Marinette backs up a little more, bends down to the kid and pats his shoulder.

“It’ll be okay,” Marinette says to the kid soothingly. She seems like the type to babysit. Good with kids, creative enough to keep them out of trouble, but with enough of a backbone to make sure they grow up right.

The police show up in record time, and Damian wonders whether Marinette has Special Privileges that make officers show up more quickly. It would make sense, since she always seems to be getting people out of trouble. Too bad she seems too much on the side of the law to ever become a vigilante. The world could use more people like her, active in helping others.

The four of them are instructed to go the police precinct; the woman says that she’ll take her car, and looks expectantly at her child, thinking that he’ll come with her. Marinette pushes the boy even further out of the woman’s view and meets the lady with a glare.

“Do you mind if we ride with you in the back, Officer?”

The three of them pile into the back of the cruiser, and Damian feels like this is some sort of twisted irony. He’s sent many a villain to jail, but he himself has never been in the back of such a police car. In the back of a high security one, once, when he was on an infiltration mission, but the back of such a normal one? Never. It’s an interesting experience to say the least; there’s mesh between the officer and themselves, and no way to get out from the back themselves. It’s also decidedly hot in the back, with plastic seats and no air conditioning.

Marinette is cooing at the child now, who is gripping her hand only slightly less tightly. “Don’t worry, Renee, we’re going to make sure that you don’t get hit like that again.”

The kid’s eyes are glassy, then he’s all tears, and he’s crying into Marinette’s shirt. She just pats him on the back, slowly, and lets him cry it out. It’s very different from the approach that Batman, the Nightwing, Red Hood and Robin take with their victims. Most times, they just let the victims be ushered wherever the police need then to be, and then, they never see them again. Damian justifies this with the fact that fundamentally vigilantes and regular people are different. It makes sense that Marinette has a more human touch to her. She’s not wearing a bodysuit. It’s all Marinette, and that makes the whole situation more powerful.

It only takes a few more moments for the boy to cry himself to sleep.

“I want to file with Child Protection Services.” Her voice is soft, low. She speaks carefully so as not to wake the kid up.

“Yes, we should file with CPS, but if this is just a one time thing there’s not really much that we can do about this.” The officer sounds sad, like he’s dealt with situations like this before.

“As long as we have proof that this isn’t a one time thing, we can make sure that Renee doesn’t go back with her unless he wants to?” There’s a flash of steel determination in Marinette’s eyes, and it almost makes Damian uncomfortable. It’s the look Barbara gets when one of them get really badly injured.

“Yes, but that kind of proof is hard to get.”

“I see,” she says, like she really does see all of the situation and knows exactly what needs to happen next. She says it like she’s going to make Renee’s mother go to jail if it’s the last thing she does.

They arrive at the precinct, and Marinette carries the boy like its nothing. Damian offers to help, but he’s shaken off. Renee is already asleep in her arms, after all, and she doesn’t want to risk waking him up. She’s sure that he's tired, after all this. It’s a curious thing, how softly and lovingly she looks down at the boy, even though Damian suspects that Marinette has never met the boy in her life before this fiasco.

Their party arrives more quickly than the mother, so they take seats in a small office, Renee still on Marinette’s lap. She’s now scrolling through her phone, assessing whatever’s on her screen with a clinical eye. Damian pulls out his phone as well. To be honest, he’s not quite sure what he’s doing here. He only stepped in at the last second, though he doesn’t have any real complaints about being here. His father would say it’s an experience, and his siblings would joke that he finally ended up in the hands of the police.

When the lady arrives, she looks nothing like that woman he saw on the streets earlier. She looks every inch a professional. Her makeup has been touched up, and there is a smile plastered on her face that screams dealing with an unpleasant situation.

“I’m so sorry about that,” she says to Marinette like she’s an old friend. “You know how it is-- sometimes it’s really hard to keep a level head with all that goes on in the city. I was so scared for my little boy-- I heard there was an akuma attack near his school, and rushed out to get him, but he wanted to stay with his friends.”

Marinette has a polite smile fixed on her face as well. Her face doesn’t show the slightest bit of reaction to the lady.

“Kids, am I right?” The lady tries for a joke, tries to sway Marinette and the officer and Damian to her side. “So just let me pick up Renee here, and I’ll bring him back home.”

The lady reaches for Renee, and Damian stops her because Marinette has both her hands full with Renee, who has woken up with shuddering sobs.

“Officer, is it possible if Renee can wait outside of the room while we talk? Surely there’s somebody who can watch him out there.” Her voice is still kept soft and soothing. She looks at Renee and smiles, doesn’t bother looking at the rest of her surroundings. “Is that okay, Renee? Do you mind waiting outside for a little?”

The little boy nods, and he is swept up by some other person who works at the precinct, and then it is only the four of them in the room.

The lady looks frustrated, but she keeps her mouth shut as the officer goes through the proper procedures that they must follow, and that CPS is getting involved.

“But officer, there’s no need to get CPS involved. I take very good care of my darling Renee. He gets to go to all the classes he could ever want to and I love him very much. I’m so sorry that he got bruised. I’ll make sure that it never happens again.”

Marinette’s hands are carefully laid on her pants. Her fingers are splayed open and the entirety of each palm rests on her thighs. A gesture that makes her look relaxed, were it not for the slight tremble that Damian detects. She is holding her hands in that position so tightly that Damian has good reason to believe that she is withholding herself from hitting the woman.

“Madame DeVries.” Marinette’s voice is clipped. “CPS must be involved. I insist. It’s very clear to me that this is not the first time that you have hurt Renee, nor will it be the last.”

“How can you say that?” The lady wails. She is an okay actress, but not able to fool any of those present in the room. “I love my darling boy. I would never hit him. Never!”

“Regardless of whether this is the first time you hit him, there are more ways to hurt a person than just physical abuse. Renee’s fear of you makes it clear that you have induced some sort of psychological trauma on him.”

The lady’s face contorts into a sneer when she realizes that nobody in the room is on her side. “You have no evidence. You can’t accuse me like that. I’ll call a lawyer.”

“Go ahead and call a lawyer, Madame. I think that would be for the best. Don’t worry about the evidence. There’s plenty.” She turns to the officer. “Please call someone from CPS here. I don’t want Renee going home with her until the trial is over.”

“You can’t do that to me.” The lady is standing now, towering over Marinette and trying to intimidate her. “I have a reputation to uphold. You will not sue me for child abuse. You cannot.”

“Any parent who truly cares for their child would care more for their child’s well being rather than their own reputation. I wonder what that says about you, Madame. There is no reason why I can’t sue you and too many reasons that I should.”

She lowers herself to Marinette's ear, whispers in soft tones that she’s certain will not be caught by any recording devices. “You will not take me to court, or I’ll make sure that you are blacklisted wherever you want to work. You underestimate how much power I have.”

“Madame, please move away from me. I was only going to attempt to remove Renee from your custody, but please be assured that I will now pursue you for threatening a minor, abusing a child, and whatever other charges that I can come up with. I will refuse to settle. The trial will go public, and the reputation that you care so much about will be ruined, even if you win.”

Celia Devries’ face shifts to an almost cattish grin. It looks like she’s won. “Please, I understand that you’re distressed, but I haven’t threatened you at all.”

Marinette simply pulls her phone out again and plays back a recording of the exact threat that Celia just made to her.

She splutters. “I never agreed to be recorded! It’s illegal under French code.”

“Madame DeVries, when you come into the precinct, you agree to being recorded. This recording might be from my personal phone, but it is still within legal jurisdiction. In addition, the code is different for gathering evidence against a crime. Everything that is said and done in this office can be disclosed during trial, and there are cameras and voice recorders in here. Please, return to whatever you had to do, and you will be served your court orders soon enough.” Damian is impressed. Has Marinette done this before? She’s too prepared to know this just by spending a few minutes on her phone.

Celia pales, then storms out of the room, frightened that she’ll say something else that will incriminate herself.

“At least Hawkmoth has already filled his daily quota,” the officer jokes.

“There’s that much, at least,” Marinette smiles, but there’s something frigid behind it.

“You’re always getting caught up in something,” Damian says.

“I really am. Some day I’ll become a recluse.”

“And let the world’s horrors move without you?”

Marinette shrugs and all of the tension that was holding in her hands and shoulders dissipates.

“Since this is a child custody case, it will be the government against Mademoiselle DeVries. The two of you can come to testify, and if there’s any evidence that you have, you can go ahead and give it to me now. If you want to sue her for threatening a minor, you can do that as well; I’ll get you in contact with a lawyer.”

“I don’t have any evidence.” Right now, at least. When Damian goes home, he’ll do a little digging about the woman, see what he can find.

“I do. I was recording the whole encounter on the street, and I also have several eyewitnesses who have recorded as well. Let me send them to you.” Marinette fiddles with her phone. “And if it’s possible, I think it would be a good thing for Renee to talk to a psychiatrist. In the interim before he goes home, who will he be staying with?”

“He can choose to stay with his next of kin, or can stay in a temporary foster home.”

“Please email me the date that I should come in to testify, and give me the lawyer’s contact information as well. I’ll email him any additional evidence that I can get.”

“I’d like the email address of the lawyer as well.” Damian might only have a moral conscience because his family beat it into him, but Renee seems like a sweet kid. He’s willing to help.

They’re out of the precinct in another half hour, after Marinette pulls the person from CPS in so they can talk to Renee about what’s going to happen next. The kid takes it surprisingly well, saying that he doesn’t want his mom to get hurt, but that he’s excited to see his Nonna and Nonno again. Marinette tells him that he can contact her any time he wants to talk at her cell phone number, and if he ever wants him to visit, just call.

All the buzz of the world seems to die down when they get out of the precinct, and Damian asks whether she’s done this before.

“I haven’t done anything like this before, but I’ve certainly dreamed of it.” Her eyes look off to a distance. “Abusive parents are the worst.”

“Yours?” Damian can’t imagine this girl’s parents as being abusive, but he should have known better to believe that. Just because someone is stable and competent doesn’t mean that they have a good family-- just look at him and his brothers. They’re competent and stable on good days.

She gasps and looks shocked, verging on offended and embarrassed. “Of course not! My parents are both very sweet people. I love them so much-- I can’t believe I gave you that idea! No, I was talking about a friend’s parent. Anyways, thank you for stepping between me and that woman. You always seem to help me right when I need it.”

Damian doesn’t really think that Marinette needed his help much in any of the situations that he’s seen her. He doesn’t mind the false gratitudes, though it does irk him that he’s never actually helped her. Odd, considering that what little morality he had mostly pertained to life threatening situations, and Marinette’s issues were more in line with everyday annoyances. “And yet you refuse to help me out with Lila.”

Her face immediately sours. “Like I said; class is class. It’s different at Francois Dupont.”

“And why is that?”

“If you want help catching up or something, I don’t mind helping you outside of class, but you can’t tell anyone. It’s better for you if you’re not seen with me.” Her hand is tight on her purse.

At the risk of feeling like a whiny child, Damian asks again. “But why shouldn’t I be seen with you?”

Marinette sighs, heavily, then looks around at the people on the streets, almost like she’s looking for somebody. “Let’s just say that Lila and I have come to an agreement. The rest of the class isn’t the fondest of me, and if you’re seen talking with me, that will be bad for both of us. I don’t want any problems.”

“Tt. I see.” It seems as though he will also spend some time tonight looking into the history of his class.

#miraculous ladybug #daminette #maribat #mlbxdc #dc #sbgs #original content #adrien agreste #lila rossi #marinette dupain cheng #damian wayne

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certifiedskywalker · 5 years ago

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Late Night - Peter Parker

Due to the cramped apartment complexes littering the streets of Queens, crowding was often a large complaint amongst residents. However, you found the close quarters more than bearable. Peter Parker had a way of turning a less than attractive situation on its head. Luckily for you, the friendly, neighborhood Spiderman just happens to be your best friend.

You could look past how the entire building seemed to creak whenever there was a harsh storm and how, every so often, the odd bird would run into your window, waking you during the night. However those natural occurrences felt all too rare when compared to the unnaturally loud apartment patrons that seemed to surround you on all sides. Most of the time, instead of actually resting, you would lay in your bed listening. Your neighbors seemed to have no volume control and, often, you could make out what they were saying.

For instance, you seemed to share a wall with an older Italian woman whose son recently moved back in, much to her very vocal disappointment. Apparently his ‘big role’ fell through and, being the daughter of immigrants, the woman was very displeased with her son’s failure to ‘get an actual job’. On the rare occasion that the mother and son were not at each other's throats, you could catch the tell tale moans and the sounds of a squeaking bed frames of the couple living above you. You never thought it was possible for people to love each other too much, but many sleepless nights had long since proven that wrong.

There were few, select interruptions to your slumber that you didn’t quite mind. The aforementioned birds hitting your window, the sorrowful cry of a baby down the hall, and a specific set of taps against your window. The very tapping sound that pulled you from your sleepy haze now pulled a smile to your lips. Throwing the covers up and away from your body, you climbed out of your bed to pry open the window. You were met with a slight gust of cool night air and a few sirens sounding off across New York City.

It was only when the silhouette of Spiderman crawled his way through the new opening to your apartment when you felt at peace. He, despite his grace and abilities, crumpled to the ground. Even with his tumble, still held tightly in his hands of a box of Martino’s pizza. The aroma of tomato sauce and perfectly melted cheese hit you nose, making you ever the more grateful for Peter’s night-time intrusion.

“Hey,” Peter greeted when he was finally on his feet once more. A gloved hand reached up and plucked the mask from his face. His chestnut colored hair seemed unaffected by the original blue and red suit tight fit, as the curls seemingly bounced back into place.

“Martino’s?” You ask, gesturing towards the box with saliva pooling in your mouth. The pizza was a welcome distraction from noisy neighbors and the pounding of your heart at the sight of Peter. Little did you best friend know, these random midnight rendezvous held a very special place in your heart that beat only for Peter Parker himself.

“Right to business, huh?” Peter asked teasingly, the deep smile that bloomed on his lips made you blush furiously.

“Well you don’t usually bring a midnight snack with you,” you counter, trying to regain some composure. “It’s about time that Spiderman did something worthwhile.��

Your teasing coaxes a ruckus laugh from Peter as he closes the window. “Worthwhile? You mean saving a lady’s purse and her buying him a pizza is worthy but saving the world isn’t? Wow, I’ve been doing things wrong.”

Smiling, you reach over and mess his hair affectionately. Your eyes catch his brown ones and you swear you see a flash of tenderness in their sparkle. Suddenly feeling too close and too warm, you pull your hand back from his hair. Peter coughs slightly before popping open the pizza box. Eagerly, he pulls a slice out, the cheese stretching out deliciously. Mouthwatering at the sight, you too grab a slice.

“So a lady you saved bought you this pizza?” You questioned between bites. Peter nodded and swallowed before answering. His brown eyes lit up as he retold the tale. The joy he had for helping people never failed to make your heart ache with happiness. You were happy for Peter and wished that, one day, you could be happy with him.

“Well, actually, I saved her purse. Some guy ran up and took it from her,” he smiled again, “she was really nice.” You watched as he took a bite of the ‘thank-you’ pizza, marveling at how something so valiant could roll off his tongue as if it were a simple spot of normalcy.

“That’s cool, Peter,” you said softly, “you’re making our little corner of the world safer. Plus, you have a fancy suit.” Your teasing prompted Peter to laugh, nearly choking on his bite of pizza.

“You sound like a proud parent,” Peter jabs back, but you can see that he appreciates your words. His cheeks are dusted in light pink, a timid smile on his lips.

“It’s true though. This city is messy enough, so you trying to clean it up is really awesome.” Peter’s brow furrowed at your words that were laced with a bitterness all too felt.

“Y/N, it’s not that bad here….right?” His eyes were wide as he waited for your reply, mouth slightly parted with audible worry. Your gaze traced over his face, the face of your longest lasting friend. The face of the one you had grown to love with your whole heart.

“It’s not so much as bad as it is lonely,” you murmur, pulling your eyes from his bashfully. Despite your averted gaze, you could still feel Peter’s eyes on you.

“Lonely? How? You have-”

“Everyone around me has someone, even if they’re fighting or being annoying. They’re together.” You throw your arms in the air, gesturing to the walls of your bedroom and, through the walls, to your loud neighbors. Peter cocked his head in slight confusion and you let out a shaking sigh. He couldn’t understand, not really.

Peter had Aunt May who was glued to his side since you were both little kids. Ned and MJ tried to include you but, no matter what they did, you left like you were intruding. It seemed that you were alone when it came to the end of the day. Everyone around you left, retired, and slept until the next, leaving you lonesome. That is why these nightly visits from Peter gave you butterflies and hope. He would never leave you for very long, even if he was perplexed by your thoughts; you would savor the time explaining to him.

“I mean, look, even the older woman who shares this wall with me,” you point to the wall your bed rests against, “she has her son at the end of the day. Even if they do fight, there’s still love. I guess I….I just want something like that.”

“Someone to share home with?” Peter asks, his voice soft and high in question. It is then you meet his gaze, peering back into his brown eyes that are full of light despite the darkness of night filtering through your window. You only nod in response and tackle the tears that threaten to spill over your cheeks.

“Y-Yeah,” you whisper, letting your gaze fall to the floor you both were sitting on. The pizza box between you was a little more forgotten now.

“In what way?” Peter’s tone shifts with the question, it’s colder, more serious. You spare a glance up at where he sits and met his eyes.

“What do you mean?” “In what way do you want to share a home with someone?” Peter clarifies, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity you have never seen from him before.

“I think you know what I mean, Peter,” you say, much too shy to admit that you wanted him at the end of the day to hold you closer than friends normally do. Your friend remains silent, but you can almost see his mind working over your words. His mouth opens but if Peter says anything you don’t hear it. The sound of your heart beating was now roaring in your ears at Peter leans closer to you. You could now smell the sweat on his skin mixed with the cologne he rarely wore. When he does actually speak, his words steal the breath from your lungs.

“You make me feel less lonely, Y/N,” he admits in a slight whisper. You scan over his face in search of any tell of a lie. Without finding any sign, you let yourself lean ever more close to Peter. You could feel the heat of his body licking your own and you could only guess how flushed your cheeks were now.

The warmed tension was gathering between your bodies, pushing aside what was left of the pizza. Your mind was turned elsewhere now. All your focus was centered around Peter. Not even the loneliness nipping at your heels could turn your eyes away. Your lips were a mere inch or so away from Peter’s now. Unable to hold back, you reach up and brush a brown curl away from his face.

“You make me feel less lonely too, Peter,” you breath out, prompting Peter to smile boyishly at you. The moment you can first detect his lips skirting against your own, a loud crash sounds in one of the apartments neighboring your own. You jumped back, heart pounding in your chest for a different reason. A woman’s shriek sounded and you looked back at Peter. He was already donning his mask and heading towards the window.

“I-I’ll be right back, Y/N! Hold on,” he shouted as he clambered out your window and back into the night. You watched as he ran off you save yet another lonely soul tonight. Smiling to yourself and your ‘almost kiss’, you felt that, tonight, your late night would be a little less lonely than usual.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker imagines #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fanfic #spiderman imagine #spiderman imagines #spiderman x reader #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman fanfic #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #avengers #spiderman #spiderman homecoming #spiderman far from home

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scattered-shadows · 5 years ago

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You’re traveling to another dimension It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity It is the middle ground between light and shadow, Between science and superstition It ties between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge This is the dimension of imagination

An ATEEZ Twilight Zone!AU (masterlist here)

A/N: Just putting it out there, this is not a reader-insert fic. I know there’s a concern that’s raised about being inclusive in those kinds of fics, but I’d like to put it out there that usually my writings are not reader inserts. There are names to the OCs, but I’m still giving you the option to insert yourself in place of the OC instead if you want to. No hard feelings if you decide to unfollow me over that detail, it’s just how I write. Anyway, here is San’s chapter! I hope you all like it!

VI. Asteroid Confinement (San)

Choi San looked up from his seat upon hearing the sound of a ship coming in for a landing. It was one of the four days of the year he looked forward to. He was a prisoner, sentenced to a lifetime under solitary confinement for murder. However, he didn’t serve his sentence in a traditional prison, but rather he was forced to live on his own in an asteroid that was orbiting between Mars and Jupiter, but nearest to Jupiter’s icy moon Europa, which was the moon he saw at night other than the smaller stars. It was all he could see in the sky from where he was.

But it was day time, as San had calculated. Another day in his fourth year of being on the asteroid. He ran out of the house he lived in and towards the spacecraft that was landing. From the spacecraft came Captain Kim Hongjoong, followed by his two crew members, Jung Wooyoung and Jeong Yunho, who were both bringing down boxes of supplies. “I’m so glad you’re here, captain!” He said, glancing over at the crew, with Wooyoung begrudgingly bringing down the boxes Yunho was taking out of the ship.

“We’re not going to stay here very long, San, we’ve only got fifteen minutes to bring you your supplies and leave. This asteroid’s orbit is shifting and if we stay any longer, we’ll have to wait fourteen days until conditions are favorable,” Hongjoong directed Yunho and Wooyoung to bring the boxes into the house.

“But that’s not a bad thing isn’t it? What’s fourteen days? We could play board games, chess, I even made my own pieces!”

“Let’s just go in,” Hongjoong said.

“Four days a year, months away at a time, thousands of kilometers north, south, east, west,” Wooyoung grumbled as he put down the box he was carrying into the makeshift living room of the house San was living in. “Being away from my wife and kids, you know how hard that is?! My kids barely remember me, but you wouldn’t know that, would you?” He complained, shooting San a look.

“Wooyoung, drop it and bring in the rest of the supplies,” Hongjoong ordered.

San ignored the crew member and turned to the captain. “So, what did they say about my pardon?” He asked, looking hopeful.

“San, I’m only just here to bring you the supplies you need and things to make living here a lot more bearable-” Hongjoong explained.

“Your pardon’s been rejected by the courts,” Yunho spoke this time. “And they haven’t even started reviewing the murder cases yet.”

“Four years in, and forty-six more to go, how does that feel?” Wooyoung taunted.

Hongjoong glared at him. “You go and do what I tell you! Now. Including the big crate, and handle that one with care or else I’ll leave without you”

Wooyoung frowned and went back out onto the ship, Yunho following behind but San could tell he looked just as satisfied at the news. “You and I know what really happened. I killed in self-defense, can’t they see that? I killed in self-defense! There are a lot of witnesses to it! The guy was trying to kill me! I had to fight back! I didn’t do anything wrong! I’m not a murderer!” San slumped down on the chair.

“I know, and I believe you do, but my hands are tied and I can’t do anything about it. I’m just here to bring you your supplies and pass on news from Earth. Who knows what might happen in the next few years, they might transfer you to a regular prison on Earth like the old days-” Hongjoong looked apologetic.

“Years? No, no, I don’t think I can’t take the next few years,” San shook his head. “I might die of loneliness out here, and knowing I have no other place to go is driving me crazy. I keep telling myself every day I wake up that this is my last day, I can’t stand being out here another day,”

Hongjoong patted his shoulder, not wanting to say anything further about it. Wooyoung and Yunho returned with a large crate and set it down in front of him. San stared at the crate. “We’ll be off now. I got you more board games, books, and something else, something valuable, took a little more effort to get it here, and if the higher-ups find out, my head is on the chopping block,” He said.

“I don’t want any gifts, all I want is a pardon. Captain Hongjoong, all I want is a pardon, a pardon!” San was on the verge of getting down on his knees and begging.

Hongjoong said nothing, and instead stopped in front of the crate. “Open this only until after we’ve left, okay? When you do open it, there’s nothing much else, no assembly, no vacuum pack, the air in this place will do that, there’s also manual to answer your questions if you have any. See you in eleven months and take care of yourself,” He said.

“Thanks,” San muttered. He watched them board the ship and slowly take off into the sky, past the atmosphere of the asteroid. He looked back at the crate Hongjoong was talking about. San pried the crate open with a crowbar and saw a woman inside, wearing a dress. He stepped back in a moment of surprise until he noticed a piece of paper that had his name on it. He took the piece of paper out to read.

“Choi San, you now have in your possession a robot built in the form of a woman. For all intents and purposes this creature is a woman,” San read out. “Physiologically and psychologically with a set of emotions and a memory track. She has an ability to reason, to think, and to speak. She will also have a lifespan similar to that of a normal human being,” He paused to bring the robotic woman out of the box and making her stand upright. San picked up the paper again. “Her name is Miryo.”

The woman’s eyes opened. “My name is Miryo, what’s your name?” She suddenly spoke.

San stared at her, then looked back at the paper. He groaned in frustration and threw the paper down on the floor. He didn’t know what to say. She repeated the question. “I’m San, Choi San” He finally answered.

Miryo approached him. “Are you hungry?” She asked.

“No” San couldn’t help but feel annoyed, resentful, frustrated. He didn’t need a machine. He didn’t need a robot. All he wanted was a pardon. He noticed Miryo go into the kitchen, seemingly already knowing her way around the little house that was built for him.

She returned, holding a glass of water. “I brought you something to drink,” She said.

San faced the window. “Put it on the table,” He said.

“You’ll get cold if you just stay there,” She said.

San couldn’t help but scoff. “Yeah? How would you know?”

“I can feel things” Miryo replied.

“What else can you feel? Heat? Cold? Hunger?” San asked her. Miryo kept nodding. “ What about pain?”

“I can feel pain too” Miryo replied.

San sighed and looked out the window. “If you’re a robot, why didn’t they just leave you looking like one? Why do they have to make you look the way you do?” He felt her hand on his shoulder, and he turned around. Miryo put a hand on his cheek. San felt how warm it was, but pushed her hands away. “This is a lie, a lie, you’re not a real person, you’re a machine, nothing more than wiring and screws and microchips” He stormed out of the house.

“San?” Miryo called out, following him. “San?” She called him again.

“You’re just here to mock me. When you look at me and talk to me, all I can see is you mocking me” San grumbled. “I’m sick and tired of being mocked by the memory of women because all it does is remind me of how lonely I am, how I’m so lonely I’m going to go insane in this place”

“San,” Miryo tried to speak, but he cut her off. She reached out to put her hand on his shoulder but he pushed her away. She fell over. She looked up at him and San noticed that there were tears in her eyes. “I can feel loneliness too.”

San’s expression fell, and he bent down and wiped her tears away. “I-I’m sorry,” He said, helping her back up.

A few months passed, and San had become used to having Miryo around. He was getting confused at times with his own situation, but there were moments, as San had realized, that Miryo was already mirroring his personality, his likes and dislikes also became hers. The more they were together, the more she was around, San felt the loneliness go away. He was no longer lonely, and he found himself falling in love with her.

By night, the two of them sat outside, looking up at the stars that were in orbit. “We’re in the middle of Jupiter and Mars, and you see that moon over there? That’s not the moon we see on Earth,” San pointed to the sky. “That’s Jupiter’s moon, Europa. The sixth-biggest moon in the solar system, at least that’s what I read” He said, glancing at her.

Miryo looked up in wonder. “It’s made of ice, isn’t it? That moon, Europa. Made out of ice” She said.

“On the surface, yeah,” San nodded.

She spotted something moving in the sky. “Is that a comet?” She pointed.

San looked to where she was pointing. “No, that’s-that’s a ship,” He said.

“But they won’t be here for another eight months, you said it yourself last time, not for another eleven months and three months have already gone,” She said.

He smiled, finding her words endearing. “And the ship won’t be here for another eight months,” He said. “It’s passing by other asteroids before coming here.”

Miryo turned to him. “Shouldn’t we go back inside?” She asked.

San kissed her forehead. “No, we don’t have to. We’ve got time, as long as you’re with me.”

Miryo smiled.

By morning, San and Miryo woke up to the sound of a ship making a landing. “San! San! San!” Hongjoong was yelling as he jumped down from the ship and running towards the house. “San! San!” He kept calling out to him.

“What? What is it?” San opened the door to let him in. Wooyoung and Yunho followed close behind.

“We’ve got good news,” Hongjoong paused to catch his breath. “All the sentences have been reviewed, you’ve been given a pardon!” He said.

San looked taken aback. “...What?” He said.

“A pardon, San. They’ve given you a pardon! You’re free to go! We’re taking you home!” Hongjoong said. “There’s not much time, we only have twenty minutes and we’ve been trying to steer clear of meteor storms on the way, and we’ve only got enough fuel left to make the trip home,” He said.

“You better get your stuff together if you don’t want to stay here any longer” Wooyoung spoke.

“We’ve picked up the others from other asteroids, we only have enough room for fifteen pounds of stuff, the rest you have to leave behind,” Hongjoong said.

A smile was on his face before he realized it was. “I-I don’t have much stuff with me, some clothes, my stuffed dog shiber,” He said. “I feel bad for the next soul who has to be here.

“There won’t be any next soul going here” Hongjoong shook his head.

San sighed in relief. “I’m glad. Miryo and I will climb aboard the ship and wave goodbye to this place as we go home.”

“Miryo? Who’s Miryo?” Yunho looked confused.

“Oh my god, I forgot about her” Hongjoong said, realizing what San meant.

“Who’s Miryo?” Yunho asked again.

“A robot” Hongjoong replied.

“She’s not a robot. She’s a woman,” San argued.

“San, she’s a robot” Hongjoong pointed out.

“Hongjoong, she kept me alive, she kept me sane, she’s a woman!” San insisted.

“Oh, so that’s what was in the crate” Wooyoung said.

“San, there’s no time to argue” Hongjoong. “We only have room for fifteen pounds.”

“Then you’ll have to throw out some equipment. Miryo, she weighs more than fifteen pounds! She’s a woman!” San grabbed Hongjoong by the collar.

“San, there’s no time, we only have room for your clothes and your stuffed dog, nothing else. We have to leave her behind” Hongjoong said, trying to reason with him.

“She’s not a robot! She’s a woman!” San kept insisting. He turned to her. “Miryo, show them, Miryo, show them you’re real”

Miryo looked confused. Hongjoong took out the gun from his holster. “I don’t have any choice but to do this to you, San, to make you see” He pulled the trigger, knocking Miryo out before San could stop him.

“San, San, San, San, San,” Miryo kept calling his name. He slowly turned around to look at her, feeling disoriented and disillusioned from what he was seeing. Miryo’s face was destroyed, exposing the wires that were hidden underneath.

“I’m sorry San, but you have to see that this is all behind you now, like a bad dream,” Hongjoong pointed out. “We have to go now, San, if we want to make it home on schedule,” He said.

San was staring at the robotic body on the ground, nodding at what the captain was saying. “I have to remember that. I have to keep that in mind.”

#ateez #ateez fics #ateez au #ateez scenario #san #choi san

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halfbloodglader · 5 years ago

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A Heavy Burden - Gally

Gally x reader - 2,708 words

Request; hey! can u write a gally fic where he likes the reader but is too shy to tell her...some of the other gladers find out and in order to stop them from saying anything gally makes a deal of some sort where he gets beat up every night? It goes on a while but the reader finds him?

lol this one is kinda long. Poor Gally awh man. Just tryna be happy and protect other people

Nothing made sense to him—why he was so angry all the time, irritated by the most minuscule of things and thrown emotionally overboard every time he tried to sleep. Gally wondered if he'd ever feel normal. Though, he also questioned if normal was a thing a person could feel because ever since showing up here three years ago, it certainly wasn't something he'd ever experienced.

Gally walked in the shadow of his peers. He followed in their footsteps, seemingly a mile behind, always calling out to them but nobody ever heard him.

Walking in that empty space between the other Gladers and himself was Y/N. The one person here Gally had fallen in love with at a distance without saying anything. In complete silence, he'd fallen for the kind, selfless and mischievous glader. She herself had reached out and said more hellos to Gally than he'd been brave enough to wave across the Glade back at her. The few conversations they exchanged were short, awkward and blunt. That didn't stop her from always being caring toward him, though. Somedays, she'd bring him water. Others, she'd spend her evening staining the wood he never finished during the day.

Sure, she did these sorts of things for lots of other people. But she was the only one who did those sorts of things for him. The only one here who treated him like he was human.

Maybe, he was completely swept off in his own imagination. He had hopes and dreams that were more than likely beyond unrealistic. What else though, was he supposed to do with these feelings? He was trapped in a stone box with no memory of his former life or hope for a future. Escaping into his imagination and having one single positive part of his day, or person, to think of made life bearable.

Said life though, had gotten a lot worse the past few weeks.

Gally's biggest current regret was not having gone to find Y/N that day she had called out for him. He'd been a coward and hid in the deadheads from her instead of going to find out what it was she wanted him for. Staying in those woods landed him in a far worse situation than he could have ever imagined.

That day, instead of going after Y/N, he hid in the woods with some paper and a pencil. He hid amongst the trees and found his peace in the silence and cold from the fading sun. Of all things to keep his mind off of its own ongoing war, he drew Y/N. Simple drawings, pictures such as the girl with a soft smile crossing her features. Or, her helping Newt in the gardens.

Harmless sketches of this girl who he hardly spoke to on the daily but the thought of her held off that heaviness on his heart. Everyday, the impossibly strong grasp someone or something had on his heart which tried to bend him over forward into to the dirt got stronger. But the few hours of peace he'd spend alone drawing were the moments he felt as if that force dragging him down took a slight break.

That night, Gally was shaken to reality by the sound of boys whispering and trampling over leaves and twigs. They were close. Too close. In a panic, Gally tossed the papers on the ground and kicked as much dirt and debris over them as he could. His efforts probably weren't enough and he knew it.

"Gally!" One of the guys gibed. "We were wondering why you weren't a dinner!"

The builder raised his brows and took a breath. "Don't kid yourselves, you didn't even notice I was gone."

The boy and his fellow slicers snickered.

"Well, he's not wrong." Another added.

Gally rolled his eyes and went to walk away. These slicers had always been out to cause trouble and they weren't worth his time. He wanted out before something boiled up.

"Woah man," The loudest, most aggravating of the boys called out to Gally. "What's this?"

He plucked the papers out of the dirt with stringy fingers and held them up in the dim light. A disturbing smile smeared the moment he recognized the face on the paper. Then, he looked up to Gally and the builder knew he was done for. That heavy weight in his chest completely went away and was replaced by a sickness in his stomach.

Sauntering toward him, Gally felt like he stood in place for hours. His heart was trying to escape.

"Now Gally, I want you to be honest." The boy smirked and flipped the paper around so Gally could see. "Are you an artist and none of us knew? Or is this something you stole from someone else because, y'know, you needed it for something?"

His friends laughed. "Or, maybe both?" He eyed Gally up and down.

The gaze burned at his skin. It was painful. His lungs were creaming and heart was sobbing.

"Fine, I draw. That's it." Gally snapped, his voice breaking. "Now forget about it."

"Oh!" The slicer howled. "You think we're just gonna let you off? What do you think, should we tell her? Show everyone your little secret? How do you think Alby will feel?"

"I don't—"

Stepping closer, the slicer held up the paper right to Gally's face and pointed to Y/N. "I bet she'll be scared as hell of you now."

Gally closed his eyes. He never wanted this to happen. All he wanted was a break for his soul. And sure, drawing someone without their permission wasn't the best way to go about dealing with his problems, but it was all he knew.

"Don't tell anyone." Gally pleaded. "I'll do anything."

"Anything?" The guy questioned, surprised. That was a bold move, even coming from Gally. "There's a lot I would ask, but I don't want trouble with Alby..."

He thought for a while. He conversed with his friends. Ultimately, he decided.

"Alright," He shoved the paper against Gally's chest. Immediately, he put it in his pocket. "I want to see how long it takes to break the toughest looking guy here. Every night, you're going to meet us here. We're going to beat you to the ground."

Gally took what he was saying as fact. As part of his life now. It was his only way out.

Stepping closer, the slicer picked up a large stick and swung it back and forth. "Don't worry, we won't leave bruises on your face. Only where they can't see."

"...Don't say anything, and we won't say anything either." He looked to Gally questioningly.

"Deal." He quavered.

Gally braced himself for the first hit.

That began three weeks ago.

He thought about what had happened that night as he lay on the burning cold ground. It burned because his skin felt like it was on fire from all of the hits it had taken. It felt cold because the ground quite literally was cold, seeing as he'd been here all night and dawn had just broken.

His body couldn't be brought to its feet this morning. He'd been getting beaten up for three weeks straight. But, he had to keep to his word and not let anyone know. They couldn't know. It would destroy how everyone here perceived him and his reputation. The reputation that made everyone else keep their distance was something he wanted to keep.

"Oh shit!" A quiet voice snapped as the faint footsteps Gally was hearing came to an immediate halt.

The fear of a body laying unmoving the woods at dawn apparently wasn't enough to stop this person though, because they came rushing to his side. He knew who it was the moment they crashed to their knees right in front of his eyes and put their hands on his face.

"Gally! Are you okay? What's going on?" She shuddered as she felt his forehead for signs of illness.

Unable to speak or move, Gally was just able to lift his arm enough to gently point to his side. His eyes were glued shut from the agony of moving his arm and all he hoped was that she caught on. If anyone were to find him like this, he wasn't exactly enthused it was Y/N, but he needed help and he knew it.

Carefully, the girl lifted his shirt to find a black and blue bruised body. There were wounds new and old still seeping blood. His breaths were shallow, so it was evident he had broken ribs.

"Oh shuck. Don't move. I'll be right back." She sprinted off fasted then he'd ever seen her run. That said a lot because she was fast.

Between the time she'd run off and now, Gally had passed out, probably for the better, and been moved to the medjacks. He'd just woken, but chose to keep his eyes closed for a while longer. He wasn't yet ready to face the world again.

"This doesn't look like it happened just last night. These wounds are layered, some of them a couple weeks old at least." Jeff muttered to Alby.

Alby ran a hand over his head. "Could he have been hurting himself?"

"No," Jeff shook his head. "These couldn't be self inflicted. Someone did it. Someone has been hurting him for a long time."

"Let me know when he wakes up." Alby demanded. "I'm going to find Newt."

Knowing he'd left, Gally slowly opened his eyes. The sun was evidently now fully risen as the medjack hut was well lit and warm. He blinked a few times and the headache crushing his skull was so overbearing he could hear himself blink.

When he turned his head to the side slightly, he was met with a wide-eyed, speechless Y/N. "You're o—"

Y/N's face suddenly fell. "Who did this?"

Her expression changed extremely quick. It went from relief to vexation in a split second.

Gally didn't want to answer that to her. What he could do though, was reach down for that crumpled paper he'd kept with him since the first night. He agonizingly grabbed it and held it up for the girl to take. That one single move required all of the energy he had inside of himself and was more painful than he'd hoped.

At this point, he didn't care anymore. He'd been trying to keep it a secret and was afraid that if Y/N found out how he spent his free time, she'd be disgusted and afraid of him. Besides, he tried to tell himself, that if he really knew the real Y/N, there was no way she'd judge him for this. Y/N wasn't that kind of person.

The girl took it gingerly and unravelled it. A small smile, one Gally knew all too well, lightened her features as she scanned over the paper. "Gally, you're amazing."

The next she looked up, Gally's eyes were already shut and his breathing had steadied. He'd fallen back asleep. For now, she had to let him rest. When he woke though, Y/N was going to be a part of finding out who had done this to him.

Alby and Newt fell into the medjack hut just a little too late. Newt sighed in agony when he saw his friend.

"Did he tell you anything?" Alby asked, putting a hand on Gally's bed.

"No," Y/N shook her head. "He gave me this though. It might have something to do with it."

Newt took the paper and smiled. "Who would've guessed he was such a good drawer." He then passed it off to Alby.

"I think I know who did it." Alby grimaced at the paper. "A few weeks ago, I heard some of the slicers talking about some 'stupid drawings' and then they mentioned Gally over dinner."

Vexed, Alby gave Newt back the paper and turned on his heel as fast as he could.

"Woah!" Newt called out. "You're not going to accuse some boys of a bloody mess like this before we hear it from Gally first. We wait here until he wakes up."

With a deep breath, Newt continued. "He's safe here until then."

Hours had passed before Gally found himself waking again. The medjack hut had begun to cool off and Gally felt the hair on his arms raise from the chill running down his spine. He wanted to get up, move and finally get some food. No injury or illness in the world could stave off Gally's hollow leg.

Slowly, the boy raised himself to a sitting position. He felt lighter despite the fact his body was close to disintegrating. Curious, he lifted his shirt to see the massacre that had been committed on his body. It was just as bad as he'd guessed. The past few weeks, he'd refused to look at it but now was the time. The sight made him sick but the moment he let his shirt down, he forgot about it.

Taking a few deep breaths, Gally prepped himself to stand. He was going to get up and out of this cramped room and face whatever it was outside of that door. Luckily for him, he wouldn't have to do it alone.

Just as he swept his legs over the edge of the bed, a pair of soft eyes peered around the corner into the room Gally was in.

"Hi." She whispered.

Gally smiled sadly. "Hi, Y/N."

"I thought you might be getting cold," She said as she stepped into the room with one of Gally's hoodies. "And thought you might be starving, so I came to ask if you wanted to have dinner with me?"

She paused. "I mean, come get dinner. With all of us. The normal. I don't know what I'm saying."

"That sounds good to me," He tried to laugh but stopped himself from the ache in his ribs. "I'd like to have dinner with you for once."

Y/N smiled awkwardly and handed Gally his hoodie. And though he tried, there was no way Gally was getting it onto his body. In sympathy, Y/N finally reached out and took the pile of fabric back. She reoriented it and then put it over his head and guiding it over his shoulders. By that point, he was able to get his arms in the sleeves and stand himself up.

Slowly, Y/N helped him out of the medjack hut. The air hit him in the face with a startling force. This was the time of day he'd normally head off to the deadheads to meet his nightmare. Y/N noticed him tense.

"You okay?" She asked.

Gally looked down to the girl and blinked a few times. "Yeah."

Y/N locked her arm with his to help hold his balance. "You don't have to worry, alright? There's a bunch of people looking out for you right now."

Gally walked alongside Y/N at a deathly slow pace. Partly because it really did hurt that much to walk and because he wanted to make this moment last as long as possible. "What did Alby do? How much does everyone know?"

"He hasn't done anything yet, me and Newt made sure of that." Y/N explained to dampen his worries. "No one else knows. Alby told them all you came down with a nasty bug. We're going to make sure this stays between the few of us and that's it."

"Thank you, really." Gally said. "It almost feels like you guys know me. Know I wouldn't want the others to find out."

Y/N stopped walking for a moment and made Gally look at her. "It's because we do know you. You're our friend, Gally. And we respect how you feel."

"You think I'm your friend?" He questioned self-consciously.

"Are you crazy?" Y/N scoffed. "Of course. It sucks we don't spend more time together."

"Well, I had a reason for the past few weeks." He admitted. Y/N nodded in agreement with that. "But maybe we can change that now? Once all of this blows over."

Y/N smiled lightly and Gally took that as a yes. He still had a lot to worry about as this whole situation got sorted out. Now though, he realized that he did have people on his side. People he could trust.

#the maze runner #the maze runner imagines #the maze runner imagine #the maze runner x reader #tmr gally #gally the maze runner #gally tmr #the maze runner gally #gally imagine

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blancheludis · 6 years ago

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Tagging: @tokky231

Fandom: Marvel, Avengers Characters: Tony Stark/Steve Rogers, James Rhodes, Pepper Potts, Bruce Barton, Steve Rogers Chapters: 21/?, Words: 114.338

Summary: Tony meets his soulmate under the worst possible circumstances. It is not just a kidnapping gone wrong. It turns out Steve and his gang picked him on purpose and they want some personal revenge. If only he had managed to say the words written on his soulmate’s arm before they threw him back out into the streets.

---

Steve is restless. His arm is burning, but it does that often enough that he barely pays it any mind but just scratches it absentmindedly while he is staring at his laptop. Tony is scheduled to hold another press conference today, so he guesses it is just nerves being transmitted through the bond.

To stand in front of a group of reporters who are being paid for writing stories that get the readers’ attention more than they have to be true has to be hard considering the emotional strain Tony is already under. It does not matter that he has been doing these things since he was young. Steve wonders how Tony stays calm and even charming in the face of strangers prying into his private affairs.

Time is dragging by relentlessly while Steve tries to work, unable to focus. His mind keeps spinning back towards Tony. Not even that is very unusual though. Ever since their meeting it has been even more difficult to stay rational about this entire matter. That had, for the first time, allowed him to see Tony as just another person. Not his target, not a victim, not his soulmate.

That might have been the point where Steve moved from pursuing a bond to wanting to know Tony better, just because. Since then he has been only more on edge, of course, because he can abide with Tony being danger even less than just his soulmate.

Which is why he needs to keep working on finding Stane. It should not be so hard to get him behind bars, no matter how much money he has and what kind of unsavoury contacts he has made over decades of making illegal deals with smugglers and terrorists.

Steve is distracted, though, unable to focus on his laptop. His hand keeps reaching for his arm, covering the words written there, words that hold more pain now than they ever should. He wonders whether he will ever get used to the burning urgency transmitted through the bond. Worse still, whether he can live with the absence of it should they go their separate ways.

It takes Bruce arriving out of breath and panicked in the office to make Steve realise that the bond is not just transmitting Tony’s stress but that something more sinister happened.

“Something is wrong,” Bruce says, barely a foot into the room. His eyes are wild, looking like he did when they first met him after weeks of chasing him. Contrary to back then, though, he is not filled with that quiet determination to not let them get to him. Instead, he seems unsteady, as if he is barely able to stay on his feet.

Tony, Steve thinks and gets up abruptly, his work forgotten. He is ready to start running immediately, even though he has no idea where. There can only be one reason for Bruce’s panic and Steve cannot bear to lose Tony while he sat around their base, ignoring Tony’s distress because it was just more of the same of what passed between them for weeks.

“What happened?” Steve asks, his voice barely more than a croak.

He feels more than sees Bucky coming up at his side. His presence should be reassuring. It has always been the two of them against the rest of the world. Now, though, Steve is not sure anything can calm him.

“I don’t know,” Bruce spats with little heat behind it. He is still staring wide-eyed ahead, seemingly lost for words.

“Did Tony call you?” Steve tries again with more urgency. He has to push down the urge to step forward and shake Bruce until he gets answers.

“No,” Bruce replies and meets Steve’s eyes. “I feel it.”

The words make no sense, but for the first time, Steve notices the way Bruce stands. Shoulders slumped, one arm curled around his body like he is in pain, like he needs to protect something sitting deep inside him.

“What do you mean you feel it?” Bucky asks, taking over when Steve does not know how to continue.

There is a small chance that Bruce is simply worried and snapped. Steve feels like he is only a few fruitless searches away from that himself. This entire business has been dragging on for too long. They have come close to their breaking point too often, doubting themselves and each other.

Steve knows that is not it, but he has not much else to cling to.

“Thor is in pain,” Bruce says in a tone that leaves no doubt he is telling the truth. “And he’s not picking up his phone.”

“How could you feel that?” Bucky demands, even while Steve is already spiralling.

The answer is obvious, even before Bruce opens his mouth. That does not mean it makes sense, but Steve does have time to ponder this new situation. If Thor is in danger, Tony is too. They should not be standing here, discussing technicalities.

“Thor’s my soulmate,” Bruce says shortly, leaving no room for questions. “We need to find him. And Tony.”

Bucky is growing restless next to Steve. Urgency lies in the air, but also tension at this new proof for a lack of trust between all of them. They do not have time for that. Thor is in pain and Tony is distressed more than usual. Now that it has been pointed out to Steve, he realises that the burning of the bond is not normal. It is not unwillingness or worry or exhaustion.

“I need to –” Steve says and trails off, getting his phone out of his pocket. Later, he might feel more about Bruce keeping that information from them. For now, the only thing that matters is reaching Tony, hearing his voice, finding out that he is not hurt.

Steve does not believe he will be so lucky, even though he feels like his sanity is depending on it, on Tony’s well-being.

He is turning away, not waiting for a reaction. In his back, he hears Bucky clear his throat. “I’ll get the others. Try calling Thor again.”

Retreating steps sound, but Steve does not look up. His hand is trembling slightly as he scrolls through his phone’s contacts, finding Tony’s number. He does not hesitate to press call, unable to breathe.

It goes straight to voicemail.

For a moment, time seems to stand still. Steve is unable to move, unable to make sense of Tony’s voice telling him to leave a message. If he did, perhaps Tony would call back, griping about how Steve should only call when there is something important to discuss. Far more likely is that Tony will not be able to call back at all.

As if someone has poured a bucket of ice water over his head, Steve comes back to life. His lungs burn as he takes a shuddering breath and his fingers are cold, but they are not trembling anymore.

He calls again, despite being sure it will not get him any other result. Hearing Tony’s voice again gives him some much-needed energy, though. He does not leave a message this time either.

When he looks up, Bruce is frowning, his phone pressed against his ear. He is still pale but some of the tension has bled out of his shoulders. He is talking, Steve realises. That could mean everything is all right. If Thor is able to take Bruce’s phone call, whatever danger he has been in must be over.

It has Steve turning back to his own phone, finger hovering over the screen to call Tony again. The arrival of the rest of the team keeps him from it.

Their expressions are grim, and the way Clint glares at Bruce tells him that Bucky must have told them about Thor being Bruce’s soulmate. Steve hopes Clint is not going to start another argument. They do not have time for moral discussions about what information they should and should not disclose to their friends.

He steps up to them and, upon Bucky’s asking glance, says, “Voicemail.” He does not have the strength to add anything else.

It is enough, either way. Determination settles over all of them, almost a palpable thing. The doubt of the past weeks falls off Steve. They might have argued with each other, but they are still a team when it counts.

As one, they wait for Bruce to end the call, to tell them what is happening, what they need to do next. The seconds drag on.

They listen to Bruce tell Thor how to get to their base. It should rankle Steve that Bruce just gives up their location, but all he really registers is the way Bruce’s fingers dig into his arm where his words must be, white-knuckled and with the kind of desperation none of them are used to seeing from Bruce.

When the phone call ends, everybody is silent for one blissful moment. Steve wants to know what happened. He needs to. At the same time, he is glad for the short reprieve. For these few seconds, his world is still bearable. He does not yet know what has caused Bruce’s panic. Thor and Tony are still all right.

Then Bruce opens his mouth and Steve’s world comes crashing down around him. “They took him.”

Ice spreads through Steve, circling around his throat until he is unable to breathe. Somehow, he manages to keep his head up. “Who?” He knows exactly who they are talking about because while Bruce’s face is still pinched, there is an undeniable note of relief in his tone. Thor must be all right then and not in immediate danger.

“Thor and Tony were cornered after the press conference,” Bruce explains in a clipped tone. The grip around his arm has not lessened. “Somebody shot at them. Too many people to take out. They took Tony with them.”

The worry that has been simmering inside Steve turns abruptly into rage. Thor was supposed to keep Tony safe. He followed Tony’s wishes and stopped having Natasha shadow him because he was convinced Thor would do a good enough job. And now Tony is gone and the way Steve’s arm burns could mean a dozen of different horrible things.

Concentrating on his anger is not enough to mask the nausea almost putting him on his knees right there. Tony is alive. That is what he clings to. Otherwise, the bond would surely be silent instead of being filled with agony. Tony has to be alive. That means they can yet get him out of there.

Distantly, he is aware that Natasha has taken over his job, asking Bruce about all the details he knows for them to plan their next step. It is tempting to let her do this, to withdraw into his mind and wait until someone puts a gun in his hand and points at where to shoot. Steve would certainly go crazy that way, though, so he takes a shaky breath and forces his eyes to focus on what is in front of him instead of on what might await him at the end of this day.

“Gear up,” he orders, his voice hoarse. Clint had been in the middle of saying something, but he falls silent immediately, for once willing to do exactly as he is told. “I want us to be ready to go the moment Thor gets here.”

“We don’t know where to go yet,” Bucky cautions. It is not a refusal but a reminder. Steve shrugs it off.

“We will.” Steve is not at all sure about that. What he does know is that they cannot afford to lose any time. All their careful searching over the past days has been futile. They are not any closer to finding Stane, but they are out of other options now.

Tony is gone and they need to find him. That is the only thing that matters.

---

When Thor arrives, his shirt is stained red and his face is that of a grieving man, gaunt and pale, but full of determination too.

Steve stares at the red and is convinced the blood is Tony’s, no matter that Thor moves like he is hurt and Bruce jumps forward with his medical bag at the ready.

“Is the bullet still inside you?” Bruce asks, his tone carefully neutral as if he has to work hard to keep the panic at bay.

He does not sound surprised to see the blood either, which means Thor must have told him over the phone and Bruce just kept it from them. Perhaps he thought they would not care, that Steve would not care as long as Tony is still gone.

And, to his utter shame, Steve briefly thinks that Thor deservers to have been shot.

He watches as Bruce has Thor sitting down on the kitchen table, laying out supplies. Blood has seeped into the shirt, covering most of Thor’s right side. It sticks to his skin when Bruce pulls it away. Beneath that, the wound looks almost innocent. A small hole, smeared with blood but otherwise unremarkable.

It becomes too much. This is hardly the first bullet wound Steve has seen and far from the worst. Thor is still walking and talking. He is alive. But the sight of the blood serves as a painful reminder that Tony might not be so lucky. The bond is still firing rapidly, drowning Steve in a cacophony of panic and pain. Tony is still alive, but they all know what Stane wants. After two failed attempts, he is not going to draw this matter out more than necessary.

Steve is moving forward before he knows what he is doing. “What did you do?” he snaps, distantly registering that whoever has been talking before him, falls abruptly silent. He has not been following the conversation, too caught up in his own racing thoughts. “You were supposed to protect Tony.”

He ignores Bruce’s warning glance and the way Natasha stands a little straighter as he keeps stalking towards Thor. All the anger inside of him needs to be pointed at something. Since they do not yet know where Tony was brought, Thor is the next best target.

Considering the grief clinging to Thor’s shoulders, he does not expect Thor to put up a fight. It is obvious he is in the wrong anyway, having failed miserably at the job he was given.

“Are you actually yelling at me right now?” Thor counters, not cowing but leaning forward as if he would not mind a fight. “After what you did?”

Steve reels back as if hit. What does Thor know about what happened between him and Tony? How dare he throw that in Steve’s face? He has no right to point fingers. Steve has been trying to make up for allowing Tony to get hurt. They are all regretting what happened. This is not about their history. This is about Tony missing and possibly being hurt all over again right at his moment, and that is not Steve’s fault but Thor’s.

He takes another step, eyes focused only on Thor, when Bruce step into his path. A hand lands on Steve’s chest, holding him back from walking forwards.

“Steve,” Bruce warns, voice full of impatience but also like he is eager to be pushed into snapping. “Back down.”

For all that Steve is certain he could take Bruce in a fight under normal circumstances, Bruce’s expression is murderous, ready to go through anyone who wants to lay a hand on Thor.

They are soulmates, Steve remembers, perhaps only just comprehending it completely. If he feels this unsettled and desperate at the mere thought of Tony being hurt, with their bond fresh and partially rejected, he cannot imagine how much worste it mucht be for Bruce right now. That does not lessen his anger, though.

“He let them take Tony,” Steve growls. He barely recognises his own voice. It is raw and already filled with the kind of grief that leaves him crippled. He is not sure how much of that emotion comes from the bond. His body feels raw, like it is covered by a single wound, stretched and prodded to the point where it does not have a chance to stop bleeding.

“Tony had a plan,” Bruce says too forceful, almost like he had to convince himself to say that. Now that the words are out, though, he stands by them, daring Steve to argue.

Steve remembers distantly that the team was talking about that. About Thor and Tony being pinned down and Tony doing the most reckless manoeuvre he could have thought of. And Thor letting him.

“It was a shitty plan,” Steve all but yells. He stays rooted in place, even when Bruce lets his hand fall.

Bruce looks at him, hard and accusing in a way Steve feels entirely unwarranted in a moment like this.

“But it meant that Thor would get out alive,” Bruce says, much calmer than he looks.

He is probably right. If they were cornered by people who wanted Tony at all cost, they would have gone through Thor no matter how much of a fight he put up. Even so, it is a miracle that Thor is standing here with just a single bullet lodged in his abdomen.

It does not feel like a miracle, though.

“I don’t give a –” Steve starts saying but does not get any farther.

“You never do, Steve, unless it directly relates to you.” Bruce interrupts him with such a furious fierceness that the fight is knocked out of him for a moment.

He meets Bruce’s stare, sees how serious Bruce is. Perhaps there is even some truth to it. Steve has always cared for his family. He has made a life out of standing up for other people, but he does not take any prisoner when it comes to the people he loves.

It would not help anybody if Thor had died protecting Tony. On the contrary, they might not even yet know what happened. Still, Steve feels that immediate, disgusting resentment that Thor had a chance to protect Tony and blew it.

“That’s not what I meant,” Steve says quietly. He is not quite ready to admit he was out of line, but the thought of Tony in danger has him sobering enough to realise this is neither the time nor place to heap the blame on anybody.

“It doesn’t matter what you meant,” Bruce replies with a sigh that belies his words. He looks so very tired for a moment that Steve feels hot shame coursing through him. “Let’s get Tony back.”

Thor holds up his phone, showing a map. He looks at Steve as if the past minutes did not happen, always one to shove his emotions to the side to get the job done. That is something Steve has never quite managed.

“We already have an idea of where to go,” Thor says with a grumbling eagerness to get going. “JARVIS will get back to us once he knows more, but we should get moving.”

Steve does not know who JARVIS is or why he should trust him with Tony’s safety, but Thor sounds like he does. If it means they will find Tony, Steve is willing to give this information the benefit of the doubt. Thor usually does his job well.

Nodding at each other, Thor makes to get to his feet, only to have Bruce whirling around to glare at him.

“You’re not coming,” Bruce snaps. He is rapidly losing patience with them over their antics. Steve’s arguing when they have more important things to deal with. Thor’s stubbornness over wanting to go out with a hole in his abdomen

Thor’s face softens into an expression so tender, Steve can barely bear to look at him. “Of course, I’m coming,” he says. It is not much of an argument if not for the seriousness in his eyes and the way he holds out his hand for Bruce to take.

I hear you, he seems to say, but you know I need to do this.

“You were shot,” Bruce counters, gesturing at the bloody shirt and the way Thor leans slightly to the side to favour the wound.

Not letting go of Bruce, Thor stands up. “And it’s barely bleeding anymore,” he says dismissively. “Steve was right about one thing, I let them take Tony despite being responsible for his safety. I will come with you to get him back.”

Bruce’s shoulders drop, signalling defeat. “Let me bandage you up in the car.”

The way they look at each other is almost too much for Steve to bear. The air is filled with as much tension as relief, with an eagerness to get going, to deal out some payback.

“I love you too,” Thor says, his voice filled with so much raw honesty that Steve fights the urge to cover his ears.

He might never have the chance to tell Tony the same. They might never have the chance to get to that point.

Then they are moving. Steve pushes his thoughts down, knowing he cannot afford to analyse the obvious tenderness between Bruce and Thor, how they move around each other, always certain that, if they reach out, there is someone there to catch them.

He is jealous, certainly, on an instinctual level that just longs to have the same connection to someone. That is a problem for another time, however, because that someone is currently in a lot of danger.

Steve is afraid of what he will find at the end of this road, but he still takes the first step without hesitation. He has many flaws. Being a coward is not one of them.

#marvel #stony #soulmates #slow burn #tony stark #steve rogers #fanfiction #angst #so much angst #bruce banner #thor #idiots in love #my writing #ao3 #leave the gun on the table

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elliesproblems · 6 years ago

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To Whom It May Concern, Chapter Four: One Year Too Late Entry: November 19th, 2017

Those with any sort of long term mental illness have at one time agreed with the statement: ‘I’m supposed to be better by now’, because life is shitty and there’s always relapse or two (dozen). I have learned that not everyone knows that this is a universal feeling. Hell, I didn’t know it was a universal feeling, but writing out my problems via characters that are not mine is therapeutic for me. It’s a whole system of giving someone else my problems so I can look at it objectively, because we are all better at giving advice than taking it. Many wouldn’t be surprised that the main reason fanfiction does so well is because there is a lack of mental illness discussions (among many other things) in public media, and I was able to put my experience to use for short stories for teenagers going through the same roller coaster I did. My venting did some good up until the point that I started doing it for them. I quickly learned you can’t pull out of a well that needs water itself. Still, I lead each idea and lesson to its end.

I did my best to weed out any awful mindset I put myself in, because maybe I can save someone else from this. And I had argued the point of only having so long to have a full recovery in a short story I wrote without my name attached to it. I wrote chapters to help kids hold themselves to a different standard than what I held myself to. The alternate view to this point was that ‘You’ are supposed to be ‘you’. Whatever you are feeling is what you are supposed to be feeling because the only criteria within yourself is that you are still you at the end of the day. This is your illness and it’s only curable at the rate you're going. There is no deadline here, you are going at the right pace. You’ll be fine.

Just because I feel that way towards other people doesn’t mean I feel that way towards myself. As I mentioned before, it’s easier to give advice than to take it. If I were looking at my situation objectively, it would be easy to say that it’s unfair to expect a full recovery already. I wasn’t the only one involved in what had happened, and even they are still recuperating over a year later. I was the one that was targeted, and I was the one alienated. How am I going to be the first one okay?

But we all live in this ‘chosen one’ mind set that we are capable of moving mountains if we put our minds to it, and somehow, we should be able to put our trama aside on cue. Sometimes the hardest part is to just let myself be human.

I spent so long forcing myself to be okay with what had happened to me, that I’m still surprised to find out that I’m still very much so not okay. I am angry at myself for it. I am angry with my surroundings for it. I am angry that I lost the happiness I didn’t know I had, and all I have is this left. I want it back, and I want a chance to take it back.

I usually don’t dwell on it. Not like I have been in the earlier months. Sometime in the future I’ll think about it, acknowledge that I was wronged, but I won’t blame myself for not acting upon the warning signs. I won’t let my trust of her ruin my trust of anyone else; it’s just no way to live, and trust me, I’ve been living it. I won’t let it ruin me anymore, but I can acknowledge how it defined me.

I’ve met the me that comes out in the face of losing everything; I’ve met me at my worst. I still hate it all, and if I somehow woke up the day I was supposed to meet her, I would have never introduced myself. At one time, I might have said I don’t regret it, but I’m being honest. But I won’t dwell on it, after all, I am content with the person that came out.

And that’s what will happen in the future, because somehow I’m okay enough to sit at a computer and type out what I thought was going to be my last words over and over again. For now, things didn’t get ‘better’. They range from different ranges of shitty, and different problems, and different wounds. After all my inspiration writing for teenagers I don't know, I feel the need to put something inspiration afterwards, like days worth living, but that’s not for this chapter. There are days where there is no light at the end of the tunnel or some inspiration add on. It’s just the looming possibility that I’ll be like this for a whole life time, and that is far scarier than death.

What’s the point of living if I can’t move past a shitty issue that I had back in high school? It’s all in my head, and I know the reasoning behind it. I know it’s full of bullshit phobias, but I’m terrified of living my whole life terrified.

November 19th, 2017

Things aren’t fantastic, but they’re better. E**** seemingly came out of nowhere, made plans to move in at the start of December, and disappeared just as fast. She’s always been that way; hard to get ahold of and hard to keep track of. I doubt she will stick to the roommate idea, she’s already gone, but she hung around long enough for me to question everything I’ve been pretending not to notice.

I haven’t changed. They haven’t changed. We all just got better at not bringing it up. The only thing keeping T*** and I’s friendship together, is the fact that he apologized and we left it at that; never to be discussed again. I don't know if I could talk about it calmly anyways. Anytime F**** brings up anything remotely close to what had happened, I’m brought back to it. It always ends in a screaming match, and it only proves the reason she still talks to me is blood and blood alone. She’s already shown where her loyalties lay.

I don’t know what brought T*** back other than guilt and guilt alone.

I thought it was better and that everything that had happened, and all that had changed will slowly go back to normal like a bad dream in the morning. I promised myself it would get better or I would stop waiting for it to get worse. And it did get better. Things started to heal and I started to move on.

Just because things are better doesn’t mean things are good. The wound stopped bleeding, but now has scared, and the progress I’ve been waiting for has stagnated. I only got well enough to hide it.

This have begun to fade back to normal in a sense that I have won T**** back over, even though I know I cannot trust him to stay. So I fake stability and I don’t hold him accountable because he only leaves when I am messy.

F**** has stopped bringing it up with the intent to make wounds bigger if only to save herself the trouble. No one likes a crazy bitch, not even the sister.

Dad didn’t stop showing his support for the girl who caused it all, but rather just stopped bringing her up like everyone else. I only have two options: I can either relive the betrayal, knowing full well everyone I come to know and love will gladly take the side of someone who ran off to play a part in her fairy-tale romance. She left us all behind, yet they are still loyal. There will be no healing from it, there’s no good for me here. Or I can let them all fall silent, and let the memory of her get distorted with time, but she will never be completely gone. It’s the only real way to preserve myself, and the poorly constructed false sense of healing is maddening.

I can tell Dad wants to ask because it doesn’t make sense and I can’t make sense of it for him when I still don’t understand what I did to warrant a lash back like that. He wants things to be different and I can’t blame him. Asking for things to be better is like winning a dollar when you payed two for a chance at winning the jackpot.

All it’s earned me is an empty friendship of nothing but IOU’s, and a family that will turn on me because if my two best friends ditch me it has to be something I did, right?

So I ask for things to be different instead of things to get better, because the better that I have is just a cheap version of what I had before it all came crumbling down. A cheaper version of something that was already so so breakable. All it did was make the unbearable more bearable, and I’m sure that was only my heart growing a callous. Still, I settled for it, even though settling got me in this mess to begin with. Keeping my mouth shut only let things fester, but it was never as bad as when I tried fighting back because no one likes a crazy bitch. Regardless of the reason behind it.

I read something online the other day and it has been following me around like some sort of sign. It was one line, no context or comments. It was just there. ‘I should have died then’.

It could have meant anything and maybe to some people the line is a positive statement about survival or something. But for me, and my context of taking everything that’s happened since then with an objective judgement, I made myself hold together for this. I held on for the ‘it will get better’. Was I waiting for something good? Was it worth sticking around for? Did I make the right decision? Simple:

I should have died then.

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bitchen-fiction · 7 years ago

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Okok I got a c137cest 1 nwn ok so wut if morty gets blind from some device from another dimension and rick has to take care of him ( help him to go places he wants to go) until he can find or make a device to help morty regain his vision U can make it fluffy as well where morty sleeps with rick or morty kind of falling onto him bc he blind :p Lel idk anything u can try to make nwn love your fics btw ee nwn and u

You ask and I shall deliver!

____________________________________________

It was chaos, all Morty could do was try to keep up he stillwasn’t a very good shot, beams flying everywhere from different kinds of gunshe didn’t want to become a target but he had to help. They were ducked behindsome sort of bar. It all sort of blurred together Rick was yelling to thealiens and at him to shoot. He stood up shooting a few times everything wentdark.

Rick watched the shot he couldn’t get there fast enough. Hesaw him go down and everything else just happened. He shook his head momentslater everyone dead, he looked down to Morty who was now sitting up hyperventilating.Rick rushed to embrace him checking he had no external damage he scolded theboy for being so reckless he could have died.

“Rick?! Rick? I-I can’t see.” He grasped the what felt like hisgrandpa’s lab coat. He could hear Rick’s heart pounding. He felt the hands onhis face gently tilting his head in different directions.

“It’s going be ok, I’ll figure it out but we have to go homefirst.” He sounded panicked as he helped Morty up wrapping his arm around his shoulder to lead himthough the portal.

Rick lead the boy to his desk chair sitting him down with afirm order not to move until he returned.

Morty felt like he had been sitting there for a very longtime he just sat touching things he touched the old chair beneath him feelingthe frayed fabric he reached up gently patting his own body slowly finding hisway to his face, he touched his eyes to find they were closed he tried to openthem but it wasn’t working, he was about to try and pry them open when he wasstartled by Ricks gruff voice.

“Don’t touch Morty.” He paused “I’m going to scan you now Ineed you to stay very still.” Rick scanned his face examining the damage itlooked like he could fix it but it would take a day or two. He went and placeda hand on the boy’s shoulder, he apologized for startling him before tellinghim the good news.

Rick decided to give the family bells, he made up someseemingly non-dangerous excuse as to why Morty was currently blind but he couldfix it in the mean time they would all have to wear bells to avoid startlingMorty. The scientist worked tirelessly on what he needed to do for Morty,though he was readily available if he needed anything at all he told the boy toask no matter what or how stupid he thought it was Rick would be there to helphim.

It had been a few hours he decided to go check on him. He walkedinto the living room to see Morty coming back from the kitchen walking towardsthe couch when he noticed Jerry had the leg rest up on the chair, he was injust the right place when Morty tripped on it. Rick caught him easily holdingMorty in a protective hug.

Morty felt the freefall sensation as he tripped but he wascaught by what appeared to be Rick based off the feel of his clothes and form.He let himself be held enjoying the closeness and Ricks heartbeat he could hearit again it sounded startled like before. “I’m sorry Rick.” His muffled words beingpressed into Ricks chest.

“You don’t need to be sorry peanut.” He stroked the boy’shair before kicking the foot rest down.

“Hey!”

“What the fuck Jerry! Next time you want to relax do itsomewhere you’re not going to potentially kill my grandson! Fucking stupid shit.”He lead them both to sit on the couch.

Jerry frowned leaving the room mumbling under his breath,Rick flipped him off with his arm around Morty’s shoulder.

“Do you want me to take you to school tomorrow? Since we can’tgo on an adventure? I could walk you around and write your answers for you?” Hewatched Morty’s face break out into a smile.

“Sure Rick, I think that would probably make actually goingto school pretty bearable.”

The next day Rick got up early to help Morty get ready for schoolhe snickered watching Morty try to put his shirt on backwards before helpinghim. “What would you do without me.”

“Probably fail worse at life.” He smiled reaching out totake Ricks hand so he could be lead to school.

Rick walked him there sitting him down in the principles officehe had to tell the school about what was going on and he would be right back.

The man walked into the office explaining that he would beMorty’s guide today helping him get to class and writing notes or answers orwhatever for him.

The principle looked at him passed interlocked hands. “That’sagainst school policy, you understand it gives him an unfair advantage to havesomeone else do his work for him.”

“It wasn’t a request, how is a blind kid going to a schoolthat has nothing to help him thrive being such getting an advantage by havingsomeone here to help him? I’m staying here and we are going to school today letthe rest of your staff know.” The flat intimidating tone seemingly workedbecause the principle worked quickly to send an e-mail to the staff alertingthem of the situation.

“Ok Morty we are set let’s go what’s your first class?”

They went through the school getting several looks, Mortycould hear the whispers of judgemental kids in the hall. Rick squeezed his handreassuringly, for both Morty and himself it was killing him to have to be backin a place he despised to thoroughly. He had to remind himself it was for Mortyhe didn’t want to be away from him while he couldn’t see anything he needed tobe protected. The guilt was eating at him it was his fault in the first placefor yelling in the moment. He was going to make it up to him no matter what.

Their first class went by with ease but Morty said he mighthave a math test today. Rick quietly read the questions to Morty, who would dohis best to answer them, he winced at how bad Morty was with this. I should really start actually teaching himsomething useful Christ. Swiftly he did the test without Morty’s ‘Help’ buthe made sure to get some wrong that he knew Morty probably wouldn’t know.

The rest of school went on similar to this Rick would ask thequestions Morty would try to answer and Rick would smile at how very wrong hisanswers were before doing the work himself in a way that would get an aboveaverage grade but not too high to cause suspicion. Rick would ruffle Morty’shair when he actually got something right he was so proud at how much sciencehe actually knew he took credit for that one.

Once they got to go home Rick sat Morty down to tell him hehad to go and work on the solution for his eyes, Morty sighed he really likedspending so much time with his grandpa it was nice to do normal stuff every nowand then instead of going off planet to all these other dimensions being thrustinto something foreign.

Morty laid on the couch listening to music when Rick finallyfinished.

“Morty its done! It’s a blindfold soaked in this special medicineyou wear it all night and when you wake up you should be able to see again.” Hesounded so excited.

Morty sat up reaching out for Rick who walked up to himputting the blindfold on the boy. Softly he caressed the boys face.

“You should go to bed kiddo, want some help?”

Morty nodded allowing himself to be taken up the stairs thecool cloth on his face countering his blush from having to be dressed, he saton the bed Rick kissed his forehead softly.

“Good night, see you in the morning.” He went to his ownroom laying down hoping this would work letting Morty see again. A few hourslater he was about to fall asleep when he heard soft bumps that sounded likesomeone walking into the walls, he let out a soft breathy laugh. What a klutz he really would be lost withoutme. The small baff on his door let him know Morty had made his way over hequietly stepped into the room.

“Rick?” his whisper filled the space. “Ca-can I sleep withyou?”

He sounded so small “Sure peanut come on over.” He heardanother baff as Morty connected to the bed with his shin.

Morty crawled his way into the bed snuggling up with Rick. “I’mscared, what if this doesn’t work?”

Rick held the trembling boy, feeling a pang of guilt for puttinghim in this situation in the first place. “It’s going to work Morty I promise.Now try to get some sleep ok?” He kissed the boys head again so he would havegood dreams before holding him close. Cuddled together they slept soundly protectingeach other.

“Rick.” Morty whispered. “Rick is it morning yet?”

Rick clicked his lamp on squinting at the sudden lightchecking his watch. “Yeah it is, what do you want to see first?”

Morty thought. “You, I missed your face the most.”

Rick felt himself blush a little before reaching out to takethe blindfold off. “It looks good try and open.”

Morty worked he could feel a little give it was working he triedagain harder, he could feel a blink saw some light the blue of Ricks hairflashed in his vision, blinking more until finally his eyes were open and hewas staring into the smiling face of his grandpa. He couldn’t be happier throwinghis arms around the man he poured out thankyous the fat tears dropping from hisface.

Rick wiped at his teary face thankful himself that it workedand he could once again see those beautiful eyes.

#c137cest fic #fluff #fanfic #send me asks #ask

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assassinsdragons · 7 years ago

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Hi! Not really a prompt but could you write a fic with pining!harry please? And where Draco is definitely very confident and acting like some sort of leader? A bit vague I know but I'm not really sure how to word it. Just more pining!harry !!!

Crescendo

Thank you! This was harder than I thought, because at first I couldn’t come up with anything to write, so I had @staganddragon to help me with that, and yet even then I had a hard time formulating it cause I’m not familiar in writing Draco this way… but I hope this was good enough anyway..?? you can find it on ao3 here.

Almost everyone has come back for the Eighth Year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This was quite surprising as most of those who fought in the war weren’t in need of the education to get a job. But when Ron came to think about it, maybe it wasn’t so strange after all. All of them were still just teenagers and yet they had fought a war - a war in which they had mattered more than most adults, so of course they wanted to come back to school so they could get to live another year as normal teenagers.

Something that was strange though, was how quickly the relationship between Harry and Draco had changed. Like, it had shifted completely in a matter of two days! Ron had always known that there must’ve been something else than the supposed rivalry between them, since the two interacted way more than Harry ever did with Voldemort. Yet it had been clear that there was something there because they shared something Ron or Hermione never could share with Harry, and he didn’t even know what that really was. But he had never thought that they would stop fight each other so… instantly. They still argued and got on each other nerves but it was nothing like before.

Later that night, Ron got an answer to his wonderings. While sitting on the floor of the dormitory he shared with Harry and Theo Nott - though the Slytherin was gone for the moment - they worked on their Charms essay and chatted softly to make the work more bearable. At one point, Harry fell silent and stopped working, a distracted frown placed on his face.

“What’re you thinking, mate?” Ron asked, shortly thereafter.

“Nothin’” Harry answered though Ron could hear the lie in the slight change in his tone of voice. Not even Hermione knew Harry well enough to distinguish that difference.

“Stop it, you know I know you better than that. I know something’s bothering you. Tell me.”

Harry sat silently for another minute and Ron just let him do that. He knew Harry would talk eventually, when he felt ready. True to that, Harry finally opened up. He told Ron about how he had come to the conclusion that he found Malfoy attractive and he had also gotten to appreciate the blond’s personality. Though this should be a great shock for Ron, it wasn’t. It was just an explanation that actually made sense. So Ron just nodded, and kept letting Harry speak his mind. In the end all Ron could say was:

“I’m glad you told me, Harry, and I want you to know that I’ll walk with you through all of it.”

The rest of the night they spoke about that, clearing out any wonder Harry might have about sexuality and Purebloods and whatever Ron could help him with.

As it turned out, the realization Harry had come to wasn’t all positive, because the boy was still unsure in his new situation and even more so because he didn’t know how to act around Draco anymore. He also became a new copy of himself from sixth year during which he had been rather obsessed with the blond. Sure, that time he had turned out to be right with his suspicions of him, but it had still been quite annoying to never hear him talk about something other than Malfoy this and Malfoy that. Now however, Harry was once again constantly watching him, though this time it wasn’t because he thought Draco was up to something, but because he seemingly tried to drink in his looks. Several times during each meal, Ron had to elbow his friend in the ribs to remind him that he needed to eat instead of looking over at the Slytherin table.

It got even worse when it got settled that the Eighth Years would be allowed to start their own Quidditch Team and participate in the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup. Not so surprisingly, Harry was chosen as the seeker, and Ron as the keeper, but something that was unexpected was for Draco to apply as a Chaser and Team Captain. No one was complaining, because he took the role seriously, and no one could deny that he was well fit for the work. But for Harry, it was a complete disaster. He had to endure to look at the blond during each practice, seeing him in a habitat that seemed perfect for him, and it was often that Ron caught sight of Harry doing nothing but stare goofily at Draco as he soared through the air on his broom. Yet, Harry was a good enough seeker to still manage catching the snitch in time, but just barely. And it was driving Draco up the walls.

The worst scenario was after the match against Hufflepuff during which Owen Cauldwell had actually caught the snitch before Harry, but fortunately the Eighth Years had been leading with a 160 points difference so they hadn’t lost. Draco had been furious anyway. And rightly so, if Ron was to be honest, but he didn’t tell anyone that. The telling off Harry got afterwards was quite rough, and even though Ron knew Harry could blame no one but himself, he couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry when he saw how Harry shrunk with each word Draco yelled. Until the end. For some reason Harry’s eyes lit up when Draco’s last words were uttered.

“If you don’t start to do some real work, Potter, I’m gonna have to switch you for Chang! And I will not change back!”

When they were back in their dormitory later that night, Harry was quick to start talking about the game.

“Right, Ron, you heard Draco, right? If I screw up one more time, he’ll throw me off the team, right?”

“Mate, you might cut down on your use of the word ‘right’, you’re barely making any sense.”

“Sorry, but, if I’m off the team, I can sit through all the game and just watch him, right? And no one would think it weird either, right?”

Ron couldn’t prevent the laugh that broke through him from being heard, and Harry immediately turned sour.

“I’m sorry, Harry, I know you’re serious, but listen to yourself. You’re actually considering quitting Quidditch for the sole sake of watching Malfoy. I don’t know about you, but I’m quite sure that won’t help you with your little Slytherin problem.”

Suddenly a new voice cut in.

“You’re talking about Draco?” It was Theo, whom neither of the Gryffindors had realized were in their dormitory as well.

“Uhm… n—” Harry began but was interrupted by Ron.

“Yes! We are.”

“And based on what I’ve heard since you came in here, Harry’s got a certain liking for him, am I right?”

“You are.” Ron said, a smile playing on his lips. “You know something that could help us?”

“I might do, actually.” A similar grin split Theo’s face and it scared Harry a bit to see how alike the two boys looked when they shared a mutual expression. “Let’s say, my friend Draco Malfoy, whom I have known for several years, is a boy who throughout all seven - and now eight - years here at Hogwarts, he only shut up about one Saviour for half a year, and that was in sixth year, when he was too scared of Voldemort to even utter ‘Potter’. And now he’s getting furious because his hero is becoming utter shit.”

Theo’s words had Ron laying in the floor, rolling around from laughter. Harry, on the other side, didn’t seem that entertained.

“You’re lying.”

“Am not. And whether you believe me or not is up to you, Potter. But I’ll tell you one thing, and hopefully you’ll come to your senses and actually listen. Go to Draco, and tell him. Now I’m going to sleep. G’night.”

With a flick of his wand, Theo closed the bed curtains and left Ron and Harry to themselves. Harry sat down on the edge of his bed and just stared disbelievingly at the floor, while Ron tried to catch his breath after his laughing fit.

“Mate, you better go now.” Ron said when he managed to get the words to leave his mouth. His eyes were looking at the Marauder’s Map laying unfolded on the edge of Harry’s trunk and apparently not blank as it still showed the school, and a certain name that he knew held Harry’s interest. “Malfoy’s in the owlery, you might just go talk to him now.”

Without warning, Harry shot up from the bed and he was out of the room in an instant.

“That went fast,” Theo smiled as he opened up his curtains again. “Not that I’m surprised though. Harry’s been moping around Draco for so long, it’s really amazing Draco hasn’t realized yet.”

“Yeah, but now things’ll get worked out and it won’t be a problem anymore.”

Ron had never been more wrong. Well, things did get worked out, but that apparently didn’t take away the problem of Harry constantly pining after the blond and paying all his attention to him. Harry still didn’t shut up about it either, because he was still very unsure about the relationship they had, at the same time as he was incredibly happy that it seemed like Draco mirrored his feelings. Harry had told Theo and him about how he had approached Draco in the owlery, and at first Draco had thought Harry was there because he was mad about the scolding. That had made Harry feel a bit uncertain, but Draco had noticed the shift in the atmosphere, and instantly started talking softer. It had been hard for Harry to utter his words, but the very moment he had made it clear that he fancied Draco, Draco had crashed them together in a tight hug and whispered thank you over and over again before finally letting his lips meet Harry’s.

It had been a few weeks since then now, and yet Harry kept tripping into their dormitory late at night after his “study sessions” with Draco (Ron knew that the two actually did study, but he also knew that wasn’t all they were doing). But at least Harry had stopped making stupid, disastrous mistakes during Quidditch games, and Ron guessed that he should be happy about the small things. And of course, he should also be happy of that this best friend was finally joyful and contented again. Yet, it became rather frustrating, and lonely when Harry was off with the Slytherin during most breaks and evenings.

Luckily, he had Theo, Hermione and the other Gryffindors to hang out with, but it wasn’t the same without his best friend. Those feelings got even clearer when both Harry and Draco always were missing during the Eighth Year Parties that Pansy fixed. And it wasn’t just Ron who was affected by it. Everyone seemed to be missing them, for they both played central roles in their dramatic lives and without them there to bicker or hug or just talk, it was like a big piece of either one’s hearts were missing.

Pansy was the one to finally let the bomb drop.

“Alright, I’m tired of them sneaking off and leaving us all behind. Next time, which is on Saturday, we have to get them to come, by any means, okey?”

Even though they hadn’t been talking about anyone in particular, and Pansy hadn’t said any names, everyone still knew who she was talking about and they nodded in agreement. Throughout the whole week they worked on persuading Draco and Harry to come, and by some sort of miracle, they managed. Looking back at it afterwards, it might’ve been better if they hadn’t.

As they had decided on the last party, they were going to play Truth or Dare, and at first, it all went alright. Harry was laying with his head in Draco’s lap the entire time, while Draco fiddled with his hair and they answered innocent questions about this and that. They were simply being very cute. That was until Parvati and Padma decided that the game needed to step up a level and they launched into a much dirtier game. All the truths were about wet dreams and the alike, and the dares were… well… sexual… yet, they let Harry and Draco get easy questions as no one wanted to spoil the cuteness. Well, no one except Blaise that is.

“Harry, I dare you to kiss any guy but Draco.”

Instantly, Harry’s eyes grew wide, as Draco’s narrowed. Uncertain, Harry threw a glance through the room that then settled upon Draco, before he started to get up. Slowly, he made his way over to Seamus, and sat down on his knees. He put upon a quick peck on Seamus’ nose, and then stood up again.

“No, no, Harry, I meant a real kiss.” Blaise snorted.

“Shut it, Zabini.” Draco growled lowly.

“No, but I want to see if he can be as cute with someone else as he is with you, Draco.”

“I said, shut it!” It was clear that Draco was starting to lose it. Quickly, Harry made his way back to Draco, sat down upon his lap and looked deeply into his eyes.

“It’s okey, I won’t do it, cause I don’t want to, I don’t want him; I just want you, only you,” Harry whispered, and Draco visibly relaxed. The entire room let out a breath at the same time.

“Blaise, don’t play such tricks next time, alright?” Theo said, and there was a clear warning in his voice. “You know Draco as well as I do, and you shouldn’t challenge fate.”

As Theo continued to explain something to the other Slytherin, Ron turned to Draco and Harry.

“We are very grateful for you two coming here, and I hope that you’ll come more often, we will make sure that things like this never happen again. But if you want to you could go now.”

For the first time since the school year started, Ron didn’t feel abandoned by Harry, he just simply felt happy for he had seen how well Harry seemed to fit with Draco, and he knew how they completed each other in such a way that no one could ever complete them, and he also knew that his best friend was still there, because before leaving the Room of Requirement, Harry bent down and gave Ron a tight embrace, whispering him his thanks and a promise that they’d come back the next time. When the door closed behind Draco and Harry, Ron turned back to the group of Eighth Years and told them to settle down so they could continue their game. As if nothing had changed. Because, honestly, had anything really done that?

I’m also gonna thank @secretlycrazyhummingbird for the help with checking grammar and spelling as such. Thank you for saving me some time and energy <3 <3 <3

#fics/ficlets #fics #my work #drabble #drarry #harry potter #anon #ask #prompt #sorry it took so long #mywork

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rainteaanddragons · 8 years ago

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Smoke & Mirrors: Fifteen – Forget and Forgive?

Prologue | Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch10 | Ch 11 | Ch 12 | Ch 13 | Ch 14 | Ch 15 |

Read on ff.net and ao3

"Hey, Rogue!" Sting called into the guild hall, "Look who I found in town!" The ecstatic blond led Gajeel, Levy, Juvia, and Lily into the Sabertooth guild hall.

Rogue looked up. "Oh, hello! Do you have any more news on Gray?"

"More than news!" Juvia couldn't contain her excitement. "He's coming home in a couple of days!"

"That is so good to hear!" Rogue replied with a smile.

"Frosh thinks so too!"

"Thing is…" Gajeel started.

"His memories." Levy finished. "But I have a theory about that."

"You do?" The Twin Dragons chorused back.

"Is Rufus here?" Levy asked. "I think he may be able to help find Gray's hidden memories."

"The right memories." Juvia added.

"Some of Gray's more painful memories were brought to the surface after something stupid Natsu said." Gajeel answered with an air of annoyance.

"Oh." Sting muttered, then turned to the rest of the guild who'd all turned to face the newcomers. "Hey Rufus!" he called, "we need your help!"

"Please!" Levy added.

"What do you need?"

Rufus had appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

"You remember how Gray lost his memories of Natsu? Well, I thought maybe you'd be able to help get them back…" Levy looked hopeful, "With your memory magic and all."

Rufus pressed the tips of his fingers together and closed his eyes in thought. "If you knew exactly how he lost them, then maybe yes."

"You think?"

Rufus nodded. "Either way I will try and do what I can to help."

"Thank you!" Juvia was almost in tears with happiness. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

A smile twitched at Rufus' lips. "Not at all. It's a relief to hear that Gray is going home."

"When are we leaving?" Sting grinned.

"You're coming too? Gajeel frowned at his fellow Dragon Slayer.

"I'm sure the guild will be fine for a couple of days without us." Sting grinned.

"Plus we want to see Gray just as much as you do." Rogue added.

"Yeah!" Lector agreed, nodding with Frosh.

"Alright then." Gajeel said abruptly, "let's go."

- O - O - O -

To say that Gray was nervous was an understatement. This was to be the first time he'd be forcefully put to sleep since the time when he'd first arrived at the hospital weeks beforehand. With the way he was sleeping – or really, not sleeping – because of the nightmares, being forced to sleep wasn't at the top of his to do list. However, remembering Natsu and going home were. Not being able to have one without the other meant the three had now become of equal importance in Gray's mind.

Natsu is worth the nightmares, Gray thought, he has to be.

Everyone but Natsu had already headed to the station along with Gray's sketchbooks. So now the pinkett sat with Gray as they waited for Matt and Sara to ogive Gray a final check-up before using the sleeping spell on him. Natsu watched as his friend tapped his fingers nervously on his leg.

"Are you okay? Gray?"

"I'm fine." The frustration in Gray's tone was mainly directed towards himself over the fact that he didn't feel fine at all. In truth, he felt sick to the stomach, mixed with a feeling of dread. It was obvious that Natsu had taken it the other way, the Dragon Slayer had flinched, fixing Gray with the expression of a wounded puppy. "Sorry." Gray fumbled over his words, "I'm just- I-"

"Nervous huh?"

Gray nodded. "The nightmares are getting worse."

"How?"

"It's like the more I remember the more fuel my mind has for nightmares."

"You had another dream last night…didn't you?" Natsu knew he was stating the obvious but there was little else he knew to say.

"You were there, but it wasn't you you. Like in the forest, but this time we were in a cell. You were telling me to confess, so that I could go home, so they'd stop hurting me."

"I was?" Natsu cast his gaze down, in honesty, he wasn't surprised. Let them come, let them find me. He would have said, then maybe Gray would still know who he was.

"You said that them finding out the truth would be a risk He'd be willing to take. He being you I suppose. I still refused, I didn't say anything about why I did so, but when I woke up I felt so scared, scared, and sad."

"Sad?"

"Yeah, I'd been crying." Gray turned to watch as Natsu took his hand again. The warmth was comforting. "…but I don't know why."

"You never cease to amaze me, Gray." Natsu wasn't sure what had made him say it, he was at a loss for words of comfort, yet he'd said that, anything would have been better than that. Thankfully, if Gray had found it strange, he didn't say so.

The ravenett chuckled. "Funny that, I was thinking similar about you…"

There was a moments silence where Gray stared at their interlocked hands, and Natsu tried to think of something to say. Nothing came to mind.

"Oh! Wait!" Gray's gaze snapped back up. "There was something I remember saying."

"What?" Natsu held his breath.

"Just one word, 'end', but Natsu, what does that mean?"

Natsu felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. So it is my fault. "Don't worry about it."

"What! Why?"

"Do you trust me?"

"I-" Gray stared at Natsu. His Natsu, the dream Natsu, he trusted him. This Natsu he'd known for a matter of days, and before that, he hadn't known he existed. But they are one and the same. Right? He hoped his hesitation had passed unnoticed. "Of course."

"Then don't worry about it, please." Natsu smiled, giving Gray's hand a squeeze. "When they cast the spell just think about the guild, your happiest memories. That should help with the dreams somewhat."

Gray offered a half-hearted smile. "Okay."

"If that doesn't work just remember that I'll be there the whole time." He gave Gray a wide grin. "Just like I always have been."

Gray did exactly what Natsu had told him, but instead of the guild, he pictured Natsu's smile. It was something which somehow always managed to comfort him, no matter the situation. The prospect of the oncoming nightmares felt a little more bearable with Natsu there.

Natsu kept a tight hold on Gray's hand long after he'd closed his eyes and his grip had slackened. Natsu wasn't sure what had made him do it; he and Gray had never had that sort of friendship, not really. Yet, after nearly losing Gray, and finding him so broken, Natsu wasn't sure what their relationship was anymore. Whatever they did have before was now practically one sided, and he wasn't sure when things would feel normal again. If ever.

As the train pulled up at Magnolia station Natsu felt sick in more ways than one. The Troia spell Wendy had cast at the start of the journey had worn off an hour before they'd arrived, and Natsu wasn't sure which was worse; The sound of Gray muttering and crying out in his sleep, or the feeling that he wanted to empty the contents of his stomach out the window. In retrospect the former was worse. Gray wasn't just muttering gibberish. Natsu could distinctly hear 'E.N.D.', 'kill', and 'forgive' along with his own name, and was thankful that it was just him and Gray in that room. Though occasionally one of the others in the group would pop in to check on them both.

Natsu wasn't sure whether Gray's muttering so we're full formed memories playing in his friends head or just snippets of information, but either way, it worried him. He can't know. Not yet. Not knowing what Gray's captors had attempted to do to him meant that there was no telling what Gray would do once he knew the truth of why he was taken.

There was every possibility that as a result Gray would try to carry out his purpose as an Ice Demon Slayer, willingly or by force. Either way it was something that Natsu didn't want to come to pass.

There was, however, one thing Natsu was certain of. They needed to work out what it was that had made Gray forget, and that no matter the reason, they would fix it. Then maybe, just maybe things could get back to normal.

- O - O - O -

"You really need to stop doing this or you're going to die before your plan even begins work."

"Hello to you too." Gray snapped back.

"You'd think you'd be board of talking to yourself by now…" Natsu teased.

"Beats the silence." Beats the pain.

"Fair enough." Natsu sank to the ground next to Gray, pulling his knees up to his chest so to mirror the ravenett. "I'm still not sure about this plan of yours. There are so many things which could go wrong."

"Well we both know it's better than the alternative Giganto has planned for me."

"True."

"Besides. This way I'll have more of a chance to see him again."

"If you even recognise him."

Guilt churned through Gray's stomach. "I'm sure he'd recognise me though." That is if he found me at all.

"I know he would."

They sat in silence for a few moments before Gray spoke with an air of defiance.

"Screw the risks. They can't find out Natsu is E.N.D., I won't let them. So long as they don't know they can't use me against him. I'll do anything to make sure they don't."

"Even this?"

Gray's expression was set in a pained determination. "Even this."

"I have one question for you then…"

"Yes?"

"Will he forgive you for it?"

Gray let his head loll forward to rest on his knees.

Probably not.

Gray jolted awake his body shaking and cheeks damp with tears. "Natsu," he rasped, glancing to his right, Gray noticed that he was no longer on the train. The room was much larger and cleaner than any train carriage he'd ever been in. "Natsu!" Gray soon noticed Natsu slumped in the chair next to his bed. Locks of his messy pink hair rested on his face, ruffling slightly with each breath.

A small smile crinkled at the corner of Gray's lips as he watched Natsu sleep. Though they soon disappeared as Gray remembered his dream. "I really would do anything for you, huh?" Though Gray knew that there was no way he could know the full extent of the lengths he had gone to protect Natsu. Not yet.

There was something else that worried him. E.N.D.. The unknown entity which Gray now knew to be a person. Not just anyone, but Natsu. What E.N.D. was, and why he, Gray, was the only one who could kill him was something he needed answering.

A pit of worry settled in his gut.

If I'm meant to kill E.N.D., and Natsu and E.N.D. are one and the same, then no wonder I tried to forget him…

Despite the rather shocking conclusion Gray had come to, there was so much more he didn't know. Making the decision to ask Natsu once the pinkett had woken up Gray drifted back to sleep. The words of the Natsu of his consciousness still echoing in his mind.

"Will he forgive you for it?"

This time though he knew the answer, and it was just enough for him to have a dreamless sleep.

He has forgiven me. I know he has.

#Fairy Tail #gratsu #fic: Smoke and Mirrors #Gray Fullbuster #Natsu Dragneel

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clubofinfo · 8 years ago

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Expert: From Jakarta, Surabaya, Bandung, Samarinda and Pontianak ***** Several years ago, a prominent Indonesian businessman who now resides in Canada, insisted on meeting me in a back room of one of Jakarta’s posh restaurants. An avid reader of mine, he ‘had something urgent to tell me’, after finding out that our paths were going to be crossing in this destroyed and hopelessly polluted Indonesian capital. What he had to say was actually straight to the point and definitely worth sitting two hours in an epic traffic jam: No one will be allowed to build comprehensive public transportation in Jakarta or in any other Indonesian city. If a mayor or a governor tries and defies the wishes of the ruthless business community which is in fact controlling most of the Indonesian government, he or she will be dethroned, or even totally destroyed. These ‘prophetic’ words are still ringing in my ears, several months after the complete destruction of the progressive Jakarta governor, known as Ahok (real name: Basuki Tjahaja Purnama), who tried very hard to improve the seemingly ungovernable and thoroughly destroyed city, constructing new mass transit lines (LRT), restoring old train stations, cleaning canals, attempting to build at least some basic net of sidewalks, as well as planting trees and creating parks. After Ahok’s first and extremely successful term in office, the opposition consolidated its forces. It consisted mainly of the Islamists, big business tycoons, and the military as well as other revanchist cadres (almost exclusively pro-business and pro-Western individuals) that are still controlling Indonesia. ‘Ahok’, an outsider and an ethnic Chinese, patently lost. Instead of coming to his rescue, several ‘prominent’ but corrupt city planners and architects, most of them enjoying funding from abroad, shamelessly joined the bandwagon of ‘Ahok bashing’. But even defeating Ahok was not enough. He had to be punished and humiliated, in order to discourage others from trying to replicate his socially-oriented example. Already during the election campaign, charges were brought against him, alleging that he had ‘insulted Islam’ during one of his public appearances. It was total nonsense, disputed by several leading Indonesian linguists, but in a thoroughly corrupt society (both legally and morally) it simply worked. On May 9, 2017, ‘Ahok’ was sentenced to two years in prison, and unceremoniously thrown into the dungeon. Since then, many of his projects have stopped totally, or at least were significantly slowed down. A disgusting filth has once again began covering Jakarta’s canals and rivers. For those who still believed in miracles, all hopes died. Those ‘city planners’ who still conveniently believe that one can ‘work with’ the present regime (they call it ‘government’) correctly assumed that it was once again ‘business as usual’. As ‘Ahok’ was being thrown behind bars, huge sighs of relief were almost detectable all over this misfortunate archipelago! Everything has returned to ‘normal’, at least for those who have been benefiting from the collapse of Indonesia and its cities. The clock of Indonesian history was turned back. It is now almost certain that at least for several upcoming decades, all Indonesian cities will remain what they are now – a living hell, the worst nightmare, and indisputably some of the most horrid urban areas found anywhere on Earth. But readers abroad are not supposed to know all this. Indonesian people are not supposed to understand the situation. It is now all biasa – ‘just normal, just fine. Everything is fine. Read those ANU (Australian National University) papers and you will learn that ‘Indonesia is now a normal country, like Brazil or Mexico’. Nothing extraordinary is taking place. ***** In reality, everything has collapsed. The cities have. Not metaphorically, not hyperbolically, but concretely, practically. A renowned Australian artist, George Burchett, who now resides in Hanoi, Vietnam, once visited Jakarta. For several weeks we travelled together all around the Indonesian archipelago. He was shocked and depressed. Before departing, he declared: I saw many cities, all over the world. Cities are built for the people. For the first time in my life, in Indonesia, I saw the cities that are actually built not for the people, but against the people. It is because Indonesian cities are fascist. They do not serve the needs of its citizens. On the contrary, they are designed to extract that little which is still left in the possession of the common Indonesian folks; extract and give it to the local rulers, as well as to the multi-national companies. ***** Excerpts of the most common definitions of ‘failed states’ are stated in the Encyclopedia Britannica, and can perfectly apply to both Indonesia in general, and to its cities in particular: The governing capacity of a failed state is attenuated such that it is unable to fulfill the administrative and organizational tasks required to control people and resources and can provide only minimal public services… A failed state suffers from crumbling infrastructures, faltering utility supplies and educational and health facilities, and deteriorating basic human-development indicators… Governor ‘Ahok’ tried to change the situation. Crowds cheered. Millions watched, in all the major cities of Indonesia. Hope was born, at first fragile but soon blossoming. Then suddenly: a tremendous blast, full stop, and collapse! The man who dared to inject several socialist elements into the sclerotic, brutal system, ended up behind bars. And it is now all back to the old ‘failed state’ scenario. Life is once again thoroughly empty and predictable. There is hardly any difference between the Indonesian cities. If you put a person in the center or a suburb of Jakarta, Surabaya, Bandung, Semarang, Medan, Makassar or Pontianak, he or she would have no idea, which one is which. All major streets are choked with traffic jams. There are no sidewalks, and even if there are some pathetic and narrow ones, they are overtaken by aggressive and smoke belching scooters, as well as by unregulated and unhygienic street vendor stalls. Thugs are everywhere, controlling the streets. Almost all side streets have open sewage system. When it rains, entire neighborhoods get submerged under filthy water. Tiny carts, pulled by unclean and underpaid men, collect garbage. All the cities face the same problems, and all the cities look precisely the same. Sanitation, water quality and garbage recycling facilities are at similar levels to those of the poorest sub-Saharan African countries. With food and fuel prices up many Indonesian children are forced to work Slums are omnipresent – huge and brutal. In fact, most of the neighborhoods of the Indonesian cities, called kampungs (‘villages’), could easily fit the international definitions of slums. ***** A few years ago I was invited to speak at the University of Indonesia (UI). Various students asked me: “Why? Why is all this is happening in our country? And is there any solution?” I replied that, of course, there is a solution: “socialism and central planning. But it would also have to be determined and real, and it would have to include a full-hearted anti-corruption battle, as well as a decisive ban on selling all natural resources and utilities to foreigners.” I added: “And tell your professors to stop salivating over-funding from the West, and flying to Europe in order to learn about ‘administration’, ‘good governance’ and city planning from those who have been robbing your country for several centuries.” I believe that students liked the sound of what I was saying (not sure they were still capable of understanding the meaning of my words). However, predictably, I was never invited to the UI again. ***** Indonesian cities are like open sores. Everything has been stolen from them and as a result, what makes life bearable is clearly missing. Only what the ‘elites’ do not want, is what has been left for the people. Hungry and Homeless in Jakarta There are hardly any public parks in Indonesia, at least no parks of any significance. Cities have no river or seafronts, in a striking contrast to South American, Middle Eastern and even African urban areas (not to speak of tremendous and beautiful public spaces, parks, promenades and exercise areas in China). Dirty, clogged and polluted driveways are called ‘streets’ and ‘avenues’. There are no sidewalks, or if there are, they are just one meter wide, with broken tiles or deep potholes. Where sidewalks are not really needed, there may be actually some built – along one or two streets in the very center and in front of some government buildings, connecting basically nothing. This clearly shows that nothing is actually designed for the people. It is important to understand that the government of Indonesia, on all levels, is not actually an institution that consists of men and women who are determined to improve the country and to serve its people. On the contrary! In Indonesia, a great number of politicians belong to or are somehow affiliated to the military, which has ruled the country brutally since the 1965 Western-backed military coup. That coup destroyed everything socialist and Communist, banned Communist ideas, and murdered between 1 and 3 million people, including almost all the progressive intellectuals. On top of it, most of the politicians are businesspeople, tycoons and oligarchs, and the great majority of them of unsavory reputations. They have been robbing the nation and its people for more than half of a century, and there is absolutely no reason why they should stop doing it now, or anytime soon. For these individuals, to grab the top political positions is nothing more than about maximizing the profits. ‘Indonesian democracy’ which the West loves to glorify (no wonder, as Indonesia de-facto functions as an obedient colony, plundering its own citizens and resources on behalf of the West), consists of countless political parties, of which not one of them is from the left, or defends the interests of common people. Moreover, a great majority of the ��civil society’, of the NGO’s, are subservient to Western economical and political interests. Many, if not all, of these organizations are directly funded from Washington, Berlin, London or Canberra. (I described the situation in my latest novel, Aurora. Indonesian companies and its government are one single entity. And they are decisively and in unison plundering the entire archipelago of its natural resources. The 4th most populous country on Earth produces almost nothing. (Read my book Archipelago of Fear in English and in Bahasa Indonesia). The ‘philosophy’ of this unbridled plunder is then applied to ‘urbanism’; to the way Indonesian cities are governed and basically abandoned to the markets. Not even in Africa where I lived and worked for several years, is there such absolute and shameless theft of urban land by the elites (of which members of government are part). Once all this is determined, to understand the reality of Indonesia and its cities becomes much easier. Once this is defined, Indonesian cities ‘begin to make sense’. ***** In reality, there is not much that could be called ‘urban’ in the Indonesian cities. Be it a city like Pontianak with 600,000 inhabitants, or Jakarta with 12 million (28 million including the surrounding cities and suburbs). Wherever one goes, profit over people is taken to the extreme. Like those logged out, mined out and polluted islands of the archipelago, Indonesian cities are designed in a way that brings maximum income to the extremely small group of individuals and businesses. The price has to be paid by the impoverished, often ill, badly-educated, and literally choking majority. The tremendously low level of media outlets, education, pop entertainment, as well as constant religious encroachment and feudal family structures, are purposefully spread and upheld, so the population does not think, does not doubt and does not rebel. The results are shocking. Indonesian cities are like palm oil plantations or open-pit mines, with some elements of military barrack colonies (of course, there are some special quarters for the overseers, with large and kitschy houses, like those that dot South Jakarta). Here, nothing is constructed to make life great, colorful, ecstatic, meaningful and happy. There are no permanent concert halls, no theatres, and no grand public museums (one that recently opened is private, and serves to further politically indoctrinate people, this time targeting the ‘urban middle class’). There are no pedestrian neighborhoods, and no free and public seafronts. Not one architecturally valuable structure has been constructed in any Indonesian city after the 1965/66 military/religious coup. In Indonesia, a ‘public area’ is synonymous with a mall, in fact, with countless malls of various sizes and qualities. Inside the malls, there are chain eateries and chain shops, as well as cafes. There are also a few cinemas, showing mostly Hollywood junk or local horror films. On the weekends, there are bands playing old Western and Indonesian pop tunes, offering absolutely no variety. Some 50 songs are recycled again and again. The most favorite is, predictably: “I did it my way”. There is nothing ‘extra’ in the Indonesian cities. Here everything is stripped to absolute basics: you somehow survive on your meager salary (with prices, at least for the food and consumer goods being as high or higher than in Tokyo or Paris), you somehow move to your workplace and back, sitting for hours every day in horrific traffic jams as there is no public transportation even in such cities with 2-3 million inhabitants, like Surabaya or Bandung. You cook and wash your dishes and clothes in terribly polluted water, and try to save on outrageously high electricity bills. There is absolutely nothing to do in your neighborhood. There is, of course, always a mosque nearby or sometimes a church, if that’s what you fancy. There are no parks, no playgrounds for children. There is no sidewalk to walk to a cafe, and so, if you want to actually go to a cafe or to a bookstore (all the bookstores in Indonesia are increasingly poorly stocked and heavily censored), you have to jump onto your scooter or into your car again, if you have any strength left. The chances are – you have no time for anything, anyway. A 3-4 hours long daily commute, your exhausting work, and all you have time for is to collapse in front of the television set and get indoctrinated, neutralized and idiotized even further. You learn to smile when you actually want to die, or at least to shout. You sense that nothing could ever change for better, and that your life is finished, perhaps at 25, or even earlier. Eventually, some people do it sooner than others: you become religious, and you become traditional, conservative and ‘family-oriented’. There is nothing else, really. The cities of Indonesia will make sure that there is nothing else. They are the perfect machines, manufacturing obedience, extracting everything from human beings, and giving nothing in return. ***** I often describe the coup of 1965 as a “Cultural Hiroshima”. While in Japan, the US openly experimented on the health of millions of human beings, in Indonesia the experiment was of a totally different nature. The area of interest to the Empire was: What would happen with a progressive anti-imperialist nation that counts on a complex and diverse culture, if it is bathed in blood, if its theatres and film studios are shut down, 40% of teachers get murdered, women from left-wing organizations get their breasts amputated, writers are locked in Buru Island concentration camp, and urban planners are thought to design cities like Houston, Dallas or LA, but in a country with salaries that are 10% or less than those of the U.S.A.? The answer is simple: “It would turn into Indonesia. It would become Jakarta, as it is now”. For the Western demagogues and the imperialist planners, “Indonesia” and “Jakarta” are not only the names of the country and the city: they are names of the concept, of a model. This model, forced on the colonies, is perfect for the West and its interests. Jakarta: One of better public sidewalks It is also perfect for the Indonesian ‘elites’, who are often getting dirty at home, plundering all they can, but do relax and play and often evacuate their entire families to Singapore, California, Australia, Hong Kong and many other ‘safe and clean’ places. It is the cheapest; the most efficient of concepts designed to plunder, and to royally fuck a nation. Not surprisingly, the West has tried to replicate this ‘successful Indonesian model’ in many parts of the world. It even tried to inject it into Russia, after the USSR was first mortally wounded and then destroyed. It tried to force it on Chile… My much older friends in Santiago told me that before the 9-11-1973 coup perpetrated by General Pinochet on behalf of the West and its companies, several people around President Allende were threatened by the right-wingers: “Watch out, Jakarta is coming!” ***** Jakarta came! It is here, all over Indonesia, in all of its cities, and to varying degrees in most of the countries that have fallen under the Western neo-colonialist boot. But what does it really mean, ‘Jakarta’? Is it just a name or is it also a verb, an infinitive? “To Jakarta…” It is ‘to take everything away from the people and to give nothing back’. ‘To Jakarta’ is to lie and to loot and to convince human beings, through long decades of indoctrination, that everything is just fine, and as should be. ‘To Jakartize’ the nation is to make almost the entire population irrelevant, to deliver the loot on the silver trays to both local and foreign rulers, leaving only dirty and polluted rivers and canals behind, as well as tremendous traffic jams, smog, bizarre overpasses with no escalators, and broken tiles along the driveways. Even filthy beach in Jakarta is for a fee The ‘Jakartized population’ is obedient, explosively violent, edgy, but not towards the regime, turbo-capitalism, corrupt elites and their Western masters, but towards each other, as well as towards the minorities. Jakarta gets very little criticism from the official mainstream Western and local media, and almost no genuine analysis from academia. No surprise: to attack the reality of the Indonesian cities is like attacking the entire Western neo-colonialist system imposed on various parts of the world. To tell the truth would destroy any journalistic career, as it would torpedo almost any chance for a well-remunerated university tenure! Very often, all that one could expect in terms of a realistic description of the situation in Indonesia, are random exclamations overheard on board departing airplanes, or some ‘anecdotal evidence’ from the pages of travel magazines and blogs. It appears that what normal people see with their own eyes is in direct contradiction with what the mainstream media and academia presents as ‘facts’. On 17 September 2017, a Malaysian newspaper The Star wrote: Based on a real-time air quality index uploaded to the Airvisual application at midday on Friday, Sept 15, Jakarta ranked third as the most polluted city in the world… In mid-August, the application showed that Jakarta was at the top of the list, followed by Ankara, Turkey and Lahore, Pakistan. “Escape Here” magazine ranked Jakarta as the No1 city in its report “The 10 Worst Traffic Cities in the World”: It happens to be the country’s capital and one of the most poorly designed cities in the World, a combination that makes getting around here a disaster. An ever-increasing number of car owners that come from the expansion of suburbia that surrounds this mega-city are to be blamed for the 400 hours a year that citizens spend in traffic. It is actually hailed as being the worst traffic in the world. It doesn’t seem like there is any solution for this mega-city as the infrastructure here falls into the hands of the local government and contracts are renegotiated annually; which means long-term projects are pretty much impossible. An average trip in this city takes about 2 hours… On 2 September 2015, even the official propaganda English language newspaper of Indonesia, the Jakarta Post, re-published the survey ranking the horrendous Indonesian capital as the 9th ‘un-friendliest city on Earth’: Jakarta, the Indonesian capital notorious for gridlocks and bad air pollution, ranks 9th among the world’s least friendly cities this year, a recent survey by an international travel magazine shows. Readers of the highly regarded luxury travel magazine Conde Nast Traveler included Jakarta for the first time on its ’10 unfriendliest cities in the world’ list this year. In the survey, one of the readers said Jakarta was ‘the scariest place I have ever been to ‘with its congestion and aggressive locals. The ‘scariest place’: but, of course! What could one expect from the capital city of the country that in the last half a century has committed 3 monstrous genocides (against its own population in 1965/66, against the people of East Timor and an on going genocide against the people of Papua)? What could one expect from cities that have been totally robbed of green spaces and, in fact, of everything that could be called ‘public’, where the arts have disappeared and where absolutely everything has become commercialized; where everything and everybody is now expected to be the same – behave the same way, look the same way, sound the same way, taste the same way. Try to look different, and if you are a Papuan, Chinese, African, or white, just try to walk on those broken tiny sidewalks of Surabaya, Jakarta, Pontianak, or Medan. You will be shouted at; you will immediately become the target of naked racism. People will stop and point fingers, or worse. A few days ago I filmed from a boat sailing on a polluted river passing through Pontianak city, on an island in Borneo. Two children on the shore immediately raised their middle fingers and began yelling: “Fuck you!” Just like that: with no warning and for no reason. And this is, of course, not the worst that could happen. If I was Chinese… were I an African… Everybody knows it. Nobody speaks about it, nobody writes… According to Western ‘analysts’ and academics, Indonesia is a ‘democratic’ and ‘tolerant’ nation. The deeper it is sinking, the more oppressive and intolerant it becomes, the more devastated it gets, and the more it is glorified. Lies are piled up on lies. “The Emperor has beautiful clothes’, everybody shouts, as in that old children’s tale. But, in fact, he is naked! It is clearly “political correctness” at work. One is supposed to be ‘sensitive’ to the local ‘culture’, religion, and way of life. The only defect of this approach is that in countries such as Indonesia, the local culture, its way of life and even the extremely aggressive religions, are all the direct result of the fascist regime that was directly imposed onto this nation by the West after the 1965/66 slaughter. Had the socialist pre-1965 course be allowed to naturally flow, Indonesia would now be a truly normal, socially-balanced, secular and tolerant nation, and its cities would serve the people, instead of the other way around. Just a normal river in Jakarta Here, the ‘political correctness’, is once again, protecting the crimes against humanity that have been committed by the West, by the local elites and the military, as well as by the religious leaders. The local ‘culture’ is not being protected at all, as it is actually dead, murdered. The cities are dead as well. Their carcasses are stinking, horrifying, monstrous, stripped of all hope. People living in them are choking, humiliated, marginalized, unwell, and constantly robbed by the system. Bizarrely, it takes an elitist magazine like Conde Nast to notice… It takes random travellers to speak out… One would never read such comments in the reports coming out of the Australian National University or on the pages of the New York Times. ***** Just outside the city of Surabaya, the second largest city in Indonesia, on the Island of Madura, several enormous ships are being manually cut into pieces and sold for scrap by destitute local people. Periodically things explode, collapse, and people lose their faces or limbs. It is a horrible sight: truly haunted, disturbing. Just like in Bangladesh, although here, it goes almost unnoticed. In many ways, I believe that the Indonesian cities resemble those ships, and those polluted coastal areas where the ships are broken into thousands of parts and then sold. Once proud, they are now humiliated, in pain, being torn to pieces while still alive. Only real fascism can treat its citizens this way; only a regime that has lost its marbles, and gone thoroughly insane. Indonesia cities… What do they really consist of? Well, they are made of those tiny and crammed homes, filthy canals, potholed driveways, of indescribable pollution, of mosques and churches. Then there are a few office towers in their centers, countless shopping malls and several luxury hotels where the elites can escape and take some rest from the daily nightmare, which is ‘normal life’ here. Golf courses everywhere, but no decent public parks, as even those few green areas have been already thoroughly privatized. ***** Now the former governor of Jakarta, ‘Ahok’, is in jail for daring to change things; for building public transportation, cleaning the rivers and building a few tiny parks. He is in jail for relocating squatters to public housing, and for trying to serve the impoverished and humiliated majority. His clearly socialist deeds were immediately smeared and discredited by the elites, by the Western-funded NGO’s and by corrupt city planners. Even when this could not stop his determination and zeal, religion was unleashed. Most of the religions are, after all, regressive, pro-business oriented, and ready to support any fascist regime. ***** How much deeper can Indonesian cities sink? When are they going to become uninhabitable? People are already dying; thousands are, unnecessarily – from cancer, from stress, from respiratory diseases. Millions of human beings are wasting their lives. They are alive, but it is only a bare existence, not really life: they are moving mechanically, cutting through the filthy air on their scooters, eating junk food, constantly surrounded by decay and ugliness. Why? For how much longer? The forests of Borneo, Sumatra and Papua are burning. All over this archipelago, everything is logged out, consumed by mines, ruined by monstrous pollution. The extraction and looting of natural resources is the only real economic ‘engine’ of today’s Indonesia. The cities are not faring much better. They are actually not faring any better at all. It is time to wake up, or it could get too late. But the nation appears to be in a total slumber. It does not notice, anymore, that it is really in freefall. It was conditioned not to notice. It was made to accept, even to celebrate its own collapse. Those who forced Indonesia into all this will not tell. As long as there is at least something left, something that can be extracted, utilized, looted, they will be cheering this great Indonesia’s ‘success’ and ‘progress’. I encourage all those people from all over the world who would want to see the true face of neo-colonialism, of savage capitalism and right wing disaster, to come to the Indonesian cities! Come and see with your own eyes. Come and take a walk; don’t hide in your comfortable cities full of leafy parks, concert halls, art cinemas, public transportation and theatres. This is real. This is a warning to the world! Come and see how cities look like in a country where Communism and socialism are banned, where a colony does not even realize that it being colonized, and where everything is served on huge silver plates straight into the gullet of that monster called fascism. Ketapang, West Borneo, Indonesia • All photos by Andre Vltchek http://clubof.info/

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