#water as a fluid goes where it pleases it refuses to be contained forever

[i-growl-growl-growl]

My Strong Rebel

Genre: Prisoner of war au

Pairing: Yeosang x Seonghwa (other Ateez members make appearances throughout the story)

Word count: ~3.1k

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Warning: this fic contains: dubcon, noncon/r*pe, profuse cussing, abuse/torture, neglect, & mentions of war throughout the series. If you are sensitive to any of these topics DON’T READ THIS FIC.  (also, please keep in mind that this is a re-hash of an EXTREMELY old fanfic that I wrote and it was written using idol ships so, if you’re not into shipping idols with each other, like I no longer am, then there’s another reason not to read this)

(If there are any problems that you have with this fanfic upon reading it, please message me politely stating the problem and if it’s dire enough then I’ll take the fanfiction down. Please DO NOT bombard me with threats. I’m willing to work with people as long as they deal with the situation appropriately.)

~Savie

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“Who the fuck are you?”

Yeosang glares up at the guy, but only sees a silhouette at the top of the filthy stairs. He’s been in the dark so long that his eyes won’t allow for his sight to adjust to the light shining through the open door where the figure currently stands. Light digs at the shards of glass but he sees enough to know that this guy isn’t one of the usuals. He holds himself differently than those assholes.

The guy doesn’t answer, he just slams the door shut again.

Yeosang sinks back down onto the floor. His leg is killing him, but he always manages to haul himself to his feet when the door starts to scrape open. He won’t give these assholes the satisfaction of seeing him on the ground. No, if they want him on the ground, they can fucking put him there themselves. Which they do, and have done since the day he was captured. Forcing him down into the dirt, kicking his legs apart, and fucking him till they get enough of their fill and he’s nearly passed out from exhaustion.

The first time…… Yeosang doesn’t allow himself to think of the first time. It was rough. He allows only that concession: it was rough.

But there’s that quote in his head he can’t quite remember. That one about other people needing your permission to make you feel humiliated. Was it humiliated? Or was it lesser? Maybe it was neither of those things. Doesn’t matter. Point is, Yeosang has not given these assholes the permission.

They can break him physically… and oh hasn’t that been a wondrous fucking joy for him to be put through… but they can’t fucking touch him mentally. Not a single, solitary, slim, god damn chance!

Yeosang draws his bad leg up and messages the kneecap. If it was broken, he wouldn’t be able to bend it right? Hurts like all hell though. The flesh around it is swollen with fluid and the skin is busted too plus, whatever it is that leaks out the lifting scabs stinks like death. It’s filthy, rancid, and Yeosang is pleased about that. He’s looking forward to dying of the infection.

And all without a single word passing his lips about the rebellion.

Which is another thing he doesn’t allow himself to think about. He buries that deeper in his mind than the memory of his first night as a captive, afraid that he can’t trust himself. Afraid that one day he’ll blurt it all out just because it hurts, and he’s not in the right mind, and he hasn’t had a conversation in fucking months not to mention that sometimes it even feels like the things they promise him: clean clothes rather than the tattered remains of cloth that still… somehow… manage to cling to his body, food… hot and fresh food, not the kind he is rarely fed now that stinks of rot and has mold growing from all that rests on the nearly empty plates they serve him… cigarettes, some nice, hot and strong coffee or fresh, cold water.. Whatever his thirst desires, medical attention….. Would be worth it.

Yeosang isn’t a traitor though, not even a martyr at that either but it turns out those are his only choices, and as much as he would like to be free from pain, even if only for a mere moment... for a slight little second of time… he can’t do it. Not because he’s a true believer in the cause but just because he can’t let these fuckers break him. Yeosang refuses to give them the smirking satisfaction of capitulating.

It gets harder for him to keep his stance up with every passing day, every passing hour, every passing second, but that’s okay.

♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦

“Who the fuck are you?”

It’s been a long time since a prisoner greeted him with a snarl like that. Seonghwa slams the door again. ‘I thought you said he’d been here for five months.”

“Yes, sir” the guard, Yunho, replies “well, 147 days to be right on the mark if you want to be technical about it.”

Seonghwa leads the way back outside, glad to get the stench of the cells away from him, “and how exactly does a man who’s been a prisoner for 147 days still have any fight in him?” he wonders aloud. “How is he even still alive at this point, most prisoners like him would, and have been, killed off by now” he thinks to himself.

Yunho swipes his tongue over his chapped lips. “No idea, sir. That one’s a fighter that’s all I’ve got to say, he just refuses to break. Nothing can get to him, it’s like he’s superman in disguise... or ironman.”

Seonghwa consults his paperwork although he knows the prisoner’s details well enough already: Kang Yeosang, nearly twenty years old… “hmmm” Seonghwa chuckles to himself yet another time as he looks at the paperwork, vehicle repair man for the fifth battalion. “Vehicle repair man? Well at least he isn’t a cook like all the others supposedly say they are” the officer huffs through a breath. Yeosang has no family, or at least none that he’s willing to tell anyone about or none that Seonghwa himself can find through documents of the specific prisoner, from paper documentation or whatever documentation there is left on the nearly nonexistent internet anymore. The only thing he has been able to find was an unmarried mother who died when Yeosang was nineteen. No siblings for all anyone knows, but possibly an extended family somewhere in the world from the father’s side of the prisoner’s family but it’s impossible to tell.

And yet, Seonghwa squints into the sunlight, the men who have families break easier, earlier: “Please just let me go home”, “I want to see my wife and kids”, “please spare me, I have a family, I want to live to see them again”… Maybe Kang Yeosang really is alone in this pathetic excuse of a world. Seonghwa knows that feeling, he knows it well enough that he can work with it.

♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦⇔♦

“On your knees worthless, rat bitch!”

“Fuck you!”

Yeosang goes down, like always, when the guard hits him in the knees with his metal baseball bat but he goes down fighting.

They twist his arms behind his back and cuff his wrists, wrench his torn and tattered pants down and kick his feet apart and push his head down. Yeosang still struggles, only stopping when he feels the press of a boot on the back of his neck. He pants into the dirt, he can see the brightness of a flashlight shining at the edge of his vision, blinding him. He blinks his squinted eyes rapidly until he can see better past the brightness of the light and his sight manages to focus upon a pair of boots, these boots are different from the others though, they aren’t worn out or scuffed up like the rest that the other guards commonly wear, these ones are new… probably fresh out of the shoe making factory. Yeosang twists his head to see and realizes that the boots belong to the same man from earlier today, the one who stood on the stairs… well, the same broad silhouette at least.

“What’s your name?” the man asks.

Yeosang turns his face back into the dirt, clenching his jaw as he avoids the inquiry.

A guard kicks him in the ribs and he bucks away from the pain with a pained hiss, hitting his injured knee hard on the way back down and is almost swept away in the wave of pain that courses over him but, then the boot is back on his neck, pressing him into the dirt.

“I know what it is, even if you don’t tell me” the man says “it’s Yeosang, Kang Yeosang.”

No one has called him by his name in forever. Ever since he came here he’s been rat, bitch, slut, cunt, or timber… because of the way he’d go down as the guards knocked him to the floor. It almost made him gasp, hearing his true name spoken aloud like that so suddenly, spoken with such quiet intensity that his eyes sting.

“Why’d you fucking ask then fucking dumbass bitch?” he hisses and growls into the dirt as he feels hands on his hips and the weight of an overly large man kneeling between his thighs.

There is a hint of amusement in the man’s voice when he answers “I wondered how it would sound if you said it yourself, or as I should say, when you say it yourself.”

“Keep wondering asshole, you’ve got nothing from me” Yeosang thinks but keeps quiet otherwise.

He flinches as a fat finger digs into his ass, dry. They always go in dry. He grinds his jaw intensely to keep any sound from escaping him. An already wet cock drags up and down his crack until it finds its target and presses in with a thrust. The breath shudders out of him that he had been holding because everything fucking hurts, but he won’t let them know, not willingly anyways. At least it’s easier than the first night, every day since then his body bends and breaks a little more than before but his mind doesn’t, it stays as strong as ever because he won’t let it shatter.

He is pushed forward with every thrust, every grunt, until blood eases the path of the guard’s cock a slight bit. His injured knee scrapes against the filthy floor of the cell, sometimes a dull throb and other times a sharp, ragged, tearing pain that pulls him close to the edge of unconsciousness. Yeosang wouldn’t fight that if it were to happen but the pain is never quite enough to take him over that welcomed edge.

“Get your boot off his neck” the ‘new boots man’ commands with a sharp wisp of his voice. “Lift his head for me.”

Yeosang squinted into the more brightened light of the flashlight shining in his eyes now as his head is harshly lifted from the floor.

“Ah” the man says, nothing more, nothing less, for what seems to the prisoner like a lifetime.

It’s hard to breathe with his neck pulled back, with those fingers twisting in his hair and digging into his scalp because his hair isn’t relatively long.

Only four guards take him tonight and Yeosang takes the opportunity to breathe, to hold onto his anger when they change positions. He tells himself that there’s no need to feel ashamed because he’s fought them every chance he got, and he will continue to do so, what they are doing to him now and what they’ve done in the past hasn’t brought him down, and he’s proud.

With each induced pain Yeosang’s resolve only hardens. He hates these men. He didn’t understand what hate was before them but he sure as hell knows now. Hate has become the core of him, when he’s dead, they’ll find it written on his bones.

“There now” the silhouette man says in a soothing tone “that’s how we ride traitors, Kang Yeosang.”

The mentioned male is rocked back and forth as the fourth guard thrusts inside him. He blinks, trying to clear his vision, trying to clear his mind. He can’t really reconcile the man’s tone with his words, either Yeosang is a traitor they hate as much as he hates them or… no, no it’s a trick, of course it is, he can’t fall for this, it’s a new tactic to try and break him, and he won’t let that happen, he’s not a traitor, they’re lying to him. That moment of confusion amid all of this pain is nothing but a way to attempt to weaken his resistance. Yeosang might not understand it but he doesn’t have to, he knows its purpose although not recognizing the method.

He doesn’t care that they think of him as a traitor, they can call him every name in the book and he won’t give a shit, he still won’t open his mouth to defend himself, to engage is to have lost the battle. He learned that much in his battalion.

“Do you remember the Unjsa?”

Yeosang bites his lip, holding back a groan as he is fucked. He can feel blood and cum leaking down his thighs. Fucking Fuckers! He’ll kill them all one day, revisit every moment of torment he’s suffered but have it inflicted upon their bodies instead of his own, he’ll do it until they beg him to kill them, until they beg him for their very deaths.

“There is a row of statues of Buddhists praying after you get through the front gate of the temple. The temple has many statues of Buddhists and pagodas, A pagoda is a tiered tower with multiple ledges, but there is one that many people call the “rice bowl pagoda” because instead of ledges, it has circles but the ledges are used for storing relics.”  The unidentified man with the new boots says as though he’s not even here, as though he’s not watching Yeosang being r*ped, as though none of this is even real. “They’re very beautiful… both the statues and pagodas.”

Suddenly he can see the statues and the pagodas and the mountains and hills that surrounds the area, he remembers the view of the place, and the temple itself.

Longing stabs through him, not for the temple that he was always so entranced with when he visited the sight back in Hwasun County of South Jeolla province, nor for his life before joining the rebellion when the new war began, which he is sure is the point that the man is trying to force, but something simpler… sunlight… he wants sunlight.

Panic flares within the prisoner. No, they will not exploit any weakness, they will not get me to give in! They will pry him open and tear him apart if that happens.

“Do you remember Unjusa?” the man asks quietly.

Yeosang wants to laugh but groans instead as his knee is jolted and he twists his face towards the light. “Unjusa. Is that all you got?”

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At this point Seonghwa thinks it would be a simple kindness to put a bullet in the man’s head and he might have as well if the man hadn’t of shown his hand like that.

“Unjusa. Is that all you got?”

Yeah, right.

Kang Yeosang knows exactly what Seonghwa was looking for there. Common ground, a shared memory, the first step on the path to what the officer would call cooperation, and the prisoner would call treason. It’s somewhere in the middle, probably. Common sense, self-preservation. That part of a human being that however brutalized, still wants to live, even if it’s only for revenge.

That particular fantasy is written all over his face.

Seonghwa watches as the fourth soldier r*pes the other male, which is not a pretty sight especially right now. He’s filthy and in obvious pain, but the stubborn brat still takes it like a champ, not breaking as his face is twisted in hatred.

The taller man in power steps forward and puts his hand on the tortured man’s lower back, he can feel the muscles shifting as he is rocked back and forth by his r*pist, his skin is hot and damp from sweat and possibly a fever.

“Did it hurt Mr. Kang?” he asks suddenly “The first time, did it hurt?”

Yeosang doesn’t answer but Seonghwa didn’t expect him to. Tonight is for getting to know his subject and he doesn’t expect to accomplish much.

“I think it did” he trails his hand up Yeosang’s spine, feeling each shuddering knot. “I think you wonder how anyone could ever enjoy it. You probably never had a cock inside you before you were captured, did you?”

Yeosang twists his head away and earns a slap from the man who had been holding his hair.

The officer enjoys the feel of Yeosang’s skin sliding over the bones of his spine. “Did you cry? Did you cry when they r*ped you?” He leans closer to the man. “It’s okay to cry.”

He earns a growl from deep within the other’s throat and he smiles at that as he leans back. So this is a wrong track to take with this one, this one won’t be broken the same way other are broken, he’s not afraid of pain.

“Or did you take it?” he asks “Like the cock-hungry whore that you are?”

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The words don’t sting, Yeosang is too strong for that and too used to hearing those words being said to him, what had been taken from him in this place has been taken from him by force alone, not by any sense of will, he knows that, he knows it to his core but still something inside him wavers.

It’s not the words that weaken him, it’s the touch. The touch from the other reminds him of…. No! he’s confused by the man’s touch, it’s not hurting him or an assailant but it’s also not remaining distant enough to be a voyeur either. If there’s a point the man is trying to impress upon him, he doesn’t know what it is. He can feel the warmth of the man’s palm against his skin. Not knowing the intention of the touch makes it almost unbearable, worse, somehow, than the fingers digging into his hips and the cock up his ass. At least he understands those things.

He stares into the flashlight, shutting down his mind, and waits for this to be over.

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Interesting.

No wonder the guards haven’t broken him yet.

Seonghwa sees a flash of pain on Yeosang’s face that is different from the rest of the prisoner’s facial expressions that he’s been blessed to see during his time working with him.

He smiles. “Ah, perhaps not a cock-hungry whore after all, and…” he lowers his voice, making his tone conspiratorial “and maybe not a virgin either. You liked this, once.”

A hit. He sees the smaller male flinch, he falters, but holds himself up.

Seonghwa keeps his hand on the man, maintaining their contact while the fourth guard continues to pound into him from behind. He silently marvels at the man’s resilience, but he’s not as strong as he thinks he is, the officer has figured that out now. Nobody is ever as strong as they believe they are. He just needs to keep attacking the other with gentleness, seeking a way in, and the man will eventually speak to him.

All that anger, all that pain: he’ll be desperate to unload it to the only kind voice that he currently knows.

Well, not kind, but in a dark place filled with monsters, Seonghwa will become Yeosang’s only option.