#I miss drawing my golden punching bag lmao

[niaojirou]

Familiar faces, familiar faces.

(Colonel, you're not supposed to exist here.)

[angclhyunjin]

operational errors | spy!minho

desc: in your line of work, grudges and secrets run abundant. vulnerability can be your greatest asset or your biggest weakness. sometimes its both. or; spy!minho, enemies to lovers, bestfriend!hyunjin, lots of angst!! some sexual content & swearing

word count: 2.894

note: sorry for that hiatus, uni got so extra lmao. i have a pianist!taeil fic in the works as well and requests are still open! also lmk if you want a part 2 to this or an alternate ending

you dropped the files on your desk, leaning back in your seat to take a breather. as you silently celebrate having given the final touches to your paperwork, you’re rudely interrupted by a slam on your desk.

you look up to see another mountain of paper, and a very overly pleased hwang hyunjin standing behind your desk. he was usually your best friend in this line of work, but right now you couldn’t have hated him more.

“boss wants to see these done by tonight,” he smiles, and you groan out loud.

“all of this? and what do you have to do?” you throw at him.

“not my fault you fucked up your last mission,” he shrugs back, moving the pile aside to sit on the desk, stretching out like he owned it. you move forward to push him off and he casually dodges it.

“that wasn’t my fault and you know it.” hes pissing you off on purpose and you can feel yourself taking the bait. “if it wasn’t for that complete imbecile i would’ve had him! i swear to god, i don’t know why we’re assigned partners, i could have had him—“

you’re referring to, of course, the event that’s been plaguing you for months now. it had been a routine mission, a threat to some ambassador, everything classified and hush-hush as per usual. it was supposed to be easy: infiltrate, find the source, get the hell out. or it would have been, if it hadn’t been for your interfering partner.

lee minho, the dictionary definition for self aggrandizing, egoistic, over confident—need i go on? he had insisted on straying from the route you had planned out weeks in advance, one moment there and gone the next. complete radio silence for two minutes and forty seconds. and then—an ear-piercing blast that had shaken the foundation of the building, eliciting screams from all around. amongst the chaos, you saw minho in close combat with a figure in all black, clearly the threat you had been ordered to stamp out without anyone noticing. you only had time to watch as the figure roundhouse-kicked minho, knocking him flat before vanishing in smoke. it had been too late. the damage had been done. no lives lost but countless injured, the embassy on high alert and your agency disgraced.

so because of his incompetence, you had been confined to your office, staring at the same desk lamp and wall paintings every single day. you missed the adrenaline, the chase, all the reasons you had joined your agency in the first place. everyday, the longing grew more intense, and the only way to cope with it was throwing all the blame on the one who deserved it the most. you avoided minho at all costs, not trusting what you would do to him once he actually talked to you—which he hadn’t for a while now, probably wallowing in his own shame. his mistake could have cost him everything, but he had always been high in the ranks, a favorite, the golden boy. his spotless reputation had gone but he remained.

regretfully, you thought bitterly.

“come on,” hyunjin urged, jumping off the desk and sending a few papers flying. “get these over with so we can go train. that always cheers you up!”

it’s true, your lip curled. training was the only way you could lose yourself to action, though your opponents were merely simulations or dummies. anything worked at this point. sometimes you would convince hyunjin to engage in hand-to-hand combat, something he always whines against, saying he didn’t want to ‘mess up his pretty hands, knives always make such a mess’. once he started, though, he was a deft opponent, smoothly dodging hits and bringing down his own knife in swift, smooth movements. plus, the boy could land a mean punch.

he leaves, and your head teeters before landing face down on the desk in defeat. you’re in for a long night.

your feet slide forward easily as you draw closer to your target, assessing the distance between it and you before closing it in a sharp gesture. you hit it, slaps resounding on the dummy as the intensity of your punches grows. as a finale, you kick it sideways, grabbing it with both your thighs and slamming it to the ground with you on top of it.

you breathe heavily for a while, feeling the blood rush before the sound of a door opening permeates the otherwise empty training room. your eyes swivel and lock with some very familiar, very wide ones.

minho enters the room like he owns it, choosing to then ignore your gaze and proceed towards the punching bag. he wraps his hands with gauze, taking his time while you turn angrily to the front, letting go of the dummy and beginning to hit it with renewed vigor. the absolute nerve of him, you think as he begins punching the bag, quick bursts that grate your head. everything he does pisses you off, and yet you continue hitting the dummy. this is /your safe space. he won’t drive you away.

for a while, your noises intermingle, the silence between punches growing louder as you grow angrier, your mind spouting with reminders of what he did. it replays in your mind, and with a loud grunt you fling your leg at the dummy, making it fly to the other end of the training room, almost hitting minho in the process. he stops hitting the punching bag for a second, arms poised, and you think i’ve pushed it, amazing. but he continues on as if nothing happened.

clenching your teeth, you move towards him, reaching for the dummy. as your back faces his, you hear him finally speak up.

“that level of anger won’t work so well for you on the field.”

he’s barely audible, still hitting the bag as he had been, but you can hear the smirk in his voice. you circle quickly, almost restraining yourself from hitting him.

“you’re the last person who should be telling me what to or what not to do on the field.” you shoot back, and he turns for just a second to look at you before shrugging and continuing.

“get over it,” he intones, “you aren’t the one with the 24/7 surveillance following them everywhere.”

“i’m the one holed up in the office because you couldn’t keep your head on straight for one measly mission.” you have to stop yourself from yelling, furious with his nonchalance.

he shifts back to ignoring you, as if suddenly bored with the whole exchange he had started. you don’t know if he intended to rile you up, but it worked.

“i don’t care if you’re being stalked even while you eat, you had absolutely no right to deter from the mission. we had clear cut instructions, we all knew the risks, and it’s completely your fault you decided to fuck off and try to take all the credit for our mission. i can only expect that much from you—“

“don’t you dare act like you know me.” he's turned completely now, eyes darkening, finally paying attention. you’re not one to stop, though

“i don’t need to, everyone knows you! big shot with the rank and attitude. of course you’d want the glory for yourself, at any kind of risk. do you know how many people could have died because of your ego, how much was at risk—“

“shut up.” 

he storms towards you, slamming his fist on the wall next to you. “i’m not fucking stupid, of course i knew. stop assuming you know fucking everything with your holier-than-thou attitude, that you know anything about me.”

“then why don’t you enlighten me, huh?” you yell back at his face, dangerously close to yours but you’re beyond care. his expression falters for a second, the anger lines seizing and you grab onto that. “why don’t you tell me why you ran off, leaving me—“

“BECAUSE I KNEW HIM!”

everything is quiet. there it is, the crack in his voice, his harried expression. minho betrays his first hint of weakness, and you have no idea what to do except gape at him, no idea what this means for him.

“the academy i trained at was for children,” he begins, his voice quieter now, echoing around the room. “i grew up there, found my family there. one person, actually. he was there through everything. we weren’t allowed to betray any emotion, complain even once, but with him i could say anything and it would be okay, he would listen. i trusted him.” he laughed bitterly at that. “i trusted him with my life. so when he was thrown out of the academy, i tried to go after him. find out why, because of course they would never tell us.”

he pauses for a second, reflecting on it. his head fell back against the wall, managing to look you in the eye.

“they just told me he was dead. that’s what i went on believing for the past four years. that’s what i believed until i saw him that day in the embassy. it’s why i snapped and ran after him. i didn’t know he was the one we were after. the pieces didn’t click until i saw him with the detonator, before he—“ his words stumble and halt, and you can tell how much the blast actually affected him. it’s written on his face, in the lines under his eyes, the permanent resignation in his shoulders. you’re hit by the fact that no, this wasn’t his fault.

you begin to realize just how young he is, how young the both of you are. the agency isn’t an easy business, and thrusting you into the world like this with no regard for your past, your childhood, is cruel. you can still remember the loneliness of growing up in confinement, how you hadn’t been able to breathe in fear of angering one of your teachers. until hyunjin had entered your life, it had just been wall after wall enclosing you, not letting anybody in.

you can feel a wall drop as you listen to minho, feel the loss in the air.

“but what i’ve come to realize is,” he continues, shocking you out of your thoughts, “is that they were right.”

you’re about to ask about what when he closes the conversation for you.

“he’s dead. the person i knew and trusted is dead. and that’s all.” he takes his leave, the door swinging loudly as his footsteps recede. you’re left there with the weight of his words and a punching bags still swinging slightly, chains rustling before they settle.

your relationship with minho, though rocky after this outburst, seemed to settle slowly into terse nods and small smiles over the next few weeks. he could talk to you now, exchange a few details about whatever your files held, work related small talk that was a big step up from the previous glares you gave him. hyunjin noticed, and with a shocked gasp proceeded to pester you with questions, how on earth lee minho had redeemed himself in your eyes. you couldn’t tell him, settling on ‘well, i let bygones be bygones’ as a weak explanation to which hyunjin’s brow furrowed, knowing you were keeping something from him but chose not to interfere. instead, he began hinting, something so much worse.

“there goes lover boy,” he would whisper to you as minho walked past, earning a swift quick to his shin which he only laughed at. “so, y/n, i walked past the training room and your man looked really lonely there. want to go give him some company?” you could withstand it, but it irked you.

minho the human being, the person was a completely new idea to you and you had almost no idea how to approach it. sometimes you caught the falter in his steps, the genuine bow in his shoulders that reminded you of what he had told you. it was then that you decided to take your own course of action.

a few sleepless nights, countless strings pulled, and many blocked firewalls had been intercepted before you found the data that had been guarded from you; details of the mission, the notes relating to it, the attachment lee minho had to the adversary, christopher bang, who had been contained for releasing agency secrets and had escaped, going rogue. he had been missing until now, his location closely tracked by the agency. he had cropped up in many places over the years; australia, malaysia, singapore, finally settling down in uzbekistan now. having compiled all of this data, you walked into the training room once more, knowing you’d find minho there.

he looked up from the punching bag—seemingly his favorite source of stress relief—throwing you a smile before his eyes fell on the file in your hands. you handed it to him, and he dropped the bag, opening it with a stoic expression and reading the first few lines.

with the same exact face, he closed the file and ripped it in half.

“hey, what the fuck—“

“what gave you the right to do that?” he hissed, balling the paper in his hands. you gulped then, starting to rethink your contribution.

“i just thought—“

“thought what? assumed you know me after one little outburst? that you know what i need?” his face was furious and close, and you wanted nothing more than the ground to consume you.

“didn’t i tell you he’s dead to me? i don’t want to— i can’t know where he is! what will that do for me? what do i— what do i do with it?” his voice goes from angry to lost, and you bite your lip.

“you deserve to know. he meant a lot to you, you deserve to know—“ you attempt to piece together your logic, something that had made a lot of sense before you were face to face with him.

“he left me, y/n! i trusted him and he left! he’s not coming back, he’s gone and i can’t— i can’t do anything about it...” your heart clenches, hand reaching out to touch his shoulder, making him look at you, noticing the lack of distance between the two of you.

everything is quiet for a while, him breathing more heavily than usual as you notice the thickness of his eyelashes, the way his expression seems to soften as his eyes wander down to your lips.

you feel the world stop as he bends and closes the space between you, the softness of his lips the only thing you can think of as they move against yours and you kiss back, completely consumed by this moment. his hand goes down to your waist, bringing you a little closer to him as the kiss deepens, pushing you slightly against the wall. when you respond in kind, fingers brushing the nape of his neck, he kisses you harder, a blush creeping up your cheeks by the intensity of it. he’s kissing you like you’re everything he’s missed, hand traveling up your back and making goosebumps rise up on your skin. you’re lost in the sensation as your mouth opens slightly, kissing him back with more fervor, feeling the softness of his hair and pulling a little, emitting a deep growl from minho, who pushes you harder against the wall, traversing your body with his hands. he bites your bottom lip, making you moan out loud, and then his lips leave yours and land on the softness of your throat. he takes his time gently sucking and eliciting small noises from you, and you take a moment to realize what is happening, that this is lee minho, and you don’t mind at all.

he goes back to your lips, the embrace getting increasingly desperate, his hands gripping your thighs and hoisting them around his waist as he grinds you into the wall. you cling to him then and his hands rub against your thigh, making you burn up with the heat of the gesture. they slide towards the beginning of your pants, and you let out a small gasp in anticipation as he teases you, sliding them back while you throw yourself into the kiss, tongue tracing his. it’s a long time before he breaks it, the two of you breathing heavily before he lurches back a little, your feet finding the ground.

“that was, um—“ he begins softly, unsure, before you bite your lip again and his eyes follow your mouth again, his lips parting slightly. you blush a little and look away, noticing still the lack of distance between the two of you.

“i’m sorry,” you break the silence, looking to the side as your face reddens, “i shouldn’t have just gone and pried into something so personal.”

“it’s—it’s alright,” he stutters slightly, “i didn’t think anyone would care that much, to dig that deep into it.”

his face returns back to the oh so familiar smirk he always has on, continuing “and you care about me, don’t you.”

/arrogant prick. “you’re the one who kissed me, lee minho,” you point out the obvious, and for the first time ever, you see pink rise up to his cheeks.

“you did commit treason for me.”

“oh, shut up.”

“make me.”

and you do.

send in requests!

[soap-brain]

Ooohh. Your "leaving spirk hug" broke my heart -.-" It's sad because it's pretty obvious that Spock had no idea that Jim would lie on report and that he wrote his own report to make sure the mission's failure was on him alone. How about "hug from behind" spirk that is a continuation of your "leaving hug" ?

:DDD and it wasn’t even the worst thing i’ve ever written :p but thank you for reading it and liking it and sending me a new prompt!

yeah i think spock was totally flummoxed that someone would *gasp* lie on an official report. 

so let’s see what we can do about it! this took a while longer than i thought, mainly because i have no self control and kept checking tumblr lmao. sorry about that! but here you go:

They feel the next hit reverberating in their bones even after the ship stopped shaking. The Bradbury had not been made for this kind of heavy firefight.

Spock picks himself back up, and immediately crosses over to their communications officer, who is holding their head.

    “Nurse!” he snaps at the attending nurse, and she makes her way over to them, carefully sidestepping the debris from the half caved in ceiling.

    “Lieutenant Peterson! Return fire at will!” Spock orders next and punches in the channel to Engineering. “Mitchell, what can you do for the shields?”

    “Barso here, commander. Mitchell is dead!”

    “Then you have just inherited his position as Chief Engineer,” Spock retorts, oddly calm. It’s reminiscent of a different battle, years and lightyears away, but this time he does not get a sarcastic reply. Instead, it’s “Yes sir!” and “Shields are in a bad shape, but I might be able to jury-rig something.”

    “Then get to it, lieutenant.”

The Romulan battle cruiser sweeps back into the focus of the viewscreen.

    “Salar! Evasive action, now!”

The navigator complies, but she’s too slow. The next salve hits the Bradbury like … ‘like a wall across the highway at 150 miles per hour’. A comparison Jim had enjoyed to employ. Jim, whose tactical genius far surpassed Spock’s. Jim, who should be the one in charge during situations like this.

    “What did I say about returning fire?!” Spock barks, maybe a bit too harshly. Peterson flinches.

    “I’m doing my best, sir, but they surprised me!”

    “Make sure that doesn’t happen again, or it will be the last time any of us will be surprised!”

Where is Captain Amott? Spock wonders. From the corner of his eye he sees Lieutenant Beverley slip into the communication officer’s chair, replacing the injured one.

    “Beverley. Priority One distress call to Starfleet and all available ships, now! Salar, begin Tewe maneuver, it might buy us some time.”

Engineering is contacting.

    “Barso.”

    “Sir, I think I managed to put the shields up again, but after the next hit they’ll be forced to draw power directly from the Core.”

    “Shields are up,” Peterson confirms.

    “Barso, retaining power to the shields and phaser banks. That is your top priority now. We cannot outrun them. Acknowledge.”

Barso’s response is drowned out by the crackling static of another hit to their shields.

    “Beverley, do you have a reply yet?”

    “None, sir - wait! There’s - Come in, Enterprise! This is the USS Bradbury, requesting urgent assistance in a heavy firefight with the Romulan Empire.”

The Enterprise. If Spock were prone to emotional responses or metaphors, he would say that his heart jumped into his throat.

    “On screen, lieutenant. Salar, continue evasive maneuvers. Peterson, continue firing.”

The cracked viewscreen produces a grossly distorted picture of Captain Pike.

    “Commandrrk Spock! How crzzht is it?”

    “We have almost completely lost functionality in both nacelles, hull integrity is down to thirty-three percent. We are rapidly losing power to the shields.”

Pike swears colorfully. “We’re maybe ten minutes out. Can you hold position?”

Another blast shakes the ship and eight different alerts flare up.

Hull integrity at less than thirty percent.

Primary communications array compromised.

Phaser bank three offline.

Bridge viewscreen damaged.

Hull breaches detected. Beginning defensive maneuvers.

Pike’s image fizzles out and fades.

    “We won’t make ten minutes,” Peterson says, voice trembling.

    “That is your assumption,” Spock replies. He hadn’t feared death in the volcano on his last mission with the Enterprise, but now …

    “Sound the alert to abandon ship. Lieutenant Beverley, begin a deep space transmission containing all data recorded by the Bradbury, including information on the battle.”

Spock sits down in the chair and opens the shipwide channel.

    “Attention all hands. Abandon ship. I repeat, abandon ship. The USS Enterprise is closing in and will receive you. Spock out.”

Addressing the bridge crew, he says: “We will attempt to draw their attention away from the fleeing shuttles so they can have a chance at survival.”

There are nods all around, shoulders straighten and people taking deep breaths.

The next salve loosens a beam from the ceiling, crashing right next to the captain’s chair. Spock suppresses a flinch. Sparks from ripped out wires bounce off his unflammable uniform. He feels cold.

    “Computer, stop all alerts. Voice authorization Spock-beta-eight-eight-three.”

Acknowledged.

The bridge is eerily silent.

The Romulan ship rounds into the viewscreen again, phaser ports visibly glowing because of how close they are. The next round of hits will be the last; the Bradbury will not be able to withstand them. If they are lucky, the hull around the bridge will crack, giving them the merciful quick death of vacuum and subfreezing temperatures.

    “It has been an honor serving with you,” Spock says, loud enough for everyone on the bridge to hear. It has been. Even though it took him time and effort, in the five months he spent on the Bradbury, her main bridge crew and several other officers have come to … respect him, and he is thankful for that. Of course they could not replace the Enterprise and her crew, but it had been Spock’s mistake that took him off the ship.

Then, two things happen in such quick succession that they almost seem simultaneous. Their viewscreen is filled with a bright grey expanse, and then the impact thunders through the Bradbury, knocking the bridge crew off their seats, tritanium walls screeching like demons from Hell.

Miraculously, the bridge doesn’t breach. The viewscreen has gone entirely black however, and they have no idea what’s going on outside.

    “Commander Spock!” Lieutenant Beverley exclaims. “The Enterprise is hailing us!”

    “Speakers,” Spock orders.

    “Bradbury? Come in, Bradbury. This is the Enterprise.”

    “Bradbury here, come in, Enterprise.”

    “Bradbury,” Pike’s voice crackles over the comm line. “The Romulan vessel has fled. We are preparing to receive your shuttles. Bridge crew, stay put. We’ll tow you back to the nearest station and try to free you in an artificial atmosphere there, our transporters have been … unreliable at best.”

    “Captain Pike. It is a relief to hear your voice,” Spock admits.

    “Yours too, commander. How’s the remaining crew? Any major injuries?”

    “None, sir.”

    “Good. Stand by for further communications. Enterprise out.”

None of the bridge crew have been injured worse than a few scratches, burns and bruises, so the medical bay at the station lets them go pretty quickly.

    “Well, you seem all patched up, Commander Spock,” his attending doctor says. “Captain Pike wants to talk to you, he’s in briefing room 45.”

Spock nods. “Thank you.”

Pike looks far worse for wear, hair in disarray and dark bags under his eyes, seeming years older than when Spock saw him for the last time.

    “Sit down,” he says, gesturing at a chair.

Spock complies.

    “I’m going to make this quick because it’s been a long couple weeks. The Bradbury can be rebuilt, yes, but she’ll be in limbo for a while. Captain Amott has been found, relatively unhurt in the wreckage, and he’ll be on trial for gross neglectment of duties and so forth, I think you’ll have to testify. Now, normally that’d mean you’d wait on your assigned ship while she’s rebuilt, but that would be one hell of a setback for your career. She doesn’t deserve you and never has. I’ve convinced Command to give Kirk his captaincy back though - because he deserves it and because my health doesn’t allow me to be the captain the Enterprise needs. Means: she’ll need a first officer. The post is yours, if you want it.”

Spock can only stare. He can go back to the Enterprise? To Jim?

    “Don’t give me that look, say yes already so I can mark it down. Jim has been sad for the entire mission, even more so because because of its top secret nature he couldn’t contact you. He doesn’t blame you for losing command, by the way, but he missed you like crazy. Now are you going to sign up or do I have to force you?”

A smile forces its way onto Spock’s lips. He’s going back to the Enterprise! And he’ll be with Jim again!

    “I will sign. Thank you, sir.”

    “Yeah, don’t mention it. I’m gonna be happy with my boyfriend on Earth and you’ll be happy with your boyfriend in space. Jim should be on level E, corridor 6, room C30, I think. Go and hug it out.”

    “I will. Thank you again.”

Pike motions towards the door with his chin. “Out with you before I fall asleep.”

Giddiness is bubbling in Spock’s gut. Jim! He will see Jim again! Jim is not angry! Jim and his beautiful, lovely blue eyes, bright smile and golden hair and-

A pair of strong arms wrap around Spock’s middle and there’s an excited giggle in his ear, a pitch too loud to be really comfortable.

    “Spock! You’re here! You’ll be back on the Enterprise! You’re coming home!”

Spock disentangles himself to turn around and hug Jim properly, so hard he almost fears crushing him. Jim smells of burned plasteel, singed uniform and whiff of standard Starfleet shampoo, and he’s warm and solid against Spock.

    “Yes. Yes, Jim, I am.”

Home. Yes, he is coming home.

again, in this house we disrespect rereading, so if you find any major errors, you can point them out and i might correct them ... or not.

also please note that the enterprise couldn’t have collided with the bradbury, because physics (yes, that’s what that post was about), but in this house we also conveniently ignore the laws of physics :p/also/ please note that since everything is a bit different (ie pike didn’t die), they took care of the khan-and-admiral-marcus problem differently and consequently, into darkness kinda didn’t happen 

(props to tumblr for eating half the italics. good job dude!)

hey @vulcankirkspock, i fixed your prompt!