#black hair woozi is superior i think

[moodcafe]

woozi moodboard: order for @hyeri-yah | want one?

[missgeniality]

Opaline Moon (m)

“The Moon can never breathe, but it can take our breath away with the beauty of its cold, arid orb.” - Munia Khan

➺ Banner: @hobiandsprite​ 💕

➺ Pairing: Seokjin x Female Reader

➺ Trope: Friends to Lovers, Idol!AU

➺ Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff

➺ Rating: 18+

➺ Word Count: 11.2k

➺ Summary: You are ingrained to love Jin, right upto the blood that courses through your veins. Confessing, however, is a whole other game. So it’s a good thing you’re bad at keeping your hands to yourself, because happenstance can handle the rest. 

➺ Warnings: talks about dance floor fucking, making out in the bar bathroom, fingering, pussy slapping, passing out drunk, daydreams about thigh riding, reader masturbates, they make out A LOT, neck kissing, a hickey, nipple play, some biting, cum eating (kind of, you’ll see), blowjob, protected sex!, reader and jin are corny, the hurt is real but the sex is real-er

➺ Author’s Note: My lovely, lovely moots - @taegularities​, @kithtaehyung​ and @baepsaetan​, thank you so much for betaing this and hyping it up, your comments made this fic a hundred times better! As I mentioned on the teaser, this fic took a lot out of me, but I thoroughly enjoyed writing the angst and will write more whenever the story aligns! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing, and I hope this lovable Jin reaches your heart! (ngl, in usual fashion, I will come back and edit it again, so if you see a spelling mistake, your eyes are lying to you) Do let me know what you think, your asks and comments make my day!

This is the second part of my Dress Down series, find more at it’s masterlist!

ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

Sweltering heat. Blaring traffic. Little to no sleep. Through all things wrong, one man’s thoughts wrapped around you like a cooling breeze, a shield to protect you from the vicissitudes of reality, to draw you back into all of him. Unfortunately, your reality may never see that day come to light.

Kim Seokjin.

Kim Seokjin, the man who cooked you up a greasy break-up meal at three in the morning with not a sight of discomfort, putting your needs above all.

Kim Seokjin, whose puns make you roll your eyes heavenward, half awed at how he manages to pull one out of his collection at a moment's notice, and half irked by the untimely laugh it brings out of you.

Kim Seokjin, the man who will never be yours, and you have no one to blame but yourself. 

One could argue that the miscommunication that had caused this present condition was two-way. If you had stopped him, corrected him, let him know the truth… you wouldn’t have to resort to the extreme measures you’re currently entangled in. One would also say, you are trying to redeem your mistake by trying too hard. Surely, everyone and their mothers could see through your ruse. 

This is the fourth time you’re visiting Jin for his BE shoot - a shoot taking place two hours away from the city, disguised under various layers of secrecy to prevent any leakage of the album concept, or Jin in general. Of course, you had been made privy to such exclusive information, because you and Jin were ‘best friends’. 

Best. Friends.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Best friends. The term you coined for (and forced upon) the bond you had. The bond that was too close to sprouting into something new, something fresh, something that was filled with glimmering allure and dragged you in like quicksand. But also, it reeked of commitment, of shadows, of newness that you hadn’t felt in the longest time, and fear of already being far too deep in without even taking the first step. 

The loud thrum of some internet kid’s new hit pulses through the air of the club as bundles of couples occupy the dance floor, laughing and gyrating to a song that, in your opinion, most definitely does not suit gyrating. But with enough of the weekend happy hours intake combined with hormone-riddled minds, one could very well throw it back to a church choir. 

You weave through the drunken bodies, trying not to spill the precariously held three drinks in your hands, making your way to your inner circle, the only people to blame for dragging you to this slosh-fest.

“Y/N!” 

Somehow Hoseok’s voice can echo across the club, but you didn’t even need his addressal because Jin’s laughter is loud enough to navigate anyone to your table. Seeing you struggle with the glasses (and mostly the crowd, with some of them living their exhibitionist dreams), Hoseok gets up to assist you.

“I swear, if I see one more couple pretending to be dancing as they rub one off of each other’s thighs, the black market will have my eyes.”

“Oh yeah?” Jin’s breathy voice interjects your black-market dreams, still bursting in short laughs from whatever sent him rolling before your arrival. “Why don’t you go join them?”

“And whose thigh is she taking, yours?” Yeji snorts out, one hand holding her nebula blue drink, the other wrapped around Hoseok, urging him to come closer. Jin’s features scrunch into a cringe, and you’re thankful for the dim lighting because the disappointment in your features does not reach them.

“The only action these leather pants are getting is in the damned laundromat,” he points to his shiny trousers, “some jerk dropped his drink on it.”

“You could be the first person to give some chick an orgasm and a yeast infection.” Hoseok giddily adds, his fifth shot clearly making a mess of his brain cells. 

Jin claps and gets up to move away from the group. “Better than a pregnancy!” he yells, before zigzagging through the crowd, possibly to the restroom. He is on his third cocktail, and you’d think cocktails are lighter drinks. But in this bar, their taps just seem to flow with tequila, and it is very evident in the way Jin is currently walking.

His absence hits you harder than you think, but it might be the alcohol talking. Jin has always been the mood-maker of the group, the one who brings everyone together. Of late though, his magnetic persona has been an irritant in your life. Any outing you two take, any chance you have to come clean about the burgeoning crush you have on him, is effectively disrupted by one of his posse. And today, Hoseok and Yeji took that trophy. 

“Earth to Y/N. Has the cocktail finally broken you?”

You flutter your eyes in a manic fashion, to disperse the daydream you were indulging yourself in, and bring your attention back to the couple calling for you. Surprisingly, they have stood up, Yeji emptying the last of her neon drink. 

“What happened?”

“We are going to the club nearby, they have better stuff. And that’s code for ‘they actually add water to the drink and the surround sound doesn’t shatter your ear drum’.’” 

She isn’t wrong. The cocktails and music here are a 19-year-old frat party dream, not something the working class can digest. But you’re tired at this point, and don’t want to be smothered by someone else’s love life when your own is down the dumps.

“You guys carry on! I’ll tell Jin where you are and he’ll meet you there!”

You watch as Hoseok and Yeji lead each other to the exit, hands circling their partner’s waist. They giggle on and on, about nothing and everything, and it only hardens the emptiness you feel inside you. 

Why can’t you gather the balls to spit your feelings out? What could possibly go wrong? Yes, you may lose one of your closest friends, but is this friendship really worth the agony? The bitterness you feel when you see any couple enjoying themselves? The anger you harbor whenever Jin tells you about his dates? The heartache, when he hugs you and tells you that you’re the best thing that’s happened to him… as a friend? Is it? Your plastered brain tells you to not make any rash decisions, so you don’t, instead choosing to get up and search for your best friend. 

The corridor leading to the washrooms is dimly lit, throwing a merlot filter over your eyesight, making you squint in search of your friend. You being shitfaced does not help, and while relishing in your floating wooziness, you see Jin come out, and feelings you’ve held at bay for so long slither through your currently porous defenses. 

He has always been good-looking. He himself has said so a dozen times.

But wow.

His hair lays messily atop his beautiful face, unkempt, like a breeze of beauty swept across his mighty looks and displaced every strand, causing disarray, but even the disarray only frames his superior looks and adds to its potent charm. The black, patchy sweater hanging loose off his broad shoulders makes you feel things you shouldn’t feel as a friend. That stupid gut of yours is currently screaming, yelling for all hands on deck, trying to block all the feelings from gushing in and sending you into overdrive.

By the time you can gather yourself to stop from giving in to those dangerous thoughts, Jin has crossed the distance between you, coming close, too close. Chocolate-brown eyes peer into your soul, searching for whichever fantasy you chose to lose yourself in. His eyes flit down to notice your rumpled dress that has found its way a couple of inches above its designated spot. His gaze returns to yours, but not without a newfound hardness, an almost steely glaze over the kindness that you usually find in the chocolate pools, accentuated under the garnet lighting. 

“Hey, umm…” You beg for a reprieve, from your thoughts, from your filthy mind, from the way he is eyeing your cleavage, or just for the burning between your legs. You’re about to make some serious mistakes, you can feel it down to your bone.

You’re far too overdressed. 

You knew it when you were in the process of getting dressed, but right now, you feel it much more - you look like a shiny disco ball orbiting amidst the plethora of loose tees, leggings and flannels. Everything screams comfort, because the amount of work they’re putting into this begs for it. 

The strappy lace sundress you wear is extremely out of place, the halter-neck tie behind your neck fastened a little looser than necessary, giving your breasts the exposure they deserve, a nice valley view. Your dress skirt, adorned with pretty frills and dainty flowers, cut across your thigh to frame your petite hips. You are one floppy sun hat away from an extravagant Greek cruise - and in the moment you wish you had one to hide your face in shame. 

You’re just out here, trying to escape the zone. 

“Oh, would you look at the time, it’s tits out Tuesday already?”

Your eyes roll before Sanghoon even finishes his sentence, because you wouldn’t expect anything else from him. On the team of the set design, he is carrying a whole drapery worth of plush, mauve curtains, struggling with the slipping fabric. But apparently not struggling enough to stop him from getting his nose into your business, it seems.

“Literally not even a time you just mentioned. Can’t get one thing right.” You can’t stop yourself from stretching a hand out to feel the curtain fabric, the satiny sheets begging to be touched. Before you can though, Sanghoon moves away, not allowing you to shift the focus of the conversation.

“Don’t steer away from the facts. Your tits.”

“That’s the fact?”

“They’re out.” He bucks up, trying to point with the hand stuffed underneath all the cloth. “That’s the fact.”

“Ugh, can’t a girl dress up once in a while?” The pointed attention makes you uncomfortable, because everything he’s insinuating is true. With every passing staff member, you count a new shade of grey, interspersed with occasional blacks and greens, a stark contrast to your floral overtones. Amidst the thousand footsteps taken in your vicinity, only yours are pointed heels, echoing across the studio with every clack. But you’re a stubborn one, refusing to give in to his totally valid argument. “I just woke up early.”

“Girl.” Like light through frosted glass, he sees through your bullshit, but only partially. “You put an alarm to dress up? I have nightmares of the boss brandishing her whip and telling me to get into position, and even that doesn’t wake me up.” 

“Have you ever considered… not announcing your kinks to everyone and their sisters?”

“Ehh,” he simply shrugs, “nothing is new when you’ve serenaded your boss drunk in a karaoke bar and still managed to keep your job. Wait. Is that highlighter?”

“Stop staring into my tits!” You can’t believe you got caught, but also, who can you blame? After testing this outfit out from the crack of dawn, you decided your cleavage needed some extra help. Three YouTube tutorials and one TikTok lady - who make it look far easier than it is - down, the contouring brought out the swell of your breasts, and against the light fabric of your dress, it does look too good to be true.

Memories of that night in the bar come in billows and waves, of how enamored Jin was with the way your boobs looked at that time. Even under the dingy lighting, in the cramped space, under heavily inebriated scrutiny, you couldn’t miss the flicker of heat in his gaze every time it passed your chest. 

One thing led to another, and it was a cascade none of you could stop. The heat of attraction between you two does not help your wandering mind, and the fever drowns the knowledge that what you’re feeling is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, crossing some lines that can never be mended back again. With the proximity, his musky scent invades whatever defenses you were trying to patch, piercing through all your inhibitions and you pull him into you, claiming his lips to be yours. 

With his wobbly knees and your wobbly heels, you somehow find your way to the washroom - mostly he does, you give in halfway to wrap your legs around his lean waist, his sturdy legs balancing your weight on them as your back hits the wall, and his lips tear down your walls. 

“You look so fucking sexy today,” between bated breaths and indulgent sighs you confess, “just driving me nuts.” Letting your hands drag along his abdomen, feeling the ups and downs of his abs, you attempt to rid him of the sweater that’s been on your hit list all night. But to your dismay, your endeavor is blocked, when Jin gathers your wrists in his palm, turning you around to bend you over on the countertop, the smooth marble chill hitting your braless chest, perking your nipples under the cold. 

“And you?” Jin bends to give your earlobe a languid lick, progressing very slow, a complete contrast to the movement of his hips as he ruts against your ass, your already short dress bunching up with every move. “You think it’s smart to have your tits torment me like this?” Grabbing a handful from behind, he tests the weight of each fleshy mound, and by now you are certain your perked nubs can pierce his palm. 

His free hand, not yet torturing you, decides to get in on the action and disappears under the counter, swiftly crossing the bunched fabric of your dress, gaining easy access to your pussy. The cold touch of his pads sears against the heat of your core, finding your pleasure button and languidly fiddling with it, with no intention to cross you over the brink in sight. The only pleasure you can indulge in is the reflection of him abusing your nipples, pinching and tugging them down, whispering filthy words into your ear as he takes in your fucked out countenance. 

You feel lacking, weak hands balancing your dizzy self, finding purchase to keep you upright - but you’re both drunk on alcohol and hypnotized by his beauty to do much more than stare at his mirrored counterpart. “For fuck’s sake, kiss me.” 

How he understood your slurred words, you don’t know, but you are glad he did. In a moment you’ve been displaced, the hurried motion sending your neurons into a flurry. Once your back meets the hard marble, and your eyes have the privilege to see his, you pull him in closer, the force enough to hold you against the wall while your legs wrap around his lean waist. 

Originally not a fan of drunken misadventures, that side of yours is strangely mute to the going current onslaught. Well, you don’t have much breath left to say anything, because Jin is efficiently stealing it all, his teeth clashing with yours as you engage in the messiest kiss ever known to mankind (or at least, to you). He changes pace often, dragging his tongue leisurely against your lower lip, conveying tacit words, just to switch it up with a sharp bite and reel you in. 

One corner of your senses can feel his fingers messing around your cunt, and playing with the wetness your thong can barely contain. It makes you shudder, the damage that his fingers can cause solely circling around your hole. 

“Fuck me.” 

In your drunken stupor, you don’t know if the words leave you right, but you get confirmation when his long fingers finally penetrate your cunt, giving your walls something to clench on - although nothing could possibly compare to what you imagine you can get from his dick.

“God, you feel that grip,” he grunts, with two of his fingers in you, and Jin’s smile is the most sinister you’ve ever seen. “I think we should take this home,” is what his lips utter, but his fingers delve deeper, searching for the spot that crumbles you. The base of his palm grinds against your throbbing clit, and you are forced to bite down on this sweater, lest an embarrassingly loud moan escapes you and cues outsiders into your filthy doings. 

“Now,” you half-hiss, half-growl as you grab the cusp of his legs to feel his half-hard erection grow under the pressure of your hand. Your palm sliters up just to go down again, this time without the blockade of his pants, but you are stopped short of success when Jin’s fingers slip out of you to give you a sharp swat. 

“Stubborn, aren’t we? Can’t fucking wait,” he whispers into your ear, and as he envelops your lobe with his cushiony lips, he continues, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

No, no, no. 

Your brain rejects logic, chews and spits it out before any of the rationale seeps into you. You have wanted this for far too long. The need inside you for a meaningful relationship materializes in the form of recklessness, desperately looking for surface-level relief for the moment. A night of sewing sutures to your battle-worn heart, stitches that may come off at the slightest strain - but right now, that will do. 

“Please, Jin,” your tantalizing tone riles up his cock again, eagerly waiting for your next words, “can’t you feel me dripping? Come on, I can take you.”

“Fuck, hear that wetness.” He lets his palm slap against your sopping entrance, not stopping with one. With every slap, droplets of your arousal splash out, the insides of your thighs coated in the sticky sweetness, but your body is an endless reservoir producing plentiful more for Jin to play with. “Have you been sitting with this all this time?”

Two long fingers invade your channel again, leaving you with no response other than a gasp. They scissor incessantly, preparing you for what could be the railing of your lifetime. One curl inside and his fingertips hit the spot he was looking for, making you warp your body to take the pleasure coursing through your veins. His tongue seems to mimic the actions, looping around your earlobe as he sucks it inside, both ends of your body engulfed in all the attention he could provide. 

Your cunt is weeping against the assault of this man’s hands, tears of your cum flowing down your legs with every pump of his arm. You are getting there, the sweet swell of release inching closer and closer.

But something doesn’t feel right.

The tightness in your belly, that is to a point caused by Jin, is harboring other sensations that are not entirely pleasant. Maybe you’re anxious about the happenings. Maybe you haven’t had a good orgasm in a while and have just forgotten how this thing works.

Or maybe, the bar should have the water tap actually give out water.

Either your eyes close, or your brain does, but suddenly all you can see is darkness.

 Again, you are just trying to escape the zone.

“Step under those studio lights,” pointing at the too-bright stage lights being set up at the moment, Sanghoon continues, breaking your daydream, “I bet you could signal to aliens with the booby-reflection. Call them to Netflix and chill.”

“In about five seconds, my heel will be puncturing your eye. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” 

Sanghoon’s drivel was cut short, and so were your murder plans, with his entry. “Oh look, he’s on set. Gotta go!” 

It’s like the lights, earlier threatening to burn away your skin, dim down in reverence of the glow of his face. The twinkle of his eyes when they meet yours. The shine of his smile when he throws you one. The vibrance of his tone when he calls out your name. Everything he does now threatens to burn you whole and it’s a wonder you’re not scalding, but the singe hurts you deep inside.

“Y/N! How do I look?” It’s a bathrobe. Like satin, or silk. Fucking hell, your brain could explode with the adjectives coming up, a whole chunk of them very much inappropriate to utter out in the current scene. Your arms want to rise, engulf him into you, and you have to physically halt the muscles from doing anything stupid. Brain, quick! Say something snarky and spicy, as best friends do!

“What’s the theme, unicorn puke?” The safest way to deflect is to attack. So you do just that. “You look like you dressed out of Hannah Montana’s closet. Which if it's true, I really need to see it. There’s a top that I’ve been eyeing for decades!”

“Don’t say decades.” Jin’s eyes crinkle in humor. “Makes me feel so old. Your dress is pretty cool too!” 

Cool.

You find out how difficult life can be when you count every single minute of yours. So far, you have counted 4,310 minutes. That is two days, twenty-three hours, and fifty minutes. Ten more minutes and it will be three whole days since you and Jin spoke. 

Yet again, you can’t blame him. When you came to the next day, you were in your bed, clad in the same shimmering silver bodycon that you had donned last night. The same one that had been privy to the colorful deeds you had committed in what was a dreary, colorless setting. 

One ibuProfen and ginger ale, downed with some severe recollections of the previous night, and you had been ready to throw it all up again. 

I don’t want to hurt you.

Words couldn’t describe what you were going through, and numbers weren’t invented to count the endless thoughts racing in your brain. You don’t know what is more upsetting. The fact that you actually had a chance to open your heart and you totally let your pussy think instead? Or that he was the one coherent enough to stop you from getting too far, and you let your desperation get the best of you? Everything about that night was wrong. And all the wrongs lie on your side. 

I don’t want to hurt you.

In the moment, it was physical, he had to have meant that. But there was a tremor in his voice, you can remember clear as day, a slightly shaken side of him had emerged through the intoxication, and the words he had breathed were not shallow. There was a gravity to them, that you’d stupidly ignored in the heat of the moment.

And now, here you are. Counting up till the last minute, after which you can effectively call the friendship ruined. Stirring your tea mindlessly, you try to focus on the show on TV, the variety show comedy not striking the usual funny bones that they could 4,311 minutes ago. 

The programmed ding of your phone bursts your thought bubble, a sound you have missed the past 72 hours. The ring you dedicated to Jin, that always had you running to receive because anything he sends brightens your day. But unlike those happier times, this ring has your gut fall into a pit of despair, struggling to choose between dispersing the suspense or remaining blissfully unaware of the damage you caused.

Jin: Free tmrw? We could grab coffee Jin: And talk

Talk. How? You barely remember what went down, save for fleeting moments that you recollected with great difficulty. Your fingers type back, trying to mimic the nonchalance in his text, that is very much absent in your actual demeanor.

Y/N: Sure. Paik’s at 1? Jin: Yup. See ya

Three texts, zero laughs. Of course, you’re not expecting him to land his jokes in this situation, even someone as talented as he can’t flip this tension. You’re just going to have to wait for tomorrow, when he decides whether you have a place in his life or not. 

The painstakingly worn outfit, accessorizing the whole look, the straps of your heels digging into your toes, the specks of makeup dust lying stale on your collar bones, the shine faints at that word. Cool. A perfectly normal phrase for a normal friendship. You are left maimed, while he absent-mindedly tends to the rope of his robe, blissfully unaware of the cyclonic emotions churning inside you. All you can possibly do is gulp it down. 

He runs his hands through his hair, beautiful locks coming out of place, and from one corner of the set, a groan of anguish emerges. 

“Oppa! Don’t play with your hair and face.” A masked lady runs forward waving combs that look like artillery, “We just got done setting it!”

Some finger guns, a happy apology, and some silly jokes later, all the stylists merrily round up to undo his doing, and Jin signals to you to catch up later. And as he walks away, the strings tugging at your heart reappear, as they do every time you come to meet him.

You have a masochistic streak in you, putting yourself through this every day, when he had made it clear, that you two never stood a chance. 

As if things aren’t already difficult, he looks like a dream. 

Soft, snowy skin gleaming like it has personal lighting wherever it goes, you get flashes of the rarely witnessed sweat on his skin, from the ferocity of last night. He’s blowing away the foam of his cappuccino, and tiny bubbles float into the air before falling flat on the table, like an animated shine that follows him along. God has His favorites, and God makes sure all the lighting in the world is perfect for these favorites. 

In no hurry, you wait at the counter to get your latte. After receiving it though, you can’t linger any longer and drag yourself to the table of doom.

“Hey.”

If the rasp in your voice is evident, he doesn’t show any recognition on his face. But you’ve learned to never trust an acting major. 

“Hi. How are you doing?”

Inadvertently, a snicker escapes your lips. “Are you interviewing me for a job?” you joke, trying to disperse the heavy air, filled with unspoken words. “If so, at least know that I’m very expensive.”

The familiar windshield wiper laugh does not greet you. Dead silence does. The half-smirk he painfully gives you is heavy, and the furrowed brows haven’t an inkling of joy. It shoots daggers in your heart, to know that you are the reason for this jolly man’s despondency. 

“Listen, I don’t think we should skirt around the issue too much. It happened, these things happen. You think Hoseok and Yeji didn’t have sex before making it official?”

His matter-of-fact nature isn’t new to you. Jin has always been a very practical man. Regardless of his inane sense of humor, his logical point of view has always been flawless. 

But right now, at this very moment, logic isn’t what you are looking for. You are looking for answers, but as far withdrawn from logic as possible, to take the edge off of the tension-laden air that surrounds your table.

“Yeah, but even… unofficially… we aren’t a thing, right?” 

Your abrupt question takes Jin unaware, almond eyes widening, like a toddler caught in an act. 

“No, no! Of course not! I would never!” 

His confession slips out with an ease that hurts you, digs deep to carve out the part of you that dreamt of anything more. Your eyes fall to your knees to avoid his perceptive gaze, the sting clear as the sky on a summer day. 

You force a smile and continue. “Then there’s no issue. Anyway,” you gulp your coffee down, burning your throat, but it's a distraction from the burning inside, “I need to get to work. Anything else?”

He’s still searching you, for what, you can’t possibly fathom. From the looks of it, he should be happy with this homeostasis; he doesn’t even know what this means for you. To still stay suspended in limbo, not being able to move up or down, to continue having thorns digging into your beating soul as you watch him like nothing bothers your already frail feelings. Scene by scene, you can visualize the future, him distancing himself from you as he finds the one he calls his, with you left in the shadows. Your knees tremble in fear of the impending future.

Seeing you in a tizzy, he calls out, the voice too loud for the cafe and your mind’s prison cage. 

“We’re still best friends, right?” If you knew better, you’d say his expression is that of sadness, of regret. But your judgment is clouded with your own bothers, and you interpret it as a look of pity. Like a lovesick puppy, kicked to the streets, with nowhere to call home. 

“Yeah! Always.” You give it as much enthusiasm as you can muster. 

Best friends.

Ropes wind around your heart, tugging and causing the deep ache that sets in as you walk back into your dreary building. Each string pulls you into a different dimension where you could move on, where you could be okay with the setting you had just agreed to. Where you would keep up your end of the promise and truly remain friends with him.

But no matter how strong the tug, your heart never yields, never lets go of the castle of dreams you built, staying steadfast in its own misery, choosing to hope, choosing to live the life of unrequited love.

“And that’s a wrap! Good job everyone!”

Applause and hurrays echo across the set to bring you back to the present. The shoot has officially concluded, which means it's time for your most favorite and least favorite part of the day - Jin and you doing best friend things, like grabbing lunch, gossiping about obnoxious coworkers, threatening to disembowel each other (in Mortal Kombat, of course) and other friendly activities. 

Ever so respectful, Jin takes his time thanking every member of the set, regardless of whether they moved a cushion or held the reflector screen for hours. All the women gush over his beauty, reminding him of how, even amidst the glowing ornaments, his face was the brightest. His responses vary, from quiet little giggles, to complimenting the crew for making it happen, to straight up owning his charisma like a boss. That’s your man. 

Well, not quite. Not one bit.

After exhausting the handshakes and hugs to be received, Jin walks to you, hands pushing his robe back to give it a cape like effect. You’re just glad that the man’s child persona still stays with him, no matter the situation.  He guides you to his green room, cracking his bones on the way, (very sexily, might you add).

“Holding a pose for that long gives me cramps! You’d think dancing breaks my back, and you’d be wrong.”

You’re desperately avoiding looking at his fingers, and keep your eyes below them - shoot! His ceaseless stretching gives you a glimpse under his shirt - it is dragging your memories back to the last time you saw them, and you’d rather not. It is hurting you in more ways than one. 

Eye contact is your safest bet. Looking up, you give him a lopsided grin. “Your grandfatherly days are approaching, Jinnie.” 

“Hey!” 

The rest of the conversation was less speaking, more yelling and chasing after each other to the green room, Jin taking mock-offence at your jab at his age, and his fingers reaching out to flick your forehead in retort. In your noisy, messy fashion, you both finally enter the room, dim gold light bulbs and shiny mirrors meeting your huffing self. 

One hand on your knee, you hold on to Jin’s arm with your other, gasping for breath. 

“Your grandmotherly days are already here, Y/N,” he snorts, and earns a kick on the shin, but that doesn’t stop him from bursting into snickers.

“Wow, why does one man need 4 mirrors?” You gape at his current green room, mouth wide open. It looks better than your entire apartment, with the counter carrying top-of-the-line makeup products. Only the best for this man. “So you can admire yourself from 4 different angles?”

Jin has disappeared into one of the inner rooms, but you can hear him snort at your comment. “Come on, I’m not that conceited. When the whole crew shoots together, the extra mirrors help.” The last part of that sentence is muffled, and that cues you into an important fact. 

Jin is currently changing into something more comfortable.

A process that includes him getting naked.

Well maybe he doesn’t get fully naked, top on, top off, bottom on, bottom of-

Still. You’re sweating like a whore in church. 

And things only get tougher when he finally comes out. 

The ocean blue sweater he dons is tucked in. Who tucks in sweaters? Kim Seokjin. Why does he tuck sweaters? Oh, because he’s got an amazing waistline that he should most definitely show off, and the heat between your thighs becoming increasingly potent is a testament to that. You pretend to adjust your heels, giving the right expressions to show you’re in pain, but in actuality you are bringing your legs closer to get you some relief, just any relief. 

Ripped jeans too. You get a peek of the thighs you were denied access to the night of the fuckening. Ridged and beautiful, not a speck in sight to mar his perfection. You are glad the facial expressions for pain and pleasure are not far apart, because your thighs, albeit very lacking, are helping the imagery in your head. Just Jin, seated on one of these leather chairs, and you straddling his thigh, clit aching against the strands of the rips in his denim, the fabric soaking up the wetness, with every push forwa-

“Now that you mention it, I do look dashing.”

And there goes that dream. 

You pinch his cheeks in adoration, the vulgarity of your thoughts getting whitewashed by his silliness and blooming heart-shaped flowers in their stance. You feel your own pinch in you, wondering if this scene would be the same had you blurted your feelings out that day at the cafe.

It's times like these when you remind yourself why you choose to quieten that side. This dynamic cannot reincarnate in any other form. Any imbalance to this equilibrium could cause a serious case of best-friends-turn-awkward-acquaintances, and you don’t know if that’ll hurt you more than you currently do. You don’t plan on finding out.

But on God, he tests that resolution every single day.

Jin doesn’t even hint that he knows of the turmoil blasting behind your eyes. He nonchalantly fixes his hair, gives you a one-over as you are mentally undressing him, nonchalantly as well. Then he moves to grab his cologne, and two spurts disintegrates all the whitewashing and takes you back into the obscenities you were unfolding. 

“So I’ll just go over the shoot photos, and then we can leave! You’re cool waiting here?”

“Hmmn, yeah!” You don’t let your mouth run any longer, fearing what might slip out. 

He gives you a wide, innocent smile. “Great! See you in a bit.” Poor guy. If only he knew how debase plans you were conjuring just from the aroma of his cologne. 

It is musky, like cedar or pine, perfectly suiting him. It is the same scent you remember inhaling, face stuffed in his sweater when he was fingering you to the tenth circle of hell. As he walks away, the fragrance diminishes, save for the slightest hint of lingering. You search for the source, and find the culprit strewn across the sofa.

The outfit Jin wore for the shoot held remnants of the perfume, and when you bring the shirt close and take a long, deep whiff, you transport yourself to the land of your dreams. You relish the fever smell of his cologne, mixed with his own natural scent, deciding that this is what you wish to smell like every waking morning.

Your longing for him has crossed way beyond physical boundaries. You longed for his love, longed for his attention. Longed to be the one that brings the light to his face. From morning rays to the darkness of the night, you wanted to experience it all by his side. To be his lone star, shining bright beside the moon. 

Your hands are moving without your control, disrobing you of your thirst trap of a dress and putting on Jin’s shirt instead. One look at the mirror and you let out a silent groan - it fits you just right. Just enough to cover your ass cheeks, loose enough to let the air conditioning hit your heated pussy. While well-fitting shirts have never been the cornerstone of a successful relationship, your delusional mind takes whatever wins it gets.

Adding layers to your pipe dream, you don the robe that gave you a tough time throughout the shoot. When you press the tails of the robe to your cheek, the softness of the material is soothing. Soft, like Jin’s eyes, like his hugs, like his smile. Like him.

Leaning against the counter, you steady yourself, mind split in titillation. Your fingers find their own path, drawing circles on your breasts over his shirt, imagining Jin’s long fingers in place. While teasing your nipple to pointed peaks, you slip your other hand under your panties, trying very hard to mimic his digits, twiddling your clit between your fingers. Alas, the effect isn’t achievable, because Jin seems to know how to play you better than yourself. 

The scent is getting stronger, without any provoking, and it is doing wonders for your immersion. You let out a loud moan when your fingers press inside, and you’re just glad no one can witness this.

“Y-Y/N?”

Fuck.

You are pulled away from your dreamland that was so impenetrable that you didn’t hear Jin step into the room. All the blood gushing to your nether regions has made a U-turn to flood your brain to think of a plausible explanation for this position. Instead it makes you giddy, and when you try to stand you wobble in your heels, to be rescued by what you think is a very scandalized Jin. 

Time stands still when your eyes meet, and what you see are blown out pupils trembling, many questions fluttering between you two. Jin crosses a tenth of the distance between you, lips flutter as they try to make a decision - do they want to part and give way to the voice of question? The voice of reason? The voice that will break this hush, burst this bubble where he has the one chance to give in to his longing?

You bring your lips closer, and cause immense disquiet in his dome, the way of his heart gathering speed against rationale. Your eyes dance between matching his gaze and finding his lips, every fraction of an inch you cross sending tremors through you. You can feel the shockwaves traverse through your body, making a pitstop at your lips, tingling them awake. They move downwards, passing your heart, beating it wildly against its cage, and then to the pit of your stomach to tighten in anticipation; finally reaching the tip of your toes, where you stand right now, a nanoscopic distance between you. Each one of you is afraid to cross the bridge, unaware of the other’s desires. 

Finally, Jin acqueises and meets you on your side. 

Atomic explosions ring through your head, clearing out every single thought that is not about Jin’s lips on yours. The ropes that held your heart from beating to the tune of your want, they’ve loosened their knots to give you the leeway to love freely. As your lips exchange positions, his teeth lightly drag across your plush petal, and it brings back the most important part of that night that you couldn’t recollect - the one where his lips sang wordless songs of adoration against yours. Blind as a bat, you were.

You dig your fingers into his hair, not minding your residual arousal coating his locks, and you feel his hands doing the same to you. With your eyes closed, you feel a rough edge to his cushiony soft lips, but Jin fixes that mistake - one stray strand of hair trapped in the middle of your indulgence - he pulls it away to give you all of the kiss. The hand tucked in your tresses pushes in, silently demanding more access, and you’re nothing but ready to give it.  

His tongue sneaks in to play a game with yours - when you seek it, it goes into hiding, finding perfect pleasure in soft, sweet kisses, but when you stay, it comes back in, awakening your tongue to deepen again. Everything he is doing is too much and not enough in one go, and you whine into his mouth in desperation, seeking some well-earned relief after months of holding back.

Amidst the flurry of your lips, your back hits the vanity countertop, and Jin pushes away everything on top to make space for you, not caring what expensive item flies down the counter to accommodate your ass.

As if you’ve made up for the months of holding back, the softness of the kisses erodes, teeth coming into play more and more, reminiscent of the night that went by in a blur. He swallows every mewl you give in return, blissed out beyond repair, your neediness making his cock strain against the denim. 

His hand snakes down, spreading his fingers to get a hold of your back to push you towards him, covering any gap that dared to intervene. Now unworried about the shoot, your hands have effectively ruined his perfectly placed locks and messed them up to resemble the craze he let you spin in.

Before he can glide his tongue back in, you break the kiss, lest you lose yourself in it to the point where you forget to breathe. With attached foreheads, you take deep drags of air, letting the oxygen flow to your brain before you make some ill-advised, unclarified decisions.

“I- I was jus-”

“Shhh. Wait,” he breathes out, wanting to take a second and fully savor the moment. You nod in return, making his head move along with yours.

After sufficient air fills his lungs, Jin starts. “Y/N, we should stop.”

Last time this had happened, you had tried to force your way through his barrier, without giving his feelings a second of consideration. So this time, you don’t repeat your mistakes. “Tell me why.”

“Because, I don’t know what you’re looking for, but I’m way deeper in this than you think.”

“Jin, I-”

“Let me finish.” He stops you before you can explain how much you reflect his emotions, possibly more. He doesn’t seem to want to listen now. “Let me finish, or else I’ll chicken out, for the millionth time.”

You’re dumbfounded. Millionth time? When was the first? Acting majors, by God. 

“I love you, Y/N.”

No, now you are dumbfounded. Your hands, holding his precious locks, drop down in shock, at sheer disbelief that all this time, he has been ready and waiting to return you the favor. Jin though, misinterprets it as a look of disdain. 

“I-I know I do, and I’m sorry that I do. I know you don’t feel the same way. You can hate me all you want, but this is the truth.”

“And yes,” he continues, refusing to halt for even half a second, afraid that the courage he mustered to confess would dissipate the moment he does, “I’m attracted to you, and I don’t know what went down here --” flicking his wrist to mention your (his) outfit, “--but I’m looking, okay? And I’m hard as fuck. But that’s not all there is to it.”

“I need all of you.” He takes an audible gulp, trying to stymy his emotions from overpowering him. “I want to take you out, I want to hold you hand, I want to bring you to all the places I love. I want to introduce you to people, not as my best friend, but so much more than that. It hurts me,” bringing his hand to his chest, he emphasizes the point of pain by clutching over his heart, “hurts to call you that because I’m lying through my fucking teeth.”

You break eye contact, because there are tears smarting your eyes at his heartfelt revelation. You can’t believe the idiot that you have been all this while. The man of your dreams stands in front of you, baring his soul, and you can’t even do him the decency of telling him what you felt yourself before jumping his bones.

And you love him, too. Maybe you haven’t said so, even to yourself, but you’ve known all this while.

You love him.

“If you are just looking for a fuck, or want any sort of a ‘benefits’ situation, we should stop. I can’t lie to myself anymore.”

“Jin, my God,” you half-sigh, half-laugh, feeling a burden lift off of you after months of pining.

“You don’t have to pacify me, it’s okay, I’ll be fine.” Even in this moment, he is looking out for you. His lips are curved upward to show you that he’s okay, but his pupils are shaky and restless, not in sync with his smile. You hope your next words can fix that for him.

“Pacify you? Hate you?” You shoot him an incredulous look, one you will explain to him very soon. “You are a much better person than I am, Jinnie. For months now, I’ve loved you, but even at this point, I didn’t stop to tell you.” The guilt of letting your hormones cloud your judgement for the second time lays heavily on your conscience. “I’m sorry for not making this clear earlier, but let me now. I love you, Kim Seokjin. I have for way too long. I want you, I need you. You have me, in every possible way.”

It feels unparalleled to get that off your chest. The leaden weight of your emotions immediately disappears - or the fact that it's shared, makes it much, much lighter. But then you look at Jin, and he still seems to have not put two and two together. You patiently wait for him to process all the information. 

When he finally recoups, he yells, “What?!”

You let out a loud guffaw, the first one with no inhibitions in the longest time. “What?”

“Why didn’t you say anything that day at the cafe?!” 

“You said you’d never date me, asshole!” You punch his chest softly, before slipping your hands behind him and pulling him closer. “I might not look like it, but I have some dignity.”

“I said that?” Jin brings one hand to pinch his nose in annoyance. “What an idiot. I think I was just inverting everything to make sure I don’t accidentally slip up.”

You lift your head to meet his eyes again, letting him see the tears you were hiding. You find a couple in his eyes, too. But the smile on your face is genuine, and that is all that matters. “I was blind too, so don’t beat yourself up about it.” 

Flitting your eyes down to find the contour of his cock against his jeans, you ask him innocently, “How about we make up for lost time?”

“Fuck, yes, please.” And with that, your lips are engulfed again.

When you have all your guards down, the kiss tastes sweeter than before. Mere moments ago, while thoroughly enjoying the kiss, a sense of reticence had clouded your pleasure, holding you back from luxuriating in the headiness. A series of what-ifs had plagued your subconscious without your realization, but with all that cleared, you wholly submit to the kiss, emptying your mind until nothing but his name remains.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Jin gasps out, when you bite into his pillowy lower lip, “I thought you looked the prettiest in the dress earlier but,” after pulling away, he drinks your current attire in, “you look the most beautiful in this.”

You snicker. “Even more than World Wide Handsome?”

His eyes bore into yours, no hint of the joking lilt he always carries in them. 

“So much more.”

Your hands find their place amidst his shaggy hair again, and you lodge his face into your neck - a command Jin acquiesces to with great pleasure. After a long, wet lick to your collarbone, he lays feather-soft kisses on the trail he left, starting from your shoulder and working inward, until he brushes against the back of your ear. You grasp at his sweater, because his lips feel so good. Your breaths are short, sucking in every time he allows your skin the luxury of a soft peck.  Once he lays a kiss on your forehead, he brings his gaze down to one of the main reasons that causes his cock to stir.

“Fuck, look at your nipples under my shirt.”

Gazing down, you can see the two pointed peaks that caught Jin’s eyes. 

“That tends to happen when I’m thinking of you.” 

He twists a nipple over the shirt, hardening it further, and you throw your head back in the satisfying pain. “Yeah, I remember.”

You are unraveling every second, the ache swishing amongst the bliss his fingers are bringing in you. He’s switched over to drawing circles around your nipple, until he snaps and tugs your shirt up, finally revealing the palmfulls of flesh awaiting his hands. 

“Ah that night, I didn’t get to do this. Take this off.” But then, he makes you put on his robe again. You throw him a questioning look, to which he responds with a sheepish smile, “Just so, you know… you don’t feel cold… or something.”

“Just say you like me in your clothes and move on.”

“I love you in my clothes,” he admits in a heartbeat, his expression that of anguish, “can we move on?”

“God, gladly.”

Unexpectedly, he bites the side of your boob - not hard at all, but feeling his teeth against your skin sends your head reeling backward. Your involuntary response is to wrap your legs around his waist, grinding your core against him. His teeth continue to nip you lightly across the expanse of your breasts, the trail of saliva he leaves cooling parts of your flushed body. Finally, finally, he latches onto your left nipple and gives it a long, pleasurable suck.

“Ahh, Jin - you’re too - God damn it - you’re too good at this.” 

Without stopping the onslaught he is unleashing on your breasts, his fingers begin to move - but soon, they stop, hesitation rippling off of their tips. His pace falters, and his mind is fighting on the next course of action.

“Can I-”

“Finish what you started that night?” you complete for him, already prepared with your answer. “Yes, please.”

All forms of uncertainty shoot out of his touch, and he confidently trudges forward. Playing with the band of your panties, he gives you a well-intended chuckle, murmuring, “As far as I remember, I was so good you passed out.”

“Boy,” You groan, intended in jest, but his teeth slide against your jaw and it mostly comes out more wanton than jovial, “let me see you have tequila for dinner and remember much the next day.”

“Fair fair,” he gives in, shifting to buss the valley of your cleavage, feeling your heart thud against your ribs holding it in place. “Well today,” he starts without moving his face, his nimble fingers moving past the barrier of your underwear, pressing two fingertips directly on your clit, and hissing like it's him at the receiving end, “I’ll give you enough to remember.”

You pull his sweater off and chuck it away, not wanting to be reminded of any blockades that kept you apart, and your hands roam the expanse of his back remembering the touch of his skin from the night at the bar. His body isn’t new to you, but the circumstances make it feel different. 

Finally, his fingers find their way inside you. 

Yes, this. This was what was missing from your drunken tryst. With your heads in place, your ardor intensifies, and you move his lips back to yours needing to release your animalistic desire into his mouth. Pleasure surges through both of you as you threaten to swallow him whole.

You can feel him being more present, and considering the merciless finger-fucking you had earned that night, this is taking it to a whole other degree. 

The night at the bar, his fingers did their best to ravish you, but now, Jin is paying attention, close attention to the way you respond. Every muscle movement is recorded in him as you struggle to accommodate three of his lengthy digits. Leaning close, he gives your peaked nipple the lightest feather lick - the suddenness sends shockwaves through you as he continues to tweeze the other, talented pianist hands performing his musical piece on both ends of you.

His fingers pump into you with determination, finding new depths to explore that he missed out on, and with a curl of his pointer, you blank out, screaming in the orgasm that is washing over you. Every skincell of your body feels the quiver of lust spreading, your cunt squeezing for an eternity, milking the orgasm out to the extent that you can. 

When you look down, your metaphorical orgasmic flood manifestes as a deluge of your arousal leaking on the table. And when you look back up, you can see the salacious ideas making their rounds in Jin’s head as he looks at the inundation you released. 

Hurried hands still convulsing from the intensity of your orgasm, you undo his belt, followed by his jeans and finally - getting the pleasure you were heartlessly denied of - his cock is out, in all its glory, twitching as the cool air hits its naked skin. Jin’s plans don’t go hand in hand with yours though.

“Are we just - holy fucking shit - just, umm, leave that to waste?” he lustfully looks down to your leaking core, and someway, through your hold on his dick, he tries to steer you into his plans.

“I don’t know about that,” you cheekily reply. You have the right idea to satisfy both of you, and get down to the task.

With the flat of your palm, you swipe across the droplets of cum you released, gathering them to transfer them onto his thick length. Jin thrusts into your hand, the wetness jolting him into attention, and he places an arm on your shoulder to steady himself. 

“You’re going to taste yourself?” he asks as you continue your vacillating motion, twisting at the base of his head with the wetness you graciously provided yourself. You give him a nonchalant look, something he is trying to do to you as well. 

“Who said I’m gonna suck you off?”

His look changes, and the one you get in return is cocky, arrogant, downright rude if you were honest. You expected him to play on with your banter, but one raised eyebrow and the lazy smirk he gives, to what he probably thinks is a joke - Zeus could land on earth and not be able to stop you from gobbling his meat. 

Your mouth is filled with his dick even before your knees hit the ground. Jin staggers back, but your suction on his dick is funnily strong enough to pull him back before falling.  You switch positions, having him balance himself against the counter, all while you refuse to leave his cock out. His giggle of endearment has you pouting, but it swells your heart and makes you want to give more, more of anything and everything. With your renewed vigor, you push yourself in until his pubes tickle your nose, and his tip tickles your throat. 

“Your-”, “I-”, “uhh-” 

Every new sentence Jin starts crumbles to your actions. You furrow your brows both in concentration on your blowing skills and trying to decode what he is trying to say. 

Jin takes a large gulp, adamant on making this one a coherent sentence. “You know, I used to imagine this, and in my dreams I used to be very sexy and suave, talking my way throug-oof-” You run your tongue over the tip of his leaking dick, emphasizing the point he is coming to, “Now I can’t even complete sentences here.”

“You being you is super sexy in itself.” And you curve your tongue to match the arch of his cock, letting the incoming saliva pool on it before letting it run down his shaft, dripping down from his balls. Strings of his precum connect to your lips, and you swipe your tongue through them, relishing the salty goodness before going back in for more. 

“Y/N, shit, did you just moan?”

How couldn’t you? The fact that he is horny for you, so much so that rivulets of precum don’t stop drizzling down your throat, has you preening. You hum your assent in response, not willing to let go even for a moment, but Jin pulls you off before you can get a chokehold on the base of his cock again. 

“Never had a woman moan while sucking me off. It’s sexy as fuck,” Jin breathes into your lips as he dives in for a kiss.

Your chest is heaving, catching the breaths you lost when you were down. “Then why’d you stop me?”

“Are you kidding me? I was about to lose it right there.”

“Jinnie, come on,” you break the fragmentary kiss you were sharing, looking into his glassy eyes, “let me feel you come on my tongue.” To emphasize your conviction, you lick his lips, persuading him of the sinful deeds your tongue is capable of doing if he’d just let you.

“Oh man, stop. What’s worse than busting a nut in your mouth? Busting it while you’re kissing me. Making me feel like a teenager.” You erupt into a loud laugh, soon followed by Jin as well. It is so him to joke about this. 

“And babe,” all hints of embarrassment vanishing from his tone, “I’m only going to come inside you.”

“Fuck, fuck, yes. You got a condom on you?”

“Yeah, let me grab my wallet.” The instant he moves away, you feel naked, shivering from the comfort stolen away from you. But then you hear Jin grumble, “I hope I don’t have the bacon-flavored one.” And the absurdity of it all puts you at ease again.

“Ew, stop, even you can’t make that sexy. My lady boner is dying.”

He envelops you again, and you can feel the laughter echoing in his lungs before making it out to your ears. He brings your attention to the familiar rustle of foil wrapper. “Thankfully, we got chocolate.”

“Mmmh, gotta love chocolate.”

You take the condom out of his hands, and roll it onto his stiff length, flattered that he’s holding his erection for so long. 

“Okay, stick it in me!” And you smack your ass in readiness, and a very flabbergasted Jin breaks out chortling.

“Y/N, stop being my best friend for like, five minutes!” His brows are furrowed in pretense exasperation, but you can see his lips holding back a genuine smile through the grimace, just happy that your dynamics haven’t changed the slightest, even though everything else has shifted.

“Okay okay,” you try and suppress your own laughter, before continuing, “how do you want me, baby?”

“Bend over on the vanity. And keep your eyes on the mirror.” And as you move into position, his palms grab your ass and squeeze it hard, feeling your glutes push back against his grip, and he pushes you forward till you're on the tips of your toes. You watch him through the mirror, watch him admire the way your ass curves over the table edge, how your toes struggle to keep you up, and how the dimples of your back are deepened by the arch, peeking under the bunched up robe tails, just waiting for him.

“Jin.” Your hushed whisper puts him in action.

Pushing the head in is anguish and relief at the same time. His bulbous head stretches your entrance; even with your preparation, you feel it sting. The searing gets better and better with every inch slipping in, and when he finally lodges inside, you let out a heavy breath, still panting and keeping yourself from screaming bloody murder in pleasure. Jin bends forward to paint the back of your neck, sucking the flesh till the circular bruise comes to surface. 

“Can you- can you-fuck, no, wait-” Your brain is at war with itself, battling between adjusting to his girth and having him pump you into adjustment. 

You can feel Jin’s snicker from behind you, and he finally makes the decision for you. “I’ll wait, I have things to do here,” he says before playing around the patch of skin, spreading from the base of your hair to the expanse of your back, his teasing licks relaxing your walls and accommodating his girth. The pain is almost gone, expect for the lingering ache that only helps you.

“You can move now, babe.”

“Okay, okay.” Your words snap him out of the painter’s dream he was in, and he twitches inside you. Something about the ease at which you both have adopted nicknames for each other softens his heart and hardens his cock. 

Pulling out till only the head rests inside, Jin himself struggles against the third degree grip your pussy has on him. As he is thrusting inside again, your walls tense up, making it harder and harder for him to hold back. 

“Y/N, sweetie, relax. I got you.”

“Jin, I’m-” You have tears running down your eyes, the pleasure and unsurmountable happiness rolling out in fat hot drops. “Fuck me harder. I won’t last.”

“Shit. Okay, hold on then.”

To what? Is what you’re going to ask before Jin unleashes his carnality onto you. Your breasts, dripping in sweat and saliva, are plastered to the countertop, which in itself is jiggling to the beat of Jin’s thrusts. His dick is curving inside to hit you repeatedly, and you have to gather the satin fabric to wipe your eyes to keep your gaze fixed on him. 

He looks majestic. Forehead embellished with beads of sweat, his hair coiffed up, lips sanguine red after your vicious kisses - you swipe your tongue along your own lips to find them battered in response. His honey chest is heaving with every push, and a particular one hits you just right. 

You let out a guttural groan, and Jin takes note of it immediately. 

“Up,” he commands, and loops an arm under your belly to you pull you up and closer and now every thrust hits deeper into that spot he has found in you, your back connected to his chest as the two of you move in tandem; this is the most together you’ve ever felt with anyone. This moment is to be etched in your memories forever.

You scream into your fist to muffle the sounds, the edge of the table digging into your hip bone as you feel yourself getting closer to the brink. One swipe to the clit is all you have left to bring you to your release. 

And from some telepathic force, or from the clutch your pussy has on him, Jin beats you to it. His fingers come down and carefully find your swollen nub, pinching it between his fingers. If he thought you’d shown him your hardest clench, he was wrong, because right now your dam has broken, and the iron-clad grip you give his cock sends him reeling, too.

You are gushing on his dick, the rubber dripping with your wetness. Jin too releases into the condom in stuttered gasps, his thrusts becoming shorter and shallower as he comes down from his high. 

Petal-like kisses fall on your back as the two of you regain your breaths. The mirror that served you two well is covered in a fog of hot breath and perspiration, blearing your vision of yourself, but somehow, it sparkles with Jin’s reflection. His nobility-esque visuals use the haze as a valance for his appearance, framing them to make him look like you’re among the clouds. And in some way, you actually are.

“Ah, let me go.” You jiggle your shoulders back to make the man above you move. “Fuck, can you check if my spine is in place? I think you dislodged it.”

“Shut up and come hug me, I’ll squeeze it back in place.”

Now this is something you could get used to.

As he ties and throws away the used condom, you flip over to face him and fall back into his embrace, broad shoulders promising to protect you, making you feel safe in his care. Jin on the other hand is simply ecstatic to feel you on him, feeling your thumping heart beat for him, after months of pining and pondering whether anything would become of the seed of your tumultuous friendship. Now, it has blossomed to a garden of prospect and promise, every petal of every flower here reading a new opportunity to tell you how much he adores you, cherishes you, treasures you. How much he loves you.  An opportunity he doesn’t wait to use. 

“I love you.”

The pink tinge of your cheeks either comes from the sex, or from his comment, but either way, he is glad its from him. 

“I love you too, Jin. So, so very much.”

If your heart could leap out of your chest, it would do so, to find its way to his and fuse into one. But for now, your entwined bodies give you all you want. 

You hear Jin stifle a laugh, and pull back in question. He points to something odd on the countertop.

“What is that?”

The cream white surface of the table, that was maligned by your ignoble deeds, now sports two glistening, wheatish semi circles that look very similar to the sizes of one person who was splayed on top of it just moments ago. 

“Is that…” Jin is trying to contort his lips and halt the looming snicker, and he brings his eyes down to your chest (trying not to get hard again), “Did you have makeup on your chest?”

“Shut up.” All you can do is fall closer into his arms, hopefully masking the tint of embarrassment highlighting the apples of your cheeks. “I wanted to make them look extra good for you.”

He’s given up on holding back, the full-bellied laugh that resonated from him echoing across the room. But it dwindles down fast, coming to small chuckles of tenderness, and he slips his digits beneath your chin to have you meet his gaze.

“They always look good,” he whispers, his admittance setting your chest aflame, “trust me, I’d know.”

Taglist 💛:  @little7bitchh​, @afangirllikeme-blog​, @h34rt1lly, @marpotterhead​

Thank you so much for making it to the end! I hope you enjoyed the fic, my ask box is always open for your lovely opinions. To read more of my work, find my main masterlist here. :)

[detroitbydark]

Title: Play With Fire- Part 2

Characters: Migs Mayfeld/”Pockets” (OC)

Rating: T

Summary: First Impressions

Warning: Blood? but not gore

A/N: So apparently Pockets is now and OC and I have more ideas then I care to admit for this pairing. Thank you to @crimson-dxwn​ for being my beta extraordinaire and listening to my rants and raves. Anything ya'll wanna know about these two crazy kids? let me know and I might explore it. Also, 3 ABY is approximately one year before the battle of Endor and the second Death Star and their reunion ( the first part in this) takes place about 9 ABY sometime after the second season of The Mandalorian.

 3 ABY

Sometimes you made the shot of a lifetime. Sometimes you didn’t.

Sometimes you made that once in millennia shot as Rebel artillery was destroying your nest and you went tumbling ass over blaster down a ravine with half a ton of loose debris and rocks.

You couldn’t win them all.

Migs got this. He understood it like he understood his unfortunate short stature or the hairline that had receded for too early in life. Those were the breaks.

You either lived with it or died with it and he was fully set on living until he was old and shriveled.

Some days it just sucked.

Today was one of those days.

“We got a live one coming through. Clear a table, will ya?”

The voice of his squad mate, Crikes, was too loud on his right as his weight pressed heavily into Smitty on his left. The rough outer rim accent bounced around in his bucket like a stray blaster bolt.

Kriff his head hurt.

Everything hurt actually, from his head to the tips of his toes. The slide hadn’t been that bad. Seven meters? Maybe ten? It was the sharp obsidian stone that had come down with him that had done him in. The razor sharp black stone had bludgeoned and gouged his armor, weaseling its way into the cracks and under the plastoid plating. It cut at his skin with each move he made. If the stims hadn’t helped numb him up he’d probably have passed out when the assault droid had helped yank him from the rubble.  His gauntlets were both cracked and he could feel a cool breeze coming through the cracks in his back plate. He’d liked his armor. Command wasn’t gonna take to kindly with having to replace it.

It was nice to pretend his biggest concern was getting a new set of plastoid requisitioned. 

“Hey medic!” Crikes’ voice cuts through his thoughts, “I said we need a hand over here!”

“Maker… do you have to yell so fragging loud? I mean-“

“What are you going on about?” Looking back he’s never sure what it was that he noticed first, but he likes to think it was her voice. Like an holomodel fantasy out of a good spice trip, she shuts that Hutt humping Crikes up, marching over with her hands on her hips and scowl on her face.

“We got an Imperial war hero here.” Crikes sounds chastened, but Migs doesn’t bother to look over to see if his face matches what he’s hearing because he’s in the presence of a fragging angel.

“Yeah? Look around. Got a lot of heroes here.” Sarcasm flows from her pretty pouty lips like water from a fountain. She sweeps her arm toward the other beds and the piles of bloodied plastoid littering the small field hospital. “This one ain’t any better or worse.”

Migs frowns under cover of his helmet. For a while he’s been wondering if he might have some bleeding going on somewhere. He feels a bit woozy when he turns his head too quickly to follow the angel as she grabs a datapad off a nearby cart. He was better then a majority of the scum around him. He was a sharpshooter, best of the best, and the bastard who single-handedly brought down the pair of x-Wings decimating their ground troops.

He tries to tell her as such but the words don’t come out of his mouth in any coherent thought. Angel freezes, looking up from the datapad she barks to his squad mate and Migs suddenly feels his bucket being pulled from his head.

“Designation number trooper.”

It’s an order not a question. He didn’t like orders, even from his own superiors but she’s damn pretty and his head hurts…

“Trooper? A number?” Angel looks up from the datapad. There’s concern on her face. She’s scanning his injuries. The ones she can see. Were they that bad? Migs reaches up and feels something warm and sticky against his temple.

“FO-593” Smitty offers for him.

“593… got it…” she takes a step closer, setting the datapad down and pulling gloves from her pocket. She’s got the prettiest hazel eyes, long lashes. Migs wonders if she’s seeing anyone. It’s probably one of those civvie doctors that signed on…

“593-“

“Mayfeld. It’s Migs Mayfeld.” He clarifies, ‘cause a pretty girl like her should be saying his name.

“Alright, Mayfeld, what happened?”

“He saved our asses is what he did!”

Crikes again. Maker, if the bastard kept stealing his glory he was going to deck him. Once the room stopped spinning.

“You know what?” The Angel looks about as amused with Crikes as

Migs felt. “I think it’s high time you two go get some rations in you and leave Mayfeld and I to our own devices.”

Smitty elbows Crikes, the plastoid of armor clattering as he tips his head toward the entrance.

“I’m good boys,” Migs offers the other two field operatives, “Let me get some alone time with the pretty girl.”

He ignores the raised brow directed his way and the crossed arms that follow. Nausea rolls through him as his buddies wander back the way they came.

“Frag… I think I’m gonna be sick.”

She does well. Manages to miss the first splash of vomit. The second retch hits her shoe.

“Son of a bitch… Maker fragging-“ 

The angel has a mouth on her. He could get used to that. Migs uses the sleeve of his under armor, exposed by the shattered plastoid to wipe his mouth.

“Sorry about that, Sweetness.” 

Her eyes narrow as she reaches behind him. “My name is not Sweetness. I am FM-111 to you trooper. Specialist Coronette if you're lucky.”

The words slip out, some verbal diarrhea to go along with what he was starting to think was a concussion. “I am lucky and you’re beautiful.”

“That’s it-“

“Pockets? Have we got an issue?”

Wait- was that a-

“No Coric, I’m good.”

The older man looks at Migs and Migs looks right back. No shit. A clone. You didn’t see that everyday. Guy’s got a head of close cropped salt and pepper hair, looks real dignified. He’s also… glaring? Ok yeah, that wasn’t good.

“If he’s giving you trouble I can-“

Angel’s…. Specialist Coronette’s face softens as she looks at the clone. Migs feels a little jealousy percolate deep down - accompanied by the occasional flip of his stomach. She pats the other man’s cheek fondly and he gives her a soft look.

Some guys had all the luck.

Migs closes his eyes as the world takes a big spin. He doesn’t mean to groan but the axis has tilted and the poles have just flipped and… Fek… he really is starting to not feel good.

“Hey… Mayfeld?” The voice is soft and Migs focuses on the sweet, silvery words. Slowly he opens his eyes and notes that Coronette, is at his side looking more concerned then she has the entire time he’s been in the damn med bay. Over her shoulder the clone medic gives his own appraising look.

“You got this Pockets?”

Migs sees irritation flash in sharp green eyes, not just green but, like, Endor. So bright and alive there wasn’t any way he could think to describe them other than the greenest Kriffing place he’d ever seen in his life.

“I’ve got it, Sir.” Her tone is sharp but the clone, her superior, doesn’t seem to take offense to it. She must not just be blowing smoke. At this point he doesn’t give a wamp rat’s ass. He really just wants to call it a day, catch a cycle worth of sleep and lay in bed til the gut-rending nausea goes the fek away.

“Uh-uh,” she tuts, irritation melted away, “can’t fall asleep on me just yet. You haven’t even shown me a good time yet.” She teases and Migs wills his eyes wide open.

“You’re flirting.”

“Maybe… or maybe I’m trying to keep you awake because you’ve got a concussion. You’ll never know.”

Specialist Coronette pokes and prods, shuffling him toward the edge of the gurney. “Wanna go somewhere more private?”

“Trying to get me all alone, beautiful?”

She huffs. It sounds half amused. He can work with that.

“I’m trying,” she grunts, looping his arm around her shoulder and manhandling him into standing, “to get you in a private room so I can assess your wounds without the whole battalion seeing you stripped down.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” His head spins at the sudden change in momentum. “I’m not that kind of man. You gotta wine me and dine me before-“

She twists under his arm and sharp pain shoots through his side cutting off his words more effectively then any shushing ever could. 

“Easy Mayfeld.” He hears a familiar voice but can’t place which slimy barve he knew it came from. “You can’t handle that one.”

A pair of voices, masculine and feminine, grunt in agreement as he and his medic slowly hobble past and to a clean, empty ‘room’.

It’s a room about as much as a room as a troop transport is a luxury yacht. Four ceiling to floor curtained walls block it off from the other rooms and the larger, open floor of the hospital. He manages to collapse onto the exam table as the world takes another vicious whip around. This time he manages to spew in the bucket shoved under his nose.

He apologizes after he finishes. “Thanks. You know, you keep showing me basic human decency like this and you’ll never be able to get rid of me.”

Coronette is pulling clean gloves on and hunting in a shallow drawer. She arches a pretty brow in his direction as she finds a pair of shears. “I have to clean up whatever mess you make. Don’t confuse decency with laziness on my part.”

“Whatever you say, Pockets.”

Her shoulders tense for a moment and then she takes a deep breath and lets the bait he’s laying out go to waste.

“I’m getting this armor off you. ‘Fraid it ain’t doing you any good anymore.”

Migs glances down at the cracked plastoid. His pauldron is long gone and both pairs of vambrace and gauntlets are thrashed. There’s so much under armor and skin showing, Migs isn’t really sure how they're still even on him. Pockets manages to get them off without much to it and little input from the guy wearing them. She begins on his cuirass and Migs thinks of half a dozen smart ass remarks about getting his clothes off, but there’s something going on under the armor and each time she begins working at the cracked and twisted chest piece it steals the air from his lungs.

“Karking hells,” he curses lowly. 

“I’ve almost got it…” 

Migs takes a deep breath and holds as still as he can. It kriffing hurts, burns hotter than two suns over Tatooine. Just when he’s sure he can’t handle a second more of it, the plastoid falls away in two pieces. It’s like a pressure he hadn’t realized was on his chest has finally been removed and he can breathe-

“Son of a mudscuffer-“

Migs doesn’t need to ask what’s wrong. He can feel it. Warmth spreading and staining the under armor across the left side of his chest. 

“Karking thing was putting pressure on-“ she trails off again as she retrieves the shears from her pocket. She’s efficient and wastes no time slicing up the front of his under armor. The black fabric falls away from one side and clings to blood staining his other. Coronette doesn’t stop moving, flowing from one spot to the next. She doesn’t stop talking either.

“Fek. Fek. That’s not gonna fekking come out in the wash-“ 

He could laugh but she’s pulling the clinging fabric away from his chest and pressing bacta soaked gauze into the laceration. If that didn’t burn like the wrong end of a burner’s incinerator he didn’t know what did. 

“Damn it! Is your kriffing processor pickled?! Warn a guy!” He's all bark and no bite at the mercy of the medic who continues to press hard on the wound.

“Shut it 593.” It’s grunted out as she continues to press with one hand and reach across him with the other for Palps only knew what. Sharp words fizzle on his tongue as he catches a glimpse of pale flesh down the top of her scrubs. Fek. He really loved a pretty pair of tits and judging by the rounded tops he can see and the slight jiggle as they move, Coronette’s were perfect. It’s better then any painkiller he could imagine… until she’s leaning back and catches the cast of his eyes.

“So are so kriffing lucky. You slimy little nerfherder- if I had two free hands.”

He should feel bad about being caught but Migs has had a day and he really can’t find it in him.

“Not my fault, maker gave you a gorgeous rack and Imperial uniforms don’t hide it.”

He winces as she yanks the bacta soaked gauze away, blood beginning to well up again immediately. She doesn’t warn him before pressing the gun into the open wound and squeezing the trigger. Bacta foam fills in the area as he hisses, sealing the laceration. She doesn’t stop to make sure he’s ok before she’s spinning and grabbing more supplies. A bacta patch gets slapped over the quick dry foam.

“Weasly stormtrooper scum…” she continues under her breath.

“Aww come on now, I’m sorry.” He tries to offer a weak smile but her back is turned as she furiously enters data onto a pad. “I really am. When’s the end of your shift. I’ll buy you a drink?”

The anger that flashes in those forest eyes when she whips back is the sexiest thing he’s seen in a standard cycle. If the stims weren’t beginning to wear off and his body beginning to hurt to Malachor and back, he’d be getting stiff in what was left of his armor.

“You think I’d have a drink with you?”

“Come on sweets, what really matters is if you think you’d have a drink with me.”

Her eyebrows skim her hairline. “Are you kidding me? Give up already. Karking little-”

“Not the size of the aak in the fight but the fight in the aak, Sweetheart.”

“Not in your life, Buckethead.”

Her ass looks almost as good in her scrubs as her tits but she doesn’t give him a chance to say so before she storms out.

[whumptopia]

Superhero Interrogated

my hero academia oc whump commissioned by @everythingbaku

content warnings: torture, drugging, captivity, blood, very brief emeto mention

—

Waking is slow. Ren—bouncy, energetic, excitable Ren—is normally the first one up, rising with the sun while his husband grumbles about needing more sleep. Now, though, he feels sluggish and discombobulated, his eyelids impossibly heavy. Either he’s hungover from partying hard at a rager (unlikely, getting blackout drunk isn’t really his scene), or… something’s wrong with him.

Groaning, he cracks his eyes open. His vision is blurry, and the world is cast in black and white. Wincing, he turns his cheek away from the too-bright light, squinting at his surroundings. His tongue is dry, and he feels… off. It takes a moment for him to process the sensation, but when he does, his heart spikes.

He’s been drugged.

His awareness is quickly returning, and he realizes he’s not lying in his bed. No, he’s sitting in a chair, his wrists bound to the wooden arms, his ankles tied to the legs. His neck aches from his head being tipped back for however long he was out. When he lifts his head, the room spins and makes him woozy. He slams his eyes shut and takes several deep breaths until the feeling passes. When he no longer feels faint, he opens his eyes again to assess his situation.

Ren has been kidnapped. That much is obvious. He’s wearing his civilian clothes, so maybe whoever captured him doesn’t know he’s a hero. He’s a shapeshifter, so stealth is his trademark, but his inability to alter the color of his eyes (violet) and his hair (steel blue) sometimes makes him easy to detect. He’s been wearing colored contacts and a baseball cap to compensate, but… hopefully his cover hasn’t been blown.

He looks around the small concrete room, empty except for the chair he’s tied to and the led-lights shining overhead. He’s facing the door. It’s made out of heavy metal and doesn’t have a handle. The room he’s trapped in is more of a cell, really, and definitely not some amatuer goon’s basement.

“Shit,” Ren whispers to himself. He’s really gotten himself into trouble this time. 

He perks up at the sound of footsteps, much more alert now. Someone’s just outside the door—multiple people, if his hearing is right. There’s the sound of multiple bolts being unlatched, and then the door swings open.

Three large, burly men shuffle into the cell, all of them wearing masks, effectively concealing their identities. They’re decked out in protective gear, and Ren notes the weapons strapped to their belts. They must be professionals. Ren swallows. 

“Oh, good, you’re up,” one of them says, “Thought you might’ve overdosed. Hard to figure out how much to give you since you’re so tiny.”

Ren doesn’t validate the remark with a reply. Yeah, they’re not wrong. He’s not even five feet tall, and it sucks, but he can’t exactly help it, can he?

The cell is quiet for a minute or so. They seem to be waiting for him to speak, but he isn’t going to risk revealing anything incriminating. Finally, the goon who entered the room first, the tallest of them all, crosses his arms, taking a step toward him. 

“Nekozawa,” he says slowly, and Ren stiffens. So they do know who he is. He changed his surname to Bakugou after he got married, but he and Katsuki have kept their relationship under wraps to avoid public outcry. Nekozawa is his father’s name and the name everyone knows him by.

He blows a strand of long blue hair out of his eyes. So much for undercover.

“And who are you supposed to be?” he replies snippily, tugging on his wrists to test his restraints. No give. It doesn’t look like he’s gonna be escaping anytime soon.

“You know who we are.” The man moves closer, lifting one booted foot and planting it on the space between his legs—not on his crotch but on the seat of the chair. Close enough to be intimidating (and probably a shitty political statement), but Ren isn’t easily cowed.

Sure, he can be gentle, caring, and loving. He has a soft spot for sweets and pastel t-shirts. His husband sometimes likens him to a kitten, simultaneously teasing and flirting with him. All of these things are true, but he’s still a superhero. He’s a badass, and he’s going to make sure these guys know it.

“Can’t say I do.” He shrugs in disinterest. “I don’t think I’d want to know you, anyway. You guys apparently don’t know a thing about hospitality.”

The man’s lip curls in distaste. “You have infiltrated our organization and have been collecting intel for months. You know more than we can allow.”

“When you say ‘we,’ you mean your bosses, right? If they’re so concerned, why don’t they come talk to me themselves?” Ren suggests. He doubts he’ll get the chance to land his eyes on the higher-ups of the criminal organization he’s currently trying to take down, but he might as well give it a shot, right?

Before Ren can blink, the man’s fist collides with his face. His head is whipped to the side, and he sucks in a breath as his punched cheek throbs in pain.

“Our superiors don’t have time to deal with the likes of you,” the man hisses, kicking the chair back. Ren falls hard, knocking the base of his skull on the floor. Stars dance across his eyes, and he groans, his head pounding. Fuck.

He must lose track of time for a moment because the next time he can see properly, his chair has been picked back up and he’s facing the goons once more.

“What do you want?” Ren asks gruffly. He’s not going to give them anything, not in a million years, but it might do him some good to figure out their agenda. They’re all so… composed, despite their violence. They’re clearly used to dealing with prisoners. No tricking them into letting him go, then. 

“You’re going to tell us what you know,” the man who punched him demands, “and who you work for.”

Ren rolls his eyes, and the goon steps forward, fist clenched.

“I work for myself, thank you very much,” Ren quips, “Oh, and I’m not telling you shit.”

The hit comes, but he’s expecting it this time. Still, the blow to his already bruised cheek hurts twice as much as the first punch did. Stifling a noise of pain, he drops his chin to his chest. The coppery taste of blood quickly fills his mouth, and his tongue aches. He must’ve bit it.

A hand grabs a fistful of his long hair and yanks, forcing him to look up. The goon’s expression is unreadable, hidden behind his mask. “Will you cooperate or not?”

Ren grins, flashing his blood-stained teeth. “What do you think?”

The man lets go of his hair and steps away. Ren tips his head back, breathing heavily through his nose. He’s not as tough as he likes to pretend to be. Those closest to him know he’s a brave fighter who’s willing to die to protect his loved ones, and he has a public reputation as an advocate for civil rights. Still, he isn’t exactly eager to sacrifice himself or get hurt in any way. Living is pretty sweet—so is not being tortured, but it looks like it’s a little late for that now.

There’s an audible shuffle of heavy footsteps as the goons exit his cell, and the coor creaks as it swings shut. With a sigh of relief, Ren looks up—and he’s greeted by the sight of one lone man. Not everyone left the room, it seems. It’s the guy who didn’t speak earlier. He’s standing too close to Ren, his hands clasped behind his back.

Without a second of hesitation, Ren spits at him. The bloody projectile only makes it far enough to land on his shirt, unfortunately. Ren was aiming for his face. 

The man doesn’t flinch.

“Cute,” he drawls, not even glancing down to examine the stain. “But you don’t have to pretend anymore, Ren Nekozawa. It’s just you and me now.”

Ren arches an eyebrow. “What, are you supposed to be good cop or something?”

The man chuckles, a hint of smile curling his lips. “I’m not good cop.”

Unease washes over Ren like an uncomfortable sprinkle of rain, damp and chilling. He tries not to let it show. “Bad cop, then? You gonna hit me some more?”

The man looks up at the ceiling as if talking to himself. “My associate was simply the prelude. Most people break from just the threat of violence. We figured you’d be a little less forthcoming, so I tagged along. I guess you could say I’m the main course.”

Ren pulls on his bound arms reflexively, just a little, and laughs humorlessly. “You gonna tear off my fingernails?”

“Maybe,” the man muses, “but probably not. I doubt you’ll need that much coaxing. You’re not as defiant as you pretend to be.”

Insulted, Ren scowls. “You don’t know me.”

The man nods in concession and begins to circle him like a shark. Ren doesn’t follow his path of travel, simply continuing to glare straight ahead.

“It’s true we’ve never met, but I know people, and you’re easy to read.” He cards a hand through Ren’s hair and twirls a blue strand with his finger. “You’re compensating for your size and apparent vulnerability. It must be difficult, being such a weak hero.”

Ren twists his neck around, dislodging the man’s grip, and tries to bite at his fingers. His teeth clamp around empty air, but his attempt does get the man to back off. Much to his dismay, the guy doesn’t appear threatened in the slightest.

“You’re not even good at using your powers. You stick out like a sore thumb with your height, your hair, and those eyes,” he continues, standing directly in front of Ren now. He plucks a small, thin knife from his belt. “So vibrant. I could help you, y’know. Cut them out, and you’ll be much less identifiable.” He positions the point of the blade just above his pupil, so close that Ren doesn’t even dare to breathe.

“Then again, a boy with two missing eyes might be hard to miss.” With a flick of his wrist, the man cuts a shallow line right underneath his eye. Ren gasps, gritting his teeth. Blood streams down his cheek like a river of tears. 

“Fuck you,” he hisses, trying to maintain his bravado. His heart is jackrabbiting in his chest, and he’s gripping the arms of the chair with white knuckles. He won’t admit it, but he’s scared. He wishes Katsuki was here to protect him. So much for being a badass superhero.

The man hums, wiping the blood off the blade using the collar of Ren’s shirt. 

“There are two ways this can go,” he begins, retracting the knife and replacing it with a much larger one. Ren eyes the jagged blade warily. “You can drop the tough-guy façade and answer every question I ask you—”

“Fat fucking chance!” Ren interjects, snarling. The man raises one unimpressed brow. His mask only covers his eyes, leaving the rest of his face on display. Ren briefly wonders if his lack of concern for his identity is supposed to be an intimidation tactic. 

“Or,” the man continues, splaying one palm over Ren’s collarbones and pressing him flat against the chair’s back. With his other hand gripping the knife, he slashes down the front of Ren’s shirt, cutting open the fabric and the skin of his chest. Ren yelps. “I can make you talk.”

Panting, Ren looks down at the gash. Blood oozes from the wound, dripping down his sternum to his stomach. His insides churn at the sight. 

“So, Nekozawa,” he says amicably, as if he isn’t threatening to torture him, “What will it be?”

Ren squeezes his eyes shut, taking a deep breath. The work he’s been doing for the past couple months is important. The criminal organization he’s been spying on is guilty of abhorrent crimes and needs to be brought to justice. He thinks of the victims, past, present, and future. He thinks of his fellow heroes, all of whom are undoubtedly braver than him. He thinks of Katsuki, the love of his life. Katsuki would never surrender.

Ren opens his eyes and shoots his interrogator a defiant grin. “I’m not talking. You can try and make me, but it won’t work.”

The man smiles, as if that’s the answer he wanted to hear. “We’ll see, Nekozawa. We’ll see.”

—

Four hours later, Ren cracks.

It’s the knife in his shoulder that finally does it. The man digs the blade past muscle, all the way to bone, and twists. Ren screams, tears flowing freely.

“Who do you work for, Ren?” the interrogator asks for the upteenth time, calm as ever.

“I, I told you, I work a—” Ren begins, but then the knife twists again, and he shrieks: “Ah, Deku! Deku!”

The blade stills. 

“I work, I don’t, I don’t report to anybody,” Ren continues, unbearably ashamed of himself for the name drop. He held out for hours only to break now. “We sometimes work together. He’s not my boss or anything.”

“Not good enough, Nekozawa,” the man sighs, ripping the knife out of his shoulder. Ren yells, his expression contorted in anguish. Yanking the blade out hurt almost as much as the initial stab.

Groaning, he slumps in his chair. His entire body is covered in cuts, some shallow and some deep. His pale skin is coated in sticky blood, and he emptied his stomach a while ago. Drenched in sweat, exhausted and dehydrated, Ren is pushed past his limits. He never thought he would surrender even the tiniest bit of information, but here he is, giving in like a coward. Fresh tears leak from his eyes.

The man sheaths his blade and takes Ren’s chin in hand. “Does Deku know of your current operation?”

Ren exhales shakily and lies: “No.”

Deku is an incredibly powerful superhero. He went to school with Ren’s husband, Katsuki, and they were rivals for some time. Deku is too well known for undercover work and is much more suited for direct attacks. He’s taken out several outposts after Ren gave him names and locations. They’re not working together directly, but they both know of the danger said criminal organization poses. 

The man’s nails dig into his cheeks. “I don’t believe you.” He digs the thumb of his free hand into a deep gash in his side, and Ren’s mouth falls open in a wordless scream, his eyes rolling back. “Who else is involved?”

Blood dribbles out of the corner of his mouth from his bit tongue. “M’not… telling.”

The interrogator releases his chin and wraps his broad hand around his throat, squeezing tightly. Ren’s eyes fly open, and he struggles to breathe.

“I’ve been very patient,” the man begins, “And I appreciate what you’ve told me so far, but, frankly, it’s nothing I didn’t already know. Maybe I need to be more persuasive.”

Ren shakes his head a fraction of an inch, gaping like a fish out of water. He isn’t sure how much he can endure. He needs a break before he says something stupid. Black spots dance across his vision, and his lungs burn. Time passes impossibly long, and wet, sputtering gasps escape his lips. Eventually, just when he thinks he’s gonna pass out, the man releases his neck. Ren coughs, gulping down air, his vision blinded by tears. He feels so weak and pathetic. What kind of hero allows themselves to be caught and tortured? He doesn’t know how he’ll live with himself after this. If there even is an after. He doesn’t see any chance of escape, and what if no one rescues him?

Ren clenches his fists and steadies his breathing. He can’t lose hope. Katsuki will come for him. If not Katsuki, someone else. He won’t be left here to die. He just needs to hold out and keep his mouth shut.

The man returns to his side with a syringe in hand. He cocks his head and looks down at him with a faux-sympathetic smile. “Hurts, doesn’t it? Here, I’ve got something that’ll help you take your mind off it—and hopefully loosen your tongue.”

“No, no,” Ren protests, squirming in his bonds. He tries to crane his neck away from the needle, but the man grabs his hair and holds him still. Ren whimpers as the drugs are injected into his system, falling limp almost instantly. Whatever the interrogator has given him works fast, and the room begins to swirl. 

“Better, right?”The man pats his cheek, patronizing. “Now, about the data you collected. Mind sharing some names with me?”

Nausea washes over him in waves, and he squints against the lights. The cell is suddenly way too bright, and he moans. A fog settles over him, and he has a hard time remaining focused on his goal.

“What… what?” he mumbles.

The interrogator hums, frowning. “Might’ve given you too much there. It’s hard to determine the correct dose. I’m not used to administering to persons of such short stature.”

Ren isn’t listening, his attention shifting. He’s in so much pain. He just wants to be home with his husband, safe in bed, wrapped in his arms. What he wouldn’t give to see Katsuki’s face right now. 

The room rocks, and the interrogator stumbles. At first, Ren thinks it’s the drugs screwing with his vision and playing tricks on him, but then it happens again.

“Explosions…?” the man whispers, brows furrowed in confusion. 

Ren barks a laugh. Explosions! He’d recognize the sound anywhere. Katsuki is here!

He smiles at the interrogator, eyes bright. “You’re so fucked.”

[iiasha-archived]

okay so opinion- dwc era looks were superior (black comma haired seokmin 😔) and this one's more of something i want to hear more about- what's the fandom's opinion about nct 127 having another soft comeback like touch? was touch well received or are ppl more into the "hard" stuff (idk how to refer to it ksjfndsk)

for dwc era:

strongly agree | agree | neutral | disagree | strongly disagree

ABSOLUTELY FUCKING YES!!!!!!!! literally none of them had a bad look not that they ever do but that era was truly on some next level shit (YESSS and black haired junhui too 🥺 actually now that I think abt it they all had natural colored hair except woozi right???)

for another comeback like touch

strongly agree | agree | neutral | disagree | strongly disagree

hm it's kinda hard for me to really gauge???? tbh people's opinions about nct's music are all over the god damn place honestly idek at this point if nctzens even like half of nct's music there is SO much discourse over what's good and bad dbbfjdkkdk

in general I think the song was well received?? people def liked it esp bc it was cute and wholesome, but it's not exactly nct 127's "sound", they have what most of us like to generally call "noise music" which I think is that "hard" stuff ur referring to 😂😂😂 and quite frankly a lot of people ARE into nct for that kind of music so idk really. at this point though it's absolutely not what anyone would expect out of a title track especially from 127 so I think a comeback like that is unlikely as long as sm keeps wanting to milk the noise music brand 😩

and again for how the fandom would be with it?? literally again it's all over the the place but I think most people wouldn't NOT be down ya know? I remember seeing posts that were like "y'all are weak for not liking touch" but at the same time I never saw anyone actually hate on touch outside of maybe think it's a little boring so IDK MAN

send me an opinion!

[guccisvt]

Stealth and Smoke pt 2

Genre: || Romance || Action || Humor || Drama ||

Word count: 5395

Warnings: Violence and swearing

Summary: The SVT gangs reign as the most notorious gang spanning across all of Korea wasn’t for nothing. But no one really knew the mastermind behind the gang, except for those within it. As a new gang member, your job was to hold a gun, fire when necessary, and keep your mouth shut. This operation was different, placing you as 1 of 4 main members in a rather risky heist that couldn’t just land you in big trouble…it could land you 6 feet under.

A/N: I remember reading a post about how people hate having to scroll through really lengthy stories on their dash so, i am adding vvvv so others won’t have to scroll through the whole story. Also, feel free to comment if there are any mistakes or if something is off. Enjoy!

The sound of your alarm rang throughout your room, earning a monstrous groan from you as you turned onto your back and grabbed your phone, shutting off the alarm instantly.

You hesitated to open your eyes, finding it too tiring to even do that much.

But, you said you’d get coffee with Jihoon...and you’ve got a mission at noon.

You sighed heavily as you pushed yourself up from your bed, your eyes still not open, you run a hand through your messy bed head and snicker to yourself.

You were a complete mess, but you were a cute mess.

You pulled your blanket off your legs and shivered at the chill of the early morning. You could see the dusty blue light of the early morning shining through your curtains, making you smile at the aesthetically pleasing visual. Of course, the sun was only just poking its head out.

You finally pulled your legs over your bedside edge and hopped up, stretching your arms over your head as you made your way to your bathroom. 

A quick shower before going to see Jihoon.

As your morning routine went on, the Sun's rays slowly intensified until they were completely bright. By the time you finished, it was very quickly turning to 9 am. You neatly fixed your hair and smiled, finally you grabbed your gun holster and gun, hiding it under your shirt. You grabbed your casual Brown backpack and packed only your essentials. You know, your phone, headphones, a hat, your wallet, two knives and 6 vials of poison....for protection.

You closed the door behind you, locking it before activating a small camera you had installed at the entrance of your door. With that, you went out on your way. You pulled your cell phone and headphones out of your bag quickly before taking the case of it off, showing a small piece of paper.

Jihoon’s number.

You held the paper carefully, almost as if you feared you might lose or tear it. You looked down at your phone and then at the piece of paper again.

You turned your phone on and pulled up the keypad, eyeing it carefully before dialing the number. As you approached the end of the 8 digit sequence, you could feel a bead of sweat roll down the side of your head. Why were you nervous? You didn't have to be nervous. It was just….coffee….like friends. Or something.

No, you had to be professional about this. You didn't need to be getting in trouble for strolling into Jihoon’s life.

With a firm nod, you put the paper into your pocket and continued to walk, pressing call as you did so.

“Hello?”

“Jiho- Ah, Woozi. It’s (Y/N). Um...I just, hah.” You felt confident when you pressed call, what was choking you up?

“(Y/N)...Hey.” The roughness of his voice and the soft whisper behind it put you off. Had he just woken up?

“Oh. Sorry, sir, did I wake you? I didn't mean to-”

“No, thanks. I suppose my alarm clock didn't wake me up. Is it 9 yet?” He asked casually, a shuffle behind his phone made it seem as if he was just shuffling out of bed.

You blinked in confusion and honestly tried a little to not chuckle. You looked back down on your phone and checked the time. 8:54 am.

“Well sir, You’ve got six minutes till it'll be 9.” You replied simply, hopping down a few flights of stairs as you did so.

“Okay, I'll go pick you up.” He replied, earning a scoff from you.

“Sir, you've for six minutes. If you got ready that quickly, I'd be concerned about your forms of hygiene.” It wasn't until your comment left your mouth that you finally processed what you had said.

“...Are you saying I'm Dirty?” Jihoon asked calmly, his voice rising in pitch now that he was properly waking up.

“...NO. I-I’m saying that, if you got ready to go on a date so quickly, I would be seriously wondering what sort of magi-”

“Date?” He stopped you, almost making you stop in your tracks. Thank goodness you hadn't, or else that would have been a long fall down the stairs.

“Date? Did I say that? I don't think I said that you must have misheard me or something.” You covered up quickly, earning a light chuckle from the male across the phone.

“Sure. Okay. Well, fine, I'll see you in fifteen minutes for our not-Date. Bye (Y/N).” He replied, his amusement almost hidden, but you caught just enough to have you smiling. With that, his line cut.

You looked down at your phone and smiled, staring at the number that now resided in your phone. Jihoon’s number. Oooooh. You didn't know if you were starstruck or nervous as hell but, seeing his number there only had you in smiles.

Finally putting your phone away, and allowing the previous conversation to sink into your psyche you ran your hands through your hair as your face began to heat up. 

“I totally did not just call our outing a fucking DATE!” You exclaimed at no one but, it very clearly echoed throughout the stairway. You sighed, trying your best to just let it go. Jihoon isn’t the kind to rub that sort of stuff back in your face, like Soonyoung. 

But still, Maybe...Just maybe...This could be a friendship. A REAL one. Well...You shouldn't get your hopes up, after all...He is the Captain of the Stealth unit. A cold-hearted killer.

Jihoon took a little under fifteen minutes to find you. You lived rather far from the base so, just the thought of him finding you in so little time had you wondering if he lived close to you. Or had just tracked you.

When he pulled up, you didn't recognize the car one bit. It wasn't the black car he had had last night. Instead, it was replaced with a beige and brown convertible with its top pulled back. Inside, Jihoon sat with a pair of glasses and in casual clothing. You took in what you were looking at and laughed audibly, shaking your head.

“Good morning, (Y/N).” Jihoon called, nodding his head as a greeting.

You smiled and walked over to the car, looking at it back and forth. “Good Morning, Sir.” You replied before pointing to the car. “Is this really yours?” You asked, almost playfully.

Jihoon pushed his glasses up and smirked, “What, do you like it?” He asked. It was almost like one of those scenes in a greaser movie.

The cool guy pulls up in his nice car, looking hot as heck.

Except, Jihoon just looked like a guy who worked in a shop down the street in his attire.

You snickered and pulled the car handle and hopped in beside him, placing your bag between your legs before closing the door and fixing your seat belt.

You looked at him with a friendly smile, “So, Captain, where are we drinking?” You asked casually before he turned back to the wheel and drove out. “First off, don't call me Captain. I don't run a ship.” He replied casually, earning a nod and an airy laugh from you.

“Okay, Noted.”

“Secondly, We're going to a local coffee shop. An old friend of mine has his cousin running it, so I know it. Unless you have some other place in mind?” He asked, glancing at you momentarily. You shook your head and looked to your other side, taking in the sights‌ ‌and‌ ‌shops of your neighborhood.

“(Y/n)?” He called, turning your attention back to him. “Yes?”

Jihoon slowed his car at a red light before looking at you, eyeing you up and down. “Where are your weapons?” He asked openly, making you subtly panic.

“U-Uh...Sir...we are in pub-”

“Jihoon. Just call me Jihoon. I don't know why you feel like it's suddenly important to call me by an honorific.” He cut you off. Okay, that cutting off thing was starting to get on your nerves.

“J-Jihoon. We are in public. Should we really be discussing that so...openly?” You asked, gritting your teeth almost.

Jihoon sighed and turned his attention back forward, “...Okay. Well, What sort of small talk do you suggest?”

“That was your attempt at ‘small talk’?” You replied, shaking your head in disbelief. 

“Well, what do you suggest we talk about then?” He replied.

“Well, Normal people usually ask...How did you sleep? Or, How is your family? You know, basic simple things.”

Jihoon raised a brow and looked at you, almost as confused as you were with him. “...Okay….Well, How did you sleep?” He asked hesitantly. You smiled a little, you didn't really expect him to ask. “I slept fine. I had a weird dream, but that's about it. How about you?” You continued, but Jihoon wasn't about to let you speed past what you had just said.

“Weird dream? What happened?” He asked, just as he was pulling into a small shopping mall. You didn't know if you should tell him what really happened since your dream wasn't weird. It was...awful.

Jihoon pushed a button allowing the cover to come over the top as well as pulling up the windows. He turned the car off and looked at you as he pulled out the key. You had stayed silent to his question.

“..(Y/N)?” He pestered you once again.

You grabbed your bag and slipped it over your shoulders before scoffing.

“I'll tell you when I've had my morning boost of energy.”

Jihoon shrugged and pushed out of his car, fixing his outfit.

When you walked over to his side, you took in his outfit.

A casual white t-shirt and a pair of jeans with a black belt tucking in his shirt. Along with his glasses, he looked like a casual College or High School student. Well, compared to you at least.

For the first time, you were seeing your scary superior as a more vulnerable human. In fact, his small frame was startling. After all, this man could take out a whole squad of men by himself but he could barely reach your shoulders.

You hadn't even noticed how spaced out you were until Jihoon waved his hand In front of your face. You blinked suddenly and shook your head, returning to reality.

Jihoon stood in front of you, hands on his hips, with a small smirk. “What is going through your head, (Y/N)?” He asked, almost like a rhetorical question, not actually expecting a response.

You grinned playfully before walking ahead of him into the nearby shop, taking in the air conditioning and the soft smell of coffee beans. The people at the front cheerfully greeted you before asking who would be with you.

A waitress showed you two to your table, leaving a small menu of the coffees’, cold drinks, and teas they served. Honestly, the shop was much nicer than any other coffee or tea shop you had been to. You looked down at the menu, settling for a simple Mocha Latte while Jihoon set his mind on the peppermint hot chocolate with cream.

As your orders were sent in, Jihoon turned his attention back to you.

“So….You were talking about some dream…?”

You pulled your bag off and scoffed, hoping he would have forgotten but...eh, guess not.

“Heh, well. It wasn't very interesting. It was just about some past places I've been to. Some places are new or like...forgotten?”

Jihoon leaned back into his chair, staring at you intently before crossing his arms. “I’m listening.” You bit your lip as you tried not to show just how irritated you were. Did you REALLY have to tell him?

You scoffed and nodded, glancing down at your hands before looking back at Jihoon. “I dreamed about my older brother. He and I had a special friendship and...” You found yourself pausing.

“And?” Jihoon repeated for you, causing you to shake your head. “I had a dream about him and me in our old home. That’s all.” You finally said, leaning back into your own chair.

Jihoon finally shifted, pushing himself from his chair so he could lean on the table, his palms acting like his shelf to rest his head as he spoke, “Now, don’t go telling other people.”

You looked at him with shock, a question mark rising in your head as he continued to speak. “You’re an easy target.” He said, shaking his head. Your eyes widened a little in realization. You had told him about your brother. He may not know him but, now he k n o w s you have a brother.

“Why?” Jihoon asked, continuing his conversation. You already knew what the answer was. “Because...Now you know I have a family. It makes them and me easy targets.” Jihoon smirked and nodded. “Correct. Honestly,” he continued just as your drinks were arriving. The waitress placed the drinks down and Jihoon thanked her before she once again left. 

Jihoon waited for her to be a safe distance away from you two before he continued. “I always thought you didn’t have anyone.” He said before working on sipping away at his hot chocolate, careful to not get any cream on his nose.

You fixed your eyes on the cup of coffee in front of you, feeling a little on edge. “Are you always so delightful?” You asked sarcastically, finally picking up your own drink to sip.

“Only when I’m on the job,” Jihoon replied nonchalantly. You scoffed loudly, “We have two hours before we have to be on the job. Why are you testing me on a da-” You cut yourself off from your statement.

Jihoon placed his drink down and crossed his arms again, raising a brow. “Do you want this to be a date?” 

You felt yourself freeze for a moment.  

This scenario is a bit like a date when you really thought about it. “The...basic principles of a date are here but-”

“So why not call it a date?” Jihoon added, cutting you off for the umpteenth time. You looked around nervously and chuckled, “Sir, I don’t think that’s quite appropriate. You’re my superior and-”

“But we’re not on the clock, remember?” Jihoon replied, a smile growing on his lips. You chuckled, raising a brow at him, “Are you trying to date me?” You asked jokingly. Jihoon’s response is what really caught you off guard.

“Would it be a crime if I said I do?”

Your silence was definitely the last thing that Jihoon expected. 

You looked down into your coffee cup and a million thoughts ran through your head, last night’s mission, how today’s might be, the past and the future all jumbled up in your head and you found yourself feeling only one thing, shock. 

Jihoon sighed loudly and leaned back into his chair, crossing his legs before looking away from the table. “Listen, it’s not a life or death question.” Jihoon finally said, clearly sounding a little bothered. 

“You can say yes or no, it won’t hurt you or me.” He concluded, picking up his cup of hot chocolate and sipping it again. 

You gripped your cup a little less now, still not looking up at him. “I….” 

Jihoon groaned, rolling his eyes at your reaction. He leaned onto the table so that he was only a few inches away from your face. He carefully slipped your cup out of your hand and placed it aside. He folded his hands in front of him and he looked directly at you. 

“Look at me.” He said firmly, finally causing you to look at him, meeting his dark eyes. You breathed out a stifled breath you didn’t know you held and for a long moment, you felt your shock fade away, “I’m not going to hurt you. I won’t hate you. And I definitely won’t put you out of a job.” Jihoon explained flatly, your attention still on him. “All I’m asking is that you take me up on a proper date. One where we won’t have to look over our shoulder.” His voice lowered a little along with his gaze. 

You gulped down hard as you nodded, listening to him carefully. You didn’t HAVE to say yes. You could totally leave him with a no. But...something in your head told you you should. He had risked his life to protect you and he arranged a coffee meeting which was way more than any other guy had done for you, even Soonyoung had never properly asked you out. 

“Hah...alright, fine. I accept.” You replied, finally breaking your shocked cocoon and instead smiling at him. 

Jihoon’s own expression changed, giving you a very soft smile. Something so warm, your coffee probably felt cold compared to it. “Great. Hah, G-Great, yeah.” He replied, stuttering over his words. 

The atmosphere went awkward very quickly as he sat back, nodding at your response. It looked as if he was trying to process that you had actually said yes. 

As the atmosphere grew even more uncomfortable, you found it almost second nature to take out your phone and check the time. 

It had only been about 20 minutes in total. Incredible, truly. 

You put down your phone and looked over at Jihoon, his eyes now catching yours. “What?” You asked. 

“Nothing, Nothing. Just trying to think of some conversation topics but, I’m….not very good at the whole…’ small talk’, thing.”  He replied before going in for his drink. 

You snickered softly, “Ah, well, that makes two. But, here, I’ll start. So, are you excited about work later?” 

Jihoon scoffed at the question, shaking his head, “Excited for what? To watch ugly men unnecessarily assert their masculinity over trivial things? Hell no.” 

Not expecting that answer, you couldn’t help but throw your head back in laughter. Who could have thought Jihoon was actually quite funny. 

“Oh man, that had me floored.” You replied between short chuckles. “Ah, I didn't think it was that funny but, I guess,” Jihoon replied before sipping his drink again. You settled yourself, also sipping your drink before you each looked back at each other. Although you both had eye contact, it wasn’t quite as uncomfortable. 

“So….what, are you excited about the job?” He asked, leaning back into his seat again and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Me? I mean, it’s not the whole team for this job. Whenever we don’t have everyone, I do get a bit...um, I don’t know if ‘excited’ is the right word I’d use to describe how I feel about it.” 

“Apprehensive? Anxious? Bloodthirsty?” 

The last one had another chuckle come from you, along with a smile from Jihoon. 

“Ah, I don’t know about that last one, but yeah, Anxious and Apprehensive can sum it up well.” You replied. Jihoon shook his head again, “You’ve got no reason to be. If you feel so nervous, maybe we should ask Seungcheol if he’ll take you out.” He replied, but you were quick to speak. 

“Um, no? Why would we do that? It’s not like I’m going to chicken out at the last minute, that’d be ridiculous!”  

Jihoon raised a brow, “If you’re nervous, you’ll react like you did last night.” 

Suddenly, you felt your whole stomach in your chest, or maybe, the other way around? Either way, it was like just saying that had completely guilted you into feeling sick. 

“Ah...Last night…” 

“I’m not saying it will happen every time but, we couldn’t risk losing someone like you from the team. If anything, staying behind might be best for you. You clearly don’t trust the team enough to still be scared after all this time.” He replied, almost as if spitting facts. 

You looked down into your drink, staring back at yourself as if expecting something. 

You furrowed your brows as you continued to look down. 

‘No, that’s not it.’ You thought before looking up at Jihoon. 

“My anxiety won’t get in the way again. I’ve seen too much to still be affected by it.” You replied firmly, but Jihoon only sighed. 

“Well, regardless, you shouldn’t be so nervous over today’s job. We’re only delivering, we’re not risking too much here.” He replied simply before leaning forward onto the table, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

“Trust me and trust the team, we’ve always had each other’s backs. It’s not like we’re gonna stop anytime soon.” 

Your chest and stomach found a new home in your throat rather quickly as you took notice of Jihoon’s laid back and (dare we say) warm approach to this type of conversation. 

“I-I will! Of course, I will, I trust you with my life!” You exclaimed quickly, causing Jihoon to move back with a half-smile. 

“I’m not sure if I’m glad or not,” He replied, sipping down his last bit of chocolate. “Regardless, I am happy to see you’re fired up. Maybe save that fire for later tonight, I’m sure Seungcheol has the ‘party’ planned for tonight.” 

You nodded sharply before returning to finish your own drink. 

As soon as you gulped the last of your mocha, you two made your way to the base. Obviously, as soon as you walked in, there was dear Soonyoung to kiss your feet (not literally). 

“(Y/N)!” He called out before jogging up to you two. “Good afternoon! I’m glad to see you’re one of the first ones here!” 

“Yes, and if it wasn’t for Jihoon, I probably would have been late.” You replied simply, which caused Soonyoung to eye Jihoon. “I see. Good afternoon Woozi, how ya doing?” Soonyoung asked, placing a hand on said person’s head before ruffling up his blonde hair. 

You felt all the hairs stand up on your body as soon as Soonyoung finished. If you didn’t get hurt or die from this small job, perhaps you’ll be injured or added as an accidental casualty to Jihoon’s list. 

Jihoon looked up at Soonyoung with a scowl, “I was just fine before I got here. (Y/n) and i had a very relaxing morning together.” He replied and judging by Soonyoung’s barred teeth, he wasn’t too happy to hear Jihoon had been with you.

“I see, so what information did you extract from them?” He asked with a low tone. “Or perhaps you tricked them and got more than they were expecting?” He said slowly, his eyes narrowing in anger. Jihoon’s own eyes narrowed as he starred up, ready to bark back.

“He didn’t extract jack squat from me Soonyoung, just leave him alone.” You cut in, placing yourself between the two. 

Soonyoung stepped back with shook clear on his face. 

“You two clearly have somethings you need to settle but don’t make this about me. Go get some guns and blow each others brains out or something!” You exclaimed, huffing at both of them. 

By their expressions, they both seemed rather shocked at your outburst, but...you were so tired of Soonyoung always harping at you like a dog does to meat. And Jihoon? G/d knows he believes he’s such hot shit that he can say anything to anyone. 

“I don’t want to see or hear from either of you for the rest of this job or so help me I will shoot you both myself.” You barked once more walking away from the two, leaving them shocked, speechless, and gawking. 

They had really done it this time, pissing you off like that. I guess you were getting more comfortable with Jihoon since you clearly grew a pair so big, you actually threatened Jihoon. You know, leader of the stealth unit? The living, breathing embodiment of death? Yeah, that guy. Still, you didn’t waver in your thoughts at all as you took a seat in between two of your members. Thank goodness your good friend Joshua was to your left. 

“You seem tense.” He cooed sweetly as if he hadn’t just heard your whole outburst. 

“Ugh.” Was your only reply before throwing your head forward on the table, but not before Joshua could add his hand to soften the landing. 

“Thanks.” You said quietly into the table. 

“Don’t thank me, just talk to me when we get the chance, alright?” You looked up at him from the table with a confused expression but, judging by Joshua’s gentle smile, he clearly just wanted the details on the tea. 

It’s not like you weren’t going to tell him anyway.

[oh-its-souichi]

Ultra violence

Part 1

Overhaul X Reader 

Yo! 

I’m breaking this up into multiple part because it’s long and... it’s angsty. 

My first time writing Overhaul so I hope it ight. 

Warnings: Violence, abusive relationship, drugging, angst, there’s probably hella grammar problems but it’s 0241 and yee I’m tired. 

It was 0314 on a Thursday. 

The weather outside (or from what you could see out of your barred window a few hours ago) was spectacular. 

These little observations though, were utterly useless and  to your life now.

Despite the longing, the ache you felt to feel the sunlight on your skin the sensation would never reach you, no matter what time it was you knew the numbers that were painted on the face of the clock held no value to you. There was nothing you needed to know the time for. Now that you thought about it the clock you were looking at now was the first you had seen in days. 

Cautiously you flicked your eyes back to the black and white clock but stopped when you heard Overhaul clear his throat his golden eyes looking ephemerally into yours. Heeding his silent warning you returned your eyes back to their original position, scolding yourself mentally. 

‘He’s right’ you said ‘None of that matters now. It’s my image. I need to focus’

As you had done for the past hour, you stood perfectly still behind your husband’s office chair. 

Prose like an expensive doll, your porcelain outer layer had been composed by hands of excellence and elegance. There were no kinks in your design. Your long hair was curled carefully at the end turning the strands into a flowing waterfall that cascaded down your right shoulder, no hair out of place. Your body fit perfectly into long and tight black velvet dress that he had picked out for you, the golden decals along the neck line popping magnificently against the tone of your skin. 

You looked perfect everything coolly calculated down to your posture which consisted of a few key stances Overhaul had drilled into your head.

Spine straight.

Ears off. 

‘Do not listen in on my business. It’s none of your concern’ 

While gloved hands clasped behind your back. 

Head bowed in reverence while your eyes looked endearingly  at his right shoulders. 

No direct eye contact.

‘You should look proud to let those around you know that you are superior to them, however’ he said smoothly bringing one gloved finger to your chin. ‘When you are in my presence you will lower your chin in reverence. If there are people in the room you will not look at them, only me. If they address you, you will not utter a single word until I give you permission to’ He said his eyes staring dangerously through you. You smiled adoringly despite the little bit of fear that demanded your attention.  ‘Yes dear’

Most importantly, mask on. 

‘It’s white to symbolize your pure, yes the color is easy to stain but now that I have you-’ his voice from a memory said snaking through your head as it always had. ‘You won’t have to worry yourself with stains, no filth will ever touch you again and that’s a promise.’ At this particular point you remember his fastening the straps of the mask around you. The feeling of his cool fingertips brushing against your cheeks made shivers crawl up and down your spin. He was your personal tormentor, the monster that wrought the end of you “normal life” taking you away from your whole family with the promise of providing them with anything they ever needed as long as you were alive. His reasons alluded you but you sold your life away in exchange for one of loneliness and pain but oh, how you loved it and him despite everything. 

Perfection. 

Not that anyone would dare utter a word but Overhaul’s “Business associate’s” while taking sneaky glances at you would ponder where Overhaul who had a monstrous quality even though he appeared so calm collected had dug up you, an absolute angel. As an outsider they saw you as stunningly gorgeous and basically leaked class out pore every pour even though they had never heard you speak or do so much as walk across the room. 

You were perfect. 

They had never seen you slip up 

No one had. 

As you stood you felt the muscles in your back burn, your feet aching from being crammed into heels all day and so badly you wanted to collapse into bed and sleep this nightmare but you didn’t quiver. Instead you focused your eyes on the hem of Overhaul’s suit jacket observing how the black  stitching interlaced with each other. It wasn’t particularly fascinating but with the way your body ached and the spacey wooziness that plagued your head it was the only thing that seemed to keep you grounded at the moment.  

As if he heard your silent pleadings he spoke lazily flicking his wrist to the door. “If that is all please escort  yourselves out. My colleague Chrono will see you all out after that” At that all the suited and particularly scary looking men stood bowing respectfully to your husband before before walking out into the hallway, you bowed your head until it was just him and you left. 

You straightened out your spine once again and took a shaky breathe in through your mask the sickening smell of disinfectant hitting your nostrils.”Y/N dear” he called not moving turning his head to look at you. “Please stand in front of me I want to see you.” 

Mentally you groaned, doubting that you would be able the few step journey without throwing up or passing out  but you did it anyway Covering up the pain and sickness you were feeling you smiled down at him “Yes dear” 

Heeding to his call you readjusted your hands, intertwining them gracefully at the base of your stomach and walked until you stood before him, your body 5 inches from his desk. You raised your head resting your eyes on the tip of his nose, as he had taught you to do, carefully avoiding meeting his stunning golden eyes. 

“I want you to go and bathe. The air is infected with their filth and I don’t want you getting sick.” He said calm hatred present in his voice. You nodded gratefully thinking if his “Business associates” knew he looked at them as if they were garbage but doubted it immediately, he was to charming. “I will” you said softly. 

He hummed pleased at your response. He stayed silent for a few more seconds his eyes tracking up and down your body until they stopped seeming to be captivated by something in your hair. “I have never noticed the different tones of color in your hair. The sun brings them out nicely.” He said almost bored, making you blush regardless of his tone. “Oh thank you” you said resisting the stammer that had been demanding to be heard. 

He liked to test you.To flatter you just to see you squirm underneath the pressure, his eyes watching you like a hawk .It had worked the first couple months after your marriage but you were seasoned and knew most of his tricks now. 

“Anything for you” he sighed dusting off his desk “Since you missed your lunch dose due to the meeting you will be taking it before you get in the bath, I imagine you are feeling pretty ill now so they have been left on your kitchen sink. I will be in to check and make sure you took them but do not wait for me to begin cleaning.” 

His words shocked you and suddenly all proper movement in your mouth was gone, causing you to fumble. ‘wait for him?’ you thought scanning your brain for anything you may have done wrong in the past year you had been together but came up with nothing. 

You had been absolutely perfect. 

Taking a breath you attempted to calm your nerves he never came into your room, the only contact you had with each other throughout the week is when he requested you to play dolly during a meeting or the two times a day he would bring you-your medication or when something was going wrong. Seeing as the two didn’t fit the occasion at all you sensed the latter. 

“Is there a problem?” he said smoothly, arching one eyebrow. Snapping out of your thoughts you shook your head, regaining your composure. “No I apologies. May I be excused?” you said politely barely able to hold back the tremor in your voice. You were terrified on the inside. Overhaul had never laid a hand on you in ill temper but lingering in every word he spoke, in every glance he spared at you there was a ghost of a threat that haunted your head. 

He was a terrifying force and you were completely vulnerable to it. 

He had everything on you. 

Past addresses, names of friends and families, what school you went to, your past jobs, everything. As you stood in front of him now he had your family tightly under his grasp, what he had done with them you didn’t know. 

You were oblivious. 

Helpless. 

He was an impenetrable wall that you had nothing on, not even his real name or whatever this “Organization” he was running. You knew nothing. 

At your question he nodded “Yes dear” he said watching you bow at his answer before walking gracefully out of the room, ignorant to the way your heart was slamming into your chest. 

Once you were out of his immediate sight you exhaled nervously before making your way quickly down the hallway, being mindful of your posture, at this point you wanted to collapse. You head was pulsing with pain and you felt at any moment you would blow chunks all over the spotless cement floor. There was no margin for fault though. There were cameras all over and you knew Overhaul was watching you as you walked. 

As you always did though you made it into your room with a sigh of relief. Slipping out of your heels, to the excitement of your feet, you warily walked across the plush carpet and into your lavish bathroom. As your eyes searched around the white and gold colored bathroom you noticed the was already full and steaming, enticing you in. 

Before undressing your eyes darted around the bathroom then again out into your room to be sure there were no intruders, you had a habit of not noticing Mimic whenever he was in a room and you didn’t want to cause another incident. You didn’t want to think of that now.  Numbly you tossed back the small cup of various pills you to this day had no idea what they were. Overhaul claimed they were for your “anxiety” but you weren’t so sure. 

There were so many you had to take. 

 At the end of the day you couldn’t find it in you to mind. At least he was trying to help. You swallowing them dry walking lethargically to the tub, the twinge in your nerves beginning to settle. 

Even if it was just for a moment you could relax and be yourself. It was exhausting trying to imitate perfection. Each day you woke up and left the confines of your room you felt another piece of the person you were fall away and die, being buried in the hallow graveyard that was your body. you had become a shell and nothing more.

Numbly you stripped off your clothes and slipped into the hot water, reveling in the way it stung your skin. The tenseness in your muscles disappeared and your could feel your eyes flutter close in complete bliss, lulling you to sleep. In your dreams your brain took you to your old family home where your mother was slaving over a stove concocting some sort of meat and vegetable dish. From where you were standing you couldn’t tell what it was but the smell was heavenly. It wafted into your nose deeming all of your other senses useless.

 “Oh Y/N. Your here I didn’t expect to see you.” your mother said turning around her face in shock. “Hi mom” you smiled resisting the urge to run over and engulf her small body in a bone shattering hug. Behind you the recognizable footsteps of your little brother sounded behind you but before you could turn and see his face you felt your body begin to quake the pleasant image that surround you disappearing in a puff of smoke.

“Darling” you heard him say. You opened your eyes slowly fighting the heaviness of your lids. He was sitting on the edge of the tub, his mask completely off as  his hand still resting on your shoulder, his golden eyes staring down at you void of any noticeable emotion. “Are you alright?” he asked. You looked at his hand shocked it was a rare occasion for him to touch you. For the two year you had been married the most he had ever laid his hands on you is when the two of you danced together at your wedding. You remembered it well his suited body was a few inches from yours his left gloved hand held onto your right while his right hand lay modestly on your lower back.  

“Yes. I’m sorry” you said sitting up just enough to expose your collar bone and upper chest being mindful not to show any of your more private areas. “I must have dozed off the water feels nice.” you continued swirling your hand around in the water causing it to ripple lightly. He hummed lightly turning his attention to the  way your fingers danced in between the waves then back to your lovely face. “You’re tired” he confirmed to himself noticing your hair was still dry. His eyes hardened as he looked you over again and again hoping that he wasn’t seeing things wrong. “Darling did you wash yourself?” he asked coolly but you could detect the distress in his voice. Uncomfortably you looked away from him in shame “No I didn’t yet I apologies.”

He stared down at you looking calm on the exterior but inside he was wrapped up in a violent storm. He had trusted you enough to come in and breath the same air as you without repercussion and this is what you do? Let the filth that those men exposed you to fester on your skin? From just being around you for the few seconds he could feel the  sickness creeping up onto the suit he wore breaking past the thin strands of fabric that guarded the defenseless skin below. 

His fingers reached into his pocket fishing out a little black face mask that he then wrapped around his face, taking a deep breath in. “I told you not to wait for me” he breathed snaking his gloved hand onto your face stroking your cheek with his thumb. You leaned into his touch ignoring the warning your conscience was telling you, screaming at you. The little voice seemed to become far away the more he touched you, goosebumps raising on your skin.

Suddenly you felt his hands grin onto the back of your head and violently slam your head under water. In shock your mouth opened in a gasp sucking in an unhealthy amount of water that rushed into your body stinging your throat and lungs. ‘What is he doing? What did I do?’ you thought about to raise your hand out of the water to claw at him but you stopped thinking of the place you had dreamed of. If you just let go as you had earlier you could be back with them, you could be free. Without hesitation you sucked in more water filling your lungs to the brim with water. You would have your freedom.

As the water flooded into your body you could feel your lungs tighten seeming to catch fire inside of you. You thought process began to fade and you could have swore you could hear your mothers voice echoing in your head. “It’s good to have you back” you heard her saw before collapsing into the blackness you had sought.  

From above you Overhaul gripped the back of your back tightly his arm practically shaking from the pressure. His eyes glared down at your blurred form in revile his mind floated with thoughts of filth and sickness until he came back to reality noticing not once had you tried to fight him. It is completely normal for a human to thrash around when faced with the possibility of drowning but you didn’t.

You sat completely still taking whatever he did to you in strides. About to let a smile form underneath his mask at your obedience he stopped when he noticed your body shutter completely relaxing under his grip. His eyes widened realizing what was happening quickly he pulled you out of the water. Your head rolled languidly back hitting itself off of the the left side of the tub. “HM” he hummed grabbing the shampoo that sat to the right of him and began lathering it into your hair.

As he worked the soap into your hair he couldn’t help but look over you body over, falling deeper into the infatuation he had. 

You were his angel. 

His savior. 

Before he was graced with your presence the world around him only crawled with filth, festering with disease and sickness. Everyone repulsed him. To even walk among the inhabitants of the city made him nauseous. On top of this The Boss had rejected his vision. There was no hope. 

 Until he met you. 

You had been working in a small cafe that he walked by while on his way to take care of bigger and better things. He lazily gazed into the window your flowing H/C  hair being the first thing to catch his eyes. Intrigued he paused looking over the rest of your features. You looked so clean, with signs of fatigue and exhaustion yes, but clean. Your skin was completely void of any visible blemish or scars. So beautiful yet so out of place. 

For a few weeks he would casually stroll by soon learning your work schedule and your daily habits. He had Chrono look into your family as well as your quirk registry. To his delight you didn’t have one. No one on your mother’s side did. Something passed down in your gene’s forbade any quirk from developing in your body regardless of the filth that fathered you. 

Your body was a sacred temple. 

Your being a prophecy.

Winning you over was harder then he thought but he worked that all out in the end one way or another.  

He looked down at your face lavishing in the way your plump red lips were slightly parted, your eyes closed peacefully and face soft. There was slight bruising on your cheek where is had hit the edge of the bath but he would take care of that later. Gently he cupped his hand and rinsed the shampoo out of your hair, the room silent around him. 

[were-cheetah-stiles]

The Recruit (Chapter 25) - Mitch Rapp

Author: @were-cheetah-stiles​

Title: “Day 103″

Characters: Mitch Rapp, Stan Hurley, Irene Kennedy, Aiden Breen & Reader/OFC

Warnings: This is the last god damn chapter in which I label for cursing. THERE WILL ALWAYS BE CURSING. 

Author’s Note: I would watch this or this (Or both) before reading any further chapters. Just a nice brush up, you know? Also anyone who loves The West Wing as much as I do should catch the shout out to a super fake terrorist organization.

y/f/i = your first initial

Chapter Twenty-Four //-// Chapter Twenty-Five - Chapter Twenty-Six

"Y/n!" Stan knocked loud and hard, making sure to announce his presence as he opened the door without permission from his niece. You snapped up in bed and reached for your Glock, pushing your hand next to your bed, your new hiding place for it while you slept, only to pull away when you realized that it was just Stan waking you up abruptly. You looked around the room, it was barely light out.

"The fuck is going on?" You said groggily, pushing your hair back from your forehead and rubbing your eyes, a permanent frown living on your face.

"You've got a half hour to pack a go-bag with moderate climate gear." Stan told you.

"What is this? The Assateague Island camping trip? Isn't it still a little too early in the year for that?" You questioned, not fully grasping what was about to happen.

"No, kiddo, this isn't the camping trip. Training is over. You've been called up to the big leagues...” Stan glanced down at his watch, tilting his mug almost too far to the side, just to check the time. “And now you’ve got twenty-eight minutes to pack and meet out in the driveway." Stan nodded, with a fake half-smile. "I gotta go get your partner up." Stan didn’t close your door all the way and you heard him make the same demands across the hall. You smiled as you realized that Mitch was your partner and you didn’t have to worry about finding a way to warn him that you had gone on a mission.

"Shit." You sprung to your feet, after you heard Stan’s footsteps growing fainter in the hall. You began ripping through your bedroom to find the proper gear for the vague tip of 'a moderate climate'. You placed The Great Gatsby on the top of your go-bag and zipped it up. You threw the black, lightweight duffel over your shoulder and walked down to the driveway. Stan opened the door to the large indistinguishably black, American-made SUV idling in the dirt driveway in the front of the Main House. You, turned and saw Aiden descending the stairs behind you, and you snapped your head back when Stan said your name and gestured for you to give him your bag. You stepped up into the car and saw Mitch half-smile at you from a seat in the last row, and Irene turn her head to smile from the front passenger seat. You climbed in the back with Mitch and had to fight the urge to take his hand in yours. Aiden and Stan loaded in after you and before you knew it, the car was moving on the gravel road that led in and out of The Barn towards Williamsburg, Virginia.

"Does anyone want to fill me in?" You broke the long silence in the car.

Irene turned around, and gave her best calm and reassuring smile. "The two of you have been tapped for a mission. Mitch has already been briefly caught up, but you'll both get your packets with the full parameters on the plane."

"The plane? Where are we going? How have we been tapped for a mission? Neither of us are technically agents yet." You were not usually this questioning of authority, but you were very caught off guard by all of this news and you knew this was not how this sort of thing worked usually. A large part of you never thought that Stan would ever actually let you leave The Barn, and if he did, you were certain you would be stuck behind a desk at Langley.

"Y/n, when you get back from this mission, Irene is going to put you in with the next graduating class from The Farm and you will be a full-fledged member of the Central Intelligence Agency." Stan explained, and you glanced over at Mitch, who was boring holes into the front of Stan's skull trying to keep his mouth shut, but curious what this meant for him. You glanced back at Stan.

"What about Rapp?" You asked.

Stan shook his head. He was certain he was right, and Irene was wrong, but she was his superior and what she said was what was going to happen.

"Mitch, you're also done with training at The Barn. You've been done for some time, we just needed to wait until the mission was ready for you. You are Orion now. We'll make that official on the plane." Irene said to him confidently.

Mitch nodded once at Irene. He felt that he was ready too. You were feeling less prepared somehow. Maybe because Mitch seemed to have a better grasp on what was going on. You continued with your line of questioning. "What plane ride? Where are we going? What is this mission? Someone has to tell me literally something, anything."

"We're going to Istanbul." Stan explained, finally giving you some insight into what you were pretty sure that Mitch already knew.

"Why Turkey?" You asked.

Irene spoke up again. "Four days ago, fifteen kilos of plutonium went missing, weapons grade. We think a catastrophic attack is imminent."

"We've been tracking an arm's dealer named Hamdi Sharif, who has ties with the Bahji terror group-" You couldn't help but allow those names to elicit a quick reaction from you. You glanced over at Mitch, who remained stoic, and you quickly mimicked his expression. Stan continued explaining. "-who have had a vendetta against Israel since the creation of the state in the 40s. We think that he is trying to smuggle it into Israeli state borders, set it off, and hold Palestine responsible..."

You cut him off. You understood Middle Eastern relations, and suddenly, you also understood how you fit into the mission. "...Essentially setting off World War III and basically, wiping the Middle East off the fucking map." Stan nodded grimly at your deduction.

"We're trying to make sure that the sale is not final." Irene interjected.

"Who's selling it?" You asked, catching an odd exchange of glances between Stan and Irene.

"We're pretty certain that a man by the name of Ghost is the seller." Irene explained. You glanced up at Mitch, who, for a nanosecond, glanced back, and you realized that this was the mission that Mitch had been training for for months.

"You have forty-eight hours to track Sharif and Ghost and make sure that the sale is not completed." Stan explained. "The rest of the details and your exact assignments are in the files that I'll give you on the plane."

"There's a fucking nuke in play. Don't fuck this up." Irene warned as they pulled onto the tarmac at Andrews Airforce Base in Virginia.

Irene dropped you all off and Stan and Aiden sat on one end of the small private jet, while you and Mitch sat across from each other on the opposite end of the plane. You were somewhere over the Atlantic, five and half hours into your ten and half hour flight to Turkey, when Mitch leaned forward and closed your mission folder.

"Y/f/i, you've read it, like, thirty times. I know you understood and memorized everything after the first. You need to sleep." He reached forward and gently cupped your hands in his, eliciting a soft smile from the woman across from him.

"I'm nervous."

"I kind of gathered that." Mitch smiled, one side of his mouth curled up a little higher than the other, the kind smirk that always made you feel woozy.

You couldn't help but smile back at him. You loved that he knew what was going on in your head without you having to say. "I've wanted this for years... to be in the field, to be on a mission... to be a real agent, and now it's happening and I'm fucking nervous? It's frustrating as shit."

"I know it's nerve-wracking, but Y/n/n, you've trained longer than any other CIA recruit. You've trained longer than me. You're one of the best, and they wouldn't have brought you on this if they didn't think you were ready." Mitch tried to ease your nerves.

"You've actually been out there though, Mitch. You've been in the field without the backing of the Agency. All the training in the world can't compete with actual field experience."

"And now you're getting your actual field experience. Plus Stan and Aiden are here, I doubt you and I will even get any real action." Mitch hoped that wasn't true. He had a lot of pent up aggression after everything that went down with Brunski, and he was pleased with the person that was going to be the target of his violence.

"You're probably right.... although, Sharif.... how are you so calm about the fact that he's the one that we are going after?"

Mitch shrugged and leaned back, breaking his physical connection with you as his thoughts went to the beach the day that Katrina was killed. The weapons used by the terrorists on that sandy expanse that day were supplied by none other than Hamdi Sharif. This was the first step in Mitch’s plan for revenge. "I've been prepared to kill him and wipe out the Bahji terror cell for years. If that day is today, then I'll be ready." Mitch said clinically, trying to hide the fury and inclination towards violence bubbling underneath the surface.  

You nodded and went to open your mission folder again when you saw Mitch close his eyes. Mitch snickered and quietly slammed his hand on top of it, keeping it closed. He gathered your hands up in his once again. He glanced behind you to check if he had woken Stan or Aiden, but they were still asleep. "Let me just go through it once more. Last time, I promise."

Mitch smirked and shook his head. "You don't need to. Listen, Y/n/n, it'll be alright. I've got your back, always." Mitch swore, holding your hands up to his lips, so you could feel his promise.

"And I've got yours." You replied, in a calmer and more confident whisper.

"Always?"

"Always."

Twenty-Four <- -> Twenty-Six

Please please please let me know what you thought of this chapter and also, please go see American Assassin. :)

@chivesoup @confidentrose @alexhmak @dontstopxx @iloveteenwolf24 @surpeme-bean @snek-shit @kalista-rankins @parislight @cleverassbutt @damndaphneoh @mgpizza2001 @ninja-stiles @sarcasticallystilinski @teenage-dirtbagbaby @mrs-mitch-rapp93 @alizaobrien @twsmuts @rrrennerrr @sorrynotsorrylovesome @lovelydob @iknowisoundcrazy @5secsxofamnesia @vogue-sweetie @dylrider @ivette29 @therealmrshale @twentyone-souls @sunshineystilinski @snicketyssnake @xsnak-3x @eccentricxem @inkedaztec @awkwarddly @lightbreaksthrough @maddie110201 @hattyohatt @rhyxn @amethystmerm4id @completebandgeek @red-wine-mendes @katieevans371 @girlwiththerubyslippers @susybird @theneverendingracetrack @sumcp @snipsnsnailsnwerewolftales @runs-with-sciss0rs @ssweet-empowerment @ellie-bee242 @hirafth @dailyburritos @mieczzyslaw @im-very-odd33 @anonimereader06 @itsamberh @sp00der-m00n @lolaversuslipstick @imagunative @stilinski-lover-24 @xmadwonderland @shannonwardski @nocturnalzeal

[seventeenbiscuits]

#11 [alone pt. iii]

Genre: Kind of metaphorical watered down angst and lil bit of fluff

Word count: too much prbs more than 2K [its 2386 words wow]

A/N: guess what its biscuits back with the alone series istg by the time i finish this svt would alrdy been touring halfway around the world on their 9th comeback or smth also THIS SWITCHES BETWEEN JEONGHAN POV AND READER/VIEWER POV DONT GET CONFUSED

There is a click and whirr from the camera that I press to my face, like a shield, some hapless attempt at protecting me from the world. Everything I can see is separated from me by layers of glass and lenses, a little window to the outside world, framed by black plastic and the snap and shutter of the lens. In the moment where I stand, motionless, waiting for the perfect shot, I can feel anticipation shivering through every little cell in my body. Like the moment before a pianist touches the keys at the concert when the audience is held on bated breath in eager expectancy and there is nothing in the minds of the people but the silence waiting to be broken.

And then when I take the photo, there is a little buzz from the mechanism inside the camera in the seconds before I press the button, and then a click as the camera captures the landscape in skilled and precise hands. It’s like the soft sound of fingers on piano keys before even a single note is played, of the slight rustling of an audience in admiration as the pianist exhales, inhales, prepares themselves.

Then there is the photo itself. Once I lower the camera from my eyes, I can see the true view before me. It is no longer an image viewed through a lens, but a living and breathing scene that cannot compare. The anticipation is over, the performance has begun, and with the gentlest striking of a chord, my world comes to life.

The house I am in isn’t even mine, but nevertheless, it's a serene place that envelops me and adopts me as one of its own. I am serene, as I lay on a messy couch, scratching my pen against my notebook while the wind rustles over the trees and around the house. I am also safe here, the house is distant as it is serene, and it is serene because of its distance. I look up from my notebook at the city far, far away. Perhaps I am like the house, in all its stately secluded serenity, as I distance myself from the ones whom I used to know.

The couch holds an unfamiliar scent, full of someone else’s shampoo, someone else’s musky scent that lingers around the doorways and tiptoes in when I’m at the window. I can almost detect a hint of nostalgia amidst the slightly overpowering cologne, a light note of the flowers on memory lane. Each time that scent flutters to my attention, it puts me more at ease to brush it away. It’s no use remembering the days past when you still have days to come.

As I open the window to gaze out at the myriad of quaint little houses, much like this one, amongst the mottled envy green of the trees, the wistful scent suddenly is everywhere. When I place my hands on the windowsill and brush my fingers up and down the glossy white paint, I brush up memories that draw me into the recesses of my mind.

JANUARY 2016. JEONGHAN’S LOG #7. CHEONGSANDO. The screen turns on and Jeonghan with long, amber red locks is walking while filming his log.

“Hey, Coupseu! Jeonghan here. I hope you’re enjoying yourself with the rest of the crew at Yeoseodo. Right now, I’m-”

Jeonghan breaks off suddenly, and the camcorder drops to his side. There is furious shriek heard distantly in the background. Jeonghan reappears into the screen, laughing and panting as he runs away from a very enraged Joshua.

“I’m *huff huff* being chased by Shua. *huff huff* I stole his cola!”

In the distance, we hear Joshua yelling “YOON JEONGHAN! YOU DEVIL! THAT COLA HAD MY NAME ON IT!!”

Jeonghan stops running and chuckles.

“You can buy more, Joshua,” he yells back.

“Anyway, I should probably apologise to him and buy him another bottle. Have fun and stay safe. Tell the kids I said hi, Cheol.”

The video ends.

My mind drifts off, reminiscing about good times. I am awakened back to the present by the whistle of the wind as it breezes through my hair and shakes the palm fronts underneath the window.

I allow myself an indulgent little smile, before raising the camera once again up to my face, like a guard against the painful memories, and take another breathtaking shot. The smile slips off my face, and concentration lays a thick blanket over my expression. I pick up my pen again to write a couple more notes, but as I form the date on the page, I slip once more into a daydream of the past.

JANUARY 2016. JEONGHAN’S LOG #9. CHEONGSANDO. The screen turns on and Jeonghan moves back from the camera and sits back on his knees. His surroundings are plain, and the blanket is mismatched with the pillow.

“Coups, don’t be mad about the chicken.”

He pauses to chuckle to himself.

“It… wasn’t my idea!”

“Ok, maybe it was.”

“BUTDON’THURTMEOKIMNOTTHEONLYONEWHODIDIT.”

There is a loud victorious shriek from the adjacent room, followed by a whack. Laughter ensues.

“Oh no, don’t tell me that they decided to play games without me…”

Jeonghan cranes his neck to look out the door. He gives a little gasp and then hurriedly leans forward and switches off the camcorder.

I find myself smiling once more. Good memories are infectiously cheery, and you can’t stop a grin from spreading across your face as the blissful drug of nostalgia renders you uselessly fuzzy and warm.

I move around a bit on the couch to try to get comfortable, the little smile slowly being replaced by a resentful sigh, the curve of that joyful laugh dying on my lips as they press together in a thin and serious line. I get up despite having taken the effort to get comfy and cross the room in a few strides.

The calendar I brought with me hangs by a thread on a screw that I drove into the wall. I know the real owner of this house will not be happy, but at least he has a place split his calendar now.

It is the morning of the 9th. I mark yesterday off with a double flick of the marker. Two days.

When I get up, I don’t brush my teeth. I don’t eat breakfast. I don’t even get out of bed. Instead, I lie on the sheets and let the sunlight spill over the window and flood gently into the room, illuminating everything it touches in a warm glow. I watch as the room gradually soaks up the sun until I’m sinking oceans deep into an endless sea of golden warmth.

JANUARY 2017. JEONGHAN’S LOG #10. JAPAN. The screen flickers on to reveal a slightly worried Jeonghan peering intently at the camcorder. A split second after the video stutters to life, his face smoothes out in relief.

“I was beginning to think that this was broken,” he jokes weakly, a plastic smile plastered on his pale face.

He lets out a deep sigh, and his eyes drift away from the camera.

“What’s the thing with the curse going around?” he asks. “And what does it have to do with us?”

His eyes flit past the camcorder and presumably studies the wall of his room.

“Is it why Vernon keeps running away? Is it the reason why we all don’t talk anymore?”

He continues to avoid looking directly at the camera and now stares into his lap.

In a voice barely audible, he whispers, “Why are we all alone now?”

I let out a deep resentful sigh, somewhat like the one I sighed in the video, and swing my legs over the side of the bed, letting my feet dangle above the sunlit floorboards.

I have so many questions that unfortunately, have been answered with answers I don’t want to hear.

My stomach gives out a plaintive growl. I frown and finally get out of the room.

Instead of heading to the kitchen (which is empty anyway), I find my camera where I left it on the sofa yesterday. With another sigh, I push my questions and problems away and pick up the camera again, to once again capture my lonely surroundings for another day.

I stretch on the sofa. My back aches and my shoulders ache. Probably the consequences of sleeping on a bed that isn’t mine. I chuckle when I envision the owner returning to his home, all messed up thanks to yours truly.

After I write a couple more notes on the scenery in my book, I get up and cross off the date on the calendar.

It is the 10th, and I am still under a curse. One day.

When I wake up, I don’t dwell on my thoughts in bed as I did yesterday. Instead, I do it on the couch. I am up before the sun now.

There is no golden ocean drowning the room in its splendid warmth, only the chill and the cool of the morning sky as it glares down at me from its superior perch in the sky.

I spend nearly three hours dwelling upon my thoughts. Not in bed, but on the couch. Reasonably less comfortable, but more scenic and I am buried so deep in my mind that I don’t bother to even touch my camera.

MAY 2017. JEONGHAN’S LOG #11. SOME PLACE, AWAY FROM YOU. The screen blinks on. Jeonghan is in the house that is not his, and he is sitting on the couch cross legged.

“Hi, Seungcheol. Do you remember this place?”

He shuffles around a little bit. His hair is newly dyed blonde, and it falls in soft waves over his eyes and around his ears.

“Remember we all camped out here after our first win, and we all got so wasted?” he prompts, laughing lightly at the memory.

His eyes glaze over as he stares off into the distance. The camera pans towards the wall, where the calendar hangs. It is the 6th.

“Vernon is here with me. He didn’t go home after Woozi told him to.”

There is a little noise of affirmation from the cameraman.

Jeonghan smiles at Vernon.

“Leave the camera here, I’ll finish up. You go eat lunch.”

Vernon clatters down the stairs.

Jeonghan sighs and focuses intently on the camcorder.

“He was so stressed when he came to my house. Being the start of the curse is not a thing he should have gone through.”

There is a breath of the wind that seemingly divides Jeonghan sitting like royalty on the faded cream couch from the viewers, and then it is gone.

“And you went through it, Cheol.”

He is referring to Seungcheol’s hunt for his prime number as he ran through the streets of the city.

“But you called me afterwards,” Jeonghan continues.

His voice becomes sharp and bitter as a double edged sword.

“Why me? You could have passed the curse onto anyone but me.”

He glares resentfully straight at the camera, cutting through lenses and film and straight into the eyes of the viewers.

“And now I’m stuck with it.”

There is a crash from downstairs. Jeonghan frowns in worry.

“I’m going to send Vernon to you. Don’t go anywhere, and don’t run away. It’s your fault I have the curse and can’t take care of him, so you have responsibility for him now.”

Jeonghan gets up, meaning to turn the camera off, but then hesitates for a second.

“What was that you told me, the last time you spoke to me?”

“Jeonghan, you said. You were thinking about what I meant to you.”

He stands up, and now his face is cut out of the frame. His voice is shaky.

“And when I asked you what our times together were, what our friendship meant, what did you say?”

His arm moves as if to switch off the camera, but then he speaks one last sentence.

“Someone said it meant imperfection and danger, is what you said.”

The video ends.

Seven days since Vernon left me alone in this house. Alone once more, with no one to depend upon, no one to keep me company.

I hope he’s doing okay.

I wish I could say the same for myself.

With a little rustle of cloth, I get up off the couch and out of my silent reverie. I pick up my camera and turn it over in my hands, admiring every little chip and crack in its worn exterior. It has been with me for so many years, my faithful companion even when others have left.

I lift it up to my eyes to take another photo, this time of the room, awash in the golden glory of the morning sun, and when I press the button, I hear a little strange beep.

No more storage.

I laugh without humour, the dry chuckle falling from my mouth and smashing to porcelain pieces on the sunlight stained floor.

What am I supposed to do now, I wonder.

I let my gaze meander over to the calendar. It is the 11th today. I leave the camera on the coffee table and snatch up the permanent marker to cross today off.

When I look at the calendar again, the 11th is circled in red. I begin to think that maybe I am losing my grip in this isolated place.

But even after I rub my eyes, pinch myself, turn around and back around again, it is still there.

And then, it hits me like a strike of lightning from heaven itself, cackling and zipping around spastically, firing off every neuron in my brain.

Today. 11th. My number. 11.

It is no coincidence.

Like a thousand butterflies being set free in my stomach, my excitement and joy at finally finding my prime is unconfined. The butterflies burst out of every orifice in my body and lift me up on their papery wings.

I half-trip, half-sprint down the stairs to the door, and run out the house without any thought for locking it.

Nothing matters now that I have my prime.

Thanks for reading this too long fic!

[fuckregretsandkeepon]

First Meeting

There she stood taking off her raptora suit which would definitely need to be replaced considering how damaged it was. The newest member of Helix stood behind her watching her not in an inappropriate manner but just in awe of the person Captain Fareeha Amari was. Fareeha noticed someone watching her as she turned her head around she asked,

“What is it? Is something wrong?”

The young man standing behind her felt a warmth spread across his face as he had been noticed. Lt. Khalid, the newest member of Helix who was assigned to train with Fareeha was too nervous to speak so words came out of him as a stutter,

“I - I - I just wanted to sa-sa-say thank you fo-fo-for saving my life ba-ba-back there….”

As he looked down. Fareeha waved her hand as to shoo away the gratitude he was showing her,

“you were entrusted to me. I only did my duty, nothing more, nothing less”

She said plainly. He nodded his head and got down on his knee.

“I owe you my life. I’m forever indebted to you, my captain.”

Fareeha annoyed by the new lieutenant she received to train before she left to fulfill her contract with the resurgence of Overwatch. She said what she thought would hopefully make him stop praising her so much. Being praised by others wasn’t something she liked.

“As I said it is part of my duty. Once you joined my squad you became part of my family and I will die to protect my family.”

He looked up at Fareeha as she fully turned around her hair a dark black swooshed to the side along the beads that decorated some strands of her hair. She was wearing a black tight suit under her raptora that clung to her body in all the right places. Her womanly features weren’t the thing the young lieutenant noticed. It was the big gashes all over her body that caught his attention. He gasped aloud as he shot up to his feet.

“Captain! We need to get you to the medics as soon as possible!”

Fareeha rolled her eyes at the extreme reaction he had upon seeing her battle wounds.

“You make it seem like you’ve never seen anyone worse than me out in the battlefield.”

She let out a little chuckle and sly smile before she could stop herself. To be joking about something so grim made Fareeha feel uneasy and she mentally kicked herself for making such a comment. Khalid looked at her with a hurt look on his face. Fareeha saw the change and felt horrible for joking about the horrors of war. She looked up to meet his eyes to apologize but as soon as their eyes met he looked away. He said something she wasn’t expecting.

“You are hurt like this because of me… because I wasn’t doing my job properly… I’m so sorry, Captain Amari.”

Fareeha thought he was going to reprimand her for making jokes about the horrible things they went through during war. She gave him a weak smile and walked over to him and grabbed him by the shoulders.

“You are a fool to think you weren’t doing your job properly. You were evacuating civilians from a war zone. You were too preoccupied by getting them to safety to even think about your own. It’s the least I could do for you. Taking a few bullets and bombs with my raptora suit to save your life was well worth the destruction of my suit.”

He looked at her and gave a weak smile. She gave him one back in return.

“You are right about me getting medical attention, though. I will see myself to the infirmary. Go see your family, I’ve sent word to everyone of our return. I’m sure they are worried about you.”

He thanked her one last time and saluted her before he left in a hurry to see his wife and children. Fareeha had no one to go see. She decided long ago that having a lover would only be a distraction to the life long mission of protecting and serving humanity. She turned quickly to grab her bag and forgot about the deep cut she had on her stomach that made her feel woozy like she was about to pass out. She sat down on the bench by her locker before heading for help. Her wound was bleeding again as she made her way to the infirmary. She got there with a shirt pressed against her stomach stained with blood. The nurse who was working the front desk smiled at her before she even looked up. As the nurse looked up her eyes went wide as she noticed that she was staring at THE Pharah. Pharah was so beautiful. Her skin a mocha color much like her own but more enticing. Dark black hair that fell only up to her shoulders that had beads on the front strands and the eye of Horus tattoo made her all the more beautiful. Her muscular arms and curves… Realizing she was staring at her the nurse shot up to her feet.

“Miss Ph… I mean Captain Amari… it’s a pleasure to have y…”

The nurse finally noticed Fareeha holding a shirt that was stained with blood and cuts and bruises all over her body. She realized she wasn’t just there to check on her men as every other time she returned from a mission. She was there because she needed assistance. She went from daydreaming of the beautiful captain to her medical training.

“Captain Amari, are you hurt?”

She exhaled and felt idiotic saying that. Of course she was hurt. She wouldn’t come here if it wasn’t something serious. She was stopped from her inner rambling when she heard the captain speak.

“Yes. I seem to have maybe overdone it this time…”

Fareeha gave the nurse a sorry look. The nurse got on her computer. Clicked and typed a couple things in before looking back up at her.

“Follow me this way, Captain Amari.”

The nurse led her into one of the rooms towards the back. She helped her sit down with out upsetting the cut on her stomach. Fareeha was sitting there while the nurse used the mechanical arm attached to the ceiling of the room to check her vitals and to examine her body to see all of the damage that was done.

“It seems you did overdo it this time, Captain.”

The nurse who had talked and met Fareeha many times before this was nervous being in the same room with someone of such stature. Yes, she had spoken to her on many occasions but that was a quick report on how her men were doing. She admired the devotion the captain had for her men. The nurse remembered that the famous Dr. Ziegler was at Helix to have an assembly with all the doctors about the new medical advances and discoveries. She admired the doctors that worked at Helix but none of them were on the level of Dr. Ziegler. She excused herself from Fareeha and went to find the doctor. She wanted Fareeha to be treated by the best. She looked around the convention hall when she spotted the doctor who stood out like a sore thumb. Dr. Ziegler was a thing of beauty. A tall, pale blond with bright blue eyes. She moved gracefully in a room full of people wanting to talk to her. The nurse made her way to Dr. Ziegler.

“Excuse me, Dr. Ziegler?”

Angela felt a light tap on her shoulder as she noticed a young woman trying to get her attention.

“Yes?”

The nurse stared at her for a second as Angela’s accent caught her off guard. The nurse shook off the affect such a beauty had on her. It’s not that she thought Captain Amari or Dr. Ziegler were attractive in that way, I mean they were beautiful but she just admired the two woman so much she felt star struck when talking to both of them face to face. It’s not often you have two of the most influential women in the world in front of you.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you on such an important occasion but I was wondering if I could use your expertise.”

Angela burrowed her brow and suddenly got a concerned look on her face.

“What do you need assistance with?”

She asked as she was genuinely concerned as to why out of all the doctors present this Helix nurse came to her.

“I do respect and admire all of the doctors that work here at Helix but one of our most decorated and respected officers has been injured pretty badly and I would only want the best of doctors to work on her. That’s why I came to ask you if you would please treat her.”

Angela tilted her head while looking at the young nurse and contemplated what she should do.

“Does this officer know you came looking for me?”

She noticed that the young nurse lowered her head as a crimson color came over her cheeks.

“No Miss… I mean Dr. Ziegler.”

“I’m not a doctor here to be looking over your patients by request. If you get me permission to treat this officer by one of your doctors. I will gladly do so.”

The young nurse felt a hint of hurt as the doctor rejected her. Just as she was about to leave one of her superiors, a doctor of Helix, Dr. Antar walked over as he had overheard the conversation.

“Sun, which officer did you want Dr. Ziegler to treat? Do you think our doctors are not as good?”

Dr. Antar let out the questions with a harsher tone than he intended. Sun looked up at him in horror. She knew she should’ve never came here to ask Dr. Ziegler such a thing. She was mentally kicking herself over it.

“O-of course not. They are the best doctors. I-I… I just wanted one of the best in the world to look at Cap… I’m sorry, sir. I should not try to make any excuses for trying to go over my superiors.”

The older doctor looked at the young nurse in confusion.

“Who is the patient you want Dr. Ziegler to see?”

“C-Captain Amari sir…”

Angela’s eyes widened. She spoke before she could even think about it.

“I’ll treat her.”

She said the words before she could even stop herself. She looked at Dr. Antar and said,

“If you would allow me the honor.”

Dr. Antar smiled at the young doctor and the young nurse.

“Of course, Dr. Ziegler. You are one of the most sought out doctors in the world. It would be an honor to have you treat one of our most honored soldiers.”

Angela smiled at Dr. Antar and looked over to Sun.

“Sun, was it?”

Sun looked at Angela eyes wide as she had just used her name.

“Yes, ma'am. I mean, yes doctor.”

“Please show me to Captain Amari.”

Angela smiled at the young nurse who smiled even wider at her. She extended her arm to let Angela walk in front of her to show her the way. They made their way through the halls back to the medical halls and she told her what room the captain was in as she handed her a tablet with all of her medical history. Angela didn’t look at the tablet quite yet as she knocked on the door and opened it. She opened the door with a big smile thinking she would be seeing her old friend, Ana Amari, but much to her disappointment she was staring at a much younger woman who looked exactly like her. Before she could introduce herself Fareeha stood to attention. Fareeha winced at the pain that shot through her whole body as she moved so quickly to get up to salute her superior. She felt her vision get blurry as she lost her footing and started to sink. Instead of being met with the concrete floor she was met with softness. Angela had seen Fareeha’s eyes roll back before she slumped so she was able to make it to her before she hit the floor. Angela helped Fareeha back into the bed and she helped her lay down.

“Take it easy, Captain Amari. I’m not here as your superior. I’m only here to take a look at your wounds.”

Fareeha felt a warmness start to develop around her cheeks as she looked at the doctor. The famous doctor Angela Ziegler. One of the members of the old Overwatch now trying to start its comeback. She hadn’t met her due to her contract with Overwatch barely going into affect.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Ziegler. I didn’t know you’d be the doctor entering through that door. My stand to attention is out of habit.”

Angela smiled at her and couldn’t help but compare her to Ana. She noticed she had the same eye tattoo except on the opposite side. That’s when she remembered that Ana always spoke of her daughter, Fareeha. That’s when Angela realized that she had mistaken Captain Amari here and now to her old friend from long ago. She thought herself silly to think that her friend would be here after she’d been missing for years now, thought to be dead now. She was always hopeful that she would see her old friends again. She let out a sigh that Fareeha noticed as soon as she did.

“I’m sorry if you were expecting someone else…”

Angela looked up at the captain and felt embarrassed.

“Oh no. I should be the one apologizing. I am always hopeful to see those old friends from my past. I should have known better. It seems you’ve followed in your mothers footsteps. She would have been proud of you, Captain Amari.”

Fareeha looked up at the doctor and gave a weak smile.

“I doubt that she would be proud of me. She never wanted me to join the military. She didn’t want me to lead the same kind of life she did but I had made up my mind long ago.”

Angela looked at Fareeha as she stared away into the nothing thinking about her mother. Angela felt like she had brought back some painful memories.

“Let me take a look at your chart to see what I can do do to treat you.”

Angela tried to take Fareeha’s mind off of whatever she was thinking by talking to her but to no avail did it seem to work.

“I see.”

Fareeha snapped out of her painful memories as she looked at the doctor.

“How bad is it, doc? Am I gonna live?”

Fareeha looked at Angela with a little smirk. Angela couldn’t hold back the giggle her lame joke brought out of her but at the same time she got serious and held up the tablet.

“You have some very serious injuries here, Captain.”

Fareeha lost the smirk she had on her face just a moment ago.

“Some of the wounds you have are old wounds still not healed yet. When’s the last time you’ve gotten a check up?… Oh, I see. It’s been a while since your last physical. A whole year to be exact.”

Fareeha looked down ashamed.

“My body is fine.”

Angela looked at Fareeha with a stern look. She was more upset at the fact that the doctors at Helix hadn’t made her take a physical every month with the amounts of missions she went on to make sure she was physically okay to take on those difficult missions they gave their soldiers.

“I guess it’s time for your annual check up.”

Fareeha looked up at Angela and waited for further instructions.

“Are you overly attached to this black tight suit?”

Fareeha gave a weak smile to Angela’s teasing.

“Of course not. I have many others.”

“You wouldn’t mind if I cut it off would you? I don’t want you to strain yourself trying to take it off yourself.”

“It would be best for you to cut it off as I can barely even move without feeling nauseous.”

Angela looked in the drawers until she found some scissors. She proceeded to walk over to Fareeha. She put the black material in between the scissors starting from her left ankle and cut up. She repeated the same for the other leg. She then went from her wrists down. Once she reached the middle coming from her arms the suit finally fell off her skin. Angela was taken aback with how many scars covered Fareeha’s body. Thick scars covered most areas but mostly she was staring at old but still fresh wounds. She looked Fareeha up and down and noticed how toned and well maintained her body was but yet still curvy and very womanly. She saw the definition of her muscles all over her body. She felt herself getting warmer so she turned around quickly. She didn’t want Fareeha to see her checking her out. She grabbed the tablet quickly to make it seem she had turned around to look at something in her chart. Fareeha was oblivious to Angela checking her out and just laid in the bed waiting for further instructions from Angela.

“First things first I will clean all of your wounds to make sure they don’t get infected. I will then stitch you up to ensure you aren’t left with anymore scars. I’ll give you something for pain before I start. How did you receive this wound on your stomach?”

Angela asked her just to start up a conversation while she attended to Fareeha’s wounds. Fareeha looked up at Angela and had a serious look on her face.

“I don’t care about the scars. My body is expendable when it comes to protecting my comrades. I don’t need any medicine for the pain. You can continue without it.”

Angela was shocked how straightforward she was. She didn’t know how to respond.

“I would recommend the pain medicine only because I have to clean deep inside this gash in your stomach. It will be very painful.”

Fareeha shook her head.

“No, I don’t need it. My men who were in battle with me didn’t have special treatment and have the luxury to have pain medicine. I have no need for it. If my men can endure it so can I.”

Angela saw her resolve and decided that there was no convincing her otherwise. She washed her hands and put gloves on. She proceeded to put a sheet on top of Fareeha’s stomach with a hole in the middle on top of the big gash she needed to clean. She poured peroxide in the cut and saw as Fareeha’s body became stiff and her eyes closed shut. She began digging into the wound with some tweezers to pull out fragments of bullets and bombs. She kept looking at Fareeha to make sure she was okay. She had her eyes closed and her hand was balled into a fist. She finished cleaning the wound.

“I’ve finished cleaning your wound. I’m going to stitch it up now. Are you sure you don’t want any pain medicine? I can give you something just to numb the site if you don’t want anything for pain…”

Fareeha looked at her and simply said,

“I don’t mean to be rude Dr. Ziegler but like I said before I do not need any pain medication or numbing medication. I can take it.”

Angela looked at her and nodded and she proceeded to start stitching her up. She felt her stiffen each time she put a new suture in. She kept going as Fareeha did not tell her to stop. She kept looking at her to make sure she was okay and kept monitoring her vitals to make sure if she needed to stop she would. She was almost done when she looked up at her and saw that she had a tear rolling down the side of her face. This made Angela stop but before she could ask if Fareeha was okay she heard her speak up.

“I’m fine. Keep going.”

Angela didn’t want to keep going but she didn’t want her to suffer any longer so she made quick work of the rest of the sutures and finished within minutes. She tended to Fareeha’s other wounds and cleaned them and dressed them like she did her stitches. Fareeha looked up at Angela and saw how satisfied and proud she looked of the work she just did. She smiled to herself but winced as she remembered how much her whole body was in pain and how sore and tired she had become.

“Let me help you sit up dear.”

Angela reached over to try to help Fareeha sit up in bed but instead of helping her up she ended up falling on top of her hitting her freshly stitched up wound.

“FUUUUUUUUUCK!”

Fareeha’s voice rang through the room so loudly that it made Angela shudder and try to get off of her as fast as possible which only ended up with her tripping over the chair onto the floor.

“I’m so sorry Fareeha… I’m so sorry… oh my god… are you okay?!?!”

Fareeha didn’t notice she had stopped breathing after Angela fell over her and pain rushed through her whole body. She felt like she was about to pass out until she heard Angela calling out to her.

“Fareeha! Fareeha! Are you okay? Can you hear me? Oh my God I made her pass out!”

Fareeha was barely coming to her sense when all she could hear was Angela screaming at her loudly.

“If you scream any louder, I’m going to end up needing hearing aids too.”

Angela let out a nervous laugh before getting close to Fareeha. She was careful to help her up this time and not overextend herself where she couldn’t keep her balance. She didn’t want to hurt her again.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t realize how well built you were until I tried to help you up. I should’ve been more cautious. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I only wanted to make you feel better.”

Fareeha noticed that Angela looked nervous and distraught about having caused her unnecessary pain.

“It’s fine, doc. I’m feeling a little bit better now thanks to you. It did hurt a bit but I’m all better now see?”

Fareeha gave the doctor a smile to try to reassure her as she sat up on the side of the bed.

“I’ll believe you this one time captain. But before you try to leave here, I’m going to have to tell you that you will not be participating in any missions for the next two months.”

Fareeha’s mouth flung open.

“What?! What do you mean two months? Why the hell are you taking me away from my missions?!”

Her voice came out a little louder than she expected which she saw scared Angela a bit.

“I–I’m sorry… it’s- it’s just for the best. I will revise you again after those two months to make sure your body is healed and you are physically well to do your missions properly. You’ve been treating your own wounds at home and not very good at that considering half of these wounds are still not done healing. You haven’t given your body any proper rest and it’s in your best interest if you take a break. I don’t think you’d want to risk your men’s life by your body being so physically exhausted.”

Fareeha felt herself getting upset.

“You think I’d endanger my men like that?”

She look up straight into Angela’s eyes. Angela felt like Fareeha’s eyes were burning through her.

“No… no… it came out wrong. I.. I just want you to be at the best you can possibly be. It will do you good to rest, captain. I know you take your work very seriously. You also need to allow your body it’s time to heal. None of your wounds are even close to being fully healed. These two months will allow you to regain your full physical potential. I would not require this of you, if it wasn’t completely necessary.”

Fareeha felt ashamed that she had lashed out at Angela. She lowered her head and accepted the fact that she was right about her not being at her full potential. She had been tired and sore for months but she could never let that be known. People depended on her. Everyone she knew was tired and sore so just because she was Pharah she was supposed to get special treatment? She became infuriated with herself. Fareeha’s face showed a pained expression and Angela didn’t know what to say. She wanted to make her feel better but she was only making her feel worse by taking away who she was for two months. Telling someone who puts everyone else’s lives before their own to think about themselves for once never ended well for Angela.

“I… I just want you to recover correctly… I know it’s hard for you not to be out there with your men… by their side…. but I know you wouldn’t want to be out there with them unless you trusted yourself 100% with their lives…”

Angela spoke only above a whisper this time. Fareeha looked up from her despair and looked the doctor in the eyes.

“You are right, Dr. Ziegler. I’m sorry I lashed out at you but this is all I know. This is my life, who I am. I don’t know how to take a break from it even when I know I need the break. There are far more important things to deal with than some wounds that won’t heal.”

“Your body is one of those important things. If you don’t take care of yourself you won’t be able to protect the things you find most precious.”

Fareeha accepted defeat. She nodded and tried to stand only to be met with some dizziness but she held on to the wall for support.

“You should maybe try to get some sleep before trying to walk anywhere…”

Recommended Angela. As she began to agree she felt her knees begging to buckle underneath her until they gave way but Angela all too quickly was there to catch her. She smelt of lavender and jasmine. A sweet but subtle smell. Angela couldn’t help but feel Fareeha’s toned body as she caught her in her arms. She smelled of coconuts as she breathed her in. Fareeha was only wearing a black sports bra and black boy shorts. Angela realized she was being too touchy as she felt her hands moving over Fareeha’s back which was defined by her muscles but smooth like velvet.

“I’m sorry… are you okay?”

Trying to stop her hands from roaming freely she tried to start a conversation.

“Yes. Sorry… I don’t mean to keep falling for you.”

Fareeha felt her cheeks getting hot as she spoke those last words. She didn’t know why she was feeling this way but she sat back down and already missed the warmth that Angela brought to her body in that embrace.

“It’s okay… if you need me to I can have a wheelchair here to give you a ride to your room.”

“I think that would be a good idea. I doubt I’ll be able to walk in my condition.”

Angela gave her a faint smile and went out the door and came back within minutes with a chair. Angela helped Fareeha get into the wheelchair carefully trying not to fall on her again. Fareeha gave Angela directions to her room but before they could leave the medical room she felt something drape over her as she noticed it was a hospital gown.

“I’m sorry but I can’t allow you to be seen in such a state.”

Fareeha only remembered that she was in her sports bra and underwear ready to go out the door. Angela didn’t know if she covered Fareeha up because she didn’t want her to be embarrassed or because she didn’t want anyone else to see her the same way she had.

“Ah yes, thank you Dr. Ziegler.”

“You can call me, Angela. We’ll be working together soon so you might as well get used to it.”

“Very well. Thank you, Angela. You may call me Fareeha. I feel the Captain Amari only reminds people of my mother and I am not her.”

Angela gave her a nod. She pushed Fareeha in whatever direction she pointed her towards until she got to a dark wooden door with “Captain F. Amari” written on it.

“This is me. Thank you for patching me up, Angela. I already feel so much better.”

Angela smiled as she helped Fareeha to her feet.

“The pleasure was all mine. I hope you feel better soon. Remember in two months, I’m going to do another check up on you. Make sure to clean your wounds and change the dressings daily. Don’t over exhaust yourself. No working out whatsoever. Get as much bed rest as you can. Doctors orders.”

Fareeha smiled at the last remark.

“I will follow the doctors orders. I promise.”

Angela stepped back as Fareeha opened her bedroom door.

“I shall see you soon, Fareeha. It was nice finally being able to meet you. Winston and Lena speak so highly of you. It’s nice to put a face to the name, Pharah. I look forward to working with you in the revival of Overwatch.”

“Yes, it was nice seeing one of the best doctors in the world patch me up. I know I’ll be in good hands once I join up with Overwatch.”

They both smiled at each other last time before waving goodbye and going different ways.