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sp4ceboo · 2 months ago

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As Selfish as Love: Merman!Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

genre: merfolk au, fantasy au, merman!bakugou x witch!reader, strangers to lovers, bakugou x f!reader, smut and angst and fluff

summary: in a world infested with purgers of magic, neither a clandestine witch nor a lone merman can remain safe for long.

tw: 18+, smut (afab reader, p in v, bkg has a merman cock, marking + biting, oral f receiving, fingering, crying during sex but not like you think, unprotected sex, creampie), violence, blood, death, vivid gore, grief, reader treated as a tool by evil ppl, random worldbuilding, questionable medical knowledge, kinda plot heavy, other stuff i don't remember

wc: 19.8k

For years, all you’ve known is darkness.

Chained by the wrist to a ring in the wall, swaddled and asphyxiating in the blackness of the brig - it is there where your closest companion has become the dark. It is the absence of light: not only because they do not deem you human enough to spare lamp oil on you, but because the kiss of the sun has been reduced to a foreign concept, a distant, syrupy memory.

Every morning when that door opens, letting light leak in and crawl painfully between the cracks of the roughly hewn floorboards like an intruder, you repeat your name back to yourself, remind yourself who you are - a witch, a survivor, a person at the end of their tether but that all the same does what they can to keep the shadows at bay.

For the darkness is not just the absence of light: it is the absence of hope, and if you let it take you, your very substance will dissolve and you will sink beneath obsidian waves and melt away without a sound. They will have won.

This is something you will not allow.

White knuckled, you hold onto memories of the past the way a drowning man clings to driftwood. They swirl in the currents of your mind, fickle things. Sometimes they are so tangible you can feel the grass beneath your feet and the bracing wind of the highlands on your face even in the still, humid air of the brig, sometimes they eddy away before you can catch a glimpse.

You were barely a woman when they caught you, when they tore you out from where you’d been rooted to the earth, ripping through the stitches that held your life together. You were young, and you were naive and ignorant. This would not have happened if I had been as I am now, you think, but as you are now is shackled in the belly of a ship built for the single purpose of hunting merfolk.

They hunt to purge. Their so-called divine has commanded the eradication of magic, and so that is what each and every child is trained for from birth. The land has been rife with their conquest for centuries, making witches such as your kind unheard of, yet the sea for all its worth has lain mostly untouched until recently.

You are jealous of the merfolk. The magic must come easily to them, because they have not had to suppress it out of fear - it seethes in their blood, potent as an ocean storm, imbued within their essences as salt is in seawater. For this, they are feared, and for this, the hunters are more so hellbent on their extermination.

Over your years spent in the hull’s constant night you’ve learnt that your captors are the most celebrated hunters of their time, held above everything but their leader and their divine. They are revered among their people, and that is why they are allowed to chain a witch in their brig and force her to heal wounds sustained from hunting the undeserving - because they are strong enough and honourable enough to not be corrupted by your magic.

There is nothing honourable about the way they treat you.

Though you are human as they are, you are lower than an animal to them. They have no care for your limits - oftentimes, you are pushed to heal and heal and heal until you are exhausted, and yet you refuse to succumb when the darkness calls, because each time you meet their eyes, without fail, you see, buried deep within, is fear.

They fear what is unknown, what is not under their control, and every time you refuse to break when they beat you just for entertainment, every time they push you almost to death yet you survive, you wrest back an inch of control. You are needed, and that is something you will use one day, when the time is right. For now, you collect those sparks of fear in their eyes and let it feed the fire nestled within your soul that fends off the growing dark.

It is a day like any of the other days. Stirring in your fraying blankets, you wake up to the sound of the crew’s strident voices, and as it is sometimes, you almost forget that they are cruel and stained by their own wrong doings because for now, there is no talk of blood shed, just breakfast. You hate that they can seem so normal with so many innocent lives on their hands.

The day very quickly progresses into the type you have come to dread.

They neglect to bring you your daily portion of bread and water, nor the echinacea you had asked for more of, and it can only mean one thing - a hunt is on. Already, you can feel the unruly lurch of the ship as it skims over the waves, picking up speed. The crew’s voices become louder, crowing and eager, and you despise them so deeply your heart twists and becomes an ugly thing in your chest.

Almost imperceptible, you can hear the rattle and hiss of ropes as they ready their harpoons. This part is the worst, where the darkness closes in so near that you can feel its cold touch brush up your arms and its breath ghosting over your face. Sometimes you hear the anguished cries of the merfolk, sometimes the whoops and victory cries of the crew are loud enough to drown it out. You don’t know which is worse.

After will come the wounded, grinning still and soaked in blood of two kinds - theirs and their victims. You are always numb to it by then, turning a blind eye to the crimson dipped trophies they grip in dirty hands: lopped off fins and strips of scales, sometimes small enough to be a child’s.

How they can butcher beings as beautiful as the merfolk and think it the right thing to do, you do not know.

It makes you sick to your stomach, that somehow you have become their accomplice, stitching their wounds with your magic, saving their lives so they can kill again. You vow that one day, you will strike back, but what good can you do now, trapped in the bowels of a boat that was designed as a vessel for murder?

You have to try. You have to survive, if just to try. You are yet to come up with a method for escaping past what you have already attempted, but if you do not, more lives will be lost, more bloodshed that you had inadvertently aided. Right now, on deck, the patterns for it to happen all over again are falling into place.

You’re sure that this time will be no different.

And so you wait for the injured to come, almost defeated if not for the hard, bright little ball of hate settled in your throat. You wait, and you wait, listening to the strange thumping above that you can’t decipher, and still they don’t bring you their wounded. Neither comes their usual sickening shouts of triumph - you wonder if the merfolk managed to escape. You hope desperately that they did.

Listless, you turn your head as footsteps approach. There are more than normal. You can’t count exactly - five, maybe six, and they all walk with a strange irregular gait as they approach the brig.

I hope the merfolk put up a magnificent fight, you think as the key scrapes in the lock. I hope that taught them; you know it never does. The more damage the merfolk do while they fight for the lives of their mates and children, the more they are damned as unnatural and beastly and deserving of the fates that are doled out to them by men.

With a rusty squeal, the door swings wide, and with it comes the same influx of light that always spills greedily through, stinging your eyes and making them ache - the doing of a tiny, wayward star moulded from precious lamp oil. You blink away the tears that well up at your lash line, testament to your accustomation to the dark, and then blink again.

Back when you took the warmth of the sun on your face for granted, you lived too far inland to ever see one in the flesh. You were still a witch under the disguise of a healer, though. You’d heard tales, seen artists’ renderings and gorey body parts wrenched off as sick memorabilia.

None of those could have ever come close to preparing you for the sight before your eyes.

A merman.

Deep in enemy territory - so deep, in fact, that all those surrounding him, bar you, have murdered more than dozens of his kind each. He is on a galleon rammed bow to stern with killers. And yet, despite it, he has not fallen victim to the purge. Yes, there is a splintered harpoon sunken into his side, yes, he is limp and broken, but even so, shallowly, his chest rises and falls.

He breathes. He breathes, and even that is beautiful. The lamp’s light reflects off his scales; he is mainly jet black, but broad swathes of orange run across the length of his powerful tail like they were drawn with the loving stroke of a painter’s brush. In parts, they darken into a ruby red that glitters and winks as the lamp light dances.

Or maybe that’s just blood.

There’s a lot of it. It soaks into the sheet they strain to carry between them, pools in the dip his weight makes, streaks in smears down his chest and face, coats his hands and is embedded under his sharp nails. You hope that all of it is not his, that he made them regret whatever they must have done to get a merman vulnerable enough and far enough from his pod to capture him.

Deep lacerations cut all along his chest and tail, and one of the spines that extend from his sail-like dorsal fin is bent in a way that must mean it is broken. A smattering of scales reach wide across his shoulders and back and down his arms, some of them twisted and bent out of shape. Your eyes fall to the harpoon buried just below his hip, and you feel the bite of your nails digging into your palms.

“Heal it,” commands the man holding the corner of the sheet closest to you. “We’ve been ordered to bring back a merfolk to be studied. It must be in peak condition.”

You frown as they begin to manoeuvre all three metres of merman into the brig. Studied? They must be looking for a weakness to exploit. After all, merfolk succumb less easily to flesh wounds than humans - the magic of the sea resides in their very bones.

A hand fists the front of your shirt and you’re jerked forward. You can feel the hunter’s foul breath on your cheek, feel the violence roiling just below the surface of his skin, and yet you cannot tear your eyes from the merman until you’re struck across the face. Reeling back, you raise your head to look at him, a hand flying up to cradle your jaw where it has begun to swell.

“Are you deaf? What are you waiting for?” he spits.

Your brain is still stuck on the fact that there is a merman before you, alive on a ship full of specialised mermen killers, but your body has gone through these motions many times before and brings you to kneel by your patient so fast your chain jingles crassly in the relative quiet, your hands already working to gather herbs for a poultice that will slow the bleeding.

Glancing over your shoulder, you see your captors filing out of the door, the last of them grumbling and wiping his hands on his trousers as if being near enough to hit you had sullied him. Realisation dawns abruptly on you.

They’re leaving you alone with the merman.

“Wait,” you call.

Disquiet grows in your stomach. As much as you hate the life forced upon you, serving as a tool for men who would not hesitate to kill you if you ran out of worth, you have gotten used to it, and this merman at your feet has disrupted your delicate equilibrium, tripping you as you balance on a knife’s blade.

You have never had problems with thinking fast in a pinch. You are a healer, you are accustomed to endless wells of blood and snapped bones sticking through skin. Conversely, you are not accustomed to the sight of a half conscious merman taking up the majority of your floor space, a single fingernail on his hand no doubt potent with more magic than is contained in your whole body.

Your tongue is slow, your mind slower, but you force the words out, emboldened because whether he likes it or not, this merman is leverage for you. There is no one else on board that could save him.

“I will need a lamp indefinitely, while I’m in the process of healing.”

You realise how important the health of this merman is to their study because the hunter holding the lamp brings it over with no words of criticism, just the curl of his lip when you draw near enough to take it from him.

Its metal is warm in your hands, and you cup it in your palms - a little sun that clears the clinging shadows from the brig like they’re cobwebs. Carefully, you set it on the floor next to you, just outside the border of the canvas the merman lies upon, sitting back on your heels as the door slams shut.

You stare at the merman for a weighty moment. If it did, there’s no telling what organ the harpoon may have punctured - do his intestines extend all the way down his tail? Or are they in the same place as a human’s, and his tail is just muscles, like legs would be?

Never in your life did you think merfolk anatomy would have any significance to you. Even if you’d thought it did, there wouldn’t be any books for you to study on it. A hysterical, jittery laugh builds in your throat, wringing itself from you when you spot the strange slit - for lack of better words - that sits just below where his skin turns to obsidian scales.

The nervous sound breaks the silence, jolting you into action. Never mind his anatomy, he’s still bleeding out. Somehow, you need to get that harpoon out of him: the hunters don’t clean them off once they’ve used them, and if you’re not vigilant, infection will get him before whatever they’ve got in store will.

Determinedly, you scoot closer to his lower half, stretching out a hand to test the area around the wound. In preparation, you will your healing magic to rise to the surface, and it fizzles at the surface of your palms, warming them.

Your fingertips have barely brushed over his scales when pain slashes across your cheek.

The merman jerks away from you so hard that he cries out, and you wince as you see the wound pull wide, blood oozing out from where it gapes. Gingerly, you touch a hand to your cheek - one of his spines had glanced off your face as he’d moved away, its tip sharp enough to shed blood.

Any human patient would have lost consciousness moments after being hit by the harpoon that’s buried in his tail, and if by a miracle they hadn’t yet, the pain caused by what he just did surely would have knocked them out. Inexplicably, he’s still conscious, blood red eyes glaring at you with blatant distrust.

You hadn’t gotten a chance to look closely at his face before - you’d been too busy ogling his tail. Spikey, sandy hair casts a shadow over his eyes. They glow, carmine and half crazed, no doubt with the same agony that pinches at his face and curls his lip, revealing sharp canines that he bares at you, twin ivory warnings.

A rattling, hissing sound emanates from deep in his chest when you attempt to move closer again, his dorsal fin undulating in an obvious threat display. You can tell it hurts him; the spine you’d noticed before is definitely broken, the parts of the fin around it drooping and limp. He growls when he catches you looking.

You really, really don't know what to do.

Your skin prickles, the hairs on the back of your neck rising. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you were left alone with him. Aside from the obvious hostility, his face is effectively blank; there’s nothing in his gaze except the primal instinct to survive, and the unspeakable, offensive terror of a wounded animal backed into a corner and trapped there.

There’s no getting through to him with words. You remember the night you were ripped from your cottage by the hunters, the way you clawed and screamed until your voice was gone and your nails were torn and bleeding. You know what it’s like to have the adrenaline coursing through your veins so fast it burns, you know what it’s like to feel the anger and fear blend together in your chest until it strips away your humanity and you’re reduced to nothing more than a feral, wild eyed animal.

Slowly, you get to your feet, your chains rattling. He growls, making that hissing sound again, and despite his size, despite the muscles straining in his chest and the magic you can sense in his form, he looks small. You grit your teeth. The shock is beginning to wear off, burnt to ashes by a roaring fury that licks up your throat and fills your lungs.

You wonder if he had a pod. You wonder if they got massacred before his eyes.

Ignoring the trembling of your hands, you scoop up the piece of dried fish that remains from yesterday’s meal. It’s the only food you have, so you turn and offer it to him - when he doesn’t hiss immediately, you slide it over to him on the dented tin plate it had been on.

Tentatively, the merman picks up the fish, his nose very obviously wrinkling. As he examines your peace offering, you notice his hands are webbed up to the lowest knuckle and are a little larger than a human man’s, the fingers longer and the nails considerably sharper.

Relief fills you as he begins to chew at the fish, and you retreat to your pile of blankets, sitting down and half facing away to give him as much privacy as is possible in as small a space as the brig. You begin to make a poultice for him, crushing the herbs between your fingers because you’re not allowed a mortar and pestle and depositing them on one of the dishes you have lying around.

Once you’re done, you turn back to him. The edge in his eyes has softened a touch, and when you scoot over to settle closer to him, he doesn’t make a sound, instead just leaning away a little, watching you warily. Warningly, he hisses when you lift your hand, his red eyes flashing.

“I’m going to have to touch you to put this poultice on,” you tell him. “It will reduce the bleeding and might alleviate the pain.”

He twitches but remains silent. You wonder briefly if he even understands - people don’t talk to merfolk these days. They either run or they kill. For all you know, he might speak some ancient language of the sea that you have no hope in understanding.

You scoop the poultice up in your fingers and lean forward, aiming to ease him in by angling first for a smaller wound situated just over a hip bone on a human would be (you’re not even sure if his equivalent qualifies as a hip seeing as he lacks legs).

“Don’t,” he snarls, his voice guttural and rasping, like he hasn’t uttered a word in years.

Fumbling, you almost drop the dish. You guess that answers one of your many questions - he can speak your language, although you presume one word doesn’t really express fluency. For a moment, you consider telling him that they’ll no doubt beat you for not healing him, but it seems rather insignificant since it’s nothing they haven’t inflicted on you before.

Sighing, you sit back on your heels and look at him, defeated. He regards you with those same crimson eyes as before, but they’ve cooled considerably and hold traces of scathing criticism you find you aren’t the fondest of.

You begin to realise that he’s not going to give you any explanation as to why he doesn’t want you to treat him. He doesn’t trust you, most likely - you haven’t given him any reason to think otherwise of you, rather, you’d gawped openly at him. You’re not surprised he hasn’t taken a liking to you. You wouldn’t either.

So you retreat back to what has now become your corner of the brig, since the other three are taken up by the length of his tail and the doorway. On a whim, you prepare yourself a turmeric tea; it’s anti-inflammatory and you know you’ll be needing it sooner or later.

It takes a day, but one of the hunters barges in, light sneaking in past the outline of his silhouette. You don’t know any of them by name, nor would you want to, but you do know that this particular one is the first mate.

The merman hasn’t let you near him still, and although at points his eyes are closed, you’re worried that if you try to sneak up on him, he’ll move away again and tear open the parts of the wound around the harpoon that have partially closed up. The perimeter of blood soaked canvas beneath him has slowed its expansion but still grows.

It’s amazing that he’s survived this long while still losing blood. You presume merfolk must be rather resilient, unsurprisingly - the sea is no easy place to live in, nor is it made any easier by its recent infestation of merfolk hunters.

“Did you not hear your orders yesterday, you useless bitch?”

Passively, you look up at him as he looms closer. “I did.”

“So you don’t want to cooperate, then,” he snaps. “Do I have to encourage you?”

You don’t get to answer. A fist full of scarred knuckles collides with your nose, and your head snaps back, white exploding across your vision as the hunter shoves you backwards. Your back hits the ground and before you can even think of scrambling away, you’re kicked hard in the ribs.

You don’t try to resist it. You’ve learnt it’s better to take it than to fight and make him hit harder.

Red hot pain shoots through you when the tip of his boot catches your chin, clacking your teeth together. You cry out as your blood fills your mouth, streams from your nose, stains his knuckle bones. Hands up in a pitiful attempt at protecting your face, you curl up on the floor, as small as you can. Your ribs throb, your chain trapped awkwardly beneath your body.

You’re still balled up with your arms over your head long after he slams the door behind him. You ache all over, and your lower lip is trembling treacherously. Tears press at the backs of your eyes so you squeeze them shut: you’re not going to cry.

You need to get up.

You need to down that damned turmeric tea you made, just to feel the ginger burn as it slips down your throat.

When you open your eyes, the merman is staring. You grimace as you heave yourself to sit upright, the metallic taste of blood still coating your tongue and curdling until it’s sour. His face is unreadable, shuttered and devoid of any emotion. He doesn’t speak, although that isn’t exactly atypical.

“Well, now you’re not the only one bleeding all over the floor,” you mutter, unable to keep the resentment from your tone.

You turn your back to him as you set your nose with a grunt, letting your magic flow through your fingers and knit your flesh back together. Running a hand over your ribs, you check if any are broken, but when none are, you don’t heal them up; you’ll need to save your energy. The hunter didn’t bring food for you, and you doubt he’ll be bringing you any more until you treat the merman. That could take anything from an hour to a week.

Falteringly, you glance over your shoulder. He stares off to a place far away, a place you cannot see. A scowl furrows his brow, and you sigh, wondering if he thinks of the sea and the freedom that was torn away from him the way it was for you.

Curling up on your blankets, you pull one over yourself, rolling to face the wall and shutting your eyes. Loud in the darkness, your stomach growls, and you twitch but ignore the urge to look over your shoulder and stare accusingly at the merman - you too would not trust a human if all their kind had brought him was pain.

Your ribs hurt. It is alright, though. You’ve fallen asleep through worse.

When you wake, the first thing you do is crouch down beside the merman to check his wounds. The rattle of your chains makes him open his eyes, and you see that his face has paled, the alertness in his gaze dimmer now the adrenaline has worn off. As is becoming clear, he’s more resistant to injury than humans are, but there’s a worrying amount of blood saturating the canvas sheet beneath him, and you doubt he’ll make it much longer without help.

If he lets you near, what you’re going to have to do is far from ideal. The hunters’ harpoons are barbed and vicious, but you can’t exactly keep it in, and you can’t exactly cut it out without risking more blood loss. You’re just going to have to yank on it and hope it doesn’t destroy anything too vital on its way out.

“I’m going to have to take the harpoon out,” you tell him measuredly, gauging his facial expression.

He simply stares at you, his face blank but for the slight pinch of his brow. Shadows bathe half of his face; there is barely any lamp oil left to burn. The little flame flickers and sputters, letting darkness dance up the close walls of the brig, and if you do not hurry, you may have to treat him in the dark.

Slowly, you lift your hand, letting it hover over the splintered end of the harpoon. Tension bleeds into his body, the set of his jaw tight and his hands fisting as if he’s bracing himself, but he doesn’t growl or flinch away. Expectancy and resignation lurk in his gaze.

You don’t like that he won’t say anything in response even though he’s proven he can talk. You can feel his eyes boring into the back of your head as you gather your materials: the poultice from yesterday, a roll of bandages, a thick strip of worn leather. The latter you give to him, sighing when he turns it over in his hands, quizzical,

“Bite down on it,” you instruct him as you roll up your sleeves. “Either that or it’ll be your tongue.”

He frowns, but does as you say. You glance up at him to check if he’s ready. The hard lines of his body stand out, taut as a bowstring. He looks brittle, as if he might break and crumble into dust the moment you touch him.

Years ago, when you healed children’s scraped knees and the broken bones of men who had fallen from their ladders while fixing leaks in roofs, you had the words to comfort your patients. These you lost to the eternal darkness of the merfolk hunters’ ship, and these you wish to find again but cannot.

Instead, you murmur a quiet warning as you kneel by his tail, wiping your sweaty palms off on your trousers before getting a strong two handed grip on the end of the harpoon. Under your breath, you count down: three, two, one. Pull.

It makes a squelching, sucking noise as it comes out. You cringe but keep on tugging - if you stop now, it’ll be worse for both of you. He cries out, voice ragged and spilling over with agony, his tail arcing off the floor, and you feel the movement in the way the harpoon jerks in your hands with the bunching of his muscles.

All of a sudden, the resistance disappears. His tail fin slaps against the floor as he goes limp, both his and your heavy panting filling the room. You’re left with the splintered harpoon in your hands, a chunk of flesh and a twisted scale still clinging to one of the bloodied, rusted spokes. He spits the strip of leather out and it lands near your knee.

Carefully, you set down the harpoon and begin applying the poultice straight onto the weeping gash in his side, spreading the rest over the bandages which you bind tightly around his tail. Leaking from your fingertips, your magic suffuses across his skin as you work; you can’t heal him accurately without knowing much about his inner workings, but it should help to stave off any infection.

He shelters his face in the crook of his elbow, and though he tucks his other hand tightly to his chest, you can see the way he trembles.

You give him his space by swiftly moving on, busying yourself with his other injuries. You splint the spine in his dorsal fin, ignoring the way his hands shake and gently placing the arm crossed over his torso by his side so you can use your magic to clean and close up the various cuts and slashes littering his scar flecked body.

His scales seem to be damp, even though it’s almost been a full twenty four hours since he was brought in. It must be seawater somehow, you decide, or a sweat-like substance that keeps his tail wet enough when he hasn’t been in water for a while. He doesn’t look the most comfortable: he’s probably not used to having to support his own weight without the buoyancy of the waves.

There are little scars all over him, his skin a map of cicatrices, but the one that catches your attention is raised and jagged, spanning from the middle of his sternum to his navel. You touch your index finger to the centre of it, and he inhales sharply, flinching away.

“Sorry,” you mutter, pulling back, half expecting him not to hear you.

He’s silent for a while, ignoring your apology, but then comes a begrudging: “Thank you.”

Though he won’t see it - he’s still hiding his face from you - you shrug. “You should never have been hurt in the first place.”

He’s quiet again, lying still enough for you to imagine him dead if not for the rise and fall of his broad chest. You slouch, the energy having leaked from your body in order to mend his. The lamp finally gutters and winks out, leaving in its absence a tiny pinprick of light, a vanishing ember at the wick’s tip, buried in ashes.

When you tear your gaze away from your expired little sun, you’re confronted with a pair of blazing eyes. Pinned on you, they glow in the darkness like two pools of blood, but you find their luminosity strangely comforting, like Arcturus and Betelgeuse to a sailor: stars to lead you on your course.

“You are a witch, are you not?”

You jump at the sound of his voice, rough around the syllables but measured, as if he rolled them around on his tongue before he spoke. The scarlet light from his eyes dims a little as they narrow (you’re not sure if that’s meant to convey amusement or distaste) and you become aware that maybe he can see a lot more in the dark than you can.

“I am,” you confirm, still squinting at him - to no avail.

“Why do you not fight them, then?” He demands, his tone darkening. “Surely you cannot like it here.”

You scoff. “Of course I don’t like it here. You think I like the way they beat me?”

He’s silent, and though you still cannot see his face, you sense his scowl.

Sighing, you reign yourself in. This merman comes the closest to being an ally than all the others that have entered the brig, and you cannot squander this. He may not trust you, and you may be ignorant and ill informed of his kind, but you both have a common enemy, and though he may not like the thought, you are similar enough: the raw energy that flows through him is the same that you harness to perform your magic.

“I could fight, but there is nowhere for me to go if I escape the ship - there is just the sea,” you explain. “In the end, they are scared of all those associated with magic, even the witch they keep chained in the dark. The moment they deem that the risk I pose outweighs the use I have to them, they’ll kill me.”

He’s quiet again while he processes what you’ve said. “And what of me, witch? Why have they not killed me yet?”

“They want to study you,” you reply, wincing at how harsh your voice comes out. “I think we’re quite far from their lands - a few months’ travel, maybe - but it’s hard to tell.”

“What - ”

“Enough questions,” you cut him off. “My turn.”

A plethora of questions crowd your mind, but as you think of the merman in front of you, you find that they can wait, because although he must have stories of the sea that you’d only dreamed of hearing, and although magic you could learn endlessly from is threaded through his being, he is primarily, before anything, a soul. He is a soul: a soul with eyes that make the permanent night you are lost within just a little more manageable.

You will have to find out whether the kraken is real or not later; you will ask him about selkie skins afterwards.

Instead, you ask him his name, and tell him your own.

Bakugou, he grunts in response before turning his head to face the wall, clearly ending the conversation. Frowning, you stare at his back - or where you presume his back is, in the darkness - and mull over the name he provided you with; you are certain he has given you the one he gives to strangers. You suppose that is what you are.

Pulling absently at your chain, you sit with your back to the wall, your knees to your chest, and think about the merman, about Bakugou. For a moment, you are seized by the absurd belief that his most grave injury is a bleeding heart, but that cannot be true, for he has not said anything that indicates it. Questions find their way to your tongue, but you let them stick there, stifling them before they deign to interrupt the silence.

Neither of you move from your positions until the door opens, revealing the first mate. Squinting, you rise to your feet, a muscle feathering in your jaw as he purposefully kicks Bakugou in the shoulder, lifting his lamp high so he can see the bandages you’d applied.

“I’ll need a top up on lamp oil if I’m to continue the healing process,” you announce. “And we’ll need food and water. He’ll have - ”

You hesitate, glancing over at Bakugou, but he just lifts a shoulder and makes a face of disgust that you know isn’t conscious. Deliberating for a moment, you wrack your brain for any clues about merfolk diets.

“Fresh fish,” you decide. “And crabs. The bigger the better. Also, he’ll need a tub big enough for him, filled with seawater.”

“Watch the way you address me,” the first mate snaps, taking a step forward.

You shrug. “You wanted him healed, didn’t you?”

Your first two requests come within the next few hours, appeasing the increasing hollowness that had resided in your stomach and sending the shadows inhabiting the brig retreating up the walls and into the corners of the room, but the tub doesn’t come until two days after. It is barely watertight, plugged with tar and made from rough sawn wood.

You haven’t exchanged words with Bakugou since you asked his name and he gave you one, though you find yourself on the receiving end of his red eyes more often than not. He’s silent as the hunters bring the tub in, as they fill it with pails of seawater, as they leave and slam the brig’s door behind them. He’s silent, even as he slips into the tub and into a thin slice of his home.

And then, after a moment, he turns to you, and there’s something painful and cutting and cynical in his eyes.

“You know, the water doesn’t speed up the healing.”

You nod. “I know it doesn’t. You were uncomfortable.”

His eyes blaze. “What do you want?”

You regard him, regard the intensity of the fire in his gaze and the way his chest heaves. His tail fin hangs out of the tub, but even so, water swills over the side and splashes onto the floor like it can sense his agitation. Loudly, the links of your chain clank against each other as you cross your arms.

“I do not want anything, Bakugou.”

He narrows his eyes. “All humans I have known but one are cruel, witch. You wish for me to owe you something.”

“I don’t,” you reply, noticing the strange look that creeps onto his face. “Who is this human you hold in such high esteem?”

A distant look erases the furrow in his brow, and you get the sense he is no longer talking to you when he speaks again: he is lost in some place far away, a place coated in the golden sheen that tints all good memories. His voice turns soft as he brushes his fingers over the scar on his chest.

“His name was Izuku,” he murmurs. “But I called him Deku.”

“Deku?” You echo, your voice crudely loud all of a sudden.

A flash of grief slashes across his features like lightning on the high seas, there and gone so fast you almost don’t catch it. It’s like a switch flips, and suddenly shutters slam down behind his eyes and his expression melts away until his face is blank and cold. Regret sinks heavy in your stomach.

You wince. “I’m sorr - ”

“He’s dead,” Bakugou growls.

He doesn’t speak to you for three days. There is a certain rawness in his blood red eyes that makes you gentler as you change his dressings and reapply your poultices. He looks at you as if he hates that you are healing him instead of leaving him to die, so you avoid his gaze, staring instead at the scars that cover him like warpaint.

You get the sense that he is mourning this human he told you of all over again, and you cannot help but see the weight of it in the tension of his body and wonder if you could alleviate the pain.

On the fourth day, he shuts the vulnerability away somewhere deep inside of him, buried far enough beneath other things that he can pretend it never even existed. Yet you remember it, still vivid and fresh in your mind as you lie curled up on your side, watching the lamp’s flame until your eyes burn. He breaks the silence by clearing his throat, his gaze fixed on you.

“Witch,” Bakugou says softly. “How did they catch you?”

You glance over at him. “I was young and foolish and alone. It’s easy to snatch a girl from her home under those circumstances.”

“You have been here for years, then.”

“I have,” you sigh. “I tried to escape once. That’s why I’m chained down.”

“A weaker soul would not have survived this darkness,” he remarks solemnly. “You are strong, witch.”

You look down at your hands, watching your fingers fidget to and fro in your lap. Your tongue is frozen in your mouth - you had not spoken properly to someone in years before he was captured, and his behaviour confuses you. No words come to mind that express how grateful you are for his acknowledgement.

“Thank you,” you settle with in the end.

He hums but other than that remains silent.

Later you discuss with him the possible logistics of an escape. He explains to you that he cannot channel the magic the way you can, but that he is soaked in the magic of the sea; he is unable to use it for spells because it is innately part of him, enhancing him beyond human capabilities. Together, you come to the conclusion that you must get off the ship before you arrive at the hunters’ lands, or your chances of freedom will have narrowed to almost nothing.

An actual method of subduing or injuring the hunters enough to allow an exit route evades you, though. After all, you are chained to the wall, and there’s no easy way of moving Bakugou - he is, evidently, far too heavy for you to drag around all by yourself.

Uneasy silence falls over the brig. You stare at the lamp again: with it, your ability to see has been restored, along with a piece of your humanity, but now its light seems to illuminate how small a space you are contained in, how strong the chain binding you to the wall is.

As you drift off to sleep that night, you find yourself gripped by the fear that Bakugou will never return to the sea, and instead, they will inflict unspeakable torments upon him.

You will be the one who kept him alive for them. You will be the one who he grows to hate, because you had the chance to let future pain pass him by, but you saved him, and by doing so, you failed to spare him from their torture. And while they cut him open and study his insides, you will be somewhere far away, still risking yourself to heal their most elite, almost as if they are beloved to you.

The thought gnaws at you as the weeks pass. Blood no longer soaks the bandages wrapped around his tail; his dorsal fin is almost healed. He is gaining strength, more rapidly through your magic, and it is clear he has shaken off death many times before if his scars are testament to anything. In particular, the one on his chest draws you: though it is long healed, you can tell it was deep.

He almost died back then, too - the scar tissue around its edges is strange, lumpy and malformed as if he was kneaded back together by a child who saw his flesh as nothing more than clay harvested gleefully from a river bank. Even so, the shape of it is familiar. You know you shouldn’t pry. You remember the way he flinched away when you first touched it, but you ask, anyway.

“Bakugou,” you ask him once you’ve finished changing his bandages. “What did you do to get a merfolk’s blade stuck in your chest?”

He snarls. “All you do is fucking dig, you shitty witch.”

“I - ”

Hissing, he swipes at you half heartedly, and you stumble backwards, dodging his fist and almost tripping on your chain, caught off guard by the agitation in his eyes. Stunned, you gape at him. The fury is vehement on his face, evident in the grit of his teeth and the tremor in his hands as he grips the side of the tub; you can tell he despises how he is trapped in here with you, fending you off with the sting of his words.

You open your mouth. You’re not certain what you’re supposed to say, other than an apology that he will shake off easily, but you hope that words will form on your tongue. He levels his gaze on you, and this time, within it dwells an overwhelming sorrow that stops you short.

“Don’t try,” he whispers. “You cannot change the past.”

Brow furrowed, you stare at him. You take in the pain carved all over him, and this, you realise, not his scars, is his warpaint - he holds it close to him, like a cloak of inwardly turned, savage blades, reminding him to keep his distance. It is present in the bow of his head, the slump of his shoulders, a weight so heavy it threatens to rend his flesh from his bones.

You get to your feet, and in the lamp light, the single tear that rolls down his face is turned to solid gold.

Balefully, he looks at you, yet he holds still as you reach out and smooth it away with your thumb. A rawness resides in his eyes that you wish you could soothe as you catch the next tear that spills over, gently as if he is made of porcelain.

“You need not bear the weight of your world on your shoulders, Bakugou.”

Your words wrench a sob from him. His fingers curl tight around your wrist, tearing your hand away from his face, silently weeping as he grips you so hard you begin to lose feeling in your palm. You watch as the anguish in his eyes evolves into anger, harsh and brittle and bleak.

“Get away from me,” he spits, voice strangled, and yet he does not release you, so you perch on the side of the tub and make a show of not looking at him so he is not alone in his privacy.

It’s then that you realise that whether or not he likes it, you have gotten through to him. In the month that goes by, sometimes he is cold and aloof, keeping to himself, and sometimes he allows you close enough that you can feel his warmth. You find you savour his company when it’s there.

His wound is fully healed, a pink scar bordered by healing scales, and his dorsal fin spine is back in working order. You check up on him still, every other day or so, careful to monitor them in case you have somehow healed him wrong, careful to keep your regular intersections with him, because although you would never admit it to him, he is amusing, and he keeps the darkness at bay.

You are unsure what he thinks of you. Sometimes, he smacks you upside the head with no real force, and you dare to label it as affectionate. He gives you the name which he gives to those that mean more to him than strangers, too - well, you wring it out of him.

(“Bakugou, what’s your name?”

A scoff. “Witch, have you hit your head?”

“We both know you’re not obliged to answer, so if you’re not going to tell me, spare me the insults.”

Pause. “Katsuki. It’s Katsuki.”)

There are times when he has nightmares, too. You surmise that most of them are about Deku, and that the scar branding his chest, the one made by a merfolk forged weapon, is linked somehow to this dead human. Incomprehensibly, he mutters in his sleep, snarling about krakens and storms and sometimes even witches, but it always leads back to Deku.

Sometimes he protests against him, speaking a language you do not fully understand, cursing and thrashing so hard you fear the tub will splinter, while sometimes he proclaims his love, his voice slurred as he slumbers, but each time, without fail, he begs: forgive me, Izuku, forgive me, Deku, I’m sorry.

Katsuki is unaware of what he gives away in his sleep. Often, he settles down quickly after raising his voice, but sometimes you look over to see him stiff and terrified and shake him awake; he then jolts upright, the water sloshing out of the tub as he reaches for you, his stricken eyes searching yours for something you do not know the identity of, but he always finds.

He does not let you go, not ever. At these times, you lean or sit by the tub and let him crush your fingers in his grip.

He never speaks of it in the morning.

You would not hide from him what you have learnt, nor the feelings that grow treacherously in your heart, but you are too cowardly to tell him of either. It is certain that he loved Deku, and that maybe Deku loved him too. What was it like, you often wonder, to have loved Katsuki?

When he holds onto you, still half lost in the dark lands of his nightmares, you think about it. He would have been less guarded, a young merman not yet covered in scars; he would have given Deku his name immediately, for he would not have learnt that he needed to be wary of humans. Still, he would have fought for him until the end with the same ferocity he would fight for his own heart - because Deku was his own heart.

And Deku, you imagine Deku saw people as they really were. You imagine Deku with bright eyes and a brighter smile, with a face that all his emotions could be read off as easily as a book. He must have been good, persistent, if Katsuki had fallen for him. Soft, even, but tough when he needed to be.

They fit each other, no doubt.

You feel guilty, as if your speculations are invasive, rummaging around within Bakugou’s heart where he has not let you set foot. Mercifully, he can pin his red eyes on you as much as he likes, which he often does, but he will not hear your mind.

Now that he is healed, that is how you pass your days, exchanging words with him when either of you wish to, while you wrestle with the unspoken in your head and while god knows what happens behind his eyes. It is normal for silence to fall after a conversation - it is not awkward, but not comfortable either. It is pensive, it is familiar.

And today, it is shattered by screams up on deck.

Katsuki perks up, his keen ears picking up things your dull ones cannot, and he tilts his head, listening intently. You do not have to hear what he does to know what is happening: there is the sound of clashing steel above you, the all too familiar war cries of the hunters. It is not often that the merfolk are prepared for the hunters as they pass by, but neither is it impossible.

The ship lurches, harshly enough that some of the water in Katsuki’s tub overflows. You wager it must be a whole pod, then, maybe two, and you glance over at him, wondering if he knows who they are, wondering if -

“Are they yours?” You blurt.

“Huh?”

“Your pod,” you clarify.

Bitterly, he scoffs. “If the merfolk wanted to rescue me, they wouldn’t have waited months.”

You freeze. The detachment in his voice does nothing to hide the betrayal beneath, and ice begins to crawl up your spine, for he addresses them as the merfolk, not as his kind, his people. Harshly, you swallow as you start to understand that the hunters would never have been able to capture a merman if he wasn’t alone.

“You don’t have a…” You trail off, feeling far too inadequate and stupid to continue.

“My pod renounced me the moment they learnt about Deku and I.”

A picture forms in your mind, of a Katsuki who lost his family because he gave away his heart to a human - of a Katsuki to which the sea was no longer home, but a huge expanse of alone. Horror closes over your head like cold water as your eyes slide down to the scar on his chest.

His pod didn’t stop at just renouncing him.

You had always hoped that beings whose very essence was rooted in magic would be fair and just as the tales said. Your hope had always been that the merfolk would see that humanity was not united in the purging of them, that they would spare you if your path ever crossed theirs. Never did you think they would be so blind as to turn on one of their own for something as reliant on fate as love. You are a fool.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and it comes out almost like a sob.

“We are no better than you are,” he replies.

His voice is so devoid of hope that it cuts you to the quick. You open your mouth so say more, to try and fill that emptiness inside him if you can, but your words are stuck in your throat and before you can force them out the door flies open, banging loudly against the wall and almost extinguishing the lamp’s flame.

Three gravely wounded are deposited in front of you and then the door slams. Silently, you get to work, sealing the deep slashes to their flesh more carelessly than you should be - but with Katsuki watching, you feel sullied, a betrayer who works for the purgers of magic. Their blood coats your tingling palms, and yet not in the way you wish it could be.

You have just finished the last when four more are dragged in, and you’re hit hard across the face and ordered to work faster, which signifies only one thing: more are coming. As blood wells up in your mouth, you hope that the merfolk are victorious, even if it means sinking the ship and letting you drown within.

Hate rises within you again, searing and acrid like smoke clogging your lungs, but this time it is different. You hate them for what they have made you; a tool, a means to an end. The determination you nurse in your heart is unimportant as long as you do what they say, and yet you cannot defy them, and this is what you hate yourself for.

Prickling sensations begin to claw up your arms as you heal. You are lost in it, the blood and the battle and the patients, and you swear you see the same faces twice: hunters who you healed once coming back more injured than last time. Your energy dwindles like a dying flame and you dip into your reserves when you recognise the violent light in the hunters’ eyes.

You cannot ask for a break. They already bay for blood and death; what more is yours but just another magic using bitch’s?

You are being bled dry. You are no longer aware of your surroundings, just the halting of the flow of blood beneath your hands and the wheezing gasp of your breath and the rattle of the chain locked around your wrist.

They have not been attacked like this in a long time. You almost forgot how fast the darkness closes in when you send out your energy through your palms to knit flesh and skin back together again. Spots cloud your vision, and futilely, you swat them away. Muffled, Katsuki’s voice hums in your right ear, but you do not understand the words he utters.

Your hands tremble. You pitch forward, slumping over your newest patient.

A hand fists in your hair. Knuckles press into your jaw, far harder than a lover’s touch and yet it feels like it in the way your head lolls slowly to the side. It takes time, but pain radiates through your skull, vibrating your teeth and sharpening your focus, and then you can hear yelling, yelling for you to wake up, yelling for you to carry on or they’ll kill you -

There are so many of them. So many hunters with frenzied eyes and blades that shine where they are not coated in innocent blood, and they are hurt and they want to return back to the battle and you must abide by their demands. The air is too thin as it whistles in and out of your lungs. You cannot think.

You press your palms to the blood slick abdomen of the next man placed down before you and do as they say. Your mouth is dry, your head pounds, your eyes won’t focus, and yet, you do as they say, you always do what they say.

What a fucking coward you are.

Letting them push you farther than you ever would let yourself go. You’re right on the edge, right over the edge, clinging onto the side of the perilously vertical cliff face even as the mossy stone crumbles beneath your fingers and threatens to make you fall down down down. But still, you heal. Your body performs numbly what your mind cannot take any more.

All of a sudden, there is not an open wound for you to heal or guts to force back inside a torso, there are just crimson soaked planks and a raised voice. Loud. An incensed, raised voice, cursing and roaring. Can’t you see she’s almost gone? They shout, earsplitting enough to make your head pound. She can’t heal you fucking bastards if she’s dead!

Bakugou. No, not that name. It’s… Katsuki. Katsuki making all that racket. You don’t know when it happened, but now your cheek is pressed to the rough planks that make up the floor. There’s blood everywhere. Some more splatters to the ground and you notice that the din isn’t being made by Katsuki any more. Your eyes are hazy as you lift them upwards and see a hunter raise his fist again.

“Kats,” you slur. “Watch… watch out…”

The lamp goes out, which is strange, since the oil got topped up this morning. You pay it no mind, though.

You’re too tired.

You wake surrounded by water. For a moment, you wonder if the merfolk won, and if somehow you managed to get tossed off the boat and into the sea, but then you move your leg and it hits something hard and vertical which must be wood. Peeling your eyes open, you find you’re in… the tub? Katsuki’s tub?

Lifting your head, you’re met with a pair of concerned red eyes. One is almost swollen shut, and blood has crusted down the side of his face from a wound in his temple, yet he smooths his hand soothingly over your upper back, watching attentively as you come to.

“You’ve been out for just under two days,” Katsuki says. “You need to eat, get your strength back up.”

Your memory begins to trickle back, and with it floods a torrent of shame: you always told yourself that you survived out of spite, out of the belief and conviction that one day you would hurt them enough to negate all the healing they made you to do, but it was all a pretence. You were scared and so you took the easier road of complacency, and it has caused the deaths of hundreds of merfolk.

It is without a doubt that if you had healed even just a papercut more, that if Katsuki had not stopped them, the life force within you would have winked out, and you would have died. Death had loomed right over you, brushing boney fingers over your face, and even now, it lingers.

You are burnt out, exhaustion weighing on you as if a whole mountain rests on your back. Worse is the fear, revealed in the blinding light, shackling you, for you are its slave, and you cannot shake its hold off you.

Your face crumples. “I am spineless, for letting them use me so. I am a coward, a - ”

“They give you no choice, witch,” Katsuki remarks. “Do not put it on yourself.”

You shake your head. “You cannot ask that of me. How many lives have been lost because I obeyed when the hunters told me to save them?”

Bowing your head, you sob. Fatigue envelops you, the chain around your wrist unspeakably heavy, and you lean heavily against Katsuki; he holds you like you are precious, handling you with care so that the pieces you have shattered into do not fall apart and scatter onto the floor. He tips up your chin, forcing you to look him in those eyes of his as he wipes away your tears.

“What was that you told me, as I wept like you do now?” He asks. “You need not bear the weight of your world on your shoulders. That was what you said to me.”

Nodding, you feel more tears leak out when you squeeze your eyes closed. He strokes your hair, and you hide your face in his chest and wish you could do forever, for he is warm and he is far gentler than you ever imagined he could be. You are tempted, but he nudges you and chides you, reminding you that you will feel much better once you have eaten.

Wobbly as a newborn fawn, you climb out of the tub, Katsuki steadying you with a hand on your arm. Wrapping one of your blankets around you like a shawl, you retrieve a hunk of bread to gnaw on before planting yourself on the tub’s rim, loath to be any farther away from him than you have to be.

Though hunger worries insistently at your insides, sending tremors through your hands and weakness in your legs, you force yourself to eat slowly; you cannot risk wasting any of the food by throwing up. Katsuki rests his forearms on the sides of the tub, watching you with a keen gaze that you cannot read. You become more aware of the purpling bruising across his face and reach out without thinking.

He catches your hand before you can tap into the slowly replenishing well of magic inside of you, his fingers circling your wrist before he lets them slip down and lace with yours. Something ignites behind his eyes, and you find you are mesmerised - you lean closer to see how the spark dances.

“Katsuki,” you breathe, and then your lips are on his.

He tips his chin up to lean into you, his fingers threading into your hair as he pulls you closer to him, so tender that it makes your chest ache. You could stay like this for eternity, simply doing nothing but tasting the salt of him on your tongue and savouring the sweet, sweet scrape of his canines over your lower lip; he is all that matters, all that is.

Slowly, his hands come round to cup your shoulders, pressing you closer to him, and so you feel the moment his grip falters and he stiffens, feel the way he recoils from you as if you have burnt him, and you can do nothing to prevent it. You’re propelled backwards with the force he jolts away. Though it is only a few steps, you feel the gap between you yawn wide, stretching into an uncrossable chasm.

“No,” he chokes out, shaking his head. “No, not - not like - ”

Abruptly, he falls terribly, terribly silent. Stunned, you touch a hand to your mouth; your legs buckle, and you throw out a hand to steady yourself against the wall before sinking to the floor. It feels as if you are drowning.

Katsuki does not love you - how can he, when he fits with Deku like they were made for each other? You were wrong to hope for anything else, wrong to give in to what you wanted, because you have torn open old wounds that never properly healed. It is no longer significant that he does not love you, for you should have seen that already; what matters is that in your blindness, you have ripped him open.

You’re beginning to realise that it was not the lamp that kept the shadows back, but him. It is only natural that you are drawn to him like a moth to a flame, only natural that you were too weak to resist flying straight into the fire. This time, it is not only the moth who gets hurt.

You are left alone with your thoughts. Time passes, as it always does, but you pay it no mind. However hard you try, you cannot bring yourself to meet his eyes. You are numb, numb to the slow rock of the ship as it cuts through the waves, numb to the sounds of the crew at their battle stations again, numb to it all now that it is undeniable: you love him.

He cannot love you.

Wearily, warily, you raise your head when the door opens, revealing the first mate, soaked in blood. Crossing the room in a few strides, he stands before you, chest heaving, a frantic sort of desperation contorting his face as he tightens his hand around the hilt of his sword and glares at you.

“The captain is near death. We drop anchor home in a fortnight. I will be put in command if he does not survive, and if this happens, I will make certain that you come upon a death slower and far more painful than his.”

You do not answer, nor do you pay any mind to his threats. You can sense Katsuki staring in your direction, the feeling of his red eyes on your skin unmistakable: no doubt, he has heard what you have. We drop anchor home in a fortnight - a fortnight until Katsuki is delivered into hands who seek to study him, to slit him open while he still lives and examine his insides and the way his heart beats, ensnared in the cage of his ribs.

Just like that, you know what to do.

You wait silently until they bring the captain to you. The first mate did not lie when he said the captain is near death. Sweat creates a sheen on his brow, and though his eyes are open, he is barely conscious, for he has been sliced open from gullet to navel by a merfolk blade. Briefly, you touch a fingertip to the lip of the gash, ignoring the pained moan it causes and the disquieted mutters of the other hunters.

If you were superstitious, you would deem the wound too similar to Katsuki’s to be anything but fate, but you do not believe in such things. Instead, you put your trust in the strength of good steel and the sharpness of a tongue. Yes, you know what to do, and you will do it.

The chain fixed around your wrist is not broken, but it does not have to be. You are free to do what you wish, because before you is the captain, and he is leverage. There is no fear left in you, no shame to hold you back as you look up at the first mate; he opens his mouth, about to ask why you do not jump to heal his captain, but he pauses when he takes in your cold smile.

“Free the merman, and then I will heal him.”

A silence falls. They are left with no other choice but to do as you say, and they know it. The first mate’s hands ball into fists, a reminder to you of what will come once Katsuki is let go and you heal their captain, but it does not concern you any more. None of it is of concern to you, only his freedom.

“What the fuck did you just say, witch?” Katsuki spits.

His voice jolts the first mate into action. He heaves you to your feet by the front of your shirt, seething, and punches you squarely in the nose. Something cracks. Your head snaps back, the air knocked from your lungs when he drives his knee into your stomach and lets you crumple to the floor by his feet. Gritting your teeth, you glower up at him.

“Come at me all you like,” you hiss as blood pours down your face. “It will not save your captain.”

He crouches down before you. You do not listen as he shouts at you, because you see it in his eyes. He knows you have them all backed into a corner, he knows you’re aware he will not risk the captain’s life. Over his shoulder, Katsuki urgently mouths something to you: do you know what they will do to you because of this? They will do worse than just kill you!

“Let them,” you reply, and as you gaze at him, you smile again. To the first mate, you say: “Bring me up on deck. I want to see.”

The first mate hurls you away from him, barking orders at the other hunters, but all you hear is the crash of the waves outside and all you taste is the nectar of victory on your tongue. You watch, still smiling, as they grab Katsuki and drag him from the tub. He fights, of course he does, screaming your name and slashing at the hunters, but there is but one of him, and he is unarmed.

Cursing, the first mate unfastens your chain from the ring in the wall, wrapping the length of it around his hand and jerking you forward with it, pulling you to follow him through the ship. There is murder written on his face and in the curl of his lip, and you let it slide it off you like water from a sea bird's feathers.

He throws open the hatch, and for the first time in years, you see the sun. Slowly, you step into the light, and the salty breeze tugs playfully at your clothes and hair, fresh and briney and strong, pulling tears from your eyes. All around you is empty space, just blue sea and blue sky and the wind that dances gloriously between them as far as you can see.

The air is invigorating and crisp in your lungs. Hesitantly, you take a step forward, then another and another, seeing the way the sun plays on the water’s surface, scintillating as it warms your cold skin. It is as resplendent as you remember it.

“Witch!” Katsuki cries, shaking the hunters’ hands off him. “Why? Why would you do this to yourself?”

There are countless ways you could answer him. Instead, you take him in one last time, his spiky ash blonde hair and his crimson eyes and the way his scales glitter under the sunlight. You do this for love: if you can’t give him your heart, you will give him his freedom.

“Go,” is all you say, and though tears stream down your face, you smile.

“I will not forget you, witch,” he replies, voice thick. “I swear it.”

Running to the side of the ship, you cling to the taffrail and lean forwards to watch as he dives overboard. He slices through the water, the amber of his tail bright as he goes, further from you with each passing second, and your breath catches in your throat - he is more beautiful than you imagined he would be in the light.

As he crests a wave, he looks back at you, and you see the shimmer of his scales and the graceful arc of his dorsal fin one last time before he twirls in the surf and dives. With that, he is gone, and you are alone again, yet you do not fear what is to come.

A hand grips your shoulder, nails digging sharply into your skin. “Enjoy your peace, you thankless bitch, because once you heal the captain, all you’re going to know is pain.”

You turn to the first mate and laugh in his face.

He loves you.

Bakugou Katsuki fucking loves you.

He loves your deft hands, careful despite their calluses and nimble despite the chain around your wrist. He loves the smell of you, herby and laced with petrichor. He loves the brightness dancing in your eyes when you laugh. Most of all, he loves your sweet soul: the fierceness woven into it like second nature, the blaze of your heart when you stand up for what you believe in.

He was stupid for pulling away from that kiss. You had fit your lips to his, and suddenly panic rose in his chest, and he jerked backwards as if ignoring his heart would silence it; he was scared to love another human, scared because last time it led to pain. His fear had hurt you, and this is his regret - that he was the one to cause the slow dimming of the light in your eyes.

There are countless other things he regrets. He should have trusted more easily, he should have fought harder as they yanked him out of that silly tub and away from you, and he should never have left you by yourself on that ship with those despicable hunters.

He didn’t tell you he loved you, and now he is scared he will never get the chance.

He has left you in a den of beasts. Deku would never have let this happen if it was Katsuki in danger. Deku would have found a way to get him out. In fact, Deku did, he saved him instead of himself, and now Deku is gone, and he fears his heart is not strong enough to lose another. He does not want to lose another.

That serene little smile on your face as you watched him go - it haunts him, fucking burns itself into his retinas, because you knew. You knew precisely what you were doing, when you bargained with that hunter’s life, and you knew exactly what they were going to do to you for making them let him go.

You must be hurting right now. You must have been beaten within an inch of your life. You, who broke down the walls he rebuilt, brick by brick, after Deku was gone - the same walls that Deku himself tore down too. Katsuki is beginning to think that their foundation has always been flawed, or maybe they crumbled like Jericho simply because you shine brighter than the sun on the waves, and he could not look away if he wanted to.

He has been tailing the ship for little over a day. Keeping out of sight and in the shadows is easy; he has felt the sting of their harpoons enough and he will not risk an injury when getting you away from them is the priority, yet he can’t help but resent the way he must hide. There is no other way, though. Currently, he has no plan, and he must bide his time.

Katsuki was never the most patient, but he has no choice but to be patient since he has no sword and no allies. It is plausible that he could scuttle the ship by himself, but he can’t risk it with you chained inside and possibly unconscious.

But then he sees it - a shape in the distance.

It is an isle, small enough that it could sustain maybe one hamlet of people, and rather plain, with rocks that make up a small cliff on one side and a sandy beach dotted with rock pools on the other, a thicket of trees spanning the distance between. One could call it nondescript, but there is nothing nondescript about it to Katsuki.

He has bled out on that golden beach. He has fought to protect his own life and the life of another in the waters near that isle, and he has failed. He has wept on that shore, wept enough to cleanse the blood soaked sand beneath his newly fixed body that held his newly broken heart.

That isle is where Deku washed up, half dead, a decade ago. It is where he watched from afar as this green eyed, freckled human nursed himself back to health, and where he watched from a little closer as he learnt that humans were more than what they are portrayed as in the tales of his pod.

He understood many things on that isle: what love was - the touch of his lips to a man with unruly green curls and an infectious smile, and what betrayal was - when his pod found out and the waters were tinted red because of it.

Just like that, he knows what to do.

Hidden in the underwater caves below the isle is a monster that slumbers until a soul dares to wake it. The humans call it a kraken, but the merfolk leave it unnamed, for it is too great to be reduced to a simple moniker. He has seen it once before, through the haze that descends over one close to death, and felt as its power stymied the lifeblood that poured hot from a wound spanning from the middle of his sternum to his navel.

Both he and Deku had lain on the beach after his pod ambushed, both bleeding from fatal wounds. He had been too fucking weak to get to the kraken first, and so Deku had been the one to sacrifice himself and give himself to the monster so Katsuki could live, when it should have been the other way round.

This time, though, he is strong enough.

He remembers slipping back into the ocean with his freshly healed wound so the saltwater of his tears mixed with the sea, unable to understand why Deku would leave him. Now, he understands all too well, and he will not fail to protect the one he loves again.

Summoning the kraken means no going back. After waking it, the summoner is transported into the kraken’s form, and they have a limited time within it before the kraken reaps its payment - the summoner’s soul. It will shatter their spirit and ensure they cannot return to their body.

Katsuki dives down deep, breaking away from the ship and swimming ahead of it to find the gaping mouth of the cave that the kraken slumbers within. He is far down enough that the water is murky, frigid as it weighs heavily on him, the sun a weak pinprick of light suspended somewhere above him that does nothing to pierce the gloom.

The entrance is curtained with seaweed, the cold fronds caressing his skin as he slips past them. Nestled in the darkness, it lies there, slumbering: a behemoth shadow, looming as high as the cavern’s ceiling and filling its width like the berth of a warship docked in a seaside hamlet’s harbour.

As he swims towards it, he realises he has already had his last glimpse of you through his own eyes. The last time he will see you, he will be fighting to keep hold of himself before he loses his soul to the kraken, and then it will just be bottomless darkness until it is summoned again. You might not even know it is him inside the monster.

It doesn’t matter - a lot has ceased to matter to Katsuki. He can no longer deny that he loves you, and with that epiphany comes another: you knew what the hunters would do to you when you bargained for his freedom, and yet you did it anyway, with no fear of the consequences. Now, it is his turn to put his life on the line for you, and though he may lose it, you will be free.

He will never feel the sweet touch of lips again, but that’s alright. He hopes that you will find another to make you happy, another who will make your heart soar and help you forget him. They will be to you what you were to him: a light to scare away the shadows, a star in the night sky to guide you, even if at times, just like him, you believe you do not wish to be guided.

Katsuki pictures your face as he draws near to the kraken.

Its flesh is odd beneath his palm - slippery and uncomfortably cold. Pressing his palm to its skin, he wills it awake, and it obeys him alarmingly fast, an eye as big as his head snapping open and rolling around until it fixates on him. An abyss of a pupil sucks him in, beckoning him forward to a place that will be the last he ever visits.

Though he knows his body remains still, he feels himself fall forward, sucked towards the magnetic emptiness within the kraken as if it aches to be occupied. For a moment, he resists, pure instincts making him struggle against it, but he forces himself to let go. Sensation briefly forsakes him.

When his vision is restored, he finds that he is looking at his body, limp and vacant. Already he can feel a difference in the water, the sharp tang of fear drifting toward him on currents that hadn’t been there before as creatures begin to flee, aware that something ancient has been roused from its sleep.

A tempest is brewing.

Katsuki - or a version of him that no longer is really Katsuki, but instead a wrathful monster caller - cannot see the dark clouds amassing above, but he knows they are scudding across the blue skies to taint the high midday sun, and it is his doing. Cruel winds accumulate in the shadows cast by his thunderhead, and he can hear the sharp snap of canvas and the raised voices of a crew readying their ship for a storm.

Unfurling a tentacle, he curls it around his old body, careful not to crush it, and reaches up high enough to deposit it on the beach. He begins to move the kraken out of the cave, dislodging pebbles that would have been boulders as the bulk of its body manoeuvres through the exit.

In a way, he is disconnected from the body that is his now; there is empty space that he is not large enough to occupy, like he has donned a garment made for a merman the size of a mountain. It is strangely silent inside this huge vessel, although he is not alone. Shadow wreathed souls lurk in the corners of his mind, and he knows they are disgusted by him.

He is not surprised. Historically, the kraken have been summoned only in the utmost peril. To the merfolk, the kraken are as sacred and as old as the sea, called upon in the wars of old, when the magic beings of the sky were eradicated. Despite being only scattered shards of themselves, the past summoners look down on him, because he does not summon to seek the solution to mighty matters.

For the second time in a lifetime, the kraken is being summoned for a cause as selfish as love.

There’s an awful symmetry to it, really. He imagines the way they must have abhorred Deku, a dying human who did not use the kraken’s power to destroy, but to knit together the wound of a simple, unnoteworthy merman.

Faces contorted beyond recognition flash before his eyes and hands claw at his sides with nails as vicious as knives. They want blood, they want a whole fleet to rip through and ruin. He tells them that they will have to settle with one ship, and they cry their discontent in his ears, their voices rough and rasping, like rusting metal on stone.

He has not broken the surface of the water yet. His body prowls many leagues down, but still, he spots the shadow cast by the ship, and the moment he does, his vision narrows, blurs, and he sees winking lights on board: the lives of the crew, twinkling and tantalising and begging to be snuffed out.

The kraken jets upwards and breaches, spraying up a wall of water, and though he does not command it, he bellows a war cry, the sound so bloodthirsty and wild it almost sweeps him up and incapacitates him. The shadow souls close in, fragments of vengeful souls garbed in shadow, greedy and eager to see him torn apart, and he shakes them off, wrenching himself from their grasp with all his strength.

A twinge pinches at his side, and he glances down to see a volley of harpoons glance off his hide, leaving shallow gashes in their wake. The crew swarm on the deck, their terror sour as he breathes it in and savours it. They are but ants, small and irritating with their measly weapons and made to be crushed and devoured -

He seizes the mast and uses it to rock the ship from side to side, fighting to keep the visions of blood staining the water red away from him. Too fast, his control is slipping, and he feels the souls swarm around him, filling his field of view with darkness until all he can see is those tiny flames that he must put out. There is something he wanted to do, something he needs to do -

Selfish, the souls hiss in his ears, trying to sink their hateful claws into him again, and he agrees with them.

He loves, and therefore he is selfish.

It is no bad thing.

The storm clouds gather over the ship, roiling and rumbling with thunder. Lightning strikes, a bolt of white fury that splinters the deck and extinguishes one of the little lives on board, producing a delighted cackle from the souls at his back, but he ignores them. He knows what he must do.

“Bring me the witch,” he roars.

His voice comes out warped and foreign, the words of men coming out strange and misshapen on his tongue, but the crew understand enough, scuttling to obey, desperate to believe he may spare them if they give you to him. The grip of the souls tightens, squeezing at his throat - he has spent too long in their presence already, and they nip at the edges of his mind, stealing away parts of him when he isn’t looking.

He realises with a jolt that he does not remember his name any more.

It is fine, though. He will join the souls in their namelessness soon. They are a cacophony in his head, and he can no longer hear anything but them, the burn of their claws threatening to tear him apart and shred him the way they are already torn apart, but he barely cares.

The little gnats bring another up and present it to him. This one shines brighter, suffused with a magic the souls cannot wait to devour, and they encourage him forward - surely he too will enjoy the honeyed taste of this offering? Plucking it off the ship’s deck, he brings it to his eye level, and his shadow companions clamour for him to crush it, but he hesitates.

It looks at him like it knows him. In its weak, tiny voice, it yells something that gets lost in the howl of the winds, but even so, it makes the souls shrink back, receding enough for him to remember that this little thing he holds is important. Important for what, he can’t recall, but it is important all the same.

Kicking its legs, the small being beats its fist on his tentacle, still shouting. He leans closer, wincing as the shadows scratch and tear at his back, trying to draw him away again.

“Katsuki!” You scream.

He jolts. It is you, his little, beloved witch - you are why he is being so selfish, summoning the kraken just to save one life. Peering closer, he notices that you are bruised all over, and suddenly the storm worsens overhead, crackling as bolts of lightning stab down like vindictive knives and the wind tears at the ship full of aghast hunters, tossing it violently among the waves.

Carefully, he places you on the beach, next to a body that used to be his. You scramble towards it, limping, and he turns away, looking back towards the ship and the lights it is infested with that still need to be destroyed. Anger comes easily to him, because these are the ones that have marred you with bruises.

The shadows close in again.

Roaring, he tears at the ship, rending it in two and crushing those that leap overboard, yet the souls are never appeased, never satiated. It feels as if power leaks out the seams of his spirit and if he does not let it go it will destroy him from the inside, but he knows he cannot let go. He needs to hold on, to hold himself together, for something that drifts further and further out of reach -

It is as if he has been tied to the bottom of a sea trench for so long, drowning in darkness, that the surface is just a fanciful thought. He does not remember the sun’s sweet face, nor the sound of your voice as you called out the name he has lost again. They sink their teeth into him, ready to tear him apart.

He struggles. He will not go without a fucking fight, he will not let them have him before he has tried valiantly to swim upwards to the sun, where the shadows will not survive.

But the light is so far from him. It floats away every time he strives to be closer, or maybe there are hands holding him back, ripping him open and tethering him to the blackness. They cling to him, shrieking in his ears, sinking curved claws into him and refusing to let go, ready to reap the kraken’s payment.

He is losing himself.

And then - a hand, gentle, touching his face. Emerald eyes fill his vision, wide and lovely, and suddenly he is able to ignore the souls and their blaring dissonance, the pain in his side fading away into nothing. There is a soul that still remains named here, mixed in with those who have been rent apart by hate.

“Kacchan,” the soul says earnestly. “You must fight it, Kacchan.”

“Deku,” he sobs, leaning into the soul’s warm palms as he wipes his tears away. “I’m sorry.”

Deku smiles, and Katsuki weeps, because he looks so proud of him, as if he is worth an eternity spent trapped within a kraken alongside shattered souls that only wish for chaos and destruction. He weeps, because here are Deku and Kacchan, back together again, but they cannot stay this way forever.

“I understand,” Deku whispers, and his touch heals Kacchan once more. “I understand you love her. You need to fight, you need to return to her and love her like you want to. I died so you could live, Kacchan. Let go.”

He looks down and sees the way he clutches onto Deku so hard he is white knuckled, while Deku cradles his hands in his scarred ones, softly as if Kacchan is fragile. Trembling, he loosens his grip, and he feels the light draw closer, the sun’s rays warming his face. Something tightens in his chest when he finally allows himself to release Deku, but it hurts in the manner of stitches pulling taut inside him and binding him together again.

One last time, he looks over his shoulder, to where Deku watches as he goes, smiling brightly, shining like he is a star plucked from the night sky. His brilliance holds the shadows back, rendering them powerless. He pays them no mind, though - his viridescent eyes are lit up and fixed only on his Kacchan.

Deku says something, but the sound of his voice is drowned out by the crashing of the waves and the winds of a dying down of a storm. Still, Katsuki knows what he said by the shape of his lips: I love you. Smiling, he takes a final look at him, at those unruly green curls and those sweet eyes and bright smile, and then he turns and is bathed in light.

The kraken sinks again beneath the waves, but Katsuki does not sink with it.

You know it’s impossible, but you sense the moment Katsuki is back in his body. You’ve heard the tales of the kraken, and you know he should have been taken from you, but there he is, present in the weak pulse of his heart beneath your palm and the steady rise and fall of his chest. Shallow cuts have appeared all over his body, remnants of the damage of the hunter’s harpoons.

His eyes are open, but barely, and he blinks slowly, fighting to keep them fixed on you, giving you only glimpses of familiar crimson. There is a strange looseness to his awareness that must come with the recency of doing the impossible, but still he grips your hand desperately, struggling to stay awake long enough to force words out.

“I - I lo - ”

Before he can finish, his voice cracks and he coughs. His eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to start again, but you smile, tears blurring your vision as you press a finger to his lips and hush him, and thankfully he relaxes under your touch, curling closer to you and seeking shelter in your embrace. Once he is rested, he will have all the time in the world to tell you whatever he likes.

What matters is that he is here. That in itself is beyond even a miracle.

Almost disbelieving, you cradle him to you, pressing your forehead to his as tears you cannot stop spill down your face and mingle with his blood. You are bone tired after repeatedly healing your own cracked ribs and fractured wrists, but you are whole enough for now - you won’t waste your energy on your own bruises while he still hurts.

So you hold him against your chest, sweeping your fingers delicately over the deeper of his cuts to seal them. The sky has cleared, the storm clouds departing as fast as they arrived, and the sea is dipped in ruby by the bleeding sunset. It lacquers the wet sand with the glow of dying embers as the incoming tide smooths over where the storm had churned it up, erasing the mark left on the island as if this afternoon had never happened.

If it were not for Katsuki in your arms, it would be like the kraken never came.

You glance down at him. He seems at peace, though worn and battered, as if he has reconciled something deep within his heart; he has closed his eyes, simply leaning against you with his face pressed into your side, his warm hands tucked just beneath the hem of your shirt.

You cannot help but smile. Because of him, you are free. No chains bind your wrists, no threats limit you in what you decide to do next. You are not sure where you will end up later, but for now you intend to fall asleep beneath the open sky, beside the one you love infinitely more than any life you might have had and even this new life he has fought and bled to give you.

When you drift out of your dreams - just simple, golden things full of a contentment that lingers past waking - the tide is high, the ocean lapping at the sand at your feet. The moon is almost at its highest point in the sky, depositing a residue of silver on everything around you.

Katsuki stirs in your arms, and when you glance down, you are met with the twin beacons of his eyes, luminous in the dark and full, brimming and spilling over with unspoken things that leave a deep ache in your heart. Trembling, he grips your hands, and you lace your fingers with his, brushing your lips over his knuckles and stroking his face as the tears begin to flow.

He cries like he is mourning. You wonder what he saw while his soul donned the kraken’s skin, how poignant it must have been to wrench these fitful sobs from him. Cupping his face in your palms, you wipe his tears away, and he clings to you to keep you close while he bares his newly healing heart to you; it is wrapped in the past’s scars. He shows you the rawest parts of him, and you soothe them as best you can with your healing hands.

There is no magic to this cure, though. It is just the love that burns within you, consuming you so entirely it makes you shake. You did not know it was possible to love like this, but the proof weeps in your arms, a merman who summoned the kraken and somehow conquered it so he could make it back to you.

“Tell me,” you whisper, tracing the strong lines of his face with your fingertips.

Curling his arms around you, he hides his face in your neck. “Deku stood with me against the dark inside the kraken,” he replies softly. “He held them back so I could come back to you. I - I thought I had lost him forever, when he summoned the kraken to save me.”

Carefully, he brings your hand to touch the scar stretching down his chest, and you outline its edges, comforted by the warmth of his body and the steadiness of his breathing beneath your fingers. You would be happy to stay like that forever, linked to him by your skin on his and the synchronised beat of your hearts.

“He told me to fight so I could return to you,” Katsuki murmurs. “So I could love you.”

Your breath catches, your voice sticking before any words come out. He is blunt and honest as always, but this time, he is without his walls, without his guard up, open and vulnerable for you to lash out at him if you wished to, but he trusts you will not. Still, you hesitate, your throat constricting.

“I… I didn’t know him, or what he was like, but I know I can’t be him to you,” you falter. “I cannot be Deku, Katsuki.”

You do not expect your voice to come out so small, so timid. Neither do you expect the overwhelming tenderness that fills his eyes - no one has ever looked at you like that, as if they really see the whole of you, the blemishes and shadows on your soul and they love those too.

“I don’t ask you to be like him,” he replies. “No one will ever be like him. No one will ever be like you, either. I love you because you are you, not because you are him.”

“Katsuki,” you breathe, unable to swallow down the tears welling in your eyes.

“You know I can’t give you the life you deserve, either,” he continues, voice thick. “If you tie yourself to me, you tie yourself to the sea too, regardless of if you like it or not.”

Searchingly, you look at him, and it feels for a second that as you meet his eyes, you know the whole ocean, down to its unexplorable depths, down to every grain of sand and every critter it shelters and sustains. In that moment, there is a total, utter understanding within you - you would love him whatever the condition.

“I would tie myself to the most pitiful of the things on this earth if it meant I could love you, Katsuki.”

“I too, witch,” he replies, and a fond little smile pulls at his lips. “I would summon that kraken a thousand times if it meant I could win your heart.”

You laugh, out of pure joy more than anything else, and he laughs too, rolling in the sand so he can prop himself up on his elbows. Flopping over, you adjust yourself so you can rest your head against his stomach, lifting your eyes to watch as he tips his face up to the sky, letting the stars reflect in his gaze, as if he holds the galaxies of the universe in each pupil.

Your fingers find his as you stare up at the moon where it hangs highest in the sky now, full and silver as the stars. A new moon: symbolising fresh starts and new beginnings, or maybe even the waxing of a love that was planted in the darkness of the brig of a ship soaked in blood, nourished by nothing but the weak flame of a lamp and swift hands knitting flesh back together.

A familiar prickle trails coyly down the side of your neck, and the sound of sand whispering against itself reaches your ears as Katsuki shifts beneath you, lightly skimming the high tide’s surf with his tail. You are not ready to leave the easy silence you’ve made yet, so you bask in his presence and his warmth a little longer.

The moon has just begun its descent when you turn to face him. He’s just looking at you, looking and looking and looking as if he can’t get enough. You smile, aware of the fresh edge in his gaze that was not there before, the string binding your soul to his pulling delightfully taut.

“You’re as beautiful as the ocean,” he mumbles, fiddling with a lock of your hair. “More beautiful than the ocean. But in a different way, you’re…”

You grin. “Worse?”

“Worse,” he agrees, smirking, but he looks at you as if you breathed life into his seas. “Much worse.”

Time stops for a moment, and you sit up, bringing your face close to his until your breaths mingle - you cannot help but let his crimson eyes consume you, heart and soul. You linger there for a moment, the air crackling between you, both of you waiting as if to see who will give in and pounce first.

Bringing his hand up, Katsuki lets his fingers slide under your jaw, lifting your chin so you are merely a hair’s breadth away. He fills your senses; you can feel the warmth of his body, the roughness of the calluses on his fingers, the feather-like brush of his breath against your cheek, smell his briney sea scent, hear the swish of sand as he shifts infinitesimally closer. A lethal spark gleams in his eyes, tying you in helpless knots.

You lean forward and claim his lips.

It draws a quiet groan from him, and suddenly you are beneath him in the sand and his hands are all over you, grabbing handfuls of you and shucking the damp material of your shirt up and over your head so he can touch your skin. The way he looks at you, with those stirring embers that tug at something low in your stomach, reduces you to a sailor under the influence of a siren’s song - he is irresistible, he is magnificent.

Tangling your fingers in his hair, you pull him ever closer, licking into his mouth as if you might find the god’s nectar hiding beneath his tongue. He nips at your lower lip with those keen canines of his, and you cannot help but buck your hips as the tide swirls around the both of you.

Chuckling, he skims a palm over your thigh, pulling your leg up to hook over his hip. It brings your clothed core right against the length of his hardening cock that has emerged from the slit in his tail; you stifle a moan at the feel of him, grinding agonisingly slowly down on him and sighing as he trails wet kisses and purpling bites down your throat.

Katsuki licks at the spot under your jaw, and this time, at the second graze of his teeth against your skin, your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling at it and squeezing another sweet noise from him. You keep your hands threaded through his ash blonde locks as he licks at the valley between your breasts. Meticulously, he marks your plush flesh with the imprints of his teeth, laying his claim on you.

When he reaches your stomach, he mouths at your skin, nipping playfully just over your hip bone before he raises his eyes to meet yours. They are heavy lidded and sultry, and they stir the fire building in your core as he toys lazily with the waistband of your trousers. His fingers are casual as they curl beneath the fabric.

“Let me taste you, witch,” he implores.

“I cannot argue when you look at me like that,” you reply, breathless. “Nor would I, anyways.”

That is all the consent he needs before he is helping you out of your remaining clothes, almost ripping them in his hurry to have you on his tongue. His hands slip beneath you, gripping your ass and guiding your legs over his shoulders, and there he pauses. Yearning blazes in his crimson eyes, and then he dips his head and puts his mouth on you.

You gasp his name. Your hands scramble for purchase before you bury them in his hair again, yanking to encourage him further, and he responds by sucking harshly on your clit, making your hips jump and buck into his face. He groans into your heat, and the vibrations of it make you see stars.

Slowly, he pulls back, glancing up at you, and the sight of him is enough to make you moan: his eyes are glazed, fervent, worshipful, and your slick drips down his chin, the moonlight making it seem like liquid diamond. Bewitched by him, you choke out his name, and he smirks and slips two fingers inside you. Your legs begin to shake when he pumps them slowly in and out of you, bending them at the knuckle so he can hit that spot inside you.

The friction enraptures you, mounting in the pit of your stomach and winding up tight, and your thighs close around his head, clenching as Katsuki pushes you closer and closer to the edge. Turning his head, he sucks at your skin, marking you there, too.

You balance on a knife blade’s edge.

Abruptly, he slides his fingers out and your pussy clamps down a second too late; already, you open your mouth to lament it when he bends his head and replaces them with his tongue. Your words dissolve into wretched moans; you grind your hips against his face and lightning spears through you when his nose nudges at your clit.

Pleasure rises within you, a gradual, swelling thing that sneaks up on you in the unhurried nature of his movements. You can feel his smile against your cunt. You can feel the light burn as he grips your flesh, anchoring you to him so you could not pull away and part him from the taste of you even if you wished to.

You cry out his name as you come.

Katsuki nestles you close to his chest as you come down from your high, kissing your face as the aftershocks send shivers down your spine. Tenderness resides in his eyes, right beside a longing that makes you melt into him, weak with ardour as you slip your hand between your sea damp bodies to curl your fingers slyly around his cock.

His lips part as you jerk him, and you cross the small distance between you to bite at his lower lip, sucking it into your mouth and swiping your tongue over it as you feel him grow impossibly harder in your palm. Ridges swell down his length, flushed a coruscant orange that blurs down into obsidian at his base.

Tipping your head back, you look him in the eye. “I - I need you inside me, Katsuki.”

The words are clumsy on your tongue. You do not know how to articulate the pressing need to feel him, to not know where you end and he begins, to collide with him right there on the beach of this island that houses a kraken, to get lost in the salt on his skin and the eddy of the sea at your joined hips.

Lowly, he curses, treating you as if you are holy as he spreads your legs and settles between them, gripping the curve of your hip with one hand as he lines himself up. You press your lips against the warm bronze skin of his shoulder, sighing against him, urging him forward, urging him closer, a blissed out sound slipping from you as the ridges of his cock push past your entrance, the stretch nothing short of divine.

At last, he is sheathed fully within you. His hips kiss yours, and he remains there, pulsing hotly within you, the pleasure on his face bordering on pain as your cunt bears down on him, yet still, he will not move. Jaw clenching, he squeezes his eyes shut, and a hoarse groan tears itself from deep in his chest.

Panting, he bows his head, and when he looks up, tears rim his lash line, glittering like individual crystals dipped in the light of the stars. One rolls down his cheek and plops down onto yours, and you raise a hand to caress his face, raking your fingers through his hair to push it back from his forehead; he leans into your touch, turning his head to kiss your palm.

Slipping your hand round to cup the nape of his neck, you bring your mouth to his. Delicately, Katsuki kisses you before pulling back to press his lips feather-light to your eyelids - he lingers there, his breath fluttering warmly against your skin, his thumb drawing circles on your cheekbone.

Again, he kisses you, and it is only then that you taste the salt of your own tears on his tongue.

Your soft, raw sob echoes across the beach, and you dig your nails into his wide shoulders, urging him to move. With a gasp, he begins to rock his hips into you, and it breaks you apart. You keen, pushing back into his fluid, achingly unhurried strokes, scrabbling at his back in an attempt to bring him closer, to let him consume your very being.

Right there on the sand, under the moonlight with the seafoam lapping at your sides, he fucks into you, slow and deep, trembling and crying above you, and tenderly, you kiss him again. The roll of his thumb over your clit sends thrills chasing down your spine. He dips his head, burying his face in your neck, and fiercely, you hold him to you.

“Mine,” Katsuki whispers, and his teeth sink into your skin.

Something snaps inside you, and the fire in your gut blazes. Your cunt clenches hard around him, vice like around his cock, and you feel him twitch when your velvety walls clamp down on him, feel his soft exhale and know that he too knows the burn of the inferno in your core.

“Please, Katsuki,” you whine. “Harder.”

“Fuck,” he growls, his voice rasping in your ear, and suddenly you are empty.

Before you can protest, he flips you over, pressing your back into his chest and you reel, momentarily blinded by the night sky stretching high and wide above you. He is solid beneath you, and he knocks the breath from your lungs when he surges up into you.

You can feel all of him. Ruthlessly, Katsuki pounds up into you, as if he is desperate to taste the sea salt on your skin and inhale your scent and never let you go. Your body jerks with each thrust, your voice cracking as you cry out his name, the new heady angle of his cock inside you leaving you writhing, lost in the bliss he wrings from you.

His tail thrashes in the surf as he fucks up into you. You are limp in his arms, trembling all over as your back arches - he squeezes your breasts in one hand while the other settles between your legs, his skilled fingers working over your clit to kindle a mind shattering type of euphoria within you that renders you boneless and speechless, your jaw slack.

Your head falls back on his shoulder, your eyes falling shut as you moan, your pussy constricting tight around him. A hand circles your throat, squeezing lightly, and you mewl, your cunt unashamedly spasming at the feel of his calloused fingers about your neck.

“Let the moon and stars witness how I pleasure you, my love,” he snarls.

Your eyes roll, your toes curl. Somehow, he fucks up into you faster, harder, and his cock hits places that cause your vision to white out, the relentless friction of his ridges on your walls enough to make you sob and claw at the arm he uses to keep you in place. Distantly, you can hear yourself begging him, pleading for him to go harder, deeper, to not stop, to ruin you.

You scream Katsuki’s name as you come for the second time tonight. Uncontrollably, your thighs shake, and your cunt convulses around his cock; you can feel him slowing his thrusts, letting you ride out your high, but despite the overstimulation building in the tautness inside your stomach, you grind against him.

“Don’t stop,” you gasp. “Want - want you to come inside me.”

Your words elicit a groan from him. “Fucking filthy, aren’t you?”

Helplessly, you whimper in response, your pussy fluttering as he hammers up into you. He swears as he comes, spilling hot inside you, the sweet sound he makes muffled when he bites down on your shoulder. Both of you lie there for a moment, catching your breath, before gently, he manoeuvres the two of you so you lie on your sides, careful to keep himself deep in your heat; he is warm against your back.

Katsuki splays a palm over your stomach, holding you close, and you lace your fingers with his, sighing happily as he begins to pepper kisses over your back. You can feel the upwards curve of his lips as he smiles against your skin.

“Are you alright?” He asks, nuzzling the nape of your neck.

“Better than alright,” you confirm.

You remain silent for a while longer, happy just to lie there cocooned in his arms and the quiet wash of the ocean; you can feel the pulse of his heart against your back, steady and comforting. A hushed, steady noise comes from him, a satisfied noise, almost a purr. His cock is beginning to soften inside you, its ridges coming down - you both groan as he slips out, moving so his length is tucked against the curve of your ass.

“How did you know it was me?” He asks suddenly. “When I summoned the kraken.”

You squeeze his hand. “I saw you in its eyes. You know, I couldn’t have missed it if I tried, especially not when you yelled for the hunters to bring me to you. I heard it all the way from below deck.”

He laughs, and you shuffle closer to him, feeling his arms tighten around you.

“I didn’t even know the kraken was a real thing,” you tell him. “I wasn’t scared, though. I knew I’d be safe when I saw it was you.”

Katsuki scoffs. “You’re horrendously sappy, witch.”

You laugh, pushing your ass back against him. “I think you like it, merman.”

Laughing, you roll to and fro in the sand, with you grinding on him as he grips your hips and tries to wrestle you into submission. Eventually, he manages to incapacitate you by holding you tightly against his chest, dipping his head so he can whisper hotly in your ear.

“Keep that up and I’ll have to fuck you again,” he grits out.

“You’ll have to catch me first,” you challenge.

Giggling, you wriggle out of his grip and plunge further into the shallows, just catching him muttering something about insatiable and damn witch before he dives in and streaks after you, his dorsal fin cutting through the water. A hand closes around your ankle, and you squeal, flailing as you shake him off.

Clumsily, you take off towards the rock pools, wading through the sea water as fast as you can. You know Katsuki will catch you (you’re not exactly opposed to it - you’re running into the sea rather than out of it, after all). Again, he makes another grab at you, and you romp with him in the waves, grinning as you fend him off by splashing water at him, squirming out of his arms again.

In the end, he grabs you around the waist and traps you against one of the tide pools, the rock rough against your back as he smirks down at you. The sight of him above you is enthralling: droplets run down his chest in rivulets, rolling down the grooves his muscles make, and the moon hangs the sky behind him, crowning him with a halo made of silver. Your mouth waters.

Taking your chin in between his thumb and forefinger, he brings his face close to yours. A shiver runs down your spine. His red eyes fill your vision, glowing in the night, hypnotic and burning with craving so devout it borders on veneration.

He smiles. “Caught you.”

Katsuki takes you again, against the rock at your back. Afterwards, you lie there, spent and tangled together in the waning moonlight until you grow hungry again and you straddle him, mesmerised by the sight of him staring up at you, pleasure twisting his features as you ride him. You fuck and make love until the sun begins to rise, and it is only then that the two of you are finally sated.

So there you lie, held in his arms and the sea’s embrace - and inexplicably, you find that you do not regret all the pain you suffered at the hands of the hunters, because if it was not for them, you would never have been in that brig to heal him. Inside you, something blossoms within your soul, young and fresh and beautiful as the new moon, and it spills forth from your lips, a whispered confession pressed to his skin like a kiss.

“I love you, Bakugou Katsuki.”

Cupping your jaw, he brings his forehead to yours and murmurs your name. “I love you too.”

Katsuki glances down at you, where you are curled into the curve of his side like you were made to fit him, and he feels his failing, tired heart bloom once again. You have healed him in ways that run deeper than just his flesh.

He looks in your eyes, and when he does, the sea looks back.

You are his home.

A/N: by the way guys, afterwards they travel somewhere cool and the reader sets up a lil witchy abode by the sea and the villagers come to her for cures and half of them are lowkey a bit terrified of her mermaid husband but it doesn’t matter because she still gives really good remedies and he hasn’t eaten anyone yet and sometimes she and bakugou go out in their boat and attack hunter ships for funsies

also here's a picture i found off pinterest which i kind of imagine his tail being like except it's a bit more rigid and the dorsal fins are more spiney and longer, also there's more black and less red

taglist: @freakingsparkydreamer @d1orhaz3 @msjaeger @mellasimp14 @eyesforbkg @cottagedumpling @silkdolli @teeesthings @raksstuff

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syn0vial · 1 year ago

Text

Astarion Voicelines: Healing/Helping/Buffing (Now updated for Patch 1.3)

A compilation of Astarion's voicelines when he's healing a character with a spell, using the "help" action to free them from an immobilized position, or casting a buffing spell.

Voice lines added between patches 1.1 and 1.3 have been marked with bold text.

Healing (Negative Approval)

Of course you need help.

Waste of a spell.

There's always something.

A poor investment.

Don't bleed on me.

If I must.

Just don't bleed on me.

I should let it fester.

Do I have to touch them?

You're bleeding. Again.

Oh for Gods' sake.

I won't always save you.

Healing (Neutral Approval)

Stop bleeding - it's distracting.

We'll fix what we can.

Try not to die.

You're leaking.

Let's not die yet.

You owe me.

That's enough wasted blood.

There's life in you yet.

Let's fix what we can.

Healing. How novel.

Stop bleeding!

Fine, I'll save you.

Healing (Positive Approval)

A helping hand.

No more wasted blood.

We need you strong.

Let's play doctor.

We'll patch you up.

Let's not die yet.

You're wasting blood.

We need you strong.

It's not your time.

Let's fix that.

You're not dying.

Healing (Romantic Interest)

Let's fix you up.

Let's not waste any blood.

Let's lay on hands.

Let's play doctor.

No, no - that won't do.

The kiss of life.

Stay strong, darling.

You're not going down.

A little pick-me-up.

Healing touch.

Shhh, it's all right.

Helping (Negative Approval)

Of course you're stuck.

Of course they're trapped.

Let's get you loose.

Help the idiot.

Worse than useless.

Some don't deserve saving.

I should just leave you.

Oh no, is someone stuck?

You're a danger to yourself.

How have you survived this long?

I could just leave them...

I'll help. This time.

Can't they wriggle free?

So helpless...

Damned fool.

Give me patience.

Give me strength.

Oh no, they're stuck.

Helping (Neutral Approval)

Why am I not surprised?

Someone needs help.

What have you done now?

Yes yes, I'll save you.

Not that I'll get any thanks...

Must I?

Yes, fine.

Fine.

All right, I'm coming.

Yes, I'll free you.

Let's go already.

Your hero is here.

Do I have to do everything?

Yes, yes, I'm coming.

All right, I'm coming!

Fine, I'll free you.

Let's get you loose.

Oh for goodness' sake.

Because I've nothing better to do.

Get back in the fight.

I swear...

Helping (Positive Approval)

Ha! Oh I shouldn't laugh.

Help is here.

Relax, I've got you.

Come on, let's move.

I'll free you.

Your hero is coming.

All right, all right.

Let's get you up.

I'll get you loose.

Come on, move.

Easy, I'm here.

Hold on, I'm coming.

Helping (Romantic Interest)

A sticky situation.

Let's get you free.

I'm coming.

Really, darling?

Don't worry, I'm here.

Let's get you moving.

You look good helpless.

Maybe they like being restrained?

Don't worry, I'm here.

Let's get you moving.

You'll be free soon.

Oh I shouldn't laugh.

In a spot of bother, hmm?

Buffing (Negative Approval)

Try not to waste it.

Let's waste a spell - why not?

Do I have to do everything?

Useless.

Of course you need help.

Just try not to die.

What a waste.

Yes, fine.

Fine.

If I must.

Do I have to?

Buffing (Neutral Approval)

How did you last so long without me?

Do not waste this.

Don't worry, I'm here.

Someone needs help, I see.

Yes, all right.

A little help.

All right, here.

Don't waste this.

You clearly need some help.

Let's try to survive, hmm?

Stay strong!

Do not let me down.

Try not to die.

I swear, if you just die...

Fine, here!

Just try to survive, will you?

Buffing (Positive Approval)

Lucky I'm here.

Where would you be without me?

Here you go.

This should help.

Better safe than stiff.

A little boost.

A friend in need.

Someone needs a little help.

Just a moment.

Buffing (Romantic Interest)

I've got you.

Let's keep you safe.

Let's keep you cute.

Help is here.

Don't worry, I'm here.

For you, darling.

Just in case

Let's be safe.

Here, darling.

This should help.

No need to thank me.

#people seemed to enjoy the last voiceline compilation so here's another!#astarion #astarion voicelines #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 voicelines

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hoshifighting · 17 days ago

Note

healing sex with woozi? when he's been feeling down and you just had a bad day too, both of you finding comfort and pleasure in each other's arms? 🥺 pretty please, and thank you!!

healing sex with woozi

WARNINGS: workaholicsm, burnouts, penetrative sex, smut, fingering, clit stimulation, dirty talk, sensitiviness.

the sound of the shower filled th bathroom, water cascading down your back, warm and comforting like a hug. your forehead rested against the cool tiles, and your eyes were shut, the world beyond the steam and the spray fading into white noise. the soap had been rinsed off long ago, but you didn’t care. this was the only peace you’d had all day, and you weren’t ready to leave it behind.

until you heard his voice behind you, soft laced with that quiet kind of love only woozi carried.

“dry yourself and come to bed,” he said gently, his words cutting through the fog.

you turned your head, not startled in the slightest. there he was, already pulling his shirt over his head, his hair falling into his eyes, damp from the humidity of the bathroom.

“you’ll catch a cold if you stay in there too long,” he added, his tone light, but the corners of his mouth hinted at exhaustion.

“just a minute,” you mumbled, stealing a quick kiss as you passed by him. his lips lingered against yours for half a second longer, like he was holding onto the brief connection for dear life. you grabbed your towel and started drying off, catching glimpses of him through the mirror as he stepped under the spray of the shower. the way his shoulders slumped, the way his movements were sluggish—it was all too familiar. it mirrored your own.

he was tired. not just tired—drained.

you’d noticed it the past few nights, the way his side of the bed was cold long after you’d fallen asleep. the faint glow of his computer screen leaking under the door when you got up to use the bathroom.

you wrapped the towel around yourself half-heartedly and stumbled to the bed, not even bothering with proper clothes. you were spent, and all you wanted was the solace of soft sheets and woozi’s arms around you. when he joined you a few minutes later, his hair was damp and messy, a towel draped over his shoulders. he sat on the edge of the bed, his back to you, his voice quiet.

“how was your day?”

you buried your face in the pillow, groaning softly. “can we… not talk about it?”

he turned his head slightly, and you could see the understanding in his profile, the way his lips pressed into a thin line as he nodded.

“yeah,” he murmured. “same. today wasn’t one of my best either. didn’t work here—had to go into the office.”

you reached out, your hand finding his wrist, pulling him down beside you.

he laid down willingly, his body curling around yours as you turned to face him. the silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“come here,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around him, your fingers brushing through his damp hair.

“you’re still wet,” you teased lightly, earning a soft huff of laughter from him.

“you’re not even dressed,” he shot back, his voice warmer now, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

you both chuckled, the sound melting into the stillness of the room. you rolled your eyes, dragging the blanket up a little higher over your shoulders. “and? you act like that’s new.”

he snorted, shaking his head as his hand started tracing lazy circles on your hip. “you’re such a brat sometimes, you know that?”

“mm, yeah, but you love me for it,” you quipped back, smirking.

he leaned down, his nose brushing against yours as his lips ghosted over your mouth. “you’re lucky i do.”

the kiss was slow, like the both of you were too drained to pour more into it. but then you sighed softly into his mouth, and it was like something broke loose in him. his hand tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepened, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips.

“jihoon…” you mumbled against him, your voice muffled, but he didn’t stop. his lips moved down your jaw, brushing over your neck, planting kisses that sent little shocks through your tired body.

“shh,” he murmured, his voice low, and it felt like honey dripping over your skin. “let me take care of you.”

“you’re the one who’s exhausted,” you whispered, but it came out weak, breathy, and not at all convincing as his teeth grazed that one spot on your neck. your hips shifted instinctively, pressing against him.

“i know,” he said, chuckling softly. “guess we’ll just take care of each other.”

before you could say anything else, his hand slid down, pushing the blanket aside. his fingers skimmed over your thigh, warm and teasing, before they dipped between your legs.

you gasped softly, your body arching as his thumb rubbed over your clit. “jihoon—”

he kissed you again, cutting you off. “don’t think too hard,” he murmured against your lips. “just feel.”

his fingers slid inside you, and you almost jolted at how good it felt after all that time without sex. he curled them just right, his thumb never leaving that spot, and it was enough to make your head spin.

your hands clutched at his shoulders, your moans swallowed up by his mouth as he kept kissing you. your hips started moving on their own, riding his fingers as he worked you open, his pace unrelenting despite how tired he had to be.

“so fucking good for me,” he whispered, his voice rough in a way that made your stomach tighten.

“hoo—hoon,” you stuttered, barely able to get his name out as he hit that spot inside you, over and over.

“yeah?” he teased, his lips brushing over your jaw as his fingers sped up just slightly. “tell me.”

“feel so good,” you managed to whimper, your thighs trembling as you clung to him. “so, so good—”

he smirked, his lips quirking up as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “knew you’d say that.”

you barely heard him, too lost in the feeling, but then he was pulling his hand away, and you almost whined at the loss.

“hey—”

“relax,” he said, chuckling softly. “you’re gonna get all of me, baby. just… hold on.”

you watched, breathless, as he stripped off the rest of his clothes. when he finally pressed himself against you, the weight of him settling over you, you couldn’t help but sigh in relief.

“you good?” he asked softly, his hand cupping your cheek as he looked down at you.

you nodded, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

he pushed inside you slowly, inch by inch, his forehead dropping to yours as he let out a shaky breath.

“fuck,” he muttered, his voice strained. “you feel—god, im so sensitive baby.”

your nails dragged softly along his shoulders, down his back, and he shuddered at the contact, his breath catching against your cheek. his hips stuttered, a barely-there falter in his rhythm, and you knew—you both knew—how sensitive you were. it had been weeks since you had each other like this, and the pent-up tension was spilling over in every breathless gasp, every desperate thrust.

“fuck, jihoon,” you moaned, your voice breathy, a little cracked, like you were trying to hold it together and failing. “i missed this so much. missed you so much.”

he groaned low in his throat, his forehead pressing harder against yours as his hips moved faster, grinding deeper into you. “missed you too,” he murmured. “fuck—you feel so good. better than i even remembered.”

you gasped at his words, a shudder running down your backbone as his hand slid between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, you could barely stop the way your hips bucked against him.

“you can’t say shit like that,” you whined, your voice catching as he hit that one spot inside you that had your eyes rolling back. “not when i’m already this close—”

“yeah?” he cut you off, his lips quirking up in a tired but wicked smirk. his fingers sped up, matching the rhythm of his thrusts as his lips brushed against your ear. “gonna cum for me already, baby? can’t even hold it in, huh?”

you whimpered, your thighs trembling as your hands clutched at his back. “don’t act like you’re not close too,” you shot back, but your voice was a mess, broken and breathless, and you both knew he had the upper hand.

“maybe i am,” he admitted. “but i’ll hold out if you do.”

“asshole..” you gasped, but the word dissolved into a moan as he snapped his hips harder, deeper, his fingers dragging just right against your clit.

he chuckled, the sound rasping out against your skin as his mouth found your neck, sucking at the sensitive spot just below your ear. “that’s not what you were calling me earlier,” he teased, his voice husky, dark, and so fucking sexy you couldn’t help the way your walls clenched around him.

“god, jihoon,” you cried, your hands flying to his hair, tugging lightly, and the groan he let out vibrated against your skin. “you’re so good—fuck, so fucking good.”

“yeah?” he breathed, his voice a little more ragged now. his thrusts were getting sloppy, his rhythm faltering as he chased his own release. “you’re perfect, baby. so tight—fuck, squeezing me so good.”

his words, the rasp in his voice, the way his breath hitched—it all sent you spiraling, the tension in your body snapping as your orgasm crashed over you.

you cried out his name, your whole body trembling as waves of pleasure coursed through you, and he groaned loudly, burying himself as deep as he could, his hand tightening on your hip.

“fuck—baby, i’m—” his words broke off into a moan as he followed you over the edge, his hips jerking against yours as he spilled inside you.

you both stayed there for a moment, catching your breath, your bodies still pressed together, trembling from the aftershocks.

“holy shit,” you muttered, your voice hoarse as you let out a weak laugh.

jihoon chuckled softly about how you said it, his head dropping to rest against your chest as he pressed a lazy kiss to your skin.

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kaijuno · 4 months ago

Text

"No piece of art has ever emotionally affected me the way this robot arm piece has. It's programmed to try to contain the hydraulic fluid that’s constantly leaking out and required to keep itself running...if too much escapes, it will die so it's desperately trying to pull it back to continue to fight for another day. Saddest part is they gave the robot the ability to do these 'happy dances' to spectators. When the project was first launched it danced around spending most of its time interacting with the crowd since it could quickly pull back the small spillage. Many years later... (as you see it now in the video) it looks tired and hopeless as there isn't enough time to dance anymore.. It now only has enough time to try to keep itself alive as the amount of leaked hydraulic fluid became unmanageable as the spill grew over time. Living its last days in a never-ending cycle between sustaining life and simultaneously bleeding out... (Figuratively and literally as its hydraulic fluid was purposefully made to look like it's actual blood).

"The robot arm finally ran out of hydraulic fluid in 2019, slowly came to a halt and died - And I am now tearing up over a friggin robot arm 😭 It was programmed to live out this fate and no matter what it did or how hard it tried, there was no escaping it. Spectators watched as it slowly bled out until the day that it ceased to move forever. Saying that 'this resonates' doesn't even do it justice imo. Created by Sun Yuan & Peng Yu, they named the piece, 'Can't Help Myself'. What a masterpiece. What a message."

Extended interpretations: the hydraulic fluid in relation to how we kill ourselves both mentally and physically for money just in an attempt to sustain life, how the system is set up for us to fail on purpose to essentially enslave us and to steal the best years of our lives to play the game that the richest people of the world have designed. How this robs us of our happiness, passion and our inner peace. How we are slowly drowning with more responsibilities, with more expected of us, less rewarding pay-offs and less free time to enjoy ourselves with as the years go by. How there's really no escaping the system and that we were destined at birth to follow a pretty specific path that was already laid out before us. How we can give and give and give and how easily we can be forgotten after we've gone.. How we are loved and respected when we are valuable, then one day we aren't any longer and we become a burden...and how our young, free-caring spirit gets stolen from us as we get churned out of the broken system that we are trapped inside of. Can also be seen to represent the human life cycle and the fact that none of us make it out of this world alive. But also can act as a reminder to allow yourself to heal, rest and love with all of your heart. That the endless chase for 'more' isn't necessary in finding your own inner happiness.”

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keferon · 1 month ago

Note

TexAid - Vortex has taken First Aid as his pilot. First Aid claims Vortex as his mech.

--------------------------

There's a rumbling in the distance as First Aid crawls out the darkened hatch of Vortex's escape chute. The hangar is a wreck of collapsed walls, twisted metal pipes, and broken wiring shooting up sparks.

First Aid pushes himself to his feet, stands back, and uses the flashes of light to take stock of the situation.

This is…not good.

He counts a dozen cuts and bruises across his own aching limbs before abandoning the effort. He is satisfied at least that he is intact, alive, and functional. All his injuries will heal, given treatment and time.

Time he may not have. Because Vortex on the other hand is not so lucky – lights off, systems silent, frame crumpled on the ground. A slow trickle of oil leaks from the mecha, swirling into one of the many pools of alien ooze scattered around Vortex's frame along with chunks of the aliens' flesh.

The battle had been fierce, Vortex's fighting the fiercest Aid had ever seen against the many enemies. But for the first time, it hadn't been enough. The mecha suddenly going dark – collapsing under the strain of overtaxed systems even as the last of the monster's fell. Leaving First Aid truly alone in that cockpit of horrors for the first time.

Another rumble sounds in the distance, shaking First Aid from his reflection.

He refocuses on the present, pushing himself to his feet and stumbling towards Vortex's head. He raps his knuckles against the glass of the visor, shouts at the mecha to wake up.

Nothing.

Vortex has gone dark.

This is not good. He is dead. They are dead, if Vortex cannot wake. Because those distant rumbles are definitely not friendly.

No human has survived fighting the aliens without a mech. And first Aid is a medic first. Vortex is the fighter – the killer – of their strange partnership. First Aid doesn't know what the aliens do to the mecha and pilots that go missing from the battlefield and are never recovered. And he doesn't intend to find out.

But he does know what the science team will do with Vortex – a billion dollar prototype gone wrong – out of control and now offline. They will take the mecha apart, dissect him, strip him down to his basest components to find out where it all went wrong. And when they're done, what's left will be scrap – pieces repurposed into other mecha repairs.

They might build a new prototype top-of-the-line killing machine 2.0. But is won't be Vortex.

First Aid hates that. Because he should hate Vortex, after all the other has put him through. But he doesn't. Because before all that, Vortex had saved him. Vortex chose him – kept First Aid alive and safe, even as he's shown countless times just how easily he could destroy Aid.

And Vortex is…was…could be alive – a mecha with a consciousness all his own in a way First Aid had not believed until he experienced it first-hand.

Out of ignorance, out of fear, out of hate, or simply because of the harsh realities of war – the others will kill Vortex (if he isn't already dead; please don't be dead) and never realize what they have done, because they never recognized that he was alive to begin with. Never saw him as anything more than a glitch, an aberration in their perfect war design.

First Aid has a duty to save lives. He cannot – will not – let that happen. Vortex is his. In death as much as in life.

The rumbling grows closer, close enough First Aid can imagine he hears the slithering of tentacles along walls underneath it.

He will not let any other – alien or human – take Vortex from him, not while he still lives.

The cables on the ground throw up another flurry of sparks – casting eerie shadows across Vortex's frame. First Aid's eyes fixate on the light, tracing the path of the wiring from where it snakes across the floor back up to the housing on the wall. A broken main charging cable for a mech.

Maybe…just maybe…

It's a terrible idea. So many things could go wrong – electrocution, a gruesome death, ending up a mindless shell on life support for the rest of his days (not so different from how Vortex already is now). Pharma or Ratchet or any other medic would tell him as much. They would tell him that there's almost no chance of powering on a mecha once it's gone fully dark, that it isn't worth risking himself too (and particularly not for this mecha).

For anyone else that might be true, but by now First Aid is used to a little risk. Risk of electrocution and death? Just another average day on the job. No different than what Vortex puts him through every time he straps into the pilot seat. The only thing that's different now is that Aid is choosing to take the risk.

Because there is a chance. And First Aid is going to take it.

The rubber insulation of the cable is already in his hand when he looks down, his body having carried him to it as his mid was busy shutting out the doubts every other medic would have said.

Something bangs against the collapsed wall blocking entry to the hangar, sending a shower of dust outward.

First Aid hefts the cable over his shoulder, careful to keep the sparking end far in front of him, and begins the trek across the warehouse. His shoulder burns from the extra weight on an already stressed joint and his legs protest as he forces them to twist and jump to avoid the pools of fluid that would cause instant electrocution if they came into contact with his body and the cable.

The aches don't matter. He is a medic. He can carry his own weight and still have the strength to lift up others. He can do this. He will do this.

First Aid is gasping for breath by the time he reaches Vortex again. His sides ache, lungs burning with each breath. He mentally adds checking for the possibility of bruised ribs to his catalogue of injuries, then shoves the pain aside to focus fully on Vortex's frame.

First Aid eyes the power node at the back of the mecha's neck and before he can think twice, shoves the broken power cable into it. Sparks fly around the junction and Vortex's frame jolts, lights flickering briefly, then stills. First Aid pulls the cable away, then hits Vortex again. And again. And again. Lights flicker. Sparks fly. Dust showers around First Aid. Electricity jolts through Vortex's frame.

"Come on," First Aid mutters as Vortex's lights stay on a full second after he pulls the cable away before stuttering out again.

He takes a deep breath and throws the cable directly into the center of Vortex's chest, where the mecha's primary batter is housed. Sparks fly across Vortex's frame, lights flicker, flash bright white, then stabilize to a dim red glow.

First Aid's momentary relief shatters as Vortex moves and he feels a gust of air from a cold metal blade passing just over his head. There's a dull thunk, and then fluid is pouring down on First Aid, coating him in a thick sludge of blood from the alien that First Aid reckons was looming just behind him, judging by the bright green eyeball that falls from above to land in a spatter at his feet.

First Aid looks up at Vortex looming over him, gloving red light pouring out from the maw of the cockpit and laughs, shaking hysterically as a hand reaches down to scoop him up from the ground.

They are alive. He is Vortex's. Vortex is his. They are alive.

D-dont. Don't make me even more feral about them than I already am. Don't. I was GOING TO SLEEP BUT NOW MY BRAIN WON'T STOP WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME HOW AM I GONNA PRETEND TO BE NORMAL NOW WH

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#with the new height chart this moment becomes even more dramatic omg #tf mecha universe

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yeonzzzn · 7 months ago

Text

for astra: park sunghoon

part one of for astra | spotify playlist

pairing: sunghoon x afab!reader word count: 15.1k

synopsis: sunghoon finds himself waking up and repeating the same day over and over again until he finally breaks the cycle and finds himself on a space station called ‘astra 1’. he soon learns he is one of the few who are still alive and that they aren’t alone…

genre: space!au, survival!au, neurologist!sunghoon, neurologist!reader, strangers to lovers, angst, smut.

warnings: swearing, blood, m*rder, guns go pew pew, other life forms, some science talk, unprotected sex, biting, hair pulling, sunghoon fucks reader against the wall, adding more as the story progresses, MINORS DNI!!! (these tags will be on every part even if they do not consist of said tag)

intro | part one | part two

this is part ONE for the series, please read the INTRO first before this one!!💜

Sunghoon found himself in the Arboretum. Nov directed him here saying he’d be able to find you here since it was your last known location.

And Sunghoon desperately hoped it was still your location.

Finding you wasn’t the only thing Sunghoon was hoping for. Nov mentioned a greenhouse filled with veggies and other plants that can help with healing and medicines for in case…ya know, he gets mind controlled or something.

Apparently, there were worse typhon than just the mimic and phantom he encountered earlier. Heeseung named the phantom as well, apparently. The human-like one. It made Sunghoon wonder what was worse than those two. And he assumed since Nov mentioned mind control, then yeah there’s worse than the two he’s already had to deal with.

The Arboretum was quiet, beautiful, but quiet. Too quiet for Sunghoon’s liking. But still beautiful. The Arboretum was so green. Despite the darkness of space leaking through the domed windows that surrounded the area and making it dark, the green still shined out that darkness.

The greenhouse sat on the farthest side of the Arboretum to Sunghoon’s right. To his left was an elevator that looked to take you down to the crew quarters or up towards the bridge. Both of which he planned to explore to find Heeseung after you gained his bracelet's location.

The wrench swung at his side as he walked and his hands clenched tightly to the shotgun, one finger on the trigger. Nov questioned the wrench before Sunghoon left the office, to which he just responded that he was keeping it. How could he abandon the trusty wrench?

Sunghoon kept walking to the right, eyes wandering over every piece of plant and cobblestone of the path. He passed by a bench where a dead body lay atop of. The dead looked exactly like the ones he found in the lab. He shuddered, quickly looking away and walking faster. Sunghoon couldn’t help but think how busy this station must have been before the outbreak. How alive it could have been. It’s a shameful thing he had no memory of it or the faces of the dead he knew he would encounter. Anger boiled within him, he caused this.

Following the cobblestone path eventually led him to the greenhouse. Even from the distance he was at, he could see how green and full of life it was. You had to still be alive if the greenhouse looked this good in shape.

He lowered the shotgun down to his side and reached for the handle, his gloved hand gripping it and twisting. His senses were immediately filled with the smells of all the vegetables and plants. He took a step in, eyes already looking for you.

But found himself staring down the barrel of a shotgun.

Well, this is a turn of events.

“Move and I’ll fucking blow your brains out!” his eyes shift from the barrel to a woman. She wore the exact same spacesuit. He looked for the name tag, seeing Dr. YN/LN printed across it. He found you.

He shifted his eyes back to your face, taking in your every feature and structure of your face. His heart pulled to you, and he didn’t understand why. He assumed it was because you held the very thing he wanted desperately: the location of Heeseung.

“Dr. LN?” he asked, “You’re Dr. LN?”

You lowered the barrel to his throat to get a better look at him, and you’ll be damned, “Guess those tests didn’t actually kill you, Dr. Park.”

Sunghoon raised his brow, “Excuse me?”

You shot the barrel back to his face, remembering exactly that he was put under test after test. Who knew what Typhon still laid dormant within him, “Are you actually Dr. Park Sunghoon? Or are you under mind control and acting normal?”

He scoffed, “If I was under mind control you think I’d continue to just let you point your damn fucking shotgun to my face?”

Yep. That’s Sunghoon alright. You couldn’t miss that attitude anywhere.

Before you could lower your weapon, Sunghoon had pulled it out of your hand and tossed it. His shotgun barrel is now pointing at you, “Are you under mind control?”

You laughed, “I don’t think a person under the mind control of a telepath typhon would be able to take care of this greenhouse, ya?”

He lowered the gun, “I need your help.”

You scoff this time, walking away from him and regaining your weapon, “You just accused me, pointed a gun to my face, and then asked for help?”

Sunghoon locked his jaw, “You did it to me first, Doctor.”

“Oh, please!” You whipped back around to him, “I have a right. Mostly after everything,” You could see how his eyes softened, “They completely wiped your memory, didn’t they?”

Sunghoon shrugged, “I don’t remember stepping foot on this station or anything that happened here besides the tests they forced me to take and the fact I was drugged every single day as they stripped my mind over and over.”

You watched how he tightened his grip on his weapon, you felt bad for him, honestly. To have those things done to you over and over and stuck in a loop. You’d be pissed off too.

Your eyes met his and all it took was those few seconds for his headache to return, dropping down to his knees and clenching the side of his head, and biting down on his lips to keep from screaming. Blood filled his mouth from the bite on his lips and slowly pooled out the side of his mouth.

“Sunghoon!” Your voice called to him, but he could barely hear you.

Don’t black out again. Don’t black out again. Please.

A flashback came to him then, small glimpses of you. Walking past you in the labs at the company building on Earth. Neither of you ever spoke to each other. The last memory he was given was seeing you hold up the first ever neuromod and your bright smile.

Then his headache faded. He felt your hand on his back and the other on his knee. Sunghoon slowly dropped his hands and then looked up at you, “You created the neuromods. That was used to add human’s and typhon’s psyche into each other's brains. And the mind transfer.”

You pull your hands off him and stand back to your feet, “Yeah. I did.” You could tell that was the only piece of information that was returned to him in whatever kind of attack that was to his brain. Probably the effects of the neuromods he injected into himself finally wearing off. The other scientists obviously didn’t make it any easier on him. Not when they were drugging him on top of removing the neuromods and stripping his memory every single time.

Sunghoon thought back to the neuromod and the three long prongs that stook out of the tip of it and how the body of it looked in the same shape as a handgun. Did he shove those things into his body over and over again?

“So you had just as much of a play on this happening as I did.”

You had half a mind to kill him right now, “If you came here to remind me of my part in this, then I suggest you get the fuck out of here. I don’t need this.”

Sunghoon wiped the blood from his mouth and chin, seeing that it wasn’t its normal crimson, but a shade of black mixed in with it.

“An effect of the neuromods,” You said, glancing away from him and at the walls of the greenhouse, “It wasn’t as perfect as we had hoped.”

Apparently not.

Sunghoon stood back to his feet, getting everything back on track, “I need your help.”

You scoff again, “What more could you want from me, Sunghoon?” Formal names. You’ve been formal with him on and off.

“We weren’t strangers to each other, were we?” he asked, “You’ve been acting like you hated me since meeting just now.”

You placed a hand on your hip and smirked at him, “Something like that,” you looked him up and down. He looks good for someone who was missing for three months without any food or water. You thought he either was dead or became one of the typhon. The human body couldn’t have survived that long unless someone was helping to keep him alive. It couldn’t have been November. Nov was destroyed. But knowing Sunghoon, he probably revived the little guy in secret. You shook your head away from the thoughts, “You said you needed my help?”

Sunghoon nodded, “I heard you had the list of the tracking bracelets.”

Your lips parted, “I did. Who told you that information?” Before he could answer, you answered for him, “You sneaky bastard, you did revive November.”

Sunghoon gave you a confused look, clearly not knowing what you meant. But also wondering what all you knew. He needed to keep you close, “What do you mean did have it?”

“I took the list and the software used to track them after the first outbreak and hid them in my room down in the crew quarters. But considering that I’ve been hiding out here, it’s proof the crew quarters aren’t safe.”

The first outbreak? Meaning another one happened. Which is the one that caused so much death on this station.

“I need that list and software,” was all he said and he didn’t care if the desperation showed on his face.

You narrow your eyes at him, “What do you need it for?”

“Heeseung,” he took a shaky breath, “I need to find Heeseung.”

Ah, Dr. Lee Heeseung. Sunghoon’s best friend. How could you forget the second CEO who used to sign off on your paychecks and was attached to Sunghoon at the hip.

“Heeseung has been missing for just as long as what you have,” you said, “The chances of him being alive are slim.”

Sunghoon wasn’t excepting that answer, “Nov said his bracket was off, which means he could still be alive! I need your help to turn the bracelet back on and track where he is.”

You studied him, this wasn’t the only thing he needed you for, “What else are you planning, Sunghoon?”

He lifted his head high, “I’m going to find my best friend and any other survivor and get off this station and destroy it in the process.”

You raised a brow, “You’re going to destroy Astra 1?” you laughed, “You think if that was possible, I would have done it by now? The power plant is the death trap filled with Typhon.” You knew the risks and what it would take to blow up this station. It was one of the safety precautions, after all, to know how to do this. He made sure of that.

“I don’t care. Once we find Heeseung, the three of us can work together,” He took a few steps closer to you, “Please, YN. We need to survive this and destroy the typhon and everything that happened here.”

You looked into his brown eyes, the same ones you’ve never been able to say no to, and forced yourself to look away, “Fine. But we’ll need to make a stop before heading straight to the crew quarters.”

“And that is where exactly?”

“Psychotronic. The place of the outbreak.”

Sunghoon swallowed, “What for?”

You smiled, “Someone stole my card key to get into the crew quarters and I am assuming you don’t have yours?”

He sighed, already knowing this was a terrible idea. “Onward to Psychotronics.”

Astra 1’s lobby looked as peaceful as it did when Sunghoon first saw it, and the view of space? He still wasn’t over it either. The Arboretum had a good view of space, yes, but it was nothing compared to the lobby.

Sunghoon followed behind you but stopped short and glanced up the stairs that led to his office, eyes stopping at the trauma center door. Relief washed over him when he saw the lock at the door was still lit up red. But his curiosity took over, legs moving him towards the stairs.

You turned around in time to see him take the first couple of steps up. Where was he going? You knew his office sat on the top floor, but he did not need to go there.

“Sunghoon!” you tried to whisper just loud enough for him to hear, but he indeed did not hear. He walked up the steps as if he was entranced. And that worried you. You double-checked the lobby and made a quick sprint to the stairs, praying no Typhon was in the area.

By the time you caught up to him, he was staring through the small window of the trauma center door.

What the fuck is he doing?!

Sunghoon locked eyes with the phantom, finding that it was still in its same place crouched in the corner.

ₒₕ? yₒᵤ’ᵣₑ ₛₜᵢₗₗ ₕₑᵣₑ?

Sunghoon narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brows, why was he here? He had more important things to do.

𝚆𝚑𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝙸 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍?

Gᵤₑₛₛ wₑ ₐᵣₑₙ’ₜ ₛₒ dᵢffₑᵣₑₙₜ, yₒᵤ ₐₙd ᵢ. ₘₐybₑ?

Sunghoon tilted his head, and the phantom mimicked his motion, tilting its head the same way as if it was mirroring him.

𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝. 𝚆𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝.

Its dark purple eyes widened, tilting its head to the other side.

ₐᵣₑ yₒᵤ ₛₒ ₛᵤᵣₑ?

Sunghoon clenched his hands tight around his weapon. What is this creature on about?

You touched Sunghoon’s shoulder, “What are you doing?” You glanced in the window, your heart racing at seeing the phantom and how its dark eyes shifted to you, “Sunghoon, let’s go!” you tugged at his suit sleeve, “We need to go!”

ₛₕₑ ₛₜᵢₗₗ wᵢₜₕ yₒᵤ? ₕₐₚₚy?

Sunghoon went to respond, but your unrelenting tug on his clothing took his eyes off the phantom, and looked at you, “Yeah, sorry. Let’s go.” He didn’t look back at the creature as he walked past you and down the stairs.

You followed quickly after him, not wanting to take another glance at the phantom locked in the trauma center.

The eerie feeling Sunghoon got the moment you both stepped foot in front of the Psychotronic’s door shook him to the core. This is where the outbreak happened. This is where it all started. The lock panel on the side of the door was red. He sighed, another passkey he doesn’t fucking remember. You walked up to the panel, typed the four-number passkey, and hovered your thumb over the unlock button, “The moment I unlock this door, we will have to relock it from the other side. God knows what we are fixing to encounter here. Are you ready?”

Sunghoon lifted his shotgun up, “I survived my memory being wiped over and over, I can survive whatever the fuck is past these doors.”

You held back a laugh, knowing damn well he wasn’t ready for what he was fixing to witness. But you pressed the button anyway, watching the door open due to the motion sensor. Sunghoon didn’t hesitate to walk in and you went in after him, quickly relocking the door behind you.

Sunghoon couldn’t place his finger on it, but something about this small office didn’t feel right. There was another door with “PSYCHOTRONICS” printed in red across it. It was a full glass door, and it looked even more eerie than the feeling Sunghoon couldn’t shake off him.

“Something doesn’t feel right,” he whispered, wandering his eyes to every inch of the room.

You also clench your shotgun tighter, finger resting on the trigger. Something indeed did not feel right here. And you knew it wasn’t just because of what haunts psychotronics as a whole.

Out of the corner of Sunghoon’s eye, a paperweight sitting on the desk in the corner fell to the floor as if it was pushed off. Mimic? No. Couldn’t be. He didn’t feel this unease in the presence of a mimic. Neither did he with a phantom. This was something else completely.

The paper weight then shot across the room and the air grew thick.

Gₑₜ ₒᵤₜ!

Both your and Sunghoon’s suits automatically flipped the helmets over your head just at the right moment of the both of you being lifted off the floor.

“A poltergeist!” you screamed, gripping a hold of the bookshelf off to your left.

“A fucking what?!” Sunghoon snapped, wiggling himself in the air to try and steady himself, “Where the fuck is it!?”

Your fingers started slipping from the bookshelf, dropping your shotgun and watching as it hit the floor in the same movement of gripping your other hand to the shelves and retightening your other hand, “It’s another Typhon! Its abilities are the exact same as a poltergeist ghost, you’ll need to find it!”

Easier said than done, YN.

At this point, Sunghoon’s back touched the ceiling. The poltergeist pressed him so hard he felt like he could barely breathe. Other smaller objects started to float in the room, making it harder to locate exactly where the damned thing was.

Until Sunghoon caught movement by the door leading to the inner depths of psychotronics. The movement was quick, but not quick enough for him to get the location of the thing. He struggled against the force of its ability, but nevertheless, he lifted the shotgun up, closing one eye to help aim. The world seemed to have slowed at that moment of locking onto the poltergeist. Its body flickered slightly, “There you are.”

One shot. One bullet piercing through the middle of its body was all it took for its invisibility to falter along with its lifting ability, dropping everything in the room, including you and Sunghoon.

You pushed yourself forward to land on your back, knowing damn well the amount of pain you’d be in. Sunghoon on the other hand, was able to tuck and roll the minute he touched the ground. The minute he rolled back onto his feet he was rushing the geist, its deformed—and rather now angry—body rushed him too. It slowly flickers itself back to being invisible. But Sunghoon wasn’t going to let that happen, at least not fully. He dropped himself back to the floor the moment he sensed the geist was inches away and slid across the floor, aiming the barrel directly at the geist.

One shot. Two shots. Three. The first hitting its middle, the second at its neck, and the last in the head. Its black blood coating his helmet and suit. The geist let out an agonizing screech and dropped its dead weight on top of Sunghoon, who quickly pushed the damned thing off him.

Once he was back to his feet, he took a couple of deep breaths in and rested his hands on his hips, “What the fuck is a poltergeist Typhon?!”

You slowly picked yourself off up from the floor, stretching your back out and praying nothing was broken, which nothing seemed to be, “It’s exactly what I said,” you walked over to his side, staring down at the creature, “Poltergeists are exactly like phantoms but not successfully created, which is why they look deformed and have different abilities than phantoms.”

Sunghoon scoffs, the cool air now hitting his face as the helmet automatically retracted itself, smearing the black blood from the helmet now onto the back of his suit, “Poltergeist,” he mumbles, “Did Heeseung name that damn thing too?”

Your helmet also retracted back, giving you access to fully look back at him, and you just smile, “You did, actually.”

He raised his brows and let out a whistle of disprovement. He named this thing? And that was the best he could come up with? His thoughts stopped at the realization of the question he just asked you, as if he’d known you for longer than the short couple of hours.

Sunghoon stared back at you, scanning his eyes over your features, trying to look into your mind somehow. To see what it is you know and to figure out why it is that he wanted to pull you towards him.

“Let’s go, we need to get that card key.” You said, breaking eye contact and walking past him, and pushing the door open. Sunghoon slowly walked behind you, staring at the way your hair falls behind you, and how your hips sway. The way you carry yourself. His heart kept pulling and pulling towards you.

It confused him as to why. He just met you. The two of you were obviously complete opposites. Both your attitudes retract each other. So why? Why does he feel the need to pull you into his arms? Why does he want you in his arms? Why did he want to do all the things that kept rushing his brain with and for and to you?

Sunghoon’s mind drifted away from the thoughts of you as the two of you approached the psychotronics lab. His eyes widened at what he was seeing in front of him. Not just what he was seeing, but what he was hearing.

ₗₑₜ ᵤₛ ₒᵤₜ. ₗₑₜ ᵤₛ ₒᵤₜ. ₗₑₜ ᵤₛ ₒᵤₜ. ₗₑₜ ᵤₛ ₒᵤₜ. ₗₑₜ ᵤₛ ₒᵤₜ. ₗₑₜ ᵤₛ ₒᵤₜ.

He cupped his hands over his ears and grinded his teeth. There were rows upon rows of phantoms locked inside small chambers no bigger than the size that they were.

You glanced back at him, seeing as he hunched over slightly, eyes wide and looking down at the floor. You walked back over to him and hooked your hand on his bicep, pulling him to walk forward. You weren’t sure what it was that was causing this, all you could guess was it was the effects of the neuromods.

The minute you pulled him away from the phantom's chambers, he lifted himself back up and let out a pained exhale, “Why are they in there?”

You tilt your head, clearly questioning why he cared, “They were the test subjects for the human psyche trials. They are the ones that weren’t so lucky to escape doing the outbreak. Some are ones that were caught and put back in there.”

Sunghoon looked behind him, looking at each chamber, “There are no humans in there, right?” You tucked your lip between your teeth, his head whipping to you in your silence, “YN, answer me.”

You look in the direction that you both need to go, “Just follow me.”

So he did. Followed you to the very end of the ward and the fear Sunghoon just had became true. There were cells filled with people, some were dead, but most were alive. Their eyes burned with hatred as you both walked past their cells, “YN.”

“They are prisoners, criminals given to us to use.” You hated every word of that sentence and could feel the piercing eyes of not just the ones trapped, but also Sunghoon’s, “They were the humans who underwent the first trials of gaining the Typhon psyche. They are the reason you went through the tests next after it was deemed successful. But when the neuromods were stripped from them, their memories stayed.”

So they know exactly who I am and what I did to them here.

Sunghoon looked each of them back in the eyes, telling them through his apologetic eyes how deeply terrible he felt for what he had done. Even if he didn’t remember any of it.

He kept following you to the last cell that sat in the very back of the wall in the middle. The man who resided in was alone, his blonde hair slowly drifted into his eyes as he tilted his head to his left, a smirk growing wide across his face.

“Well look who the fuck it is!” he clapped his hands, “Never thought I’d see your two faces ever again!” his smirk turned into a frown, “Especially yours, Park Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon frowned back at him, but not out of sadness, but from the pure anger he felt towards this man. He didn’t understand why.

The blonde lifted his head up, staring down at the two of you, “What could either of you possibly want?” Sunghoon looked at you and then laughter filled the room, “Now that’s a sight to see!” the blonde chuckled, “Dr. Park is actually quiet for once!”

Sunghoon whipped his head back towards the male, “Why the fuck are you in this cell?”

The male tilted his head again, “You don’t remember?” he chuckled again at Sunghoon’s silence, “Fuck, they wiped your memory?”

You sigh, “This is Jay Park, trialed for several third-degree murders on and off Astra 1.”

The blonde smirked, stretching his arms at his sides and taking a bow, “At your service.”

You continued, “He killed multiple doctors, nurses, scientists, and other normal everyday workers here just for sport.”

𝙲𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢.

Sunghoon narrowed his eyes at Jay, the blonde mimicking the expression.

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚖𝚎, 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞?

Sunghoon barely nodded, only giving a tilt of his head enough to show Jay he could, in fact, hear him.

Jay smirked and glanced back toward you, “I am going to assume you didn’t come here for a history lesson, YN. So get to the point.”

𝚆𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚔𝚎𝚢𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔. 𝚃𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚠 𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜.

Jay looked back at Sunghoon, “And why on Earth would I just hand over that keycard?” he reached into his back pocket and pulled the card out, your name and face printed over the front of it, “And what would I gain giving it back to you anyway?”

You didn’t understand how Jay knew you wanted the card, but before you could answer, Sunghoon did it for you.

“I am going to blow this motherfucking station to kingdom come,” he said without missing a beat, “So if you want to survive,” he tilted his head down, staring up directly at Jay, “I suggest you give us the keycard and we’ll give you your freedom and escape back to Earth.”

Jay tucked his tongue into the side of his cheek, glancing back and forth between you and Sunghoon, clearly weighing out his options, “Is that all you’d need from me?” Jay questioned, “I have a baby sister back home, I can’t risk some bullshit that’ll end with my death. That stinkhead needs me.”

𝚁𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝. 𝚈𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚎.

“Fucking watch it!” Jay snapped, snarling his teeth at Sunghoon and gripping his hands to the cool bars in front of him, “Guarantee my safety and I’ll help out in whatever you need.”

It was your turn to look at Sunghoon, trying to read whatever it was he could be possibly thinking.

“I promise you’ll return back safely to your little sister,” Sunghoon stood up a bit straighter, “You will also release the rest of these people and lead them to the escape pods, but you won’t be allowed to leave until I say so,” Sunghoon made quick work to glance at Jay’s wrists, seeing a tracking bracket attached and snapping his eyes back to his face, “We can track your location, so the minute you step foot off this station,” Sunghoon walked up to the bars, grasping the wrench at his belt and releasing it, swinging with all his might and hitting the two metals together, the ringing of them echoing throughout the lab.

ₘₐₖₑ ᵢₜ ₛₜₒₚ. ₘₐₖₑ ᵢₜ ₛₜₒₚ. ₘₐₖₑ ᵢₜ ₛₜₒₚ.

The Typhon’s cries were so loud it not only affected Sunghoon, but also Jay. Both males wincing at their screams against their minds.

Once the cries settled after the ringing stopped, with a few pants, Jay nodded, “Fine. I’ll help,” Jay tossed the keycard between the bars and on the floor, you rushed to pick it up, “Now let me out.”

Sunghoon had a bad feeling about letting Jay take control of the other prisoners and lead them to the escape pods, but he didn’t have any other option. Sunghoon also couldn’t shake away the fact Jay seemed to also be able to hear and communicate via the mind. Did they both go through similar tests? Had to have.

All Sunghoon could currently hope for was for Jay to lead the others to the pods safely.

The crew quarters were smooth sailing, or so you hoped. It was quiet and not a soul in sight. All the lights were still on and not a sigh of them even being tampered with. It definitely felt off, but you also weren’t going to complain. That still didn’t stop you and Sunghoon from treading lightly and not speaking a word with both shotguns locked and ready for use just in case.

Yeah, the whole station gave Sunghoon an eerie feeling, but specifically the crew quarters did. Something was strange about this place. Something so unsettling. He wanted to get to your room, get whatever shit it was you needed to track down Heeseung’s bracelet, and get the fuck out.

What made Sunghoon feel so unsettled was probably the lack of bodies, which you would think would be a good thing. But with the Typhon on the station and their abilities…

The entire area was filled with gold columns, silvery wallpaper for the walls, and a crimson carpet for the flooring. Each step was muffled by the carpet, which made the trek to your room easier. Sunghoon didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until the two of you stepped foot into your room and the door was closed and locked.

Sunghoon let out a breath and steadied himself against the wall, watching you kneel down to the floor by your bed and pull out a laptop. Sunghoon raised his brow, “You hid everything in a laptop?”

You rolled your eyes, typical of Sunghoon to judge something like this, “Would you rather I have just laid all the software and drivers in the open for everyone to see?” You quickly stood from the floor and tossed the laptop onto your desk and walked to the other side of the small room and to a picture frame you had on the wall, “I put everything onto this laptop, copied it into a neuromod and destroyed the rest.” You twisted the picture frame up, revealing a panel. You pressed in the code and the small door swung open, revealing the neuromod.

Now Sunghoon was even more confused, “Why did you transfer the data into a fucking neuromod?” You glared at him as you took the neuromod and closed the safe, letting the picture frame swing back over and covering it. Sunghoon’s curiosity got the best of him, eyes scanning every inch of the photo: it was you with another male, another neurologist, he assumed. You and the male were in lab coats, holding up two of the neuromod guns with massive smiles on your faces. You noticed his eyes were on the photo and followed his gaze to it, thinning your lips to a line and softening your eyes, “He looks like a puppy.”

You let out a breathy laugh and forced yourself to look away from it and take a seat at your desk, “He was known for being Astra 1’s puppy for a reason.”

No matter how hard Sunghoon tried to put the male's face through his memory, nothing came up. He silently cursed to himself and decided he wasn’t going to rack his brain trying to remember. It only made him feel more like shit anyway.

So he stood behind you at your desk, placing his hands onto the back of your chair and leaning forward, being nearly inches away from his chest touching your back, “You going to tell me why you’re using a neuromod to store data that isn’t a living things psyche?”

You held up the neurogun, pressing the trigger and watching the three prongs shoot from the barrel and loving the way Sunghoon flinched from the corner of your eye. He may not remember how painful those things had to have felt being injected into his body and he sure as hell doesn’t want to remember it.

“It was the closest thing to a hard drive to put the data on that wouldn’t draw suspicions, obviously.”

The fuck did this woman get her attitude from?

Sunghoon sighed, “You do remember I’ve had my memory wiped over and over again, right? I don’t know what it is I’ve done to piss you off, but I apologize, okay?”

You swallowed and kept your eyes locked onto the laptop as it booted up, “Everyone thought you were dead.”

Especially me.

And that’s all you left it at and Sunghoon didn’t press it further, digging his nails into the cushion of your chair, “It was a smart idea, transferring the data into a mod.”

You formed a small smile, “I know. I created the mods, to begin with, I know what they can do.”

Sunghoon chuckled and rolled his eyes, his heart once again pulling to you and he unknowingly shifted forward, his chest barely grazing your back. You pulled up the bracelet tracking software and then inserted the prongs into the side of the laptop where the custom holes you created for it. It took a few seconds for it to process open and once it did, the entire list of staff and prisoners rolled up.

His heart nearly stopped and his lips parted at the first two names on the list.

𝖠𝖲𝖳𝖱𝖠 1 𝖤𝖬𝖯𝖫𝖮𝖸𝖤𝖤 𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖢𝖤𝖫𝖤𝖳 # 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖫𝖮𝖢𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭: 𝖢𝖤𝖮: 𝖯𝖠𝖱𝖪 𝖲𝖴𝖭𝖦𝖧𝖮𝖮𝖭: #20021208 𝖲𝖳𝖠𝖳𝖴𝖲/𝖫𝖮𝖢𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭: 𝖴𝖭𝖪𝖭𝖮𝖶𝖭. 𝖫𝖤𝖤 𝖧𝖤𝖤𝖲𝖤𝖴𝖭𝖦: #20011015 𝖲𝖳𝖠𝖳𝖴𝖲/𝖫𝖮𝖢𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭: 𝖴𝖭𝖪𝖭𝖮𝖶𝖭.

Sunghoon’s mouth went dry as he stared at Heeseung’s unknown location, hands trembling against your chair, “You can turn his bracelet on, right?”

You slowly nodded, “Yes,” you turned your face to look at him, seeing how he bit down on his lower lip with a look of desperation on his face. That look…that scared and worried and frustrated look was the same one you had when Sunghoon went missing. To this day you never figured out what happened to his bracelet or where the location of it even is. Nothing worked to turn it back on, meaning it was completely destroyed. It was the whole reason you thought he was dead to begin with, “But I need you to prepare yourself just in case it doesn’t turn on.”

Sunghoon didn’t want to have to prepare himself, didn’t want to even put the thought in his head that his best friend could be long gone, “Please, YN, just…just check.”

You faced back to the laptop and moved the cursor to hover over Heeseung’s tracking number then worked your magic into hacking the software on his bracelet and bypassing the mainframes. You bite down on your tongue, praying once you access the inner parts of it…then…

𝖫𝖤𝖤 𝖧𝖤𝖤𝖲𝖤𝖴𝖭𝖦: #20011015 𝖲𝖳𝖠𝖳𝖴𝖲/𝖫𝖮𝖢𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭: 𝖮𝖭𝖫𝖨𝖭𝖤: 𝖢𝖱𝖤𝖶 𝖰𝖴𝖠𝖱𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖲 𝖫𝖮𝖢𝖪𝖤𝖱 𝖱𝖮𝖮𝖬.

The gasp of relief escaped his mouth as he flung his head down and to the side, resting his forehead against your temple, “You found him.”

You stiffened, opening your mouth to speak but shutting it closed. You couldn’t bring yourself to bring his hopes down that there was still a possibility that…

So you gently shoved him away and stood up, “Let’s go check out the locker room and see what we find.”’

Sunghoon could see it written on your face on what you’re thinking, but he still had that hope regardless. His best friend could be alive. So he hoisted his shotgun up and followed you out of the room.

Leading the way to the locker room was a short trip across the crew quarters, passing a set of stairs off to your left. Sunghoon’s footsteps fell quietly behind you, turning around to see him staring up at the stairs and to the doors.

“Sunghoon?” you whispered to him. He slowly just looks back at you. How can he tell you something is drawing him up those stairs? Beckoning him? He chose to fall right back into step behind you. He needs to find Heeseung first.

The main door to the locker rooms split off into the women’s going to the right, and men’s towards the left. You point your finger to the left, telling him that is the direction of Heeseung’s bracelet. With a deep breath, Sunghoon stepped through the door frame, shotgun pointing forward as he carefully walked in.

The locker room was dark with one singular light flickering in the middle. A small droplet of water dripped down from a broken sink, echoing the room along with a sound of…heavy breathing?

Sunghoon’s heart pounded, walking faster past each row of lockers until reaching the end, seeing another person hunched over on the floor, their hands tangled into their hair on the back of the head. Mumbles escaped their lips as their entire body shuddered.

“Heeseung?” Sunghoon whispered, lowering his weapon and reaching a hand out toward the male, “Hee?”

Before Sunghoon could even touch the man, he quickly whipped around eyes wide and tears streaming down his face, “H-help me,” he mumbled. Sunghoon immediately recognized the male. Astra 1’s puppy.

“Jake!” you whispered, trying to rush to your best friend but Sunghoon stopped you. His arm wrapped around your waist and yanked you back, “Let go!” you quickly snapped.

“Something ain’t right!” he snapped back, lifting the shotgun and keeping it pointed at Jake, “Look at him!”’

So you did, seeing the way Jake’s body twisted and twitched. How his eyes were red and pupils were blown.

“YN,” Jake cried, his aura changing as he stood up, his fingers gripping to the bench in front of him as if to stop him from fully standing, “Get out of here,” he begged, pleading with you both with his eyes, “Now.”’

Your fingers gripped into Sunghoon’s suit, “Jake…”’

“He’s under mind control,” Sunghoon glanced away from Jake and to the floor, “A telepath is around here.”

As if it was beckoning him, Sunghoon glanced back up at Jake and to his wrists, seeing two tracking brackets. One look was all it took for Sunghoon to realize one of them belonged to his best friend.

“Why do you have Heeseung’s bracelet?!” Sunghoon snapped and all Jake replied with was a hushed breath, begging once again for them to leave.

“It knows you’re here,” Jake cried, still trying to fight the mind control, “You need to—“ and then his body stopped twitching, arms falling to his sides and head falling forward just to slowly lift a bit, eyes beating up at the two of you, the corner of his lip twitched and one more tear fell down his face, “Kill me. Please.”’

Not a second passed after those words and Jake was rushing forward. Sunghoon quickly flung you behind him, both hands gripping the shotgun, “Jake!!” he shouted, rushing backward as quickly as he could to stay out of the male's grasp. Who knew what would happen if he got ahold of either of you, mostly with a telepath somewhere in hiding.

“KILL ME!” Jake was screaming now, his movements getting faster but his eyes stayed begging. Sunghoon couldn’t do it. How could he end another human's life? He clearly worked alongside this man before his memory was wiped. He couldn’t do it, “Dr. Park! Please!”

I can’t do this. I can’t do it. I can’t do it.

But you could.

The realization hit you all too late that:

You left your shotgun back in your room.

Jake was going to die anyway.

The Telepath wasn’t going to allow Jake to live much longer, and by how red his eyes were…Jake was already crossing that thin line between life and death.

So with tears in your eyes, you snatched Sunghoon’s weapon, pointed it directly at your best friend, and whispered, “I’m so sorry, Jakey,” and you pulled the trigger. You could have sworn you saw a glint sparkling in those red eyes as his body went limp and fell to the floor, his blood pooling around him.

Sunghoon immediately twisted you around and pressed your body against his, shielding you away from what you just had done, wrapping his arms so tightly against your frame. But it was too late. The image of the hole you just put between the eyes of your best friend’s head was stapled to your brain.

Jake was dead. You murdered him.

Your body shook as the tears kept flooding out. Sunghoon’s grip on you becomes tighter and one hand connects to the back of your head, “YN…” It was all he could say. Nothing but your name leaving his lips. No words would make this right or what you did to fade off into existence.

You pulled yourself away from Sunghoon, staring deeply into his eyes, seeing the same hurt staring back at you. Seeing how he also was accepting the painful truth: His best friend more than likely is also dead.

A scream then erupted deep within the locker room. Multiple sounds of footsteps echoing and rushing.

Your eyes widened, “The telepath is sending everyone it has control over to us!”

You needed to get out of here and fast. Without so much as another thought, Sunghoon’s hand was wrapped in yours and leading you out of the locker room. You both were barely out and back into the brightness of the crew quarters just to be met with multiple humans under the control rushing towards you from almost every direction.

Those stairs.

Sunghoon kept his grip on your hand tight and ran, “We need to get to those stairs!” You knew where those stairs led and knew the safety they held. Rushing Sunghoon to run faster.

He took two steps at a time, eyes locking onto the first door he saw, barely catching the nameplate.

DR. LEE HEESEUNG.

The screams and shouts from the mind control humans were gaining on them, Sunghoon fumbling with the door and noticing…”IT’S FUCKING LOCKED!!”

You quickly reached around him, typed the code in, and shoved the door open, “FUCKING MOVE!!” you yelled, shoving him inside and relocking the door behind you.

You both sat on opposite walls of each other, heads resting on the wall and lips between your teeth to keep any sound from escaping. The sounds of the mind-controlled more than likely drew in every type of Typhon in the area or nearby in this direction. And now it was a waiting game.

How much time has passed? Thirty minutes? An hour? Sunghoon couldn’t be so sure. And it wasn’t until the echoing of the mind-controlled started to fade that either of you felt brave enough to move. You unlocked the door and barely slid it open, peeking your head out just enough to see not a soul walking the area. Nor human or Typhon. You quickly closed the door and relocked it, slowly turning to Sunghoon.

He stood by the nightstand table, a photo frame of himself and Heeseung as children sat atop it. You wanted to speak but didn’t have a clue what to say. He just found out his best friend is more than likely dead. What words could be said at this moment?

“Do you have any idea as to why Jake had Heeseung’s bracelet?”

His words cut like ice and you had to remind yourself he was hurting, “No, I didn’t,” you swallowed and stood a few steps towards him, “I didn’t even know Jake was still alive.”

Which was true. After the second outbreak, every employee and crew mate kind of just…went where they could. You’ve tried tracking down Jake’s bracelet too, it showed movement for a couple of days until it eventually stopped. You assumed he was dead, and left the safety of your room knowing damn well the moment you left the crew quarters you’d not be able to return without your lost key.

Sunghoon slowly set the photo frame face down and let out a painful exhale. It broke you seeing him like this, “Sunghoon…” You walked behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist, and rested your head against his back, “I am so sorry.”

He tilted his head up and quickly blinked away the tears that were forming. Heeseung was gone. He lost his best friend. Your sniffles brought Sunghoon back to reality and quickly twisted himself around to hold you to him, “Hey,” he whispered, pressing your face to his shoulder, “It’s okay,” he knew it wasn’t okay, that it wouldn’t ever be. Not after what you had to do.

You pushed yourself from him and rubbed your eyes with the back of your gloved hands, “Let’s just search this room while we are here. Maybe you can find clues or something.” You weren’t sure what exactly you’d find here, but all you could hope for was Sunghoon finding some sort of peace.

So you both got to looking, finding pretty much nothing outside the ordinary. A bunch of neurology books and records of patients are on the bookshelves. Any photo on the wall didn’t have any hidden compartment like yours did. Nothing under the bed or table. The last place to look was his desk.

Sunghoon sat down at the desk, staring at the login screen on the monitor. His fingers hovered over the keyboard and his lips trembled. It angered him how he couldn’t for the life of him remember what Heeseung could possibly use as his password.

You noticed this, reaching over his shoulders and typing in the password, and hitting enter. Sunghoon quickly wiped his head to you, “How do you know Heeseung’s password? You knew the one for the door too.”’

You didn’t know how to answer this but went with, “It’s kind of important to know all the passkeys around here,” you looked away from him and towards the monitor, “Mostly after the outbreak and over half the crew is either dead or missing.”

“How, YN.”

How could you tell him?

Sunghoon shook his head and turned back to the monitor, deciding to dismiss the conversation and search through Heeseung’s computer. He was thankful for you and for you knowing every password. He might finally get more answers about Heeseung.

And thank whatever god was listening that Sunghoon seemed to know how to navigate this computer, being it’s the same exact software back at the company building on Earth.

There too, was nothing out of the ordinary on the computer so far. Just records of patients and some notes on neuromods and the prisoners and Typhon. Nothing that stood out. Until Sunghoon came across a folder that was clearly out of place, “What the fuck…” he mumbles, clicking the folder and a bunch of videos popping up.

“He made video vlogs?” you question, leaning further over Sunghoon’s shoulder, “Was he the type to make vlogs?”

Sunghoon shook his head, “I’ve never seen him make one.”

You looked at the dates on the videos, seeing they started back on the opening day of the station, “Scroll to the bottom,” Sunghoon listened and stopped at the bottom. Your lips parted at the dates of the last three videos, “Those are the dates of before you went missing and a month after.”

That’s all it took for Sunghoon to click the first video.

The video started with Heeseung adjusting the camera with a goofy look of concentration on his face, Sunghoon couldn’t help but chuckle. “So,” he started, sitting back in his chair, “Sunghoon had another outburst today,” Heeseung rubbed his hands against his eyes, Sunghoon took notice of the bracelet on his wrist, his tracking bracelet, “I tried to convince them to shut the trials down. That we needed more time to research this. But those damn scientists act like they know MORE than me as if I didn’t slave my life away to get my degree,” he sighed and dropped his hands into his lap, eyes wandering to the door, “They won’t let me see Sunghoon. Completely closed off the area to the labs and denied my key access to getting in.” Heeseung locked his jaw and looked back into the camera, “As if I’m not their BOSS and sign their fucking paychecks every two weeks. Fuck’em!” There was a knock at his door and he stood from the chair, the sounds of a door opening and closing echoed, and then Heeseung dropped himself back into the chair with Jake appearing behind him.

Your heart nearly stopped, what was Jake doing there?

Jake raised his brows at the camera, “Bro, you vlog?” Heeseung slapped Jake’s chest, both of them smiling wide, “Fuck off! It’s just a way to keep records and to talk.” Jake chuckled, “You know we have a therapist on the station right?” The two males ruffled around, “Anyway!” Heeseung said with one last shove of Jake, “Did you bring what I asked?” Jake frowned, “Yes, but I don’t think this is a good idea.” Heeseung stared at the camera, “Lemme see it.” Jake sighed and moved off to the side of the desk and then came back into the frame. Both your and Sunghoon’s hearts dropped. A neuromod was in Jake’s hand.

Sunghoon quickly looked at you, seeing the same shock he had written all over your face, “Jakey,” you whispered, “What did you do.”

Heeseung took the neuromod from Jake and examined it in his hands, “Thank you. And it has exactly what I asked for?” Jake nodded, biting at the skin on his lips, “Hee, maybe we need to rethink this. You’ve seen what these things have done to Sunghoon.” Heeseung didn’t take his eyes off the mod, clicking the trigger and watching the pongs push out, “We won’t get the results we want if Sunghoon is the only one sacrificing himself every single day!” he looked up at Jake, “I have a theory, and if this works we can recover the memories those asshats keep stripping from Sunghoon. It’s probably why he keeps having outbursts.” Jake’s eyes glanced at the camera, “And what does YN think about this?”

Your body went cold at your name being mentioned and you didn’t miss how Sunghoon’s hand on the mouse twitched at your name being said too.

Heeseung swallowed and looked down at his lap, “She doesn’t know. And we won’t tell her.” Jake shook his head, “You can’t keep this from her!” Jake slapped his fist into the desk, the aggression not affecting Heeseung one bit, “She has a right! Mostly if it affects Sunghoon!” Heeseung lifted his eyes up to the camera, “We aren’t telling her, and that’s final.” Jake looked to the other side of the room, “Fine. But if shit goes south I WILL tell her.” Heeseung nodded, “I have another request of you before you leave,” Jake tilted his head, clearly waiting for his instructions, “I’m going to disable my bracelet. I need you to dispose of it.” By the look on Jake’s face, he disagreed, “Heeseung—“ Heeseung didn’t wait for Jake to finish, “I need to be able to walk freely without them on my fucking ass. Please.” Jake nodded but clearly didn’t like it. The males worked together to get the bracelet off and disable it from the other side. Once it was finished, Jake shoved the bracelet into his pocket, “I need to go, they are fixing to prepare a phantom for a trial, I need to be there.” Heeseung nodded, and without another word, Jake left. Heeseung pulled himself closer to the desk, “I’m praying this works, and if it does…” He swallowed, “I can save my best friend and shut this shit down.” Heeseung lifted the neuromod up, facing the pongs towards his right eye, “Here goes nothing.”

You barely were able to look away in time of Heeseung shoving the pongs into his eye socket. But Sunghoon kept his eyes glued to the screen, watching his friend torture himself and letting out screams of pain as a small stream of blood ran from the socket. Listening to the video was bad enough, you could only imagine what Sunghoon was currently thinking.

Heeseung yanked the pongs from his eye and closed it tightly and reaching for a towel that sat at the corner of his bed and pressed it to his eye, “Fuck that hurts!” he said through gritted teeth, “How the fuck does Sunghoon do this?” Heeseung then opened his drawer to the desk and tossed the neuromod inside, slamming it shut.

Sunghoon was quick to reach his hand over to the handle of the drawer and fling it open. His heart dropped at what he found: multiple neuromods with their pongs out sitting in the drawer. Sunghoon counted over twelve.

Heeseung…what the fuck did you do?!

Heeseung stared into the camera, reaching his free hand up and grasping it, “Godspeed.” Then the screen went black.

Sunghoon quickly exited out of the video and clicked the second one.

Heeseung once again was sitting at the desk, his favorite black Prada tee shirt was stained, and Sunghoon assumed it was stained with blood. Heeseung lifted his eyes up to the camera, his right eye slightly red, “I’ve used about…six? Yeah six neuromods so far,” he leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk, “This phantom's psyche that I have consistently shoved into my eye socket…it’s a smart one. I can hear its voice. It showed me its past memories,” Heeseung leaned back into the chair and lifted up his right arm, “It has even granted me its gifts,” Then his arm shifted, turning from a normal human arm into one of a phantom’s, turning the color of the shiny black and twisting and pulsating. Heeseung was unfazed as he looked down at his arm and then returned it back to normal. “The phantom has even accessed parts of my memory that I have forgotten. This will work, or would have worked,” He dropped his arm into his lap, “There’s been an outbreak, two actually. The first was contained, the second…” He swallowed, “I need to get to Sunghoon. Fast. The scientists abandoned him down in the labs but the Typhon got to them before they could escape, trapping them inside.” Heeseung licked at the side of his lips, “Before the first outbreak, Sunghoon left a video message for himself and I helped him set everything up…it…it was the last time I was allowed to see him before the final trial they put him through. I need to get to Nov and see if we can’t hack into the doors and get them open so I can get Hoon out. The only problem is the Typhon running around. I’ll have to sneak around.” Heeseung pushed himself away from the desk and grabbed a briefcase, “Jake, if you see this video at any point, I am sorry. I stole more neuromods without you knowing,” he set down the briefcase, “YN, if you see this, I apologize for failing and breaking our promise of keeping Sunghoon safe. I don't know where you are on this station, but I pray to whatever god is listening that you use all the passkeys I’ve given you to get off this damned ship and take Jake with you.”

You clenched your gloved hands onto the part of your suit at your pant leg, eyes glancing down at Sunghoon, “He gave you all the passwords?” Sunghoon felt more confused than he did before.

“Also, YN, I’m the one who stole your keycard, they disabled mine again after you helped me re-enable it. So I took it to use and blamed Jay for it, it just happened to be a silly act of fate that he ended up taking it from me before being put back behind bars.” You bit at your lip and looked away from the screen, “Lastly Sunghoon, I am so sorry man, for letting you go through these trials. For not trying hard enough to stop them. I know I said all this when I saw you last, but I am truly so fucking sorry.” Tears fell down his best friend's face but quickly brushed them off, “I will get you out of that lab. I need to get to your office and reboot Nov.” The video ended there.

Sunghoon didn’t miss a beat when clicking the last video. Heeseung was now in the trauma center, his right eye bloodshot red and his dark hair dripping with sweat, “I failed,” were the first words he said, his red space suit he was now wearing was torn, his nametag barely legible, “The Typhon…the phantom…in my brain…it’s taking control.” Heeseung dropped his head into his palms, “I tried to control it, thinking if I stayed in control and reminded it whose body it’s in that it would listen but…” Heeseung dropped his hands, parts of his face spotting the Typhon’s skin, his left eye completely turning from its brown to dark purple, “I can’t control it. We made a mistake using these creatures.” Heeseung glances at the door, “I hacked into a turret and used the last neuromod I had to give it the phantom’s DNA…MY DNA…” He swallows, “The phantom will take over my mind and body. I can’t take any chances.” Tears fell down Heeseung’s face and this time he didn’t stop them, “Sunghoon…I’m sorry. If you wake up…I sent Nov to leave notes that you wrote for yourself and had him drop them off around the station. I reprogrammed his system to only tell you the important details then erased his memory of seeing me. It’s what is for the best…mostly since…I won’t exist much longer.”

Sunghoon’s hands were trembling…the phantom in the trauma center… it was Heeseung. That’s why Sunghoon felt so compelled to go there. The trials Sunghoon underwent were the Typhon’s psyche being placed and removed over and over again, it all made sense why he was able to hear the Typhon speak to him. Why he could hear Jay. Sunghoon still had a bit of their psyche left in his brain.

“I will send this vlog to my computer and pray you find it, Sunghoon. I love you man…so much, thank you for growing up with me. For being my best friend and brother. See you on the other side.”

Sunghoon shook his head, “No…” Heeseung’s features slowly started to shift and then the video ended. His best friend was gone. Forever.

Sunghoon slowly stood from the chair and pulled you into his arms. His whole body was shaking, “We need to get off this station.”

You nodded into his shoulder, “We need to survive, for Jake and Heeseung.”

Once Sunghoon stopped shaking, you convinced him to go to the escape pods and make sure the other survivors got on and left so you both could go to the power plant and shut this station once and for all. For Jake. For Heeseung. And for all the innocent people who lost their lives working on this damned station.

He followed you out of Heeseung’s room, watching carefully as you started to walk away, but stopped and turned to him, “What’s wrong?”

Sunghoon turned and looked at the door beside Heeseung’s, DR. PARK SUNGHOON was written on the door plate, “I want to see what’s in my room.” Sunghoon obviously had more questions and more curiosity about the memories that were taken from him. Maybe he left vlogs like Heeseung did. Maybe there are records of all that happened to him. Literally anything.

“Sunghoon—“

“YN, please.”

You slowly walked past him and stopped in front of the door, fingers trembling as you typed his passcode into the panel, the click of the door stopping your heart. You stepped to the side, letting Sunghoon be the one to walk inside first.

With a deep breath, Sunghoon pushed the door open and walked in, you following behind and closing the door behind you, resting your body against the door. The first thing he noticed was the workbench in the corner, pieces of what seemed to be the same material that Nov was made out of, along with a broken neuromod. This is where he created Nov. He walked to the middle of the room and looked at his bed and then the nightstand, seeing a photo frame sitting there. He furrowed his brows as he picked it up. Sunghoon stood in the middle of the photo, Heeseung was to his right, you to his left along with Jake at your left. Each of you was holding up a red solo cup and the background looked like what seemed to be a bar area on the station, “We were all friends, weren’t we?” You stayed silent, watching him with saddened eyes. Sunghoon noticed how close you were standing next to him, how his arm was wrapped around you, and the way you leaned into him.

He set the photo down and looked at his computer desk, more photos sat by the monitors and even hung on the walls above them. Sunghoon slowly walked over, his heart pounding at the images. There were some of him and Heeseung. A few of him and Jake. But most of them consisted of you. You and him. Sunghoon traced his eyes over each photo, seeing all the memories he lost. Each photo of you and him held so much…love. The way he kissed your cheek in one photo. The way he held you to his chest in his bed in the other. The way you held your hands in his. One of the two of you in your lab coats and doing a silly pose. And then the last one…was just of your hands…matching rings placed on both your middle fingers.

Sunghoon placed his fingers over his gloved hand, feeling the metal still there. He looked over to you, “We were together, weren’t we?”

You mimicked his motion, and felt for the matching ring that sat on your middle finger, “We were, yes,” you blinked away the tears that formed and weakly smiled, “You told me you wanted to marry me the minute we landed back on Earth,” you looked down at your gloved hand, “So you made these matching rings as a promise that you’d switch it over to the right finger once our feet touched the ground.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sunghoon took a step towards you, afraid he’d overstep if he got too close.

You met his eyes, “I thought you were dead. How could I tell the person I love that we were in a relationship without confusing him further after finding out all you have in this short time?” you broke eye contact again, looking to the floor, “It took everything in me to not rush to you when you appeared down in the greenhouse. I had to remind myself what was done to you. I wanted…”

Sunghoon rushed to you, cupping your face between his hands and forcing you to look up at him, “I’ve felt this pull towards you since I laid my eyes on you,” tears now swelled in his eyes, “And I fucking hate myself for forgetting someone so important to me.”

Sunghoon couldn’t explain it, but he knew he loved you. Even with all the memories stripped from him. He could feel the love you had for him radiating and knew that same amount of love resided within him too.

Tears filled your eyes now too as you stared deeply into his, “Shhh,” he whispered, wiping his thumb against your eye, “I am right here, baby.”

“I thought you were dead,” you couldn’t stop the tears from falling now, “I thought I lost you, I—“

Sunghoon pressed his body against yours, “I am right here, shhh baby, don’t cry I am right here.” Without hesitation, he crashed his lips to yours, sliding his hands down to your waist, “I am right here.”

Three months. Three long months without him. With thinking he no longer existed in this world. Without touching him. You didn’t know what came over you, but you took advantage of this moment. Deepening the kiss and pulling him as close as possible against you. Sunghoon couldn’t get enough of you, every ounce of love poured out of him at this moment. His hands slid back up your body and gripped at the zipper of your suit at the same time as your fingers fumbled with his zipper, both of you pulling it down. You reached your hands into the suit at his shoulders and slid your hands down across his white tank top, the leather of the suit at your fingertips sending chills down his spine and oh god he couldn’t wait to actually feel your skin against his.

You pulled the suit down his shoulders and arms, him pulling leather off his arms and dropping it at his waist, hands flying back to your now exposed waist and sliding them up, groaning at how your skin felt against his skin. His hands kept moving up, cupping your clothed breasts before pushing them up to your shoulders and pulling your suit off to expose your blue tank top and bare arms. Once it pooled at your hips, Sunghoon pressed himself further against you, taking in the feeling of you. He wanted more. Needed more.

He grabbed your hands and placed them on his chest, moving them down his torso and stopping at the ends of his tank. You took care of the rest. Looping your fingers underneath the fabric and sliding your hands back up, grazing your fingers over his toned body as you dragged the tank up and over his head, disposing of it somewhere in the room.

Sunghoon was losing his mind at your touch. Cursing himself more and more for forgetting the taste of you. For forgetting how perfectly your body connected with his. For forgetting you.

You pulled the rest of his suit down, leaving him now in nothing but his boxers. You fought with the rest of your suit, Sunghoon’s hands making quick work to pull you off the wall and shoving the suit down and pressing you back against the wall, hands now removing your tank and bra then looping his fingers at your panties and removing them, leaving you completely bare to him.

He tucked your lip between his teeth and pulled, loving the gasp of pleasure that escaped out your mouth, rubbing his clothed cock against your folds, “Let me have you,” he said after releasing your lip, his thumbs tucking into his boxers, “Baby, I want to feel you.”

And oh god you needed to feel him. Your eager hands pulled down his boxers for him then placed your hands on his shoulder and lifted one leg up to his hip and did a small jump, Sunghoon catching you and wrapping your legs tightly around his waist, his tip prodding your entrance.

Sunghoon stared deeply into your eyes as he lowered you down, his cock stretching you perfectly. You threw your head back against the wall, relishing in the pure bliss of feeling him deep inside you again after so long. Sunghoon might not remember the first time he’s fucked you, but he won’t forget this time. He’s going to fuck you to the point the memory and your sounds get burned into his brain.

He pressed you harder against the wall, snapping his hips at a primal rate against your skin. He connected his lips back to yours, tongue licking at the inside of your mouth, not leaving a single inch of it untouched. Your hands slid from his shoulder and up to the back of his head, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling. Sunghoon released his mouth from yours to moan at the grip you had on his hair, relishing in the sensation of each tuck you made, “Fuckkkk,” he lowered his head into your neck, “You really know how to work my body.”

You tilted your head at the touch of his lips to your neck and hissing as his teeth took your skin into his mouth and sucked, “And you haven’t forgotten how to work mine.”

Sunghoon licked at the now purple mark on your neck, loving how good you tasted on his tongue. His breathing became uneven as he lost himself to the pleasure your cunt gave him, hips stuttering. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer, not with how tight you hugged his cock.

“Baby,” he moans against your neck, “I’m not going to last much longer,” you felt his cock twitch and his hold on you becoming loose.

Without another word, you went from being pressed to the wall to being pressed to his bed. Your legs are now being moved from his waist to over his shoulders, your thighs pressing against your chest.

“Ughhh fucccckkkkk,” he groans, flinging his head back at how much deeper he is now inside you in this new position. His cock kissed your cervix with each thrust he made. You also weren’t going to last very long, not with how he fucked into you.

“Hoonie,” you whine, digging your nails into his back, “I’m cumming,”

“Shit baby, me too.”

You latched your lips onto his shoulder and bit down as your orgasm flooded out, coating his cock with your juices. He hissed at how much harder you bit down, making him see stars with the final thrust, his seed painting your gummy walls.

But he couldn’t stop moving, wanting to relish in the feeling of you as much as possible, even if it was overstimulating you both, “I love you,” he whined, finally dropping his weight on top of you, lips pressing to your temple, “I love you.”

You slid your hands down his biceps, eyes looking at the ring on your middle finger and tears swelled your eyes once more, “I love you too, please don’t ever forget that.”

Sunghoon rested his forehead against yours, “I won’t baby. I won’t ever forget again.”

You weren’t sure exactly how much time had passed, but you also didn’t seem to care. Not when there was so much lost time to make up between you and Sunghoon.

Mostly not caring because of the way Sunghoon had flipped you over not even twenty minutes after the first round and had your face pressed into the pillows and pounding into you from behind.

Sunghoon couldn’t help it. His love for you was pouring out and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The way you felt wrapped around him exceeded every ounce of pleasure he could have imagined. He just wanted to love on you in every way possible, and right now that was fucking you like tomorrow wasn’t promised.

Both of you were cased in sweat mixed with both your legs sticky from the number of times he’d made you cum alongside him. Even once you both finally got out of bed and into the shower to clean yourselves off, Sunghoon had your back pressed to the cool tile wall. Rocking his hips against yours slowly as his hands explored every inch of your body and his mouth brushed on yours with soft moans escaping his lips.

It took a lot of you convincing him after cumming once again that there was still work to be done and to finally clean up. He pouted but nevertheless listened to you.

With both your suits now zipped back and weapons in hand, it was time to move forward.

“Next stop is the power plant?” Sunghoon asked, closing the door to his room behind him, taking one last long look at Heeseung’s door as you both walked past.

You turned and looked at him, seeing the sadness back in his eyes, “We’ll send the survivors out on the escape pods first and get them off this station. Then the next stop is the power plant.”

Sunghoon nodded, finally drifting his eyes off his best friend's door, and placed his hand on your lower back, fingers slightly digging into the fabric of your suit, “Let’s get going then.”

The walk to the bridge was quiet, only encountering a few mimics which was nothing either of you couldn’t handle. Sunghoon followed close behind you as you guided him back through the Arboretum and into an elevator taking you up. Sunghoon silently thanked whoever designed this station because this elevator had the perfect view of space as you ascended up. His lips slightly parted, completely blown away by how beautiful space truly was.

You noticed how in awe he was, “The first time I ever saw you,” you started, gaining Sunghoon’s attention. You smiled and looked away from him, letting your eyes trace the stars, “You and Heeseung were looking at live photos of space back in the company building. You had that exact same look on your face.”

You turned to face him once again, moving to stand right beside him, and as if on instinct, he reached his arm out to wrap around your waist and pull you close, his lips making purchase on the crown of your head, “What about when I first saw you?”

You looked up at him, “You were an asshole when we first met.”

Sunghoon chuckled, looking back out into the infinite space, “Sounds about right.”

You hugged him close, “It didn’t take me long to get you to warm up to me once we boarded Astra 1.” You smiled at the memory, feeling like it just happened yesterday when it was a little over a year ago, “I just had to separate you from Heeseung first.”

Another chuckle left his lips, “He was my best friend, we were practically attached at the hip.”

You traced your gloved finger over the line of his jaw, “Trust me, I know.” You stood on your tippy toes and planted a kiss on his cheek, “You both were a package deal, just like Jake and I were.”

Sunghoon tried to act like the word were wasn’t affecting him. How could he just get used to saying it in a past-tense way? He was pulled from his thoughts as the elevator windows finally got covered by parts of the station and came to a stop, the doors slowly opening.

The hallway was dark, immediately forcing Sunghoon to quip both hands onto the shotgun, eyes double-checking that his handy wrench was still attached to his belt. Sunghoon slowly stepped off the elevator, eyes darting straight ahead, “Stay close to me, YN.” You stayed on his heels as you both trekked down the hall, a set of stairs going up, which he assumed was the bridge, and another going down, which he also assumed was the escape pods. And sure enough, he was right as a sign came into view pointing him in the direction he needed, heading directly down the stairs.

As you both gained closer to the door, the voices of the survivors echoed into the hall softly. Once Sunghoon pushed the door open, all eyes were locked on him and you, especially Jay’s.

𝚃𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚢��𝚞 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑.

Sunghoon scowled at Jay, “We had important things to deal with!”

Jay eyed Sunghoon up and down.

𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝.

Sunghoon cocked his head to the side and stuck his tongue into his cheek.

𝙺𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.

Jay clenched his fists, “Try me, Dr. Park.”

Sunghoon lifted the shotgun, parting the sea of people between him and Jay, “I will blow your brains out along with this goddamn station! Shut your fucking mouth!”

You rushed to him, gripping the barrel of the gun and pushing it down, “Sunghoon, that’s enough. Same to you Jay!”

Both men scoffed but backed down.

“Get in the pods,” Sunghoon finally spoke back up after a few minutes of silence, “Now.” Sunghoon instructed to keep the first pod free, wanting to have it as easy access once the station was set to explode and make it an easier escape for you and him.

One by one, each survivor piled into the pods, and one by one, Sunghoon closed the hatch and sent the pods out. The final pod to prepare was Jay’s along with the remaining survivors. Sunghoon set the pod to be launched, taking one final look inside at Jay.

“Tell your sister hi for me, ya?”

Jay stood to his feet, “You son of a b—“ he was cut off by the pod's door closing and the hatch covering the pod before sending it out.

You rolled your eyes, “Did you have to piss him off?”

Sunghoon shrugged, placing his hand at your hip and moving you back towards the entrance, “He just irritates me.”

You sigh, “Yeah, he irritated you even before your memory was wiped.”

Which didn't surprise him at all.

He shrugged again, “Let’s just go blow this motherfucker up, ya?”

The descent to the bottom of the station was short but nerve-racking. Sunghoon couldn’t shake off the feeling that something very bad was lurking around. He couldn’t describe it, the eerie feeling he got once the elevator arrived at the power plant. It shook him to the core.

“We’d have to override the system,” you said stepping out of the elevator, “It won’t be hard, but once it’s activated we’ll need to run—“

“Shh!” he quickly hushed, pointing his index finger to his lips, “Something doesn’t feel right.”

You wanted to question him but stopped yourself after seeing the terrified look on his face. You’ve never seen him so scared, or ever scared at all. Something has to be wrong.

You looked around the power plant, trying to find what Sunghoon was so desperately trying to find. The air grew thick as you too, couldn’t shake off the feeling that something bad was lurking down here. And unfortunately, there were only two ways to go: either back up the elevator, or pass all this machinery and into the next room where you’d need to be heading anyway.

Reaching out for his arm, you pulled him towards the office room to overrate the system, trying to be as quiet as possible.

𐌉 𐋅𐌀ᕓ𐌄 𐌅o𐌵𐌍𐌃 𐌙o𐌵, 𐌌𐌙 𐌐𐌓𐌄𐌙.

A loud screech filled the room, forcing you and Sunghoon down to your knees and cupping your ears. Sunghoon being more affected than you as his voice almost matches the same pitch of the screech with his own screams. His throat went dry and his voice hoarse as his screams no longer erupted from his mouth.

The screech stopped and something compelled Sunghoon to slowly turn his head, eyes widening.

“What the fuck is that?!” He yelled, his whole body shaking and not being able to move.

You crawled over to him and got to your feet, shoving your hands under his arms and forcing his trembling body up anyway, “A fucking nightmare! RUN!”

The nightmare was the same height as the ceiling, his head barely scraping its surface. The thing had to be pushing eighteen—twenty feet. It looked exactly like a normal phantom, but huge.

Sunghoon tried to reach for his shotgun, but you pulled him away all too quickly, “Leave it!” you screamed over the nightmare echoing out its screech but on a lower pitch, “That gun won’t do nothing for you!”

So you both ran. The nightmare taking one step compared to your multiple, its arms reaching down, ready to grab you both.

Almost there. Almost there. Just a few more steps. ALMOST THERE!!

And bless whatever idiot that was down here last and left the door unlocked, making the escape into the room easier. Once you both were in, you locked the door and hurried to the computer monitors, pressing your fingers away at the keys.

Sunghoon dropped to the floor and hung his head low. He felt like he was going to be sick. This was it. It’s all over.

The nightmare clawed at the wall and door, its screeches barely being muffled.

“What…” Sunghoon swallowed, “What is that monster?”

You kept your eyes locked into the monitor, “A nightmare, its sole purpose is to hunt its prey. It’s unknown how it was created or what even created it,” You looked back at him, then faced the monitor again, “Get up! I need your help!”

Sunghoon couldn’t move no matter how badly he wanted to.

𐌔𐌵𐌍Ᏽ𐋅oo𐌍. 𐌋𐌄𐌕 𐌌𐌄 𐌉𐌍.

He cupped his hands over his ears, “It knows my name.”

You whip back around to him, “Sunghoon!” You snapped at him, his eyes locking with yours, “Please help me!”

It took every ounce of strength for him to move, “What do you need me to do?”

You pointed over to the panel, “Once I finish overriding the system, you’ll need to flip those three switches back to back. An alarm will sound off and it’ll push the nightmare away and off to somewhere else on the station or hopefully off it. It’ll also start the countdown until this place goes up in flames.”

Sunghoon nodded, shaking his head and focusing on the switches in front of him.

𐌔𐌵𐌍Ᏽ𐋅oo𐌍. 𐌋𐌄𐌕 𐌌𐌄 𐌉𐌍.

“SHUT UP!” He screamed, clenching his fists against the counter, “GET OUT OF MY HEAD!”

Those words alone were enough to prove your suspicions true: Sunghoon still had a neuromod attached to his brain. It made so much more sense on his reactions each time you’ve encountered a Typhon and even Jay. This was a matter to take care of once back on Earth.

You kept your fingers moving until finally the override was completed, “Sunghoon! Now!”

He flipped the switches and the alarm sounded not a second afterward. The nightmare let out a pained screech then everything went silent besides the alarm.

“Come on,” you pulled on his arm, “We have fifteen minutes to get back to the escape pods.”

But Sunghoon wouldn’t budge, “How does it know my name?”

You swallowed, gripping your fingers tighter around his arm, “This isn’t the first time you’ve met it.”

That’s all he wanted to know. All he needed to know. You could see it was all the information he wanted, so you pulled at him once again, his hand now reaching for yours and leading you to the door, “Let's get the fuck off this station.”

Fifteen minutes. That’s all the time you both were given to make it from the bottom of the station to the top. It took five minutes for the elevator to reach the bridge. Three minutes to rush out of the elevator and to the escape pods.

Seven minutes remain.

The minute Sunghoon whipped around the corner to the pods, his hands got to work on the panel. Trying to work as quickly as possible to start up the pod.

But something wasn’t right.

Error code. After error code. After error code.

Your eyes widened at the realization: this escape pod has been tampered with.

Six minutes remain.

“FUCK!” Sunghoon slammed his fist against the wall and then rushed his hands through his hair, stepping back from the panel and squeezing his eyes. After ruffling his hair, he rushed back to the panel, once again trying to set up the pod.

“Sunghoon,” you touched his shoulder, “If we run fast enough we can make it to the shuttle bay and escape on one of the ships.”

Five minutes remain.

“We don’t have time!” he snapped, continuing to try and bypass the error codes, only for one last message to pop up on the screen before shit hit the fan:

ꜰᴜᴄᴋ ʏᴏᴜ — ᴊ.

Sunghoon gritted his teeth. He knew he couldn’t trust Jay. Knew nothing good came from that man. Sunghoon should have held him as a hostage until this point. You looked down to the metal floor.

“We need to—“

Just then the escape pod launched. Both your helmets automatically clipped over your heads to protect you from the infinite space. The panel door not closing after the pod launch.

Time seemed to have slowed for Sunghoon, seeing you get pulled outside of the station along with him. He managed to grip a hold of a safety bar with one hand, and gripping the strap of your suit's belt with the other.

Warning signs flashed on the hud of your helmets, warning about the lack of air and safety.

You tried to remain calm as you gripped your hands onto Sunghoon’s arm, trying and failing to keep your tears at bay. You were terrified. And so was Sunghoon.

“Keep a hold of me, YN!” he shouted, trying to use all his strength to pull himself back into the station, “I got you baby, don’t let go!”

Sunghoon pulled himself close enough to plant one foot back onto the station, his foot then slipping and grip tightening on the bar.

Don’t let go of her. Don’t let go of her.

You stared through watery eyes at your lover, watching as he struggled to pull the weight of both of you. You both were going to die here if he couldn’t pull you both back in. You’d both die with this godforsaken station if something couldn’t be done right now.

And that’s when you made your decision.

Sunghoon’s left arm gripping the bar was getting weaker and weaker, you could see it. Even after he managed to plant his foot back on the station and hook his leg around the corner for better support, he’d still need to keep his left hand on that bar.

“Baby, I need you to listen to me,” he said, voice shaking, “I need you to try and reach for the station, okay? YN are you listening to me?”

You were listening. But you already had made your mind up.

“YN!”

“Let me go,” you said calmly, eyes locking deeply with his, “I need you to let me go.”

Sunghoon quickly shook his head, “Are you fucking crazy! I’m not letting you go!! Pull your ass back into this station right now!!”

You could see his grip was slipping. He was about to fall out into space with you.

“Sunghoon,” you said, tears streaming down your face, “I need you to let me go and get to the shuttle bay and off this station.”

He shook his head again, gripping his hand tighter at your belt, “I’m not letting you go!” tears swelled in his eyes, head shaking again, “I can’t lose you! I just found you…I can’t…”

“Sunghoon.”

He ignored you, once again trying with all his strength to pull you back to the station, the air escaping the station was making it hard for him to keep his grip on not only you but the bar and leg wrapped around the corner, “Baby, please!” He begged, “Please, don’t leave me.”

You slid your hands from his arm and placed them on top of his fingers, the tips of your fingers curling into his fist.

“Astra commands,” you said, the menu pulling up on your hud.

Sunghoon furrows his brows, “What the fuck are you doing?”

Your eyes glanced up to the number on the side of the station’s wall to indicate which escape pod was once there, “Close escape pod door thirty, on my command.”

Sunghoon shook his head once again, “YN, stop!”

He tried to pull up the commands as well, voice cracking with each word as he tried to disable your commands, but unfortunately, he couldn’t.

“Should have never given me access to everything on the ship,” you said trying to lighten the mood in some way possible.

The tears now fell down his cheeks, “This isn’t fucking funny! Pull yourself in! Please!” He couldn’t take his eyes off you, “I can’t lose you, too.”

He would have lost everything if you continued down this path. He cursed Jay’s name for fucking with the last chance you and he had at survival.

You pulled at his fingers, “I love you.”

He continued to shake his head, “No, don’t say it as if it’s the last time.”

You weakly smiled at him, “Please get to the shuttle bay, you need to survive.”

“You need to survive too!!”

One final tear jerked from your eye, “I love you, Park Sunghoon.”

“I love you, too,” he cried, knowing nothing was going to change your mind but still fought against your fingers, “Baby, please.”

“Close the door.”

You quickly pulled his fingers from your belt and shoved his arm back.

“NO!!!”

Before he could watch you float into the infinite space, the door closed, locking him on the station.

His helmet retracted back. His heart pounded out of his chest as he balled his hands into fists and repeatedly hit them against the door. Nothing came out of his mouth besides his screams.

He didn't know how much time he had left nor did he even care. You were gone. The last important thing to him was gone.

He tired himself out from screaming, dropping himself to the floor and hunched over. He lost control of his own station and company. He lost his memories. He lost his best friend. He lost the love of his life.

Sunghoon twisted himself around, resting his back and head against the wall, staring off into the distance and slowly closing his eyes. He made his decision: he wasn’t going to live without you.

“Dr. Park.”

“Go away,” Sunghoon opened his eyes to see the little white ball floating above him, “Leave me alone.”’

Nov tilted to its side, “My purpose is to make sure you follow throu—“

“This station is set to explode at any moment now, you kept your promise to the past me. Now leave me be.”

Sunghoon knew Nov was just following directions he himself had given him, “I was created to also protect you, Dr. Park.”

Sunghoon stared up at the ceiling, “I want to be with them again. Please give this to me.”

Nov said nothing as it floated its small body down to his side, resting against his thigh.

Sunghoon took a deep breath in, picturing the photo back in his bedroom of him, you, Heeseung, and Jake. The three people that meant the most to him even if he doesn’t fully remember it all. He pictured the photos that hung on his wall, all the memories he’d made with you, and the promise of how he was going to marry you once back on Earth. A promise he wouldn’t be able to keep.

The only promise he could keep was never to forget you again. He’d die knowing that.

The alarm of the station finally stopped as a tear ran down his face and he squeezed his eyes shut, “I’ll see you again soon, YN, Heeseung, and Jake. I’ll be there soon.”

The corners of his lips curled as the last thing he felt was heat.

intro | part one | part two

— perm. tlist: @alvojake @ikeuverse @woniebae @shawnyle @jwnghyuns

@in-somnias-world @zyvlxqht @aaa-sia @wonniethepoo @addictedtohobi

@eneiyri @skzenhalove @fakeuwus @cherry-park @vousty

@ladyartemesia @criminalyun @cmoundiamante @enhaverse713586 @wondipity

@lhsvibez @jaeyunq @rikizm @kaykay11sworld @pockettwinzz

@vixialuvs @seunghancore @enha-cafe @ppanghoon @sunpov

@zeeloveshee @hxxsxxng @moonrisearies @brownsugarbaybee @nshmrarki

@vveebee @teddybeartaetae @kookify @abysofsteel @aileeeeeeeeeeeee

@hee-lvrr @1309zip @moon0fthenight

#myiceprince #sunghoon #park sunghoon #sunghoon x reader #reader x sunghoon #sunghoon smut #enhypen #enhypen x reader #reader x enhypen #enhypen fanfic #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen smut #yeonzzzn writing #for astra

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hypnos333 · 11 months ago

Text

Slowed to Anger

Alastor x reader

Synopsis: You loved the hotel and yet you risked your life for it

“Omg! Alaster I can’t believe you’re doing this and it looks so nice, I can’t wait to decorate” You gushed looking everywhere around the hotel making him chuckle.

“I’m glad you find this Journey to find this exciting my dear, I wish I could say the same but i’m stuck on a leash” Alaster sigh still smiling but with a broken one. You wrap your arms around his neck forcing him to wrap his around your waist.

“We’ll break this deal so we can go back to living happily together” You said kissing his temple as he closed his eyes as your kisses. “We have been married for decades it’s nothing we can’t handle My love” You continued saying.

Little did you know this was gonna be very different from those decades.

A war broke out between heaven and hell and you were against Lute and keep in mind you weren’t the best in combat nor fighting but you did have powers and you were gonna try your best to survive for Alastor.

You are a doe it made you fast but you felt like a prey everywhere and every time.

You created multiple shadows to corner Lute making her struggle until she actually stabbed you making clueless before looking down at your heart.

“Oh fucking hell” You whispered until your eyes went wide realizing what’s happening. You held onto the sword before Lute pulled it out of you before this time stabbing you in the stomach making you instantly let the life leave from inside of you.

Lute was about to check your pulse until a shadow elopes you making you disappear within an instant.

“M-My dear?” He asked hesitantly in horror seeing you gone and dead. He quickly held you into his arms rocking back in forth trying to heal you he couldn’t because he was trapped.

“No, No No No No NO NONONONONO” He yells out his smile vanished as tears leaked down his face and onto your body.

“This place reeks of death, there's a chill in the air

And I barely escaped being killed by a hair

My wife risked her life just to see the hotel thrive

"Great Alastor, altruist, died for his friends while wife takes the fall"

Sorry to disappoint, that is not where this ends

I'm hungry for freedom like never before

The constraints of my deal surely have a backdoor

Once I figure out how to unclip my wings

Guess who will be pulling all the strings?” He sang before hiding your body somewhere safe to keep so when he gets your soul, you can come back home to him just like you wanted to do.

#alastor x demon reader #alastor x you #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel x you #alastor imagine

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the-californicationist · 20 days ago

Note

thoughts on price w a lactation kink?? 🫣

Plenty. See Exhibit A and Exhibit B, if you will.

But, if you just want some thoughts... 😈

NSFW MDNI TW: lactation kink, breeding kink, sacrilege? but in sort of a Hozier kind of way...

I don't think that John Price has a lactation kink purely for the selfish satisfaction of watching your face twist into a complicated smear of shame and pleasure as he sucks the sweet, life-giving warmth from your swollen breast, using his jaw to knead your flesh, his tongue to help guide your nectar between his lips, sucking in long, deep pulls to drain you of your rich milk.

Price doesn't just get off on the little, desperate mewl you make when his thick beard scrapes the softest skin of your nipple, rolling the tip of his strong tongue around your pert peak, coaxing your body to let down even more of his prize. Even though he tries his best to stay focused on keeping a steady rhythm, your silky stream rushing down his throat makes his cock twitch and drool like a starving, snarling beast, hungry for its own hot supper.

No, he yearns for that one, singular sound. The siren's song of his heart. He wants to hear you breathe it in your lungs and form it in your mouth and let it escape like a dove from its dark cote, quiet and yet cooing right into his eager ears.

Your sigh of relief makes his dick pulse with a sort of sick pride. From all of your soreness and tender pain, the constant ache of bearing your decadent burdens, he is the one to deliver you to peace. He is the one to bring you comfort. Him and his hungry, suckling mouth are your sanctuary.

Price's zealous thirst is your release from hurt, from pressure, from the leaking rivulets staining your sheets, a bright, new-found freedom from being so overfull that it makes you want to sob, and it's that mind-wiping alleviation which makes you so pliant for him, so ready and willing to spread your legs just a little wider, love, so he can feed his prick deep into your sacred, sacral center; that throbbing, shining, nearly-opalescent shell which welcomes his girthy offering.

As you feed him, he feeds you. Your milk in his mouth, his dick in your cunt. Your keening, his grunting. Your gushing, his pounding. There is a war between you; an infinite entropy of gain and loss and take and give - a roiling, tumbling, undulating wave of pleasure and pressure, rocking you like a ship with slackening sails, soaking at the mercy of the tide.

As you feed him, he heals you. With every crave-wild swallow of your milk, he revels in your satisfaction. Price listens to the timbre of your moans morph from troubled and weary - the hiss of a breath - to sonorant and needy - the hum of a moan - and he hunts that relaxation for you like a lion on a gazelle, dragging it towards you in offering: your protector, your provider.

And yet... there is something else. There's a second shadow, a double exposure. There is something lurking beneath the surface of all of his heroism. Something dark and unmanaged, like a forest and its fire, the flames of his desire licking for you and glowing ever-closer.

You are his to eat. His. Like a snapping mutt with a fresh bone, he subsumes you. You are not just a fleeting fancy, a sneaky kink to enjoy and destroy; no, you are his obsession. His belly is full of you, his cheeks are full of you, his balls are full for you. You. You. You. Just you. Only you. There is nothing else but to suck and to fuck and to drink and to love and to breathe in the breaths that you scream out, gulping them in sharp gasps when he comes up for air, quickly to return to his plush, writhing meal, eating you until he is drunk on your creamy vintage.

Your breasts hang for him like fruit on the vine, heavy and ready to be plucked, and he drowns in the wine of your body. He is wet from you; your pussy's frothy come coating his cock, your sugary cream coating his throat, all of it innocent and white and sacred like an offering. And it is. Your body is his sacrament. He is on his knees as he bends over you, praying for your release, for your blessing, for that twisting clench of your trembling temple. Every thrust is a sin-stained reminder that his work brings about your joy. His effort delivers your delight. His feasting is your fulfillment. John is devout.

And when you're empty, when he continues to drag weak, lax lips over your devoured flesh, mourning the loss of his delicious font, he fills you back up. Price fucks his length into you with complete, shameless abandon, his body arching and sweating and tensing and laboring for you, bending like a bow to shoot rope after rope of sticky come into the deepest part of your shuddering, stretched quim. His mind races with lurid visions of your womb flooding with his seed, of planting a bountiful garden of life with you there, helping you cradle his gift inside of you by sheathing himself fully, letting not one drop escape.

It's the bath and the bubbles afterwards that make him hard again because there you are: sleepy, sated, and sighing so sweetly for him. He tries and fails to hide his flagging erection as he washes your body, covered in temporary tattoos of his teeth and fingers, massaging the muscles that held him so close during his feeding, the arms that cradled his head and hugged his shoulders, the legs that squeezed his hips and wrapped around his broad back, holding onto him and refusing to let go. It's the balms and the lotions, all to keep your skin soft and comforted, and he applies them liberally, rubbing you in soporific circles until you are as far from suffering as you have ever been, floating in a peaceful Eden of his own foddering.

Price admires you as he lays you beside him in his bed, tucking you close to him, letting his belly press against the small of your back, clutching your hip just so that he can rest his cock against your folds, reminding you, even in your sleep, that he is your safety and your source of mindless bliss.

And when you wake up in the middle of the night aching and full again, leaking from your heavy tits? Don't worry. He's always hungry.

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unoislazy · 1 year ago

Text

Healing Takes Time

Injured! Mizu x Reader

Summary: you’re just a simple healer minding your business, avoiding a fight that had broken out along your street when suddenly an extremely wounded strange man ends up at your door.

Disclaimers; very soft angst, nothing too bad.

Mizu’s pronouns shift depending on the POV

————————————————————

Blood.

Something that Mizu was all too familiar with. The blood of her enemies, her families, even her own. She had seen what could be considered more than the average person's fair share of bloody disputes. That’s been her life, that’s what everything ends in for her.

Blood.

And now, here she was again, drenched in blood. Laying on an empty street surrounded by her foes that she had successfully taken down but not without costing herself a lot of her own energy. She lay there, the only movement coming from her was the shallow rising and falling of her chest as her breathing became more labored. She could barely keep her eyes open as she looked up at the sky.

She wanted to move, she needed to move, she had to finish what she started. She had to get up, this couldn’t be where she died. Not now.

With all the might left in her, Mizu wearily got herself off the ground, propping herself up on whatever she could find around her, standing up as tall as she could without making the pain unbearable. A hard feat to accomplish considering the several broken bones now housed within her body, the slashes she endured that were still leaking blood, and the bruises that had already begun to form in every area. She was in a bad shape, and she knew that, but she couldn’t just let go. She had to continue.

Mizu continued to try to walk, holding herself up with any object near her, but after a certain point she realized she truly wasn't going to get very far. Her mind had become very dizzy and her eyes began to cross.

Before she knew it she had collapsed on the hardwood floor just outside of someone’s house.

Luckily that house belonged to you.

You heard the commotion outside and hid somewhere within your house. You didn’t want to get involved, and you didn’t need to, so you wouldn’t. You had only begun to come out of hiding once you couldn’t hear the fighting anymore.

You sighed in relief, hoping it would be awhile before the next fight would break out. Fights usually broke out on your street, with all the men being thrown out of the different houses for not paying properly or not following the rules. But this fight was much different, much more brutal. The person in the middle you had only gotten a glimpse of before you rushed inside, you couldn’t make out much of them from the distance you were at but they were quite lanky compared to the men they were fighting.

For some reason, you had hoped they had won. Why? You couldn’t tell. People always make assumptions off of the little information they have, and you guessed this was just one of those times.

You rose from your crouched spot, readying yourself to continue whatever activity you had stopped halfway through. You carefully walked towards your door and just as you were about to open it, you heard a loud thump come from the other side.

You jumped back in shock, your hands trembling. What if they were here to get you next? What if they saw you looking and they didn’t want any witnesses? A thousand questions ran through your mind at a million miles a second. You had no idea what to expect from the other side of the door, and you really didn’t want to find out.

And yet, here you were, about to open the door anyways. Your curiosity was getting the better of you. After all, you didn’t hear any other movement, so who or whatever was just dropped on your doorstep was probably of no harm… right?

Your hands still shook with fear as you approached the door, you very carefully grabbed it, slid it open and to your surprise you now faced what you had thought to be a dead body. It didn’t take long for you to realize it was the same person who had been in the middle of the fight. Looks like they won… not by much though.

All you could manage was to stare at what you thought to be a motionless body, devoid of any signs of life. But as you looked closer, continuing to stare you realized.

“They’re alive?” You shouted to literally no one. You panicked a bit, it had been a long time since you had had to work on wounds, especially on someone who seemed to be on the brink of death. You had to act and you had to act fast.

As quickly and as gently as you could, you dragged the person into your house, and sat them in a comfortable position. They groaned a bit as you moved them which was a good enough sign. You had noticed that they also had a sword with them, a katana to be precise.

Maybe they were a samurai?

You shook your head, that wasn’t important right now. Regardless of whether they were a samurai or not, they were bleeding to death and you had to stop it.

You grabbed their sword and rushed back inside, leaning it on the wall before rushing off to grab your kit of medicines that you always kept in the same area of the room if you ever needed to use it again. You had begun to work on them immediately, sewing the open wounds, serving them medicines, feeding them. It was a lot of work for some stranger who just plopped down on your doorstep suddenly.

Four days.

You had been taking care of this person for almost four full days and they didn’t seem to make any signs to signal consciousness. You feared the worst, maybe you hadn’t gotten there in time, maybe you should try a different medicine?

On the bright side, their wounds had closed properly, and seemed to be healing which made you think they were getting better they just needed more rest.

You sighed, standing up and stretching, turning away from the body that still lay fairly motionless. You tried your best and that was truly the most you could do. Although, you truly didn’t want to have to deal with someone’s death on your hands but hey, you weren’t the one fighting them so really this situation could’ve just been avoided all together.

You sat in silence thinking to yourself, paying not a singular ounce of attention to what you assumed to be a man behind you. Why would you? You thought he was unconscious.

Well she was. But now, her eyes had fluttered open, seeing your back fully turned to her. Mizu panicked, not knowing where she was, what had happened to her while she was out. The first thing she tried to look for was her sword, but it was nowhere near her, which meant she was just going to have to take you out herself.

You still hadn’t noticed that the strange man had woken up, but by the time you did, he was already in the process of knocking you over. You were caught so off guard you had no time to even grab onto anything as you fell. You hit the ground and you hit it hard. Your head smacked against the hardwood floor, the rest of your body hitting the ground with a thump, similar to that of the one you heard when you had found the strange man at your door.

You took a second before trying to get back up, only to be slammed back down once again, hands pinned to either side of your head. You gasped, it was truly all you could manage to do as you tried to process what in god's name was even happening to you. One minute you’re standing, the next you’re on the floor with the once unconscious man now straddling you like there was no tomorrow.

“Seems like you’ve healed more than I thought.” You tried to joke. You were very clearly terrified, you had no idea what this person was capable of but if they had taken out a group of men on their own you didn’t even want to begin to think what they could do to you if they saw you as a threat.

“Who are you, where am I?” He asked threateningly, still holding onto your wrists as tight as possible. It stung a bit but you couldn’t blame them for acting in such a way. Anyone would be frightened if they woke up in some strangers house without any means of defending themself.

“I’m just a healer, You’re in my house, you collapsed outside four days ago and I brought you inside to help.” You explained frantically. You hadn’t realized until just then that you had two strikingly blue eyes staring at you. Again, that wasn’t entirely important to the situation at hand but you couldn’t help but be fascinated by them.

The man’s eyes had softened slightly as he looked down at himself, his bloodstained clothes had dried but he had noticed, and felt, some stitches along his arms, and one are on his back. Once he confirmed your explanation to be true, he got off of you, not without groaning in pain a few times. The adrenaline must have kept him from initially feeling the injuries that still remained on his body.

“I gave you medicines and stitched up any injuries I could see. I didn’t feel it appropriate to try and… remove your clothing and all.” You explained, it was a true explanation but you felt embarrassed having to say it regardless.

“Thank you.” He responded quietly, his eyes seemed as if they were glued to the ground before he then looked back to you.

“I’m… sorry for reacting like that.” He apologized, his hands now resting on his lap as he sat on his knees, facing you.

“It’s fine, I’m sure anyone waking up in a strange place would’ve reacted the same way. Maybe not with as much skill.” You joked but it didn’t seem to gain any reaction from the still nameless man in front of you.

“I must get going.” He stated, readying himself to stand. You raised an eyebrow at him, truly not believing his statement. You both knew he was in no shape or form to even be walking around. The fact he had gotten up so swiftly the first time was astonishing.

“Whatever you need to do it will have to wait, you still need to rest.” You began, earning a slight glare from the man. You had never received such a glare from anyone and his blue eyes only enhanced the icy feeling he gave. It was clear he was very determined to leave and not much was going to change his mind, so you continued, “Unless you can walk out that door on your own without using anything for help.”

The door was not that far away, it was an easy walk for anyone who was uninjured. The man clearly took this as a challenge as he stood up, you alongside him in case he fell back.

“I don’t need any help.” He groaned, trying to discreetly hold the side of his torso to quiet the pain.

“Mhm, whatever you say. Just walk towards the door.” You challenged. He huffed, taking one singular step forward before immediately losing his balance and falling into you.

“That’s what I thought.”

You carefully wrapped his arm over your shoulder and helped him back over to the bed that you had laid out for him.

“You need to rest.” You ordered and clearly he was not in a strong enough state for him to argue at all.

“By the way… you never gave me your name. It would be helpful to know considering it seems like you might have to stay here for a while.”

His eyes turned to you, at this point you figured it was the only part of his body that he could move without evoking anymore pain.

He paused for a moment, clearly deep in thought on whether he should give you his name or not. He took a deep breath before responding,

“Mizu. My name is Mizu.” He shared quietly. You smiled in response, glad that he at least seemed to trust you enough to let you know his name.

“Well then Mizu, you need to rest. I’ll make some more soup for you to eat later.”

He nodded quietly before lightly shutting his eyes. You found yourself staring at the man for a bit longer than you probably should have before turning back to start making the soup for him.

Mizu had ended up staying much longer than he had initially anticipated but it turned out he was a lot more hurt than either of you realized. It took him another few days before he could get up and walk around without help, but he still clearly needed a little while longer at least for some of his bones and other injuries to heal.

“You are seriously impatient.” You groaned, watching as the man had grabbed his sword in preparation to go out training yet again.

“I need to train.” He stated plainly, as he made his way towards the door.

“Mizu, I just redid some of your stitches yesterday. You have to give it time before you go back to training or you’re going to keep reopening them.” You scolded, stirring the ladle that sat in the dish of medicine. He paid you no mind as he walked out the door, going to the exact same area in the woods he had been going to for about a week now. Practically the moment he was able to stand on his own he had insisted he was at least well enough to train, and despite your arguments, he always went out anyways. And despite your arguments, he always came back needing more stitches. You had repaired his clothing for him at some point during his stay and while he was thankful, this meant repairing your previous stitches had been a lot more difficult. Luckily the only ones that kept opening were the ones on his arms so there was no real need to have him undress.

You sighed, pouring out some of the medicine into a separate dish before getting up to occupy yourself with something else. You hadn’t had to use any of your medicinal knowledge in a long time. Most people who lived around this area didn’t usually have a need for it considering they were usually too drunk to realize they needed medical help. Sure you had knowledge but you didn't have a business for it, so you didn't exactly go out of your way to help. That being said, if someone wound up at your door needing help, your door was always open.

Not much time had passed before Mizu returned, and just like you had expected, he returned with reopened wounds.

“Is it the ones on your arm?” You asked, to which he nodded before stopping himself.

“And the one on my back.” He responded. You let out a long drawn out sigh in response. Of course, you enjoyed Mizu’s company. He may not say much, but him just being there gave you a feeling you haven't really felt before. You couldn’t exactly place it, but you enjoyed his company. That being said, you didn’t enjoy having to stitch him up all the time. This time you were not allowing him to leave until his wounds properly healed.

Luckily you wouldn’t need him to fully undress, it was just on his back after all so there was no harm in it.

“Then you get yourself situated, I’ll go get the materials.” You sighed, walking to a different room as Mizu went to sit in his usual spot. Once you returned, you were faced with Mizu’s bareback, which was unsurprisingly very toned. You couldn't help but admire his physique before you heard him say,

“Are you just going to stare or are you going to help?”

“Right.” You replied, embarrassed to have been caught staring. You quickly set your things down behind him and got yourself situated. You raised your hand, your fingers very gently tracing the outside edges of the wound which you had noticed caused Mizu to flinch.

“Sorry.” You apologized. It was just something you did in your own practice, you don’t know why but it somehow helped with you visualizing how you were going to stitch it back up. Without another word, you carefully began your procedure. Mizu had always been pretty good about not moving when it came to stitches, you assumed he had to deal with it a lot.

It didn’t take long for you to finish. You sat back, admiring your work before realizing that there was also a wound on his shoulder.

“I should probably do the one on your shoulder too but I can't reach it from back here. Do you mind turning around?” You asked which caused Mizu to hesitate. You didn’t understand why at first, you simply thought he was just going to say he could tough that one out.

“Mizu please, It could get infected if I don’t work on it.” You pleaded, to which Mizu sighed. You stared at him with a visibly confused expression before he slowly turned around to face you.

Clearly it didn't take long for you to realize why he had hesitated in the first place.

However, you paid no mind to it. You were a healer after all, you had to be able to heal all parts of the body so it was something you would’ve had to have gotten used to sooner or later.

Just as you had done before, your fingers softly traced the outside of the wound on her shoulder, earning a hiss from Mizu. You apologized again, just as you had done before. Because of the location of this wound, you unfortunately had to get a bit closer to Mizu’s face than either of you would have preferred at this point in time. You had to be able to see what you were doing of course. She simply just looked in the opposite direction, focusing on one of the paintings you had hanging on your wall.

This was probably the closest either of you had been to each other ever since you met, which to be fair by this point was not that long ago. It was also the first time in a long time either of you had been in a close proximity to… well anyone really. It was uncomfortable at first, but you both relaxed into the closeness after a few minutes.

“So, how long have you been fighting for?” You asked, trying to break the silence a bit. You two had gotten to know each other a fair amount during Mizu’s stay but to be honest, Mizu knew more about you than you did of her. She wasn’t one to really disclose many details, but she was a great listener. When she wanted to be at least

“Many years. Since I was pretty young.” She answered plainly as if she was remembering something from her past.

“Well, your training is going to have to wait.” You said, backing away having finally finished the stitches. She turned to you with a slight glare, much like the one she had given you on the day she first woke up. It was a glare that said, “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I'm serious.” You said, sending a stern look back to the incredibly stubborn woman. “If you open those wounds again, good luck trying to do your back by yourself.” You shrugged, basically leaving her no choice on the matter.

“The more you rest, the faster you'll get out of here, and the faster you'll be able to get back to fighting to your heart's content.”

Mizu sighed, she knew you were right, and she knew she was only setting herself back by continuing to train in such a state. So, she silently agreed to listen to you.

“Now get dressed, your food will be ready soon.” To be honest, you both kind of forgot she was topless to begin with which was not something Mizu was expecting. She truly expected some big reaction, some sort of rejection, you kicking her to the curb, but you did none of those things. In fact you didn’t even react at all. It didn’t even occur to her that you hadn’t reacted to her eyes either. The day she woke up, she didn't realize until she was just about to fall back asleep that her glasses had been taken off. She had pinned you down and looked you dead in the eyes and instead of freaking out and calling her a monster you continued to welcome her with open arms. You didn’t even kick her out because of her wild reaction. You were so… understanding.

It was almost unnerving to her. It wasn’t a reaction she was used to so it wasn’t something she knew how to deal with. You just… accepted her like it was nothing. You just simply went back to whatever you were doing beforehand and paid no mind to her flaws. How? Why?

Even after she had gotten back into her normal clothes, her hair done up like usual, her glasses on, you treated her as if nothing had happened. You had yet to shout demon, or to call her a monster while you pushed her way. Instead, if anything, you continued to get closer to her as her stay extended.

You were getting close.

Too close.

As time had gone on, she continued to expect you to suddenly change your mind and no longer allow her company. But that day never came.

“Mizu!” You shouted upon returning home. Mizu sat in her usual place, sipping on some tea she had made not too long before you returned home.

“I saw this in the market today and I thought of you, so I figured I’d buy it. What do you think?” You asked, holding out a patterned bandana that had several different variations of blue on it. Mizu lowered her cup before she walked towards you. She looked down at it, gently taking it from your hands as she continued to stare.

How long had it been since someone had actually gone out of their way to buy something for her…

It was such a small gesture and yet she felt so touched by it. She didn’t want to, she had built walls around her heart for a reason. She didn’t want to let anyone else in out of fear of them rejecting her just as everyone else had done.

But you had already begun to chip away at that wall, piece by piece, slowly working your way into her heart and she hated it. She hated that you were getting so far, she didn’t want to let you in, she didn’t want to make that same mistake.

And yet something was telling her she could trust you. It was that same feeling she had had every other time, so why should she listen now. Why were you being so kind to her, why were you so different from all the rest, why did you not fear her?

“Do you not like it?” You asked quietly, snapping her out of her thoughts. “You don’t have to take it if you don’t like it, it didn't really cost much. I just thought of you when I saw it and I-” Before you could finish your thought, Mizu had quickly enveloped you in a tight hug. You were taken aback by this gesture, not really taking Mizu to be someone to show their appreciation through physical touch. And normally, Mizu wouldn’t be.

It had been so long since Mizu had felt a warm embrace from anyone, but she felt no other way to describe how she felt. Your arms floated above her back as you processed what was happening before you gently placed them down, accepting her embrace. You two stood there for a good while before she let go of you.

She simply muttered quietly, “Thank you.” before walking off.

You smiled as you watched her walk away, your heart pounding in your chest as the moment she began to hug you replayed in your head several times. You had to admit over the course of her stay you had begun to gain feelings for the makeshift samurai. But you knew those feelings couldn't be reciprocated. After all, she would eventually have to leave some day.

And that day finally came.

Mizu had walked into the room that morning as you prepared her usual meal, a somber look on her face as she stared at the same painting she always seemed to be intrigued by.

“What's the matter?” You asked, using the ladle to pour some of the food you had made into the dish before pushing towards her direction. Her eyes traveled down to the dish before making their way back up to you.

“It's time.” Was all she responded with, her eyes carefully watched you to gauge your reaction. Your once usual happy demeanor seemed to vanish in an instance upon hearing the news, it was almost enough to make Mizu wish she hadn’t said it. But the time had to come some day, she had business to attend to and she had already vastly overstayed her welcome.

“Oh… are you sure? You don’t have any extra wounds to stitch up that you’ve been hiding from me or… or a headache that you might need to rest off?” You asked, now standing up to meet her gaze. Clearly you were looking for an excuse for her to stay longer, but you both knew that wasn't going to happen.

“I have to leave and you know I do.” She answered, no longer looking at you. You both enjoyed each other's company over the course of her stay, but Mizu was not going to break her vow just because she simply wanted to stay with you. She had become so greedy with your attention that she had almost forgotten what she had spent so many years preparing for. She had limited time before her knowledge of the location of Fowler would become obsolete, so she needed to act fast.

“I know, but why now? Can’t you stay one more day?” You asked, even though you already knew the answer. You don’t know what you were expecting. You knew her mind couldn’t be changed. If you learned anything about Mizu it was that once her mind was set on something, she wasn’t able to be stopped.

“I’m all healed so that means it's time to go.” She responded, still not looking at you.

“Just-” You began.

“Please.” She whispered, now looking down at the ground.

“What?” You asked, not really able to make out what she had said.

“Please don't make this harder than it needs to be.” She whispered, finally looking up at you. The pain in her eyes was an emotion you had not seen before. It was one you almost felt guilty for being the cause of. You should have just helped her and let her go, but instead you got attached. You both did, and it was a mistake. You knew she would have to leave eventually, you knew nothing good could come from you gaining feelings for her, you knew it would only lead to both of you getting hurt. But you couldn’t stop yourself. Your heart made its own decisions and you had fallen for her, even if you had only known her for a few months.

“Before you go.”

You gave her a quick and gentle kiss on the cheek. You wished you could show how you felt in other ways but anything else would've hurt more. Your eyes had welled up with tears throughout your conversation but you had only just then realized it. You wiped your face as you began to back away from Mizu, giving her space to leave.

As you moved away from her though she had gently grabbed your arm forcing you to stay put. She hesitated for a moment, thinking through whatever she was about to do as you stared at her. She then pulled you back towards her, very carefully planting a kiss on your lips, one that you had both been waiting to share for quite some time. It was your last chance, so clearly Mizu wanted to make it count.

You didn’t want the kiss to end because you knew once it did that meant she would finally have to leave. Much to both of your dismay though, that time came sooner than either of you would have liked. You both released from the kiss, staring at one another before Mizu backed away from you, letting go of your arm in the process. She made her way towards your door, grabbing her sword and stood in the doorway, hesitating yet again before she fully committed to leaving.

“Mizu?” You called out to her. She paused, turning her head to look at you over her shoulder.

“You know if you ever want to come back… you can.” You offered. She gave you a very rare smile before she uttered the words,

“Thank you.”

And those were the last words she said before walking off.

As she left though, it was only then had you realized that in the place of her usual white wrapping around her neck, sat the bandana you had given her several months before.

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