#if only there were a renowned doctor around that they could check with!

[poorlittleyaoyao]

gentle reminder that Wen Qing and Qin Su are both still alive and thriving because if the other characters don't ever mention their deaths again, then that means they must be fine 😌

[sunni-stuff]

HEYY so I was wondering if you could make a small story about Simon x New!Medic!Reader and getting interested by her because she managed to punch the daylights out of a soldier that was bothering her. And maybe out of interest getting to know each other better *wink* *wink* 😏😏

Eye-catching

Of course, he noticed you. Ghost noticed everything.

You, the shiny new recruit, brought a buzz to the force that was hard to ignore.

When Price first mentioned you, Ghost had snorted dismissively at your file. Price was adamant about your potential, swearing by the renowned doctor who had trained you and recounting your impressive handiwork he'd witnessed firsthand. Price only picked the best.

But Ghost had his reservations. In his eyes, your lack of field experience was a glaring flaw. Still, it wasn't his call to make. If Price vouched for you, Ghost would reserve judgment.

Your arrival on the base was met with indifference from Ghost. He barely acknowledged your polite "hello's" and attempts to connect. You weren't the Cap'n, and you certainly weren't Soap, who, for some unfathomable reason, couldn't stop singing your praises.

Since day one, Soap had been relentless. In the mess hall, he went on about how sweet you were and how Ghost should at least introduce himself properly—after all, you were teammates. If that wasn't enough, when Gaz got injured on a mission, you stitched him up with such skill that he barely felt any pain. Gaz, too, joined the chorus of your admirers, extolling your expert skills as a medic.

It seemed everyone on the team adored you, speaking of you as if you were a miracle worker. To Ghost, you were just a decent medic at best; he saw nothing worth bragging about.

How wrong he was.

About a month after your arrival, Ghost injured his shoulder sparring with Soap. He'd really messed it up, the strain and tension becoming a constant burden. He tried to push through it, gritting his teeth and refusing to let a mere shoulder injury slow him down. For a week, he endured, hissing in pain as he lifted weights, struggling with loads he would usually handle effortlessly. Stubborn as ever, he refused to visit the med bay.

This went on until the following week when Soap, unable to take it any longer, practically scolded the lieutenant for his hard-headedness and dragged him to the medic bay himself.

You were already in the middle of organizing supplies when Soap and Ghost walked in. Ghost, begrudgingly being led, looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. Soap's face lit up when he saw you, and he immediately started talking about Ghost's shoulder, explaining the situation while Ghost stood there, a grimace on his masked face.

You turned around, offering a warm smile despite Ghost's obvious displeasure. "Lieutenant," you greeted him politely, "why don't you have a seat, and I'll take a look at that shoulder."

Ghost hesitated but finally gave in, taking a seat on the examination table. Soap, satisfied with his handiwork, gave you a quick pat on the shoulder before leaving you to your work.

The room was quiet as you began your examination, your hands gentle but firm as you checked for any signs of injury. Ghost watched you with a mix of skepticism and curiosity, trying to gauge whether you were as good as everyone said.

"Looks like you pulled a muscle pretty badly," you said after a few minutes, "but it's nothing I can't fix." You were about to approach and help fix up the lieutenant's troublesome arm when a loud commotion erupted outside. "Excuse me, I'll be right back," you said, stepping out of your office.

An argument was unfolding between a medic-in-training you recognized as Sherry and a soldier you've heard unsavory things about named Allen. Sherry looked nervous, staring at her boots while Allen yelled at her. "I don't want some fresh-blood working on me. Where's Dr. Whitfield?"

Stepping between them, you patted Sherry on the shoulder, positioning yourself protectively in front of her. "I'm sorry, Dr. Whitfield is on family leave right now, but both Sherry and I are qualified to help."

Allen glared down at you, attempting to use his height to intimidate. "I'd rather have someone reliable to help me, not some trainee or a medic with a shiny new coat."

You smiled, recognizing his type immediately. Gently pressing a hand to his shoulder, you said, "While I understand your concern, there is no one more reliable than us, as we are directly trained under Dr. Whitfield. So please, follow me." You attempted to guide him to an empty room, but he jerked his arm away and flicked your forehead while you were stunned. "Are you hard of hearing? I just said—"

Standing your ground, you brushed off his flick and cut him off. "I heard what you said, but if you're going to be an asshole, you should go. Sherry, there's another patient down the hall."

Turning to let Sherry be on her way, you were about to head back to Ghost when Allen suddenly grabbed your wrist, forcing you to face him. "So that's it? Is no one going to tend to me?"

"I've already told you your options. You insist on rejecting what I'm offering. Now let me go." You tried to pull your arm back, but Allen's grip was relentless. His insistence on disregarding your expertise and blatant disrespect tested your patience. "Let me go."

Allen didn't take you seriously, clearly thinking he could talk to the "new kid" however he wanted. Before he could react, your fist shot out, connecting solidly with his jaw.

The impact echoed through the hall as Allen stumbled back, clutching his face in shock. The surrounding soldiers and medics turned to watch, their expressions a mix of surprise and approval.

You stepped back, maintaining your stance. "Anyone else have a problem with the medical staff?" you asked, your voice steady and commanding.

There was a brief silence before Allen, still holding his jaw, muttered something under his breath and stormed off. You returned to Ghost, an apologetic look on your face. "I'm sorry for that. Give me one minute to wash my hands."

Ghost watched as you disappeared into the bathroom within your office, absolutely stunned by what he had just witnessed. He had observed the entire ordeal, ready to intervene if necessary, but he found himself taken aback by how well you had handled the situation—better than he had expected.

The image of you standing your ground and delivering that sharp, decisive punch replayed in his mind. He had seen plenty of confrontations, both on and off the battlefield, but your composed and resolute demeanor in the face of Allen’s aggression was remarkable.

He had underestimated you, and that realization was both surprising and impressive. You weren’t just a medic; you had the grit and determination that demanded respect.

Ghost saw you through a more transparent lens. How the curve of your figure swayed as you walked, the resolute look on your face when you stood your ground, and how much you clearly loved your job.

♡! I know you said short story but you gave me an idea for atleast one or two more parts!!! I'm ngl this ask couldnt have come at a better time bc I was absolutely cooked with writers block.. thank you for your service. 💞

Ghost felt a different kind of throb and this time it wasn't his arm.

P.S. this wasn't proofread.

[farity]

Obsession, part 20

Six Months Later

"Five? Are you insane?"

Aemond wasn't budging. "I can make it six."

His wife stood with her hands on her hips. "I am not going shopping with five guys surrounding me."

"Okay."

"Aemond!"

He walked around his desk, ran a hand down her arm. "Look. I am not letting anything happen to you and our baby. I can go with you if you wish."

She grabbed his hands. "Just you?"

"No. Five guards and me."

"How the hell is that less insane?"

He brought her hand to his lips, kissed it. "How about this? I will ask them to close the store for an hour so you can shop and I will only send four guards with you."

She hung her head and sighed. "Fine. Fine. I just wanted to shop for baby clothes."

Aemond's phone buzzed but he ignored it, cradling her face in his hands. "All I want to do is keep you both safe. I will tear apart anyone who tries to harm you, but I'd rather it not get to that."

She nodded quietly. "I know. And I love you for it. I just wanted to look at baby stuff like everyone else."

"I can make it happen, you won't know the men are there."

* * * * *

You invited Alicent to go along with you. Helaena was in Winterfell but she'd be back when the baby was born, and in any case, as much as she still made you wary, Alicent was your baby's grandmother, and she'd seemed delighted when you asked her to go with you.

"This is very sweet," she mused, holding up a little pajama set in the softest cream knit fabric.

"That is very cute," you agreed, letting her add the little jammies to the basket she held. She headed to the counter and you heard her asking if they could source the same but in green.

In the end, you spent more money on the baby than you had ever spent shopping for yourself - well, before your days included charity events and fancy dinners - and Alicent had asked that they hold a few items back so they could be monogrammed after the baby's birth.

At lunch, she told you how clueless she'd been with her own babies at first. She had been a very young mother and had no idea what she was doing.

"They turned out well in the end," you smiled. "They're all great human beings."

"I am very proud of them," she agreed, "and I know-"

Suddenly an explosion rocked somewhere a block away, and Alicent immediately stood to shield you as two of Aemond's men appeared and escorted you to the car.

"Do we know what is going on?" Alicent asked while you concentrated on keeping your breathing steady and getting the seat belt over your bump.

"We'd heard rumblings from Pentos, but we don't know for sure."

You looked at Alicent, "who's in Pentos?"

Alicent shook her head, exasperated. "Viserys's brother, Daemon. He surfaces every once in a while, trying to make trouble."

"The one who married Rhaenyra?"

Leaning in, Alicent smirked. "The one who cheats on Rhaenyra."

"Oh."

"I heard she'd thrown him out for good a couple of days ago. He's probably drunk and angry and decided to blow something up."

"Will he attack the family?"

Alicent considered this, "no, he just likes making trouble. We'll retaliate and he'll sink back into whatever hellhole he's living in now."

Back home, Aemond was waiting for you at the main gate. "Are you okay? The doctor is on her way."

You raised your eyebrows at him. "I'm fine, Aemond, I don't think I really need the doctor." But you didn't protest any further, because as you well knew, your husband would not be happy until you were checked over.

* * * * *

When the doctor walked in, you had been taken down to the medical wing, mostly used for Alicent's skin treatments.

"Thank you for coming in such short notice," Aemond said, shaking her hand. She looked at you and smiled.

"Not a problem, I'm close by."

"Hello, Dr. Alysanne," you smiled back. She was a distant cousin of the Targaryens and a world-renowned specialist in obstetrics, and you'd felt comfortable with her since your first appointment.

Alysanne walked around the hospital bed. "I hear you had an exciting lunch date."

You related the events while she took your vitals and then started the ultrasound machine. Aemond stood on the other side of the bed, holding your hand while the doctor spread gel over your belly and began running the wand over.

"Everything looks good, baby's active, oh," she turned to look at both of you, "last time baby was being shy and we couldn't find out the sex. Would you like to know?"

You turned to Aemond, and nodded. "Yes, please."

"What is my beautiful wife having, doctor?"

* * * * *

"Are you happy, my love?"

You were in Aemond's arms later that evening, after sharing the news of the baby's sex and the name you had chosen with the family, you had retreated to your home, where Aemond had slowly peeled off your clothes and kissed every inch of you. He'd needed to have you, despite knowing you were well, and that the pregnancy was going as it should.

After, you'd turned onto your side, letting him run his hand over your belly. The baby kicked as Aemond gently caressed your skin.

"Yes," you said, "very happy. I have you. I have our baby, it is more than I ever thought I would have."

He raised your face to his. "It is more than I ever thought I would have." He placed a gentle kiss on your lips. "You are more than I ever thought I would have."

You smiled, "well, I'm becoming more and more every day with this baby."

"You are a goddess," he replied, "you are radiant, glowing, sexy." He nuzzled your cheek, inhaling the scent of your skin. "I can't keep my hands off you."

He was right. He'd always had a high sex drive, but since you began to show, he had to be touching you at all times. Whether it was a quick grab of your ass, an afternoon spent in bed, or simply holding you on the sofa, he was always there. You felt cherished and safe, more than ever.

Aemond pulled your leg across his stomach so that you straddled him. He reached up to touch your breasts as you sank onto him and you gasped at how sensitive your skin was. He kept his touch light and gentle, and you began to roll your hips.

"Tell me if I hurt you," he murmured, fingers skimming along the curves of your breasts. They were fuller and rounder, and Aemond loved taking his time with them.

"You never do," you said, sighing as he brushed his thumb over your nipple. It was like lightning, the way the pleasure spread to the spot between your legs, and you moaned as he continued lavishing attention on your nipples.

He squeezed your breasts gently and your hips started moving faster. "That's it," he whispered, "so fucking good."

You grabbed onto his hands as you felt your release starting, letting your head fall back as you came. You felt him thrust up against you as the lashings of pleasure took you, felt him come inside you and fall apart underneath you.

* * * * *

"Hey, it's the Starks!" Aegon called out to his sister as she and Cregan walked in to the main house. "Oh."

A petite brunette walked in behind Cregan. "This is my sister Lyanne, she's on her way to Highgarden but I wanted her to meet you all." He smiled easily at her, and Aegon could see the similarities - the same grey eyes, the dark wavy hair.

"Ah, welcome," he said, walking toward the brunette, "I'm Aegon."

"Lyanne. You have a beautiful home."

He vaguely heard his sister and her husband walking to his mother, but could only stare at Lyanne. "You're beautiful," he blurted out, and immediately berated himself. "Sorry, I'm just, uh, welcome. I'm Aegon."

Lyanne smiled at him, "it is very nice to meet you, Aegon. I adore your sister."

Aegon simply stared at her until he heard his mother's voice.

"Stop monopolizing the girl, come on over here!"

"Sorry," he said, and offered her his arm, "mother wants to meet you. She's not as scary as you may have heard."

Lyanne laughed, a soft, musical sound that had him smiling in response. "We Starks don't frighten easily," she whispered, her eyes dropping to his mouth.

Alicent started speaking to Lyanne while he, Aegon Targaryen, who had bedded many a beauty, was left speechless. She was hardly dressed for seduction, her jeans and high necked shirt more practical than alluring, her well worn boots more suited to the countryside than the city. And still he couldn't tear his eyes away from her.

When Aemond and his wife arrived, there were more introductions, and as glad as he was to be around his family, Aegon wanted nothing more than to have Lyanne Stark all to himself.

She was going to Highgarden, Cregan had said, and he texted Aemond across the dinner table.

"Aegon, you know I don't like that during family dinners."

"Mother, this is of utmost importance," he said, very seriously.

* * * * *

"What are you doing?"

"Calling Milena Tyrell."

Aemond rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Aegon, you don't even know-"

The call connected, and Aegon signaled his brother to be quiet. Aemond listened while his brother asked, cajoled, and then threatened, until he got his way.

"Aegon, if I'd known what you were going to do-"

"You don't need to know what I am going to do, brother, you were asked to procure information and you did. Now, I believe we should join the conversation."

Aegon left his office, not giving Aemond a chance to interject. Not that Aegon would listen, Aemond thought.

While he sat next to his wife and listened as Helaena told them all about her new dog at Winterfell, he caught his mother staring somewhere behind him, and when he turned, he caught Aegon taking Lyanne Stark to the gardens in the back.

He turned back to find Alicent raising an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged almost imperceptibly.

"I've named her Dreamfyre, and she was so little just a couple of weeks ago, but they grow to be the size of wolves."

"Mine is Darkfyre," Cregan added, "they're such loyal animals, steady and protective. We've always had them in our family."

"Have you guys finished the nursery?" Helaena asked.

You laughed, " 'we' didn't really do anything. Alicent had a designer come in and she asked some questions about what we liked, and it's all done and ready."

"She is the best in Westeros," Alicent chimed in. "She doesn't take many clients, but of course she will work for us whenever we need."

"Do you want to go see it?" you asked, and Helaena jumped up.

"Hell yes!"

* * * * *

Three months later

"Is there anything else I can get you?"

You smiled sleepily at your husband. "I have everything I need right here." You looked down at your son as he fed at your breast. The first few days had been rough because of the c-section and because the baby wouldn't latch properly, so Dr Alysanne had brought in a lactation consultant who had worked with you both until things finally clicked and he began feeding in earnest.

Aemond had paid the consultant to stay in the estate for a couple of weeks, just in case, and there was a rotation of three nurses that worked eight hour shifts to help with the baby.

"I'll burp him," Aemond said, taking his son in his arms with practiced ease. He laid the cloth on his shoulder and then began patting the baby's back. "Come on, Aerys," he cooed, "can't keep those bubbles in your belly."

"May I?"

The night nurse knocked gently, peering in.

You nodded, and she helped you up and went to the bathroom with you. Being in labor for hours had drained your strength, and in the end, surgery had been needed for Aerys to be born. but you were starting to feel like yourself again.

Your surgery site was healing fine, the nurse said, and she helped you back to the bed, tucking you in and making sure you had everything you needed.

"Would you like me to take him, sir?"

"No, I got him, thank you," Aemond said, "he's ready to settle down."

"Very good, sir, I'll be next door."

You hadn't expected Aemond to be so hands-on with your baby. He had no experience caring for children, but with Aerys, he'd asked the nurses a thousand questions, watched everything they did, and then jumped in to care for his son while you recovered.

Helaena and Cregan were staying in the main house, and the new aunt was delighted with her new nephew. She had made several drawings of animals for him, and had cried with happiness when she saw that all the drawings were framed, filling one of the nursery walls.

Aegon had married Lyanne, with Cregan's approval, a month after they met, after her arranged marriage with Willas Tyrell was broken off by Milena. Lyanne, who was usually steadfast and sensible, had told her brother that Aegon was the one and either she married him or she married no one.

Daeron said he wanted to post photos of himself holding his nephew because "chicks like it," and Aemond had told him that his son would never be used as bait, but it was Daeron who had stayed up all night with Aemond as he cared for Aerys those first few days. Aemond had found a new maturity in his younger brother, and Daeron had expressed his desire to start working for the family soon.

Alicent delighted in her new status as grandmother, stopping by in the mornings to check on Aemond and his family. "You chose well, my son," she said one morning as she rocked baby Aerys after he'd been fed and burped. "She makes you happy."

"She does. I'm very happy, mother."

"I am glad to hear it, Aemond. You deserve every joy."

Aemond sat on the rocking chair, gently bouncing his son while his wife slept. He couldn't have envisioned this moment. Every hurt, every loss, every moment of grief he had experienced, he supposed it had all led to this. And he wouldn't change a thing.

THE END

* * * * *

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[rationaliity]

OC — CALICO

Calico and Tabby ★★★★★

Preservation — Physical Faction : Planetary Protection Division Obtained On : 20XX-XX-XX Character Introduction : Two sisters working with the IPC; they’re always close to each other, never straying apart for long. Two bright, eccentric personalities, one girl dances around telling her exact feelings, while the other tells it as it is without hesitation.

Character Story I : ( Unlocked at Character Level 20 )

XX-XX-XXXX : patient has not woken up from her state of comatose since we found her on the dead planet. eye witnesses say she was awake when they found her, but she passed out from exhaustion soon after. we have reason to suspect she dropped her survival instincts, and her body’s exhaustion caught up to her. we don’t know when she’ll wake up, if she even will, but we are doing tests around the clock to check on the long-term affects of being on a dead planet long after a stellaron crisis. some of her wounds are scarred over so many times we cannot get a date on how long she’s been there, but documents have proof that the stellaron burst on the planet that caused the explosion happened at least two hundred years ago.

—

XX-XX-XXXX : we found… anomalies within her body while she has been out. the majority of her body’s muscles are comprised of scar tissues deep within the layer of her skin, and she is missing.. her entire uterus, with serious scarring all around that area. we have ideas of what happened, but none of us are willing to voice our concerns because all of our ideas are graphic and terrifying to think about. she still has not woken up, and we are beginning to suspect there are serious injuries inside of her brain as well. perhaps a lack of proper food and sleep have diminished her cognitive abilities, or at the very least, could explain why she is in a coma currently. until we have more information, we do not know what happened to her on that planet. regardless, we’re all in an agreement: whatever she went through, it was hell on earth. i believe an easier fate for her would have been death.

Character Story II : ( Unlocked at Character Level 40 )

XX-XX-XXXX : she has woken up, and seemed a lot calmer talking with us than we initially expected. furthermore, we’ve come to a shocking revelation: she has no memory of her time on that planet after the stellaron explosion. she can only recall her name, calico, and an overwhelming desire to find someone she knew from the planet before the explosion. we have reason to believe that it’s because of the damage to her brain we found during a brain scan, but we’re doing whatever we can to attempt to restore her memories. we have a renowned doctor from the intelligentsia guild is here to study her case, although he refuses to talk with the subject face to face. perhaps he finds her less than ? he’s adamant about the subject remaining unaware of his work here. 

—

XX-XX-XXXX : a week after she woke up, calico was trying to stand and broke her femur practically in two. her body is so weak right now that she’s struggling to move, but she refuses to give up and continues to push herself. however, when the doctor tried to help her, she insisted that she was okay, even daring to stand up on her own two feet. doctors everywhere were stunned, even i can hardly believe it.  after running some tests, we’ve discovered that the nerve endings in her entire body are not working properly, and her brain no longer sends signals to signify pain. she cuts out the majority of pain from her cognition unless its something detrimental. this is… not a wholesome update to her case. we are worried that she may not ever progress as a normal person again.

Character Story III : ( Unlocked at Character Level 60 )

XX-XX-XXXX : i’ve been.. staying at this hospital for a long time now. doctors walk by and shoot me a look of pity, as if i’m a failed experiment. a lab rat gone wrong. but i won’t give up hope. no matter how much they poke and prod at me, i know.. i know i will get out of here. alive, hopefully. i’ve been regaining my strength, and my stomach can now handle most foods, even if i have to eat in small bursts. apparently, starving does numbers on your ability to eat. i want to get out of his hospital, and make a name for myself out here. perhaps i could join the interastral peace corporation myself. i mean, they were the ones who saved my life, i kind of owe it to them, don’t i ? besides, i've heard talk that they'll wring usefulness out of anything, so saving my life did not come for free, i'm sure. so many people came to help me, including very important people, so i’ve heard, i feel as though i wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the doctors that helped me along the way. i just wonder what i can do, what i bring to the table.. but sitting here beating myself up over my uselessness isn’t going to change anything.

i want to get out of this place, yes. but i think what i want more is to have a normal body, a normal life. i cannot.. no, i won't live like this, unable to find my own path. i'm better than this, i think. i want to be better than this, at least. i've been studying cellular regeneration, and i think i figure it out. i mean, i'm just sitting in a lab every day. i've got the time to figure it out.

Character Story IV : ( Unlocks at Character Level 80 )

XX-XX-XXXX : and here i was, under the impression that your first week alive wouldn't be a hard one ! i've been tested and tested over a million different times, and i still have no idea why at this point. we know what happened, we know why i'm here. she copied her dna and tried to replicate it, but before the cells got swapped over, something went wrong. the experiment didn't stop at just copying her damaged cells, it created all of her cells, which made meeee ! i don't understand why we need to do so many tests. apparently, there's even an important guy from the ipc here to do some tests, but i haven't seen him yet. she likes to avoid him as much as possible, i wonder why. is she nervous ? no. she's not the nervous type. maybe she just doesn't know how to approach him. she's silly like that.

i like her. and i like him too. but, obviously i do. i'm her, everything about me is just her copied over. well, everything is just her except my conversational skills, of course. while we were talking to someone, she was getting uncomfortable, and i could tell that she didn't like this guy very much. so i told him to stop talking to us and that he was making her feel bad. and what did she say to me ? she said " tabby, you can't just say that to people, that makes them feel bad. " but i don't get that line of reasoning. why should she feel bad and not other people ? what's the point of not saying what you mean ?

-

GALLERY > VOICELINES > LIGHTCONE

[wandaluvstacos]

SEASON OF BLOSSOMS

CHAPTER SEVEN IS UP! ($5 TIER)

Genre: Fantasy Romance Rating: 18+ Elevator Pitch: Bridgerton, but gay and with tieflings. Check out this story’s art under the tag Season of Blossoms

Includes: Mxm, mxf, and nbxm romance, sibling rivalries, romantic drama, fun sexy hijinks all around. This one’s lighter than most of the stuff I write, lol. There is a scene that takes place after an attempted suicide, but I think that’s the only thing that needs to be warned for.

In the nation of Tithly, it is custom that those of marriageable age travel to the city of Philsia for the yearly Season of Blossoms– four summer months of parties meant to provide youth the opportunity to find their spouse. This year will be the first year that all three of the Tsylgahra siblings attend: Mithleem, Anli, and Lisanth.

Three years after his wife’s tragic death, Mithleem has finally decided that he’s ready to start his search for someone new. As one of the top people in his class at the Academy and a successful doctor during his time in the army, he’s a household name and a hot commodity at parties, including one thrown by Tithly’s most renowned painter. There Mithleem is called to the bedside of the painter’s equally famous spouse, Ysaika Talorilau, and it may take someone of Mithleem’s skill to save their life.

Anli’s been to Philsia three times for the Season, but she hasn’t had much luck. This time she meets a young man above her station who shows interest, and despite her misgivings, she’s willing to give him a shot, even if the family’s new steward, Thyla Daschanhildi is quite insistent that Anli deserves better. Anli’s not sure about that, but she knows that Thyla’s only ever been supportive and loyal, sometimes to such a degree that Anli wonders if there’s more to it.

As the youngest Tsylgahra and wild child of the family, Lisanth is interested in racing horses, starting squabbles in the local tavern, and worrying his parents on the nights he doesn’t come home. However, he knows he can’t put off Philsia forever, and at the insistence of his mother, Lisanth grudgingly makes the journey with his siblings to the City in the Sky. There he meets a stranger who wields charm with just a hint of danger. Only later does Lisanth come to realize that the stranger is in fact a prince– Prince Jafkar A’nesh to be exact.

EXCERPT:

    “Mithleem Tsylgahra, was it?”            Mithleem turned and saw the lilac-skinned girl suddenly at his side, dressed in a dark purple damask dress with gauzy sleeves that drooped over her shoulders, leaving a lot of bare skin from chin to bust.            “Ah, yes,” Mithleem said, smiling to the best of his ability.            “I don’t know why the name strikes me as familiar… Where are you from?”            “Aspith.”            “And where is that?”            “On the continent, around the western plains. A cute little village surrounded by farms.”            “How quaint.” She smiled. “Would you like to dance?”            “Dance? Oh. Of course!” Mithleem finished off the rest of his wine—the glasses were really not that large—and placed it back on the table. “You’ll have to forgive me if I’m a bit clueless. This is my first Season.” He paused, catching Anli out of the corner of his eye. “Oh, wait! I need to get water for my sister. One second.”            Mithleem grabbed a glass of water and rushed across the room to deposit it in his sister’s hand. “I’m going to go dance with that lady, so have fun without me.”            “What lady? Her?” Anli pointed at Mithleem’s dance partner. “Do you know who that is? That’s Utha Granking, daughter of Citel Granking.”            “I don’t know who that is.”            Anli frowned with frustration. “They own nearly half an entire island in Philsia!”“Oh.” Mithleem paused to consider. “Good to know. I’m going to dance now.”            Before Anli could protest, Mithleem was off, returning to Utha’s side to offer his elbow. They returned to the first room, and when a quartet began a new song, Mithleem took Utha’s hand in his. Together they moved in a side circle, and Mithleem had to admit Utha moved with a confidence that spoke of experience at such events as these. Mithleem wasn’t one to be struck dumb by a pretty woman, but he had to admit, he could have done much worse.            “So this is your first Season?” Utha asked.            “I’ve had one before, but many years ago.”            Utha’s brow pinched. “How many years? You do not look a day past twenty-five.”            “I am thirty, in fact. So that was perhaps eight or seven years ago, I believe. Is this your first Season?”            “Oh yes. I’m nineteen.”            Mithleem nearly dragged them to a halt on the dance floor but managed to keep his composure. Nineteen. Spirits, a child. “Ah. You seem quite sure of yourself for someone so young.”

[walpu]

is it okay if i talk about my oc a little bit 👉👈

her name is calico !! she works for the planetary protection division, a delegate of the ipc under the watchful gaze of qlipoth the preservation. basically what she does is she travels to planets that have gone through a crisis of some kind, usually a stellaron burst or some other world-ending phenomena, and offers her aid in rebuilding the worlds to ensure that they can overcome the crisis, usually by offering the aid of the ipc in one way or another. shes a good problem solver in terms of survival ( its because of trauma teehee )

when she was a kid she resided on a planet called kitsumiko-iv, her home planet, when a stellaron burst onto the surface of her planet, imploding from a reaction and destroying about 90% of the planet. calico was in a plane above ground before the explosion, and when it happened, her plane went down. she was the only passenger on the plane that survived. there may have been more survivors on the planet, but she couldn't find any. the ipc saw the explosion happen and considered her planet a dead planet, with no survivors, leaving calico alone for a really long time on the dying soil of her home.

her people are a long-life species, so calico was on that planet for nearly 200 years after the stellaron explosion before the ipc had made a pitstop on the planet to see if they could source out fine materials, and they accidentally stumbled across her, half dead but still kicking. immediately upon seeing other people, she completely passed out, all of the strength in her body evaporating. she was in a coma for nearly 2 years after they found her, with even the most renowned doctors ( ,,,,,,,, we know a doctor in the ipc ) trying to at least understand the reason of her survival, because it made no sense. she had virtually no food or safety, there were fragmentum monsters from the stellaron explosion all over the planet, x-rays showed that most of the muscle underneath of her flesh was just scar tissue, and she was in general a very bad state, her brain in constant survival mode.

when she woke up, after some tests, they found out that calico felt virtually no type of pain unless it passed a certain threshold, her nervous system basically shutting down because of all of the pain she went through for 200 years. while she was recovering, because she couldn't feel her body, she tended to push herself too far, even breaking one of her very fragile bones while she was trying to deliver some documents to a doctor, just trying to help out around the hospital, and all she had to say was that it was an annoyance that they were telling her that she had to rest.

years later, she made the best recovery that she could, although it wasn't perfect. now, she's under the protection of the ipc, bound by a contract because they had saved her life. she's got a really close relationship with topaz, often sending her pictures of cute, fluffy things on the planets that they travel on, while she harbors a deep respect and admiration for a certain blue-haired doctor that tried to help save her life within the intelligentsia guild, a faction that she often finds herself working with. disseminating knowledge is crucial to aiding people with their crises, no ? after all, now they'd have the knowledge to deal with another crisis should it come to that, and they wouldn't need her to check up on them again.

i feel like she would get along really well with the nameless, because their jobs overlap a little bit. where there's trouble, there's usually calico trying to solve the puzzles behind it.

in conclusion, shes my little squishy and I love her and need to share her with the world. ( I have SO much art I've done of her and ratio its a problem ) - miya <3

I LOVE HER WE NEED MORE RATIO KISSERS

[thirteenthxwitch]

Rowan Mayfair had just started work at her new hospital Mayfair Medical, seeing as she was a renown neurosurgeon from San Francisco - well at least she thought she was from there. She had recently found out she was adopted and was originally from New Orleans. Many weird things were happening with vampires, ghosts and now witches. Her being one of them. She now was the designee of the Mayfair Coven. Weird was kinda her forte. Though she wasn’t expecting murders to start happening. She didn’t condone this, or ask for this. She was about helping people not hurting them.

She had been warned by other Mayfairs that someone was imprinting Pentagrams on the walls, where the murders happened. A sigil she knew well. However, it wasn’t her, or her coven (that she knew of). The raven haired woman walked down the rainy streets of New Orleans when she had a vision. Another murder. In New York City. A sigh left her lips. Her phone rang, someone from the Talamasca. “Rowan. We need you down in New York City. The Talamasca has a special mission for you and only you are the one who can do this. Maybe you’ll even find Lestat.” A gasp left her lips, the name of her ex-lover in her ears. How she missed him. Her heart still beat for him. After he rejected the Blood from her, she had eventually left Michael and started to live her life single again. She didn’t need Michael like she thought, she kept him around for security and that wasn’t right for either of them. He knew she was in love with Lestat anyway. So, not long after, this happened. Well, a fresh start couldn’t come fast enough. ”I’m on my way.” She hung up and headed home to pack a bag, grab her passport and head off on the next flight. 

The next night she was in New York, in her hotel. She had on dark black slacks, a white shirt and a blazer. It was a little chilly in New York compared to the South. She was told to keep tabs on the situation and tell the Talamasca anything she found. However, she’d keep Lestat to herself. They followed him around like a lost puppy, last he told her. He didn’t deserve that. He deserved his peace. 

The witch walked down the streets, purse clutched at her side. Her heels clicking on the sidewalk. She gasped when she saw a man by the crime scene. Not what she saw in her vision... Shit. Fuck. 

“Uh, hi.” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. She wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries. “Dr. Mayfair.” She said. “Um, I was sent here to check out the crime scene too. I’m from New Orleans.  We got word one of the missing and murdered girls are from back home.” She had to come up with something. She grabbed her Doctor’s ID and showed it to him. Proof enough that she wasn’t totally lying. 

“So, uh, what did you find?”

Blue eyes sharp and looking around the scene. She could feel the energy of the magick that was placed here. It wasn’t hers. It was darker than that. Black magick. And Lestat’s scent wasn’t here either, he didn’t do this, nor involved. Yet, she wondered if he was here in the city somewhere.

"Who are you?" (From Rowan)

Two bodies in advanced decomposition stage and unidentified mutilated pieces of, at least, three other individuals later, Svarog had enough contact with the dead for the day - Emerald hues flickered to the orange and pinkish shades coloring the skies by the window - correcting: night, with a thoughtful frown while he discarded the rubber gloves in the lab bin and even the unplesant sound of it hitting the shiny aluminium container was able to give him an unsavoury taste under his tongue and dreary unnerving thoughts inside his head.

He had just given his reports about this case to the headchief and dismissed free to what little left of that gloomy colf evening with a very bright, and most certainly morally reprovable excited pat on his shoulder of the boss with a "Einstein" flattery that in addition of being rude as fuck, taking in consideration the critical and cruel situation of those murdered bodies and the grivieng families, they were too beyond a lie - he always been terrible with anything related to numbers.

Dear Lord! He just wanted to crash in his bed.

Svarog tiredly sighted while passing through the front door mildly doing a cross sign before adjusting his silver rosary behind his burgundy shirt, hidden to beyond the bare skin of his collarbone with a too pale face and too bright eyes, not without some effort, he gazed ahead and adjusted up the collar of his long leather coat.

And then while he walked the cold night path back home he saw it the so characteristic yellow fosforescent color of barrier police tape. Svarog passed under the tape with a swift move to better see the stone wall that were surrounded my it. There were no chalk lines on the ground, no blood drops on the ground nor in the footer-

Emerald bright eyes squeezed lightly then as identified a strange mark in the wall. Long fingers touched the star-like symbol with its tips, almost too softly even though the sharp jaw of the man was clenched: a pentagram.

And then he heard a feminine voice and his eyes snapped to the side.

Wow! Smoking hot babe on the radar.

Yet the petulant note on her ask made Sva with devil-may-care casualty and a brain melting contagiously playful smile move his left hand to move away his coat left lateral in the level of his chest reveling in the well tailored black shirt, a few buttons open exposing nonchalantly the sharp collarbones, his distinctive was still visible. And then moving his bright emerald eyes back to the dark haired woman with a tint of boyish amusement playing in the tip of his lips.

"Forensic expert of NY Violent Crimes units."

His tenor voice echoed pleasantly honeyed although professional, as always edging an innate sensuality.

And then the same hand of long fingers that were in his coat now moved, as smoothly elegant, to extended in the woman's direction in a greeting.

"And the miss is...?"

He asked, an almost hiss dancing in his last word with boyish charisma although his verdant hues were firm and gravely serious. This weren't places to civils be. No matter how gorgeous they were. Especially the gorgeous ones.

@hauxtedbeauty

[windblooms]

inazuma girls – letting you fall asleep on them

inazuma girls × reader; reader's pronouns aren't specified. headcanons of ayaka, baal, kokomi, sara, yae miko, and yoimiya in the company of their very drowsy s/o. warnings for: power imbalances + unhealthy relationship with baal, don't let the romantic language fool you.

- ̗̀  ayaka  ̖́-

if thoma were just a bit more unprofessional, then he'd be teasing her day and night about how her voice hitches the instant you look at her, or the brazen rush of color that swirls on the apples of her cheeks at the mere slip of her name from your mouth; ayaka has, on some occasions, been literally head-over-heels in the middle of the kamisato estate hallways for you, a flustered pile of arms and legs and strewn hair accessories.

"i– oh, i apologize. i wasn't watching where i was going, are you hurt?"

in other words: she's nothing but bashful in your company, and her fondness is painfully obvious, even to the untrained eye.

the first time you allow yourself to go completely limp against her shoulder, the timid kamisato actually believes that something is amiss. she immediately drops what she's doing, careful not to jostle your unconscious body, and inspects your face and pulse.

genuine astonishment isn't an expression she wears often, and it settles awkwardly onto her visage; ayaka reaches out to rub your shoulders and wake you up. perhaps you're ill, and you need to see a doctor. you probably haven't eaten enough today – all sorts of possibilities run rampant in her mind, but come to an abrupt halt once she feels you nuzzle your cheek onto her shoulder.

"oh." she gets it now.

of course, she'll still be concerned. while you're content to rest against her (and her heart keeps doing these little jumping motions, as if it's about to leap out from between her lungs – be still, poor thing), ayaka does her best to keep her figure upright so your neck doesn't crane uncomfortably. she'll also write a note to her retainers to send for a medical advisor, on the off-chance that there really is something that's causing you to feel unwell.

parts of –oh, all of her, from the tips of her ears to the extremes of her toes– are alight with the realization of your trust towards her. inazuma is so hostile nowadays, and being in connection with one of the most renowned clans in the nation can't be easy. your vulnerability, and apparent willingness to share it with her, stirs a warm, kindled sensation in her chest that seldom reoccurs with anyone else.

when you wake up, she's there for you. ready with a myriad of worries and check-ups that will surely keep the two of you preoccupied for the next hour.

- ̗̀  baal  ̖́-

the relationship that the two of you share is . . . complex. for one, no one is on equal footing with the raiden shogun, nor ever will be in all of teyvat. two, well . . .

sometimes she will do things that make you feel equal. you've been conditioned your entire career –no, life– to believe that the shogun is all-mighty, barren of competition, and without any obligation to lower herself.

and you still think that. how could you not, when she holds your gaze hostage and curls her voice around your throat, trickles lightning through your bones and bends your knees with just the tilt of her crown–

but she lingers on your figure, beckons you to her side when her other retainers are dismissed, and asks you to stay for tea. her brow eases when you're just an arm's reach away, and you can see the faintest, nearly imperceptible tug of her lower lip between her teeth.

you don't dare protest in these instances, nor verbalize any curiosities. what the raiden shogun wants is her business, and you have no right to interfere.

if only you could tell your mind that, and ingrain it into your soul.

"if there is nothing else to say," she vocalizes one evening, studying your bowed figure on the tatami matt. however, she isn't addressing you, but the other attendants and scouts in her presence, "then you may leave."

the raiden shogun's gaze doesn't falter from you, a silent, unavoidable command, as you rise to your feet and take your place at her side.

this is what celestia is like, you determine as the shogun's palm hovers above your shoulder blades. if it isn't, then what else is?

you don't know (nor do you really want to, apprehensive of an answer to) what the two of you are. perhaps you're her pet, obedient to her whim and incapable of retaliation. yet that fondness in her irises . . . the violet inferno is absent when your eyes meet, and instead, you're only witness to a morning ocean.

"rest." she traces the words into your back, too, and your shoulders sag immediately. with open arms, the shogun welcomes you into her embrace, visage void of any distinct emotion as she cradles your form for the remainder of the night.

- ̗̀  kokomi  ̖́-

"that's the last of our tasks today. you look a bit weary – would you like to retire for the day?"

with the lilt in her voice airy and serene, she manages to lure you into her tranquil reef. kokomi's clothes are so inviting to your senses, wafting of seabreeze and island ganoderma, and her smile . . . you'd probably be sent into cardiac arrest, since merely observing her makes your heart halt in your chest.

the sleeves of her dress tickle your cheeks, and boop against your nose. curtains drawn closed and with only candlelight to illuminate the room, the ambiance is much more intimate than in her office. there have been a handful of instances when she's worn herself out and collapsed on atrociously-strewn heaps of books, and you've had to craft a make-shift cot in the study. but thankfully those occurrences are seldom, and the two of you can enjoy the quietude of her room.

lethargy softens the skin underneath her eyes. concerned, you reach out a slow hand to brush the displaced hair from her forehead, but she catches your fingers in her own. she offers her signature, reassuring smile.

within moments, a small jellyfish materializes on her fingertips, just next to yours. it dances and pedals down your arm, over the ridge of your shoulder, and nuzzles your head affectionately. kokomi's quaint laughter follows.

she starts. "we made lots of progress today, and each hour was worth it. the resistance will be glad to hear of our accomplishments. but i can't go out there and speak without my lucky guppy." on queue, a watery string rubs against your cheek. the jellyfish, pleased with itself, evaporates into a light shower of hydro.

"so we should rest now. don't run that ingenious mind of yours in circles."

and what the lady sangonomiya decrees is what shall be done. she cranes her neck to give you a gentle kiss on your lips, content, before squeezing your hand. she observes as your eyes drift shut, and your chest rises and falls evenly.

kokomi falls asleep after ruminating of future days when she won't have to worry about protecting your resting form, because in the future, it'll be guaranteed.

- ̗̀  sara  ̖́-

there isn't any instance that you can recall in which sara is at ease. shoulders drawn back and bow at the ready, ruthless efficiency is seemingly her only disposition. even in the face of you, her treasured and loyal tenryou companion, she has yet to let down her guard, or objective for that day.

you worry that's all there is to her. callous meticulousness and pragmaticism for such a devout, unwavering soul to the shogun. there's more to her, there has to be, you wish. not just for yourself to alleviate the shock of her piercing words as they puncture your ears, but for her. she shouldn't just live her life under one goal, one purpose. as prestigious as serving the shogun is, there has to be more to the reason of celestia's blessings than serving others.

the trek today has been laborious. tracking down the resistance is, unfortunately, a tedious chore, and the rest of the soldiers that accompany the two of you have withdrawn to their bedding for the night. sara sits, silent on the lake shore, eyes transfixed on the stark outline of seirai island. tepid yet hopeful, you approach her figure, softly calling out her name as she turns to greet you in the moonlight.

"is there something you'd like to speak about?" she curtly prompts, verbiage formal. you shake your head, and gradually ease yourself down to her side. "it would be best for you to head in soon. the clouds won't be merciful tonight."

again, you shake your head. sara doesn't say anything else, leaving you in the stillness of the night. all of a sudden, your eyelids feel heavy.

"i might . . . actually . . . " you murmur, and sara is quick to turn her head towards you. you seem to sway, and she suppresses the urge to reach out and support you; that would be unprofessional, after all, so she settles for a sigh.

after thoroughly asking for permission, sara wraps an arm under yours, bearing the weight of your body as she helps you to your tent. you're still partially awake, as your feet don't completely drag against the dirt, but she doesn't take any short-cuts. lowering you onto your cot, sara tugs the blankets over your figure, mutely observing as you float to sleep.

another deep exhale. in the morning, she'll ask the kujou physician to ensure that you're in adequate health to continue following the resistance.

- ̗̀  yae miko  ̖́-

her eyes lift from the article in her hands as soon as she catches your figure at the tips of her vision. the edges of her lips quirk up slightly, lipgloss shining in the sakura light, as she extends a lithe arm to greet you.

"tell me," she murmurs sweetly, and you sink into her embrace. the weather is pleasant outside the shrine, and the two of you are sheltered from the poisoning at the base of the great tree. although she doesn't tell you aloud, yae does find solace away from the bustle of onlookers. her wit is quick and prowess, unmatched, but a maiden such as herself does deserve her withdrawals every once in a while.

"the day's been kind to you, hasn't it." it's a statement, as if she's seen your afternoon through a crystal ball. there's no envy, nor any other negative sentiment, behind her claim; in fact, yae allows her facial features to soften, rubbing a lone thumb along your side as you sink further into her hold.

"you can sleep. some suns needn't be alert."

a hum emanates from you in response. she speaks cryptically, and those familiar with her have the inkling she does so on purpose. you don't pay any mind to her coy mannerisms, and instead, listen to what she means: yae draws a landscape of the countryside in your mind, air fresh from a meadow and a breeze that carries tales from far away lands.

yae affords an indulgent laugh, lowers her body until her back is flush against the petal-covered ground, before puppetting your figure after her. with your head on her breasts, the priestess threads her fingers through your hair, fixated on how they fall back after she finishes toying with them.

her chest rises, then falls. with her heartbeat, you have a lullaby of the shrine itself, whispering into your ear and caressing your skin.

although yae closes her eyes, she doesn't drift like you do. she still intakes the mumbling of inazuma denizens from up the shrine, and the zephyr codings in the wind. eventually, her hand falls, and she indulges herself by allowing it to collapse on top of yours.

yes. some suns needn't be alert.

- ̗̀  yoimiya  ̖́-

"what say you and i get some treats after the festival? did'ya hear – apparently there's this fellow from kannazuka who's really popular for making taiyaki . . . "

it's always lively with her around. any other stranger to yoimiya's eccentricity would probably be left with whiplash, since her pace is break-neck and adaptability, unparalleled. but to her jubilation, you seem eager enough to keep up.

the past month especially has been hectic, with non-stop preparations for the plethora of summer festivals in inazuma. yoimiya has been in and out of the work shop more times than you can count on your two hands, yet never relents.

you've even taken care to help out where you can, the pyrotechnician carving out breaks to teach you how fireworks operate, how to process orders, so on and so forth.

you're practically apart of the business now, and yoimiya ensures to compensate you with plenty of gifts and kisses.

this is one of the last festivals of the summer season, much to both your relief and despondency. the two of you are understandably exhausted, although yoimiya doesn't wear the fatigue on her sleeve as much as you do; that's just how she is, still insistent on enjoying the festival that the two of you contributed your time to make shine.

"waah, there's a good spot up ahead! c'mon, let's go there."

with snacks in-hand, you plop down next to her. she's right (as always): there isn't any foliage to obscure the twinkling sky above, nor too many nearby individuals that'll smudge your alone-time. content, you nestle closer to her, the melody of distant chatter and pacified onikabuto gradually dulling your senses . . .

of course, yoimiya notices when your breathing evens out and you're just a bit heavier against her arm. briefly, she detracts herself from the colorful, explosive display above to fold her legs and lower your head onto her thighs.

her fingers are nimble against your scalp, carding through your hair. you're none the wiser to her care, even as the blasts above dwindle off and the shore overtakes the ambiance at midnight.

[signedaiko]

I want to resend one of my previous messages cuz I feel I rambled on that one way too much lol Hope that’s ok. My request is for your HCs for an unaligned bot that’s revealed to have the power to summon and create Energon, and how TFP bots and cons of your choice would react to such a sight. When said bot was found, their stasis pod was encased in Energon crystals. They were told about the war from their rescuers, and the impact of such news caused said bot to anxiously pace around. In doing so they were leaving a trail of Energon crystals that would grow wherever they stepped. However they didn’t notice until after the bots and cons of your choice pointed it out to them. In the past, the unaligned bot was a scientist and they gained their powers from a freak lab accident. As a trade off to such a power however they have no combat experience whatsoever.

Coffee Birb

Ratchet [Prime]

- Ratchet would not mistake who you were, a renowned scientist that dabbled in the medical field - He took significant doubt in your survival, as that would mean you went on for millions of years without being seen - After various scans, checks and a surprising resuscitation from yours truly, it was no doubt the bot that had seemingly perished so long ago - And with you came the only thing the doctor would ever consider a miracle; the power to create energon - Ratchet was careful with you, as you could be all sorts of fragile after such time - He would lecture any bot willing to be reckless in your vicinity - Being such a small team, there were many times you would insist on helping the team - But Ratchet was sure to keep you in base - Not only had you no war experience whatsoever, but you were also a walking combustible - Who knew what one laser could do with whatever trail you lead - Not to mention you were probably the most valuable cybertronian known to the universe - Both because of the energon and because you were a joy to have in the lab - Ratchet would never tell you that

Shockwave [Prime]

- What they found in the mines was at first thought to be a large energon cluster - But upon drilling and cracking through the ginormous crystal, something Cybertronian laid within - Your stasis pod was brought immediately to Shockwave - He took a great time picking each crystal from the device to ensure whoever was inside would not suffer from an explosion - And the scientist was filled with a temporary pride when he managed to salvage what he thought at the time to be a corpse - He was wrong - You burst upwards and smacked right into him moments before he was going to cut into your arm to analyze you further - He wasn't planning on keeping you alive as it would be a waste of energon - But he quickly realized that excuse was most illogical considering you created it - I like to think you both worked together a long while back, but he does not care to remind anyone of such

Soundwave [Prime]

- Your status pod crash-landed right near the Nemesis, so it was all easy to recover and bring on board - Knockout saw to your care when you were pulled from the rubble, and that was when Soundwave's interest piqued - No insignia, no identification node, no alt mode as seen by lack of transformation cog - Among all else, the TIC was an interrogations officer, so it was in his duty to interrogate you - Your designation was unmistakably the same one as the great scientist that fell just before the war had started - He lands you a position among their rank in the labs and has found you produce much more energon when content - Soundwave sees to it that you are protected in the Nemesis, but naturally, he would have seen whether he wanted to or not

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

Authors Note - I kind of went for the 'scientists' of the groups because I felt that opened a big door for possibilities here :)! Less focus on romance or anything here and more lore aspect of this because I realllyyyy like the prompt here!

[jojobee2256]

Final Wish

Warning: dying reader, angst, doffy’s daughter, isolation

Part 2

You sneak out of the mansion easily and walk the streets of the city barefoot. You had been feeling better lately, but you had enough experience to know this was the calm before the storm. After all that's how your disease worked. In a few weeks you would be bed ridden, unable to keep anything down, and in so much pain that whatever doctor the family brings in no matter how renowned would put you into a medical induced coma till the episode passes in a few more days. You were used to the routine since you've had the illness all your life, but you never got to go to town. The most you were allowed out was in a wheelchair through the mansions gardens with a family member pushing you.

You laugh to yourself a bit. He would be so mad at you when he found you gone. He almost never let you out of his sight to the extent of having a nanny cam installed in secret in you room, but you spotted it right away. After all you knew every corner of the place. Today you had planned for the power to go out in your room though and dad was on a mission so you were able to escape easily before the nurses came to check on you or the maids to see why the power wasn't working.

Normally you would never do such a thing but you could feel your strength leaving you for the last few months, your heart giving in despite your will wanting to live. This next one may be the one that finally kills you and you wanted to see outside the mansions large walls at least once.

You notice a lot of interesting people, a man with odd piano like teeth, a woman who was eating an absurd amount of food, a large guy with disproportionate wings on his back. You were so busy people watching you didn't notice the group in front of you and fell down hard after colliding with the one in the middle.

"Sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going." You apologize while carefully getting up. You had scrapped up your hands when you fell and your elbow was bleeding but it was your fault for not looking. As you begin to walk away, thinking about how you were going to explain this to your over protective father, a man stops you.

"Oi you stupid mosshead, apologize to the lady!" He grabs your hand and gently yet firmly.

"What'd you call me, you ero cook!?!" The green haired man shouted back. The first one let's go of your hand and you shuffle back a little bumping into another member of the group.

"I'm sorry! I didn't notice someone behind me!" You spin around and apologize again but to a woman this time. She laughs a little and smiles at you, moving her black hair from her face.

"It's alright, those two tend to get carried away so why don't we get you cleaned up instead of waiting here?" She holds her hand out to you.

"It's fine really, it was my fault. I'll just tend to my wounds when I get home." You try to reassure the woman, not wanting to cause anymore trouble.

"Still, if our friend heard that we let an injured girl walk away without helping her out, he would be quite upset." Not wanting to be rude with denying her again and thinking about how you really didn't want to go back like this, you take her hand.

"Ok, my dad would be pretty upset if I came home like this anyway. I should get home soon though, my family will go crazy if I don't go back soon."

"Then we better get you fixed up quickly. Our friend Chopper is a doctor and is at a nearby clinic helping out another one of our friends." She talks about how the two of them would have you good as new as she guides you to a clinic a few blocks from where you were. Once you reach it you read the sign saying 'Heart Clinic' and are instantly reminded of Corazon and Law. They had apparently betrayed the family and had been killed, but you were always fond of your uncle and Law. He had an incurable disease like you and would always talk about how he would cure you before he died. At the time only the executive members of the family were allowed to visit you, but Baby 5 and Buffalo would occasionally sneak in to see you, however they never told Law about you. He discovered you on accident when he was trying to find a 'peaceful' place to read and ended up in your room since he hardly saw anyone come in and it seemed quiet enough. Since then had visited You whenever he could and would keep you company.

You chuckle bitterly at the memories. Maybe you could meet him soon after death. You knew what your family did and you didn't necessarily agree with it but loved them anyway and chose to ignore their wrong doings out of a fear of dying alone. Law and Corazon were different though, you didn't have to ignore any wrong doings they did because they didn't do many of them, if any at all, in your eyes.

"Robin, I thought you went out with Zoro and Sanji to get some food?" An orange haired woman walked up to the two of you, snapping you back out of your thoughts.

"We were but then Zoro bumped into..." she turned to you. "Oh my, I forgot to get your name!" You smile at her and open your mouth to say your name when it comes out in a different, more masculine voice than your own.

"(Y/N)-ya?!" You turn to the origin of the voice to see a tall man with black hair sticking out of a fluffy white hat with black spots... just like Law had all those years ago. He rushes over to you and hugs you tightly, as if you were going to disappear if he didn't grab hold of you.

"Law? Is that you?" You try to turn your head to see his face but he buried it into your shoulder and hair.

"Yeah, it's me." He let's go of you a bit but still holds you at an arms distance. "I thought you died."

"Me? I thought you did! Everyone told me you died with uncle Corazon years ago!" He flinches as you say Corazon's name but not necessarily in a bad way.

"No, only Cora-San died that day. I escaped and healed myself, but you should have died years ago. Your condition-" Law's interrupted by Robin.

"I don't really get what's going on but shouldn't you treat her wounds first?" Laws eyes immediately rest on your arms and drags you to the nearest room with an examination table.

"What happened!" He seemed very upset as he began to disinfect and cover your wounds.

"I just bumped into someone and fell down. It was an accident caused by me not paying attention." He looks at you skeptically.

"And did you fall so hard you lost your shoes?"

"Oh, I forgot about that!" You laugh a little. By now you were joined in the room with several other people, including the three from before.

"I was wondering about that. You didn't have any on when you bumped into Zoro." Robin points out.

"Well, I don't really have any shoes aside for some indoor slippers so I just ran out like this. It was a choice to go outside like this and I don't regret it." You wiggle your dirty and beat up toes with pride.

"Eh? Do you never leave your house with shoes on? That's inconvenient. You should get some!" A boy with a strawhat tells you.

"I have a couple of pairs you can have at the apartment. I'll go get them." The orange haired woman adds before starting towards the door.

"Oh, you don't need too!" You shout out quickly before she can leave the room. "I never leave the house grounds so I never needed shoes before. I just wanted to go outside once and besides, when I get home My family will probably never give me a chance to leave again so it's ok." You blabber on without fully realizing how much you said.

"They lock up such a beautiful princess in a house! Don't you worry, your knight in shining armor has arrived and you don't ever have to go back again!" The blonde guy from when you first met spouts out as he dances around the room. He attempts to grab my hand but Law blocks him.

"Just who exactly is your family?" A long nosed guy asks. You jump a little and look at Law. He gives a nod before speaking himself.

"I need to treat her feet first so why don't you all introduce yourselves and then we'll fill you in on why she has been locked up inside her whole life." Law knew you wanted a chance to compose yourself because he also knew that you weren't exactly eager to tell people who your father was. Lots of people get hurt because of him and you didn't want to have them hate you due to your bloodline.

After learning everyone's name and Law finished wrapping your feet, you all moved to the break room where you sat next to Law on a couch.

"I want to explain why I am not allowed outside first." You begin. "My family was told that I had an unknown disease when I was a baby and my dad never wanted me to leave the house grounds in fear of me having an episode outside. I don't think I even have a social security number, he's hidden me so well. None of the doctors could figure out what it even is or what caused it, but they knew it was going to kill me."

"Then how do you know Law if you never went outside before?" Nami asks.

"I was apart of her family for a while when I was a kid. Only the higher family members knew about (Y/N)-ya, I just stumbled upon her one day though." Law adds while pulling you a bit closer to him.

"So that means (Y/N)'s family is..." Franky begin.

"Yeah, my dad is Doflamingo."

"EH!!!!" Everyone in the room voices their shock.

"I know my family has done horrible things and I hope they get justice eventually, but... is it so wrong to want to die surrounded by those that love you?" They all seem to grow less tense at your statement but Law seemed to actually stiffen in return.

"What are you saying, (Y/N)-ya?" He asked in a stern voice and as if in cue your chest begins to burn a bit. You stand up and turn to Law with a smile on your face.

"You already know I'm dying. It was a miracle I made it this long, but I feel myself getting weaker." You touch your chest as the glaring pain grows. "I probably won't live through this next episode, whatever doctor Dad brings will just put me under again and I'll die in my sleep. I am just happy I got to go out this once, I even got to see you again so I have no regrets." You turn to leave and as you reach the door you turn to Law on last time. "I am glad you got yourself cured, bye Law." And with that you left the room leaving the remaining people stunned and silent only to have your vision fade halfway down the hallway and collapse against the cold floor.

[jerzwriter]

The Ex Factor... Tomas A Casey & Ethan Story...

Book: Open Heart

Pairing: Ethan x F!MC (Casey)

Rating: Teen

Summary: LinkedIn suggests Casey's ex as a connection for Ethan and he can't leave well enough alone.

Category: Fluff with a bit of jealousy on the side

Warnings: Maybe a curse or two

Words: 836

A/N: This is a just-for-fun fic, but it became too much fun, so I'm not opposed to revisiting other exes (his and hers) in similar ways in the future... let's see where it goes?

A/N 2: Tomas FC is Diego Boneta

Ethan detested social media. To him, it was no more than a vast wasteland filled with grotesque conspicuousness. It seemed people did not have a modicum of decorum any longer and he wanted no part of it. That is until Casey came into his life. Now, to his chagrin, he occasionally appeared on her timeline. Sometimes even smiling.

He felt it was a travesty that he was forced to get an account due to the Gwyneth Monroe debacle, and he planned on deleting it right away. Planned on. But the lure of remaining, thanks to his one and only Insta friend, proved too tempting. He could never get enough of her bright smile, her ocean blue eyes, the curve of her... well, you've got the picture. So there he stayed. It was seldom used typically only when Casey was not around and he really needed a fix before they were official. Since they were official, he'd check every so often to make sure she wasn't mocking him too much.

But then there was his professional burden. He didn't want a LinkedIn Account. What was the purpose? If people wanted to see his published works, there were plenty of avenues to find them. If the hospital wanted to highlight his personal success or that of his team, isn't that what their website was for? But one day the suggestion became a requirement.

"We'll set it up for you," Naveen's assistant beamed.

Translate. We don't trust what you'll do with it, so let us.

But now he was in the habit of checking it once a month, usually on his laptop with Casey curled up nearby. She'd be scrolling through more entertaining content as Ethan learned what an old Hopkins buddy or two were up to today, or making sure Tobias wasn't doing anything to cause the team grief. He often found the suggested connections interesting, but never as much as tonight:

What the...

Tomas Sanchez. Renowned new voice in the social psychology movement. Area Chair at UCLA, the youngest person to ever hold that title. No surprise really, his two recent publications, both geared for the mass media, sat on the top of the New York Times charts for over a year each. He used his newfound wealth to create a mental health clinic for migrant workers, and he named it after his Abuela. Then he spearheaded a new program to make mental health services available to disadvantaged youth in his community, the attention came from as far away as the White House. He was on the talk show circuit frequently, baring that toothy grin next to one luminary or another, who more often than not were singing his praises. Some felt he was handsome, though Ethan didn't see it. What he did see is that a Ph. D clearly didn't teach the man how to button his damn shirt properly. He'd probably fit right in with Lahela and Carrick. Ethan shook his head.

While all these accolades were impressive, indeed, Ethan was a world-renowned leader in the medical community. Unlike Dr. Sanchez, he didn't want nor seek the media spotlight. So that left just one reason that the mention of his name alone, never mind the audacity of LinkedIn suggesting they connect, turned the normally logical doctor into an irrational loon. And that was because of a title Tomas held long before he was a semi-household name... the first man who ever owned Casey's heart.

Casey sat about ten feet away, snuggled up on the couch giggling as she tapped away at the screen on her phone. Ethan chuckled. She was undoubtedly engaged in three simultaneous group chats, all with the same group of friends. He didn't get it. He didn't want to. He no longer tried. But he didn't care, because he loved the way it made her smile.

He looked back to the toothy, chest-bearing psychologist staring back at him. He wasn't Lahella, he wasn't a fling or a friend with benefits. He was her first love. Real love. She thought she would marry him until their work took them apart. He glanced over at her again and felt his body melt with relief. Thank God he himself had come to his senses as her residency ended, or else they could have suffered the same fate.

Preeminent psychologist of his generation, my ass. He let Casey go, how smart could he be? Clearly not as smart as he thinks he is. And there is no way I'm connecting with that clown.

He was about to close his laptop when Casey spoke.

"Baby! Guess who is going to be in Boston next month! Tomas! He is coming for two days for an interview and book signing and he wants to grab dinner. My God, it's been... I don't even know how long it's been any more!"

Is that why she's smiling?

Yeah, the laptop wasn't closing. He knew he shouldn't do it. He was being ridiculous. This was beneath him. But...

Down the rabbit hole, he fell...

Scholarly article. How nice.

Accolades from the governor. Isn't that special.

Charity ball. Attended stag. Hmmm.

Instagram account...

Looks like he hasn't been on this once since... 2014? Can that be right, say's he was an NYU grad student that's about right... when he and Casey were dat ... oh, fuck it.

Click.

CASEY!!!!!!!!!

To be continued.....

SERIES MASTERLIST

[wandaluvstacos]

SEASON OF BLOSSOMS

THE FOUR CHAPTER IS UP! (THE FIRST 5 CHAPTERS WILL BE FREE)

Genre: Fantasy Romance Rating: 18+ Elevator Pitch: Bridgerton, but gay and with tieflings. Check out this story’s art under the tag Season of Blossoms

Includes: Mxm, mxf, and nbxm romance, sibling rivalries, romantic drama, fun sexy hijinks all around. This one’s lighter than most of the stuff I write, lol. There is a scene that takes place after an attempted suicide, but I think that’s the only thing that needs to be warned for.

In the nation of Tithly, it is custom that those of marriageable age travel to the city of Philsia for the yearly Season of Blossoms– four summer months of parties meant to provide youth the opportunity to find their spouse. This year will be the first year that all three of the Tsylgahra siblings attend: Mithleem, Anli, and Lisanth.

Three years after his wife’s tragic death, Mithleem has finally decided that he’s ready to start his search for someone new. As one of the top people in his class at the Academy and a successful doctor during his time in the army, he’s a household name and a hot commodity at parties, including one thrown by Tithly’s most renowned painter. There Mithleem is called to the bedside of the painter’s equally famous spouse, Ysaika Talorilau, and it may take someone of Mithleem’s skill to save their life.

Anli’s been to Philsia three times for the Season, but she hasn’t had much luck. This time she meets a young man above her station who shows interest, and despite her misgivings, she’s willing to give him a shot, even if the family’s new steward, Thyla Daschanhildi is quite insistent that Anli deserves better. Anli’s not sure about that, but she knows that Thyla’s only ever been supportive and loyal, sometimes to such a degree that Anli wonders if there’s more to it.

As the youngest Tsylgahra and wild child of the family, Lisanth is interested in racing horses, starting squabbles in the local tavern, and worrying his parents on the nights he doesn’t come home. However, he knows he can’t put off Philsia forever, and at the insistence of his mother, Lisanth grudgingly makes the journey with his siblings to the City in the Sky. There he meets a stranger who wields charm with just a hint of danger. Only later does Lisanth come to realize that the stranger is in fact a prince– Prince Jafkar A’nesh to be exact.

Excerpt:

       In the painting, Ysaika was completely surrounded by flowers of every variety, color, and shape, and in their detail laid Thimwich’s genius. Anli could name most of the blossoms, but the list would be lengthy and Anli would be missing the point in creating it. Anli was not trained in the reading of art, but she knew Thimwich made no mistakes. The flowers were overwhelming in their quantity and diversity, and it seemed that Ysaika was not so much in a garden as she was in an ostentatious collection created solely for this painting. This was Thimwich’s love letter to his spouse, an attempt to match Ysaika’s beauty and show is devotion with every stroke of the brush. How many nights had he spent detailing ever petal? He likely painted them after he painted Ysaika, and so each night spent painting a flower was another night he would spend in the looming and angelic presence of his beloved.

            Anli didn’t know how long she stood there staring at it, but eventually she felt Mithleem touch her shoulder.

            “Are you tearing up?” Mithleem murmured in the silence of the giant room.

            “No.” Anli sniffed and wiped at her face. “Maybe.”

            Mithleem squeezed her arm. “It’s a beautiful painting.”

            “Can you imagine someone painting you like that?” Anli whispered, afraid of intruding upon the quiet. “I believe the pamphlet advertisement said it took him a year.”

            “It’s something.”

            “He must really love them, don’t you think? It’s so apparent in how he paints them.”

            “I’d probably paint more clothes on my spouse.”

            Anli turned to Mithleem with pursed lips. “You don’t get art, do you?”

            “I get it. Maybe if I looked that good naked, I’d want to be painted nude, too.”

[c-optimistic]

Hallo! I greatly enjoy your writing, for everything really, and whenever you get the chance and some inspo hits, wouldya write somethin sweet and gay? Whatever you're feeling, I'm sure I'll enjoy it! Thank you v kindly and I hope you have a lovely evening/day!

Kara shifted in the chair, feeling a tiny bit uneasy. Her nurse—a young woman who introduced herself as Nia when Kara had been called from the waiting room—smiled kindly and paused her typing on the desktop situated on the study table in the examination room.

“First time getting your eyes checked?” she said knowingly, voicing the question though the answer was clear in Kara’s fidgeting hands and on Nia’s computer screen, proclaiming Kara to be a first-time patient. “You shouldn’t worry, Dr. Luthor is the best ophthalmologist in the business. She’s world renowned, not that she’d ever admit to it.” It seemed like that last part was more for Nia’s benefit than Kara’s, said in a slightly miffed mumble as she turned her attention back to the computer. “Any known allergies?”

Kara blinked, feeling a bit trapped. “Um, no, but—”

“—we don’t have any medications listed for you. Is that right? You’re not on any prescriptions?”

“Oh, no. I’m not. But I—”

“—I see you wear glasses. When was the last time you got a prescription? Did you want to get new frames, we can—” Finally Kara had enough. She reached out and grabbed Nia’s hand, causing her to fall silent. “This is weird. Is this a come on? Because you’re really pretty, but I don’t swing that way.” 

“No, I—wait, what?” Kara released Nia, feeling as though she’d been burned. “No! Not a—not a come on, I would never—”

“Look, it’s okay. I didn’t think so, you seem...well, nice. But I have a lawyer friend who owes me a favor so...I can have you sued. Just so you know.” She narrowed her eyes in an attempt, unsuccessful unfortunately, to look intimidating. “So what is it? You look like I tried to drown your cat.”

“I shouldn’t be here,” Kara confessed, meeting Nia’s eyes steadily. The nurse blinked owlishly at her, clearly lost.

“I don’t follow,” she said, confirming what Kara already knew. 

“Look, I’m going to trust you, okay? There’s nothing actually wrong with my eyes. Or my health in general. I’m in like perfect health. By human standards, maybe more than perfect. But I don’t want to sound arrogant or anything, you know?”

Nia’s head was cocked to one side as she studied Kara. “Sorry, I still don’t follow.” 

“I’manalien,” Kara said in a rush, and judging from the way Nia’s eyes widened and her expression cleared, she understood Kara perfectly. 

“Well that explains all...that,” she gestured wildly to Kara. “So what’s the issue? Dr. Luthor is super supportive of aliens. She’s one of the only doctors in National City to—”

“—I don’t need glasses!” Kara interrupted, not really needing to hear about Dr. Luthor. “Look, I’m only here because,” she paused, not sure if she was willing to give the long explanation of how her work mishap, the stupid excuse she’d mumbled out, and a well-meaning coworker’s insistence to help (with a voice in Kara’s head that sounded suspiciously like Alex reminding her to keep her secret identity secret when she tried to get out of the whole thing) led her here to this moment, “it doesn’t matter. I just need your help. Tell the doctor I don’t need to be seen, give me a fake prescription, and I can go on my way.” 

Nia frowned, shaking her head. “Dr. Luthor would never buy it, and she has to sign the prescriptions. She’s very particular about it. You’re here, you may as well just...get your eyes checked?”

“My alien eyes that can shoot lasers and see through anything but lead? Those eyes?” 

“That’s so cool,” Nia breathed out, but she was focused. She pulled a drawer open and pulled out to eye drops. “One is to numb, the other is to dilate.” She paused, eyeing the bottles then Kara. “Would you even need a numbing agent?” 

Kara resisted the urge to tell Nia that her cousin once had a bullet to the eye and it just dropped to the ground, harmless to a Kryptonian. Instead, she leaned her head back, allowing Nia to apply the drops, reassuring her the whole time that she’d help with Dr. Luthor. She winked at Kara before slipping out of the exam room, leaving only a single dimmed light on, assuring her the “doctor would be in soon.” 

Kara closed her eyes—which felt no different from before she’d gotten the eye drops—and leaned her head back. She couldn’t leave, she didn’t want to stay, and she was just about to declare this one of the worst days in the last year at best, when there was a knock at the door and it swung open. 

And standing there, bathed in the bright light of the hallway, was the most beautiful woman Kara had ever seen, a grinning—and all too smug—Nia standing right behind her. 

She had long dark hair, brilliantly green eyes, wore the tightest dress Kara had ever seen, with heels that she was sure were murder to walk in all day. The sleeves of her white coat were rolled up to her forearms, her bright red lips were curved into a breathtaking smile. 

“Hi,” said the walking angel, “I’m Dr. Lena Luthor. Nia tells me you wanted to check your eye pressure and get a new prescription?” 

Kara nodded numbly, struck dumb by Dr. Luthor’s easy grace. 

Nia snickered, actually snickered, as she closed the door behind them, leaning against it as Lena pulled a chair in front of Kara and motioned for her to bring her face up to the tonometer. “Forehead against, yes, and chin on the rest down there...perfect,” Dr. Luthor said gently, her voice like honey. Kara couldn’t help it, her eyes followed Dr. Luthor’s, wanting to memorize the shade. She was so busy trying to decide whether it was an emerald or sea green, forgetting entirely her misgivings about being here in the first place, that she missed the first part of Nia’s attempt to ‘help.’

“—quite extraordinary, don’t you think?” Nia finished, causing Dr. Luthor to pull slightly away, cheeks tinged pink. 

For the first time, Lena Luthor was something just below perfection, stumbling over her words a little as she responded. “Oh, yes, um. They are. Looking at eyes is my job, Ms. Danvers, but yours are—well, like Nia said, so unprofessionally, they’re quite extraordinary.” She leaned back in, looking a little interested. “In fact, they’re almost—”

“—your eyes are very green,” Kara blurted, both because she was thinking it with Dr. Luthor’s face so incredibly close and because she wasn’t sure if she wanted a world renowned ophthalmologist looking too carefully at her eyes, lest she see something, well, inhuman. “Do your patients ever mention that?”

“For sure, but you’re probably the first person Dr. Luthor wants to hear it from,” Nia said, which had the doctor in question turn around and flash her a dirty look, and had Kara spluttering. 

“Your lawyer friend should sue you,” Kara managed before refocusing her attention on Dr. Luthor. “I’m really sorry about commenting on your eyes. That was rude. I said the quiet part out loud. Can the numbing agent for the eyes cause a loose tongue?” 

It was the stupidest thing to say, Kara knew it as soon as the words escaped her, embarrassment heating her cheeks and the back of her neck as Nia choked on laughter and Dr. Luthor seemed, well, angelic. 

“You know, Nia tells me you have very interesting eyes,” Dr. Luthor said, her tone and the stressing of ‘interesting’ making it very clear Nia had told her about the laser vision. “You don’t need a doctor.”

“I need a fake prescription.”

“I can write you a note instead,” the doctor offered, getting Kara to lean back in her chair and tugging the tonometer out of the way. “Would that work?” 

“Could you say I can’t see with my old glasses and that’s why I ran into a table and knocked over a coworker’s favorite mug, not that I broke it by trying to heat their coffee with my laser vision?” 

Dr. Luthor laughed, the sound like the jingling of bells. It was beautiful and was thoroughly distracting. “I think that’s a lot for a note. What about, you have vision issues I’ve never seen before?” 

Kara thought about it for a moment, then nodded, sticking her hand out for the doctor who stared at it with a fond smile on her lips. “You’ve got a deal, Dr. Luthor,” she said, waiting for the angel to take her hand. After several seconds, during which Lena Luthor met and held Kara’s gaze, she reached out and took Kara’s hand, her index and middle finger sliding against the inside of Kara’s wrist. She opened her mouth—to say what, Kara wasn’t sure—when Nia cut in.

“In return for the note, Kara will take you to coffee. Oh look you shook on it! That’s an oral contract, my lawyer friend will sue you if you don’t go on that date.”

Kara blushed and glared at Nia, ready to let the doctor off the hook, but Dr. Luthor’s grip on her hand tightened. And when Kara’s eyes met Lena Luthor’s incredibly green ones, she noticed they were crinkled in a smile. 

“When we go to coffee,” she said softly, “you have to call me Lena. All my dates do.” 

[nillegible]

the JGY amnesia Fic

[AN: Someday I will come up with decent titles for my fics... but not now XD I hope you like this fic, the premise is that the issue with XY and NMJ happens before JZX’s death, and so the argument and the stairs moves up in the timeline! And JGY hits his head and gets TV-show amnesia, and remembers no one, not even himself, but is otherwise his sharp, suspicious self...]

He wakes up sure that he is dying, nothing else could hurt so sharp, agonizing pain radiating out from the back of his head, stabbing sharply every time he is swung, and he forces his eyes open. The light burns, but he can make out an earth green and brown collar, and a strong jawline. He is being carried by this man.

He doesn’t know who this is, but he feels… safe. Even though every step this man takes makes his eyes water.

He blacks out.

*

His name is Jin Guangyao. It rolls smoothly off his tongue, but sits wrongly in his mind. “Temporary amnesia,” the doctor had informed him, when Jin Guangyao could not tell him the answers to any pf his questions; not his name, or the date, or where they were.

A fancy young master in white-and-gold robes, who introduces himself as Jin Zixuan, is the one who sits by his side and tells Jin Guangyao the basics of his life. There is such an obvious lack of detail that it leaves him intrigued. And Jin Zixuan looks ashamed when Jin Guangyao asked if he was Jin Zixuan’s uncle. “No, I’m your older brother,” he says. “We… we share a birthday, but you’re a day younger.”

Jin Guangyao watches him for a moment, and wonders at the source of his brother’s shame. “I’m a bastard, aren’t I?” he asks.

“My father legitimized you!” Jin Zixuan protests. “You’re my brother.”

Jin Guangyao smiles at him. This man is clearly naïve, but has no ill-intent. The man who had named Jin Guangyao Jin Guangyao, however? He is yet to ascertain that.

*

Jin Guangyao’s memory doesn’t return within the first week. With his head injury healed, though, he’s allowed to leave the infirmary which allows him to collect a lot more useful data.

There is a lot of work piled up in his room. Disorganized, as if someone had gone through it to take the important paperwork to work on while he is <infirm>. That he was assigned so much work that was non-essential makes him wonder if he was actually pretty low on the social ladder, here. He goes through all of them anyway, most of it is useful information, painting a picture of Jin sect’s activities, and the sorts of projects that they allow to drag on for weeks. Jin Guangyao has left meticulous notes in a separate notebook about how to put everything into a more sensible order. That such reworking was required

His accessories, or lack-there-of, are even more enlightening. There’s also a scholarly-sort of hat, and only a few cheap hair ribbons. Nothing at all like the intricate jade hairpins or crowns with intricate metalwork and precious stones that Jin Zixuan and Jin Zixun wore daily.

Jin Guangyao’s place here is… obvious.

He wonders who the man who had picked him up after his injury, was. No one tells him, not even Jin Zixuan, he just pats Jin Guangyao’s hand and says, “Don’t worry, you’re safe now.” The implications of that are obvious, of course, that the stranger was the one who had hurt him. And yet it’s a subject no one speaks of, of how Jin Guangyao had fallen down the thousand steps of Koi Tower, and he hadn’t asked after the first two times. He stays wary, watching everyone. Someone had tried to kill him, and he doesn’t even remember which of his acquaintances might want him dead.

*

Lan Xichen arrives two days after his release from the infirmary, Lan-Zongzhu, according to everyone else. He’s beautiful, the most beautiful person that Jin Guangyao has ever seen. Since he remembers all of a week, this doesn’t sound like a compliment, but Jin Guangyao could probably search for decades and not find anyone more beautiful. It would not be fair.

They have tea together, after Lan Xichen – “Call me er-ge, you are my sworn brother, A-Yao,” – has checked him over worriedly, and checked his meridians, and pressed his fingertips gently to the back of Jin Guangyao’s head, to where his head injury had been, and ascertained that he truly is well.

“They did not tell me you were injured,” he says. “Da-ge had to, and this is the week of new students for the summer lectures, I could not leave. Jin Zixuan promised me you were well, though,” he says. Sincerity shines through him, and Jin Guangyao wonders what on earth he, an unwelcome child in his own family, could have done to make this man care for him.

So he asks.

Lan Xichen describes a heroic young man, who gave him shelter when he needed it most, who had smiled and laughed at him, and helped him with chores he could not do, and gave him the strength to fight a war. Lan Xichen tells him that this kind young man had gone into a war that did not affect him, only to help, that he had turned spy against a raging mad man, and finally taken off his head.

“So that is why my father took me in,” says Jin Guangyao. There’s a flicker of pain on Lan Xichen’s face as Jin Guangyao tells him what he’s surmised about how he’s treated here. “Did you know?” asks Jin Guangyao.

“I suspected,” Lan Xichen says softly. “But you were too proud to tell me. You insisted you were happy here. I visited when I could, but I never… I’m so sorry.”

Jin Guangyao reaches out to pat Lan Xichen’s hand, it feels so familiar, even if Jin Guangyao can’t remember doing it before. He must have, Lan Xichen’s sad face cannot be borne. “I’m sure I didn’t want to bother you, er-ge. You’re overworking yourself even now.” The signs are there, even behind his flawless composure. “You look so tired.”

“I had to come,” says Lan Xichen. “I was so scared that you…” He trails off, then turns his hand, holding onto him tightly. “If you don’t remember your place at Koi tower, do you want to return with me until your memory recovers? We’re still reconstructing, but Cloud Rececsses is still an excellent place to ”

“This Jin Guangyao is honoured, but what if it doesn’t?” asks Jin Guangyao practically. “I can’t just leave my home like that.” More quietly, he adds, “There must have been some reason I didn’t leave before.”

“You never said, exactly, but I believe it was because of your mother,” says Lan Xichen. “She wished that you would gain your father’s recognition, and a place at Koi Tower.”

“Do you know anything about her?” Jin Guangyao is not an idiot, he knows from the snide remarks, the way that people try not to touch him that he is of low birth, that his mother’s occupation was. That. He wonders if Lan Xichen will lie to him.

“She was an educated woman,” he says. “A renowned beauty. You’ve told me that you take after her, in many ways. She was skilled in the arts. She never taught you art but she was your master in calligraphy and music. She loved you very much and wanted you to have a good education because she knew… she knew that A-Yao is so incredibly smart and destined for greater things.” He squeezes Jin Guangyao’s hand. “Her life was not easy. She suffered, but she loved you. She would be proud of you, to know how much you achieved.”

It should matter, it does matter, Jin Guangyao’s heart squeezes, but it is from sympathy for what Lan Xichen is feeling. The dark honey-gold eyes are bright with tears. Clearly Jin Guangyao had loved her very much, before. But Jin Guangyao cannot find in him any love for a woman that Jin Guangyao cannot imagine. A woman with his face, a prostitute, but educated, talented. And ambitious to have Jin Guangshan’s son.

“My father did not take her in, I gather?”

“He did not. She died of illness shortly before I met you.”

“Thank you for telling me,” says Jin Guangyao.

*

Lan Xichen stays an entire afternoon, and readies himself to leave at dusk. Jin Guangyao accompanies him to the sky-pavilion on Koi Tower that the Jin disciples use to take off from.

There’s a last nagging question that Jin Guangyao hadn’t managed to slide into the conversation, as it meandered into cultivation theory and Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen had tried to piece out some kind of pattern in what kinds of cultivation knowledge he had retained, and what he had forgotten. It had been an interesting exercise.

“Er-ge, before you go,” says Jin Guangyao. He looks around cautiously, but no one is near enough to overhear. “You’re older than Jin Zixuan, aren’t you?” he asks, and Lan Xichen nods. “So our da-ge… you never said. Is he… did he die during the war?”

“No!” cries Lan Xichen. “A-Yao no, he’s not. He’s fine, he just could not find time to visit.”

Lie.

It’s the first time Lan Xichen has lied to him today, but Jin Guangyao is certain of it.

“No one talks about him, and I couldn’t find any letters from him. I did find a few of yours. No one even says his name. Who is he?”

“Nie Mingjue,” says Lan Xichen, sounding defeated. “Of course you would think to ask, but his name is Nie Mingjue.”

Everything falls into place. Jin Guangyao has seen some Nie disciple couriers on their way to private meetings with his father and the Jin council of elders. Hard faced and angry looking, they kept to themselves and departed the moment they could, without staying for a meal or entertainment.

“You think he pushed me down the stairs,” says Jin Guangyao.

“No,” says Lan Xichen. “We know he did. He kicked you down the stairs. He–”

“And you believe that?” asks Jin Guangyao.

“Of course I do,” says Lan Xichen. “Da-ge was the one who told me. I knew that things were difficult between the two of you, recently, but I had not imagined… It does not matter, we are looking through the records now, so that you can be free of your vows to him, and even if we can’t find something, he won’t visit Koi Tower again, Jin-zongzhu has forbidden it.”

“Oh,” says Jin Guangyao, mind whirring. “Okay then.”

“Is A-Yao afraid we’re covering something up?” asks Lan Xichen. Jin Guangyao is not sure what gave it away, he thought he’d kept his face smooth.

“Naturally I trust er-ge,” he says, smiling up at him. “I just remember him, vaguely. He picked me up. He saved me.”

It’s Jin Guangyao’s first memory, pained and fragmented though it is.

“He did take you up to the infirmary right after,” Lan Xichen agrees. He looks faintly puzzled, like he’s not sure why that matters to Jin Guangyao.

“I understand,” says Jin Guangyao. “Nie-zongzhu would of course regret his action after his moment of anger.”

“He does,” Lan Xichen assures him. “You should write to him, if you are willing to accept his apologies, but Da-ge is terribly sorry.”

“Thank you er-ge, I will,” Jin Guangyao promises. The relief on Lan Xichen’s face is too pure for this world.

He waves goodbye after Lan Xichen takes off, and steps back into the maze of Koi Tower, mulling over all the new knowledge that Lan Xichen had brought with him. He was right, he should write to Nie Mingjue.

But after some more research.

What could they have possibly quarrelled about so badly?

Jin Guangyao makes his way back to his rooms, keeping his face expressionless at the gilded opulence and overt unfriendliness of his home. He doesn’t understand his past self at all.

Why does he still live here, where he’s so clearly unwanted?

Why did he even care for the acknowledgement of Jin Guangshan, who from even just Jin Guangyao’s few interactions this week and the gossip he’s picked up, is a selfish, disgusting pervert who wouldn’t spit on Jin Guangyao if he was on fire.

Just because his mother wanted him to?

She was a good woman, he hears again, in Lan Xichen’s sincere voice. But Jin Guangyao doesn’t get it. She had to have been a fool, to believe in Jin Guangshan, or terribly cold and cruel to send him to Jin Guangshan knowing exactly what kind of derision would await him here. He is a war hero, and yet he’s treated like a servant.

Jin Guangyao is in the mood to be charitable, so he picks the former.

He still doesn’t know why he stayed.

[You can now read part 2 here!]

[shoutogepi]

A Million Times Over, part 1

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𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Todoroki Shouto x American!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 11.3k holy shit this is so long guys. fuck.

[ ☀︎, ☁︎, ✘ (nsfw!) ] (series warnings)

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : some NSFW themes but no actual smut. a lot of pining and angst. some cute moments too tho!

𝐛𝐢𝐨 : You lose all memories from the past five years of your life due to an accident-induced coma, including any recollection of your beloved boyfriend and fellow pro-hero, Shouto. He’s devastated that you don’t remember him, but the both of you are determined to get your memories back, no matter how long it takes. In the meantime, you attempt to rebuild your relationship with him… while also nurturing the spark that’s still very much lit between you two.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : Originally I intended for this to just be a long fic… but even for my standards, this would be wayyy too long to be just in one post. I decided to split the fic into three instead, so this will be the first part of my very first multi-chap series, A Million Times Over, for my beloved Sho <3

𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : big thank you to my sweet friend @todoscript​ for beta-reading this for me and hyping me up!! love you, can’t wait to read what you have in the works soon <3

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─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

“.../n”

…

“.. y/n…”

…

🅃he buzzing noise in your ears sharpened. White light snuck between your eyelids and you groaned, fingers reaching toward your temple. Confusion burst forth as you recognized foreign, plastic tubing connected to your skin, your eyes opening wider as you began to register your surroundings.

You were in a hospital room. To be more exact, you were in the bed in the middle of the hospital room— meaning, you were the patient. The realization shocked you, and you jolted upright abruptly, suddenly all too aware of the tubes stuck up your nose. At your sudden movement, large, warm hands landed on your arms and rubbed at your skin gently, making your attention turn to the person sitting at your bedside.

“Y/n? Hey, you’re okay, love, it's alright. You’re safe, I’ve got you.” His voice was smooth and deep, an anchor for you to grab onto in the midst of your confusion.

You were gawking, staring straight at him— you couldn't help it. Your jaw was probably hanging open, gaping like a fish at the man before you. What were you in the hospital for exactly— had you gone insane and dreamed this situation up?

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

“Sh-Shouto Todoroki,” you mumbled, gaze connected with his tired but bright, heterochromatic orbs. His brow furrowed and his head tilted slightly at your courteous acknowledgement, but he brushed it aside and smiled at you instead.

Your heart was pounding in your chest as you took in his form beside you. He was tall— you could tell even though he was seated— and he was more handsome than you’d ever imagined, somewhere in his mid-to-late twenties judging by the sharp, masculine features of his face.

“Y/n…,” he breathed out, a large, calloused hand coming up to cup your jaw. Then he pulled you into a hug, his strong, muscular arms wrapping around your torso and cradling the back of your head to press you into his chest. He smelled of clean laundry and winter, a crisp, fresh scent that made an unknown comfort blossom in your chest.

Slowly you placed an arm around his neck, your other hand laying limp on the sheets as it was still connected to the IV. You rubbed his back slightly, still dazed by your apparent situation. Looking outside the open window in the corner of the room, you realized it was daytime; yellow sunlight beaming into the room and pouring onto the tiled floor. There were vases of flowers all around the room, as well as stuffed animals, cards, and balloons that all wished for your health and speedy recovery.

“I’m so glad you’re awake,” Shouto whispered into your shoulder, still holding you tight in his embrace. His voice was still low, but this time it shook with profound emotion. “I missed you… so much.”

Your body felt relaxed in his arms, even though your brain was whirring a thousand miles a minute. You had no clue how you’d ended up in the hospital, who sent you all these gifts, where you even were geographically, and most importantly, why Shouto Todoroki was holding onto you like you meant the world to him. You patted his back stiffly and he let go of you just enough to move his face in front of yours. His eyes held such love and relief, the emotions as clear as day that butterflies ruptured from your stomach. As if his expression wasn’t enough to get your heart racing, he leaned forward and captured your lips, pressing his mouth to yours in a firm but sweet kiss.

It only lasted for a minute, but it was enough to have your heart rate monitor start beeping rapidly, noisily chiming at the other side of your bed. His face was so perfect and smooth up close— you couldn’t close your eyes as you took in his astonishing beauty. Sure, you’d imagined he would be perfect… but in person, here before you, he was indescribable. The man of your dreams. And a good kisser, too.

A nurse rushed into the room, seemingly out of breath. When she caught sight of the two of you, your lips locked, and Shouto holding you so tenderly, she let out an awkward cough and pawed at her scrubs, averting her eyes as she approached your bedside. Shouto pulled away, only to plant a soft kiss on the very tip of your nose before leaning back into his seat. He had a wide smile on his lips, content-crinkled eyes settled on you as his hand enveloped yours.

“So you’re awake!” the nurse stated excitedly, busying around with the beeping machine, managing to shut the blasted thing off. “How are you feeling? Any pain, discomfort?”

You glanced at Shouto, who smiled at you warmly and squeezed your hand. If that heart rate machine was still on, surely it would be going haywire again. “Uhh, I think I’m okay… just kinda groggy,” you replied truthfully, your voice coming out hoarse. You cleared your throat and she handed you a small cup of water, which you took gratefully. You continued on after taking a few sips, the liquid cooling your irritated throat. “No pain, but I’m a little… confused, to be honest.”

“I’m sure you are, hon,” the nurse said, giving you a smile full of understanding. It made you feel a little less on edge, and you gave her a half-hearted smile back. “You were in a bad accident almost a month ago. You suffered some head trauma, and you’ve been in a coma ever since. You also had two bruised ribs, and some minor surface wounds. The cuts are all gone now, and your ribs should be almost all healed by now as well, but if you have any discomfort on your left side here,” she gestured to your ribs and continued, “just let me know. I’ll page your doctor and we’ll do a quick check-up on you in just a minute!”

You nodded slowly, the gears turning in your head. You were in an accident, and then a coma for a whole month? It all seemed so crazy to you— you can’t remember a single thing leading up to your supposed accident. Head trauma… you weren’t usually the type to get hurt, and you’d never been in a coma before. “Umm… what kind of accident was it?” you asked, looking between Shouto and the nurse, not really directing the question to either of them specifically.

“You were flung into a cement pillar during a fight, love. The blow was mostly on your side, hence your bruised ribs… but your head smacked into the pillar secondarily,” Shouto replied, his smile disappearing as an unfamiliar bitterness washed over his handsome face. “We were battling together and you were knocked unconscious instantly… you’ve been asleep ever since.”

“A fight..?” you frowned, tilting your head in confusion. “We were fighting, and you threw me against a… cement pillar?”

Shouto looked horrified at your misunderstanding, adamantly shaking his head and making his soft, two-toned hair shine in the sunlight. “No, I would never hurt you— the villain did, baby. I incapacitated them right after,” he paused, eyes casting downwards and his free hand forming into a fist at the memory, “but the damage had already been done...”

That sounded right… your job was herowork, you could at least recall that. But you didn’t think you’d ever fought beside a hero as great and renowned as Japan’s famed dual-tempered Shouto. Sure, you’d been doing your best to climb the American hero leaderboard, but you weren’t by any means at the top yet. “Umm… can you tell me.. why we were fighting a villain together, exactly?”

Shouto looked directly at you, his brow furrowing before he looked to the nurse on the other side of your bed. They shared a look, and you shuffled uncomfortably in the cotton sheets pulled up to your waist, unease sitting like a rock in your stomach.

“Y/N, can you tell me what you remember before the accident?” Shouto asked slowly, his grip on your hand tightening just a fraction. There was a sliver of something else in his voice now, a hint of urgency in his request.

You looked between him and the nurse hesitantly, racking your brain for anything you could think of. “Uhh… I don’t… I don’t remember, I— I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright hon, don’t worry. It’s common to have some confusion after just waking up from a coma. We can try an easier question. Let’s see… do you know your birthday?”

You responded instantly, and there was the tiniest amount of relief on Shouto’s face at your correct response.

“Your mother’s maiden name?”

You got that one right too, Shouto’s thumb rubbing over your knuckles soothingly in silent praise.

“How about your phone number?”

You took a second to think of it, but you answered that one too. The nurse looked over at Shouto to see his reaction, and so did you. But Shouto was frowning at you, making dread drip into your veins. “That’s your US number, love… what’s your Japanese number?”

You looked at him incredulously. “My Japanese number? Why would I need a Japanese number?” you inquired, thinking this must have been some kind of trick question.

The nurse and Shouto shared a more serious look, and Shouto swallowed as he looked away from you, turning toward the window instead. You squeezed at his hand but he didn’t respond, so you turned to the nurse instead, confused now more than ever.

“I don’t understand…,” you mumbled, hoping for some clarification from her. She smiled at you, but this time it did not reach her eyes.

“You’re in Japan, hon. You’re speaking Japanese right now… and you’re also one of the top heroes in Japan, just like your boyfriend here.”

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The next few days passed by in a blur. The hospital staff was all very kind and hospitable, but it still felt like you had woken up in the middle of someone else’s life. Even though your body was yours, and you looked just the same, you couldn’t help the unease that lingered from your imposter syndrome.

You had gone through so many tests and check-ups that they all blended together at this point. You had been poked, prodded, and quizzed the entire time since you’d woken up from your coma. There were so many different tests regarding your memory that your brain felt like melted jelly by now, and your frustration was at an all-time high.

Shouto had gotten up and left the room shortly after the nurse informed you of your situation. Your heart felt heavy for him— he seemed so excited, so relieved that you were finally awake— and this was the devastating reality that he was left to face. After patiently waiting at your bedside for weeks, this was the bitter pill he had to swallow when you had finally come-to… you imagined that he was not eager to confront such a terrible twist of fate. Yet he had come back into your room half an hour later, eyes suspiciously puffy and pink, and his nose a little stuffy, but nonetheless, he grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles, squeezing even tighter than before. Even though you barely knew him, his presence made you feel safe, and you were glad to have him by your side.

Between your numerous mental tests and check-ins, the conversation between the two of you was surprisingly easy. He was patient with you, and kind. Apparently, you’d first met him in America at a hero convention about five years ago, and you started dating after a year and a half of being friends. Your memory had been completely wiped of the past five years, leaving your Japanese friends, coworkers, and dedicated boyfriend all in the dark. According to Shouto, you had befriended many of the top heroes in Japan, seeing as they were also your colleagues. It turned out that the numerous flower arrangements scattered about your room were from these heroes, as well as fans… though a good amount were from the heterochromatic man himself.

Shouto took care of you during your days at the hospital. He talked to the doctor after your check-ins, pulling them aside and conversing in hushed voices in the hallway just outside your door. He called your family for you and flew them out, only adding to the chaos in your hospital room. He told all of your Japanese friends and acquaintances to stay away for now, knowing that meeting them would probably just overwhelm and guilt you. And each day he would bring you a treat that you would inevitably love, proving to you that he really did know you, and that he knew your preferences and even your favorite boba order. He probably would have stayed by your bedside even through each night, but you insisted he go home and sleep in a proper bed. You already felt bad enough that he was taking a hiatus from hero work until you recovered… you didn’t need to add his future back issues to your already guilty conscience.

You found yourself enjoying your time with him. You knew who he was— you had certainly heard of him during your previous hero work that you actually remembered. You kept it to yourself that you had harbored an embarrassingly large crush on him, though. You figured he probably knew that, seeing as he was your boyfriend of three and a half years… no need to bring it up! But now that your memory had reverted back to your mental state five years ago… you inevitably had feelings for the pro hero, and you weren’t sure if he either couldn’t tell how he affected you, or if he was just being polite. Whatever the case, there was still a spark between the two of you. Even though all the progress of your relationship had been erased on your side, each day your feelings only grew for the selfless, charming, and witty half-and-half man. So much so, that you would now reach out for his hand when he would enter your room each morning, and he would smile at you and slip his fingers between yours, no matter how much it hurt to restrain himself from showing you more affection.

After about a week, you were cleared to go home. Your nurse, who you had come to know as Akari, told you that the doctor had originally wanted to keep you for longer… but that Shouto was such a doting beau that they had given you the express go-ahead, knowing you would be in the highest of care.

Your memory was still not restored, though you had started to remember odd things here and there. Like how to use your phone— it was the newest model and far from the technology you were familiar with five years ago, but you opened the device and navigated it expertly on your first go. The doctor said that that was a good sign, though it could just be muscle memory... but Shouto still gave you a small smile of encouragement. Next was when you had asked Shouto to bring you your favorite moisturizer, a Japanese brand, and you just mentioned it so casually in conversation that you would have blown right over it had Shouto not pointed it out to you. You were recalling little, mundane things here and there, but never anything big— no people, no places. No distinct memories.

Akari assured you many times that as long as you kept working at it, your memories would return. She always said it when you were frustrated— she could tell your moods and she could see how hard you were trying. But she also said it when you were doing fine, and that was when you knew she was saying it more to Shouto than anything. You were glad to have her there, because even though Shouto was there for you physically, he kept most of his emotions sealed off from you… and it was hard for you to read him. Akari was an excellent nurse, and you felt blessed to have been taken care of by her. But a tiny, minuscule part of you was jealous that she could tell how he was feeling, while you were left in the dark.

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You sighed as the car door clicked shut, feeling apprehensive. The vehicle that Shouto had driven to the hospital today is sleek, shiny, and foreign. You had no clue what model it was, but you knew it must have been expensive— the interior was framed with a polished wood that complimented the peanut-butter color of the leather seats and steering wheel. Shouto slipped into the drivers’ side next to you, offering you a small smile as he clicked his seatbelt into place.

“Are you nervous?” he asked, pausing before he turned the ignition. The car purred to life, a welcome screen popping up in the middle of the console.

You thought it over for a moment before answering, watching as he slid the parking ticket out from under the overhead visor. “A little… I think excited is a better word for it, though.”

Shouto’s smile broadened just a tad, his hand reaching over the center console and squeezing yours briefly. “Me too,” he murmured, eyes locked with yours for just a moment too long before his arm propped back against the corner of your seat, and he reversed out of the parking spot. You couldn’t help but admire his chiseled jawline as he did so, eyes flitting away quickly when he caught your lingering gaze.

The drive from the hospital to your home wasn’t long, and you were thankful that was the case— you’d have definitely felt even guiltier if he’d been driving for a long time all these days to come and see you. The city distracted you along the way, bustling and bright as ever, and your eyes were wide with wonder as you took in the colorful displays littering the streets and storefronts. Everything— everyone just seemed so alive; it was impossible to keep the smile from your face.

At one red light in particular, you saw a cat cafe, zoning in on a particularly pudgy cat snoozing at the top of the cat tree in the window. You giggled and pointed it out to Shouto, glancing over at him to see if he was looking, and the softest smile was on his lips as his eyes gazed deeply into yours. You held his stare for a moment and then looked away again, flustered and your cheeks feeling warm as you cleared your throat.

It was then that you noticed his hand lying atop the center of the console, tempting you to reach out and lace your fingers with his, like you had done so many times at the hospital. But it felt different without the safety of the white walls and medical equipment you had grown to know, somehow scarier— like he might reject you for whatever reason. You chose to keep your hands to yourself for now.

“It seems like you’re curious about the city,” he said as silence settled between the pair of you, the only noise in the cabin of the vehicle being the low melody from the radio.

You shrugged and hummed in agreement, eyes now glued to the other side of the window as countless people and businesses whizz by. “I like to know the city I’m protecting,” you answered, leaning back against the headrest. “It makes me feel more connected to the people that live here… the people we’re helping when we do our jobs. Y’know?”

Shouto nodded, humming his own agreement. “Yeah… I know what you mean,” he replied. After a short pause, he turned to you, waiting for another red light to turn green. “Maybe we can come out in disguise sometime… if that would interest you. I can show you around, we can have a little adventure.”

You visibly perked up at his suggestion, your grin making his heart flutter suddenly in his chest. “Yes! I would love that!” you beamed at him and he smiled back at you, the faintest hint of a blush dusting his cheeks.

You bit your lip as he turned back toward the road, the car shifting forward as he pressed the gas at the green signal. He was trying… so you had to, too.

“But only if we go together, okay?” You reached over and took his hand before you could chicken out. His fingers fit perfectly in between yours, and your cheeks felt hot again as you gazed intently at your intertwined hands.

Shouto let out a little breath of surprise at your action, but his fingers curled tightly around yours in under a second. “Of course… love.”

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Shouto had sent your family home, despite their protests. The doctor’s orders were for you to resume life as you normally would— apparently, that would be the quickest way for you to regain your memories. The verdict was much to your parents’ dismay, but they understood that it was the fastest means for you to return to, well, you. So they left Shouto to take care of you, and he insisted that once your memories came back, he would fly them back out to see you again, or the two of you would come to them.

Though technically he was a stranger to you, he was the closest thing to home in the strange storm of your memory loss. He had been there for you every step of the way, every day. He tended to your every need, and he even anticipated your needs before you were aware of them. That didn’t change once you arrived at your shared apartment.

If you could even call it that.

“Holy shit,” you mumbled when Shouto unlocked the door for you, gesturing for you to enter first. Your jaw was on the herringbone-patterned, hardwood floor as your eyes wandered around the entryway, taking in every design detail you came across. You barely managed to take off your shoes before you were peeking your head into the bathroom next to the entry hallway, inspecting the clean and gorgeously-furnished half-bath.

Shouto chuckled and closed the door behind him, making sure to turn the lock as he set his keys into a porcelain bowl beside the door. “Go explore, I think you’ll like what you see,” he said amusedly, a half-smirk on his pink lips as he eyed you. Your starstruck expression only grew as you padded into the open space of the living room.

A long, cushy sofa and chaise stood before the huge flat-screen that was nestled into an elegant built-in, shelves filled with books you knew and loved and ones you didn’t recognize, too. Game consoles lined the shelf below the plasma screen, and your toes curled into the fuzzy rug underfoot as you gaped at the room. Everything— even the curtains and the coasters on the coffee table— was exactly in your taste. You felt like you were in wonderland. Had you fallen down a rabbit hole and this was the magical, heavenly place you had landed in? Clearly this had to be a dream, right? You woke up as Todoroki Shouto’s long-time girlfriend, and apparently you lived here, with him?

Goddamn.

The kitchen, laundry room, main bath, office, bedroom, and master bath all fit your taste exactly the same. Only the second office and spare bedroom seemed a little out of place— they were more of a traditional Japanese design, but even though it was different, you did not mind. Even the runner on the staircase— who had a staircase in their apartment, by the way?!— was in a pleasing color and pattern. There was even a decently sized home gym, with various equipment and machines and a mirror running the length of the entire wall. By the end of your expedition, you were simply at a loss for words. You found Shouto sitting on one of the stools at the marble island that separated the kitchen and the living room, busy combing through some manila files.

“Umm,” you started, catching his attention.

He looked up at you, propping his chin onto his hand as his elbow rested on the counter. One brow quirked up, he grinned slyly at your outright astonishment. “Well?” he prompted, sitting up and rolling his neck, then stretching his broad shoulders. “What do you think?”

You try not to linger on the way the muscles rippled underneath his tight, crisp shirt, playing off your silence as shock. “It’s uh… perfect? I live here? I actually live here, right? You’re not pulling my leg?”

Shouto chuckled and shook his head. “I would never, love. Well, I have before, but no— I’m not right now. You live here. We live here. It’s all ours.”

You laughed giddily, unable to contain your excitement. Shouto smiled fondly at you, your grin infectious as your eyes wandered around the kitchen once more.

“Snack pantry is behind that door,” he nodded his head to the side and your eyes grew even starrier. He couldn’t help the laugh that trickled out of him at your instant footsteps— you were still you, after all. He knew all the ways to your heart very well, and one of them was most definitely through food.

“Woah.” Your mouth hung open once again at the rows of snacks and foods that greeted your gaze when you opened the door, the light flicking on automatically. Your eyes danced over the labels, recognizing many of your favorite flavors throughout the variety. “We could survive a whole year off of this stuff, Shouto.”

You stiffened when an arm wrapped around your middle, his front pressing up against your back as his chin fell onto your shoulder. That same comforting scent encircled you, but this time it was mixed with a subtle, woodsy aroma that made your mouth water.

Shouto breathed softly into your hair, the tip of his nose brushing the side of your neck. “I stocked up for your return, love.” He took another leisurely deep breath before he pulled back, his arm falling from your body and leaving you surprisingly cold without his touch. “Wanted you to have everything you could possibly desire.”

Your eyes inspected the pattern on the hardwood floor as he stepped away from you, your arm crossing over your front to grab onto your bicep nervously. Letting out a small laugh, you replied, “Yeah, I think you covered all the bases…”

He only hummed as he returned to his seat, sliding on a pair of thin metal glasses you hadn’t seen him take off before. You couldn’t help but think he looked incredibly handsome like this— a rare, domestic sight for only your eyes to enjoy. “Sorry I can’t entertain you at the moment,” he said, that analytical gaze locking onto you once more. “My agency asked me to look over these cases and I just have to finish them up— I’m technically on leave, but I still want to help out when I can. I only need another half hour or so. Feel free to help yourself to anything you like. This is your home, after all.”

You smiled and nodded, rolling back and forth on the balls of your feet. “Alright, I’ll try not to bother you.” Shouto frowned at your wording, but you carried on anyway. “I think I’ll poke around our room and see if I can find something that triggers a memory.” Your acknowledgement of your shared bedroom seemed to put him at ease, and with that, you grabbed a strawberry-flavored snack from the pantry before making your way past him, roaming over to the bedroom.

“You can go through my things if you want, too!” He called from behind you, having already made your way to the stairs. Choosing not to reply to his invitation, you hopped up the steps and quietly closed the door to your bedroom, hands landing on your hips. Inspecting the room from left to right, you decided to go through the toiletries in the master bath before anything else.

Before you could move even a foot in the direction of the en-suite, a furry creature darted out from underneath the bed skirt and dashed toward you. You gasped in delight at the gorgeous visage of the long-haired cat— she had bright blue eyes and fine white fur, her coat streaked with gray here and there. The cat meowed cutely and curled around your ankle, rubbing her head against your leg affectionately.

You immediately crouched down and lowered yourself to her level, fingers eagerly diving into her soft fur and offering a good scratch behind the ears. “Hi gorgeous,” you cooed, the animal mewling back at you in response. Your fingers found her collar and you flipped over the tag, reading her name with a smile. “Nice to meet you, Yuki.” 

Heart softened at the thought of Shouto owning such a pretty creature, you gave her a good long rub before you decided to move on to your quest at hand. The creature followed closely behind, twisting in between your legs as you entered the en-suite.

The bathroom was large and luxurious, just what you would expect from a pro-hero of Shouto’s standing. It occurred to you that you too, were a hero of such regard, which must explain why you could afford all the lavish things you came across while combing through the closets and cabinetry.

You went through countless skincare products, face masks, makeup items, and bathing goods on what you presumed was your side of the double sink before you peeked into Shouto’s drawers. You fingered through his hygienic products, mumbling to yourself in surprise when you came across skincare items whose existence most men would not even be aware of. You shrugged and figured that you just must be an excellent girlfriend and teacher, assuming he used them correctly.

Eventually you found his shaving items, eyes scanning the labels until you find his aftershave. Shrugging, you took the cap off, giving a tentative sniff before you realized that must be what you smelled on him earlier, when he’d pressed up against you from behind and nuzzled into your neck. You bit your lip as you recalled how his arm felt around your waist, his nose on your throat. It had felt so intimate, and oddly… natural.

It was the most contact you’d had with him so far. While you were at the hospital, he would hold your hand. Besides that first moment when you had just woken up— when he hugged and kissed you, and the fireworks that had gone off had been then overshadowed by the horrific realization that your memory had been wiped— the half-hug just twenty minutes ago was the only time he had initiated further physical contact with you.

You frowned. It wasn’t like you’d been super affectionate toward him, either. Sure, you had reached out for his hand at the hospital, and you took it again during the car ride home… but now that it was just the two of you, alone in your home… it felt different. Maybe that was why Shouto had asked if you felt nervous when you were in the car, following your discharge from the hospital only an hour ago. Had he seen it coming— this potential pitfall in the reconstruction of your relationship? You wondered how he felt about all of this, but you were too shy to ask him so directly. Not when you barely knew him.

“Missed me so much you’re sniffing my cologne?”

You froze and glanced up at the mirror, Shouto’s reflection smirking at you from his leaned position against the doorway. Your cheeks immediately went warm and fuzzy again as you capped the glass bottle, carefully placing it back into its drawer before looking over your shoulder to him. A glance at the clock on the wall revealed it had been forty minutes; you must have gotten swept up in examining your beauty products.

He didn't have his glasses on anymore, and he had changed into a solid-colored t-shirt, the crisp button-down he’d donned earlier nowhere to be seen. Damn it… you had missed your chance to ogle at him with his shirt off. At your silence, his smirk melted into a small smile, stepping forward and joining your sitting form on the heated-tile floor. “Don’t worry, I’ve done the same to your perfume before as well,” he murmured as he reached toward the drawer on your far side, his arm brushing against your back as he searched for the glass vial. “You can try it, too. It’s the most recent addition to your collection, and I personally am very partial to its scent.”

The contact made you swallow, your gaze flicking over to his. He was looking at the various perfume bottles in the drawer, though, giving you the chance to inspect his face as his hair fell forward, soft locks of red and white splaying across his forehead. He was so breathtaking up close like this… your gaze dropped to his lips. God, you wanted to kiss him. You wanted to feel those lips on yours again, to be in his arms and to be held as tenderly as you were that first day you awoke.

“Oh right,” he chuckled, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck awkwardly. “I brought it into the spare room the other day… Must’ve forgot to put it back.” He leaned back, ending the accidental physical contact with you.

You looked at him quizzically. “The spare room? Can I ask why?”

Shouto blushed and your heart thudded in your chest. Oh crap, he was so cute with his cheeks tinged pink. “Yeah… I’ve been sleeping in there since the accident. It just feels…,” he paused as he searched for the right word, eyes avoiding yours, “wrong… to be in our bed without you.”

Your own cheeks warmed at that, his confession pulling at your heartstrings. “So the perfume..?”

His cheeks darkened a few shades, the hand on his neck rubbing harder at his skin. “Ah, that’s… honestly kind of… embarrassing to explain.”

You reached out so your hand covered his, and Shouto sighed as he allowed your fingers to slide in between his. “Can I guess? Will you tell me if I’m right?” He nodded at that, deciding it was better if he didn't have to say it. “You spray my perfume onto a pillow at night and snuggle up with it?”

Shouto’s eyes widened at your immediate response, swallowing before he let out a stiff laugh and a nod. “Yeah, that’s exactly right… kind of lame, isn’t it?”

Shaking your head, you smiled gently at him. “No, I think it’s sweet. It’s just what I would do if you were away, too.”

There’s a shocked silence that filled the bathroom then, Shouto’s wide eyes fixed on you for a long, intense moment. Eventually you broke eye contact, looking to the floor with an awkward smile.

“And you don’t have to do that tonight…” you offered quietly. “If you want, I mean… you can sleep in here.”

“Is that where you’ll be sleeping?”

You looked back at him, surprised by his instant reply. “Y-Yeah, I think so…”

“Alright,” he conceded, his blank face melting into a warm smile. “Then that’s where I’ll sleep, too.”

You returned the gesture, pleased to have made him happy. “Will you be spraying me with perfume before we tuck in?” you joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“No,” Shouto answered seriously, the smile dropping from his face, “your natural scent is a thousand times better than any perfume, love. I’ve missed it lingering on our sheets.”

Cheeks warmed for what seemed like the thousandth time today, you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and smiled, unsure of what to say. “Aha okay… well, I think you smell pretty good, too.”

⋆⋅✧⋅⋆⋅✧⋅⋆⋅✧⋅⋆

Shouto originally wanted to order in from your favorite restaurant for dinner, but you managed to sweet talk him into allowing you to cook instead. After about a week of feeling completely worthless, it was nice to have something you could finally, actually do.

The refrigerator was just as stocked as the pantry, so after analyzing the plethora of ingredients at your disposal, you decided on a meal and set off, gathering all the things you’d need in an excited hurry. Just as you were about to start washing vegetables, Shouto slipped an apron over your head, steady hands drawing the ties together at the bottom of your spine. The garment fit you perfectly, intricate design in your favorite color. You thanked him as you glanced over your shoulder, grinning up at him.

There was a somewhat somber look in his eyes, a halfhearted smile just barely curving his lips before he nodded and moved away, retreating back to the other side of the counter where he’s staked out to watch you work. He’d offered to help— numerous times, actually— but you told him to just sit back and relax. You wanted to do something for the tired man, even if it was as small as putting together a meal.

It didn't take long for you to get into a rhythm. Chopping the vegetables and preparing the other ingredients came naturally to you, and you found yourself enjoying the process. It was something familiar, which was very much welcome.

“Do we cook a lot?” you inquired, raising your voice a bit so Shouto could hear you over the sizzling pan in front of you.

He was leaning on the countertop again— he must’ve known he looked delicious like that or something— and he glanced over at you from the open book he was reading. “Mm, when we have time. It’s not that we don’t enjoy it, but usually we’re both very busy. It’s normal for us to leave early, and return home late.”

You nodded in understanding, grinding fresh peppercorns above the skillet and giving the contents a stir.

“I like everything you cook for me, though.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, stealing a look over at him. While your cooking had improved since your teenage years, it wasn’t like you were a chef by any means. “Everything? You’re just trying to be sweet on me.”

The corner of his mouth curled up. “Maybe… is it working?”

The sound of the food crackling from a drizzle of oil filled the kitchen for a beat, and you stared at the wilting greens before you, unable to bring yourself to look at him. “Yeah, I think it’s working…”

There was another pause in conversation, this one less stifling than before. This time, Shouto broke the ice. “Even though we’re busy people, we always have a date every Friday… It’s the highlight of my week.” His voice sounded gloomier than just a moment ago, but when you chanced a look over at him, he was smiling slightly, staring at a cabinet and seemingly off in his own memories.

You wondered which memory he was going over particularly, but didn’t want to intrude his recollection, so you focused on stirring the pan instead. Tapping your phone on the counter next to you just to make sure, your eyes flitted over today’s date. 

Thursday. 

“Tomorrow’s a Friday,” you mentioned, trying to be casual, despite your heartbeat ringing in your ears. It was stupid for you to get anxious that he’d reject you— he was your boyfriend after all. But to you, this was all  uncharted territory; foreign waters.

“Tomorrow is a Friday, yeah,” he confirmed, looking down at his book again. “It’ll be a week since you woke up.”

The realization that you’d woken up exactly one week ago—the day that caused the man so much joy and then so much pain— that that day had been on a Friday, your sacred day that was devoted to being spent with each other… it made your heart throb uncomfortably in your chest. You nibbled on the inside of your cheek, shutting off the burner and transferring the food into a serving dish. Bringing it over to the counter and setting it in front of him, you untied the apron and folded it neatly, placing that on the counter too.

“Would you… want to go out with me tomorrow, then?” you proposed smally, opening the drawers before you in search of eating utensils. You frowned when all you were met with was measuring cups and spatulas. “For our Friday date ritual, I mean.”

Shouto stood and crossed the island, opening the drawer behind you and revealing all the silverware and chopsticks. You moved to grab two pairs of chopsticks and he took your wrist gently, large thumb stroking across your skin. His other hand came to brush against the small of your back, but he chose not to grab onto you. “I would love that.”

You shared a smile and a meaningful look.

“Then it’s a date.”

⋆⋅✧⋅⋆⋅✧⋅⋆⋅✧⋅⋆

After the dishes were all washed, you agreed to watch a movie. You had initially wanted to pour over your things again, to see if anything could help your memories come back. But Shouto had suggested the two of you relax on the couch instead, explaining that  he was not surprised that you were overworking yourself, but that it was his job to make sure you took care of yourself. He further threatened that if you wouldn’t take care of yourself, then he would have to “take care of you himself”, and that left you flustered more than anything. So you dropped whatever excuse you had prepared to argue back at him and followed him to the living room.

Walking in, you blinked in awe at the spread that Shouto had set up. Numerous candies and snacks are laid out for your convenience across the coffee table. The lights were dimmed and curtains drawn, even a few candles flickering in the shadows and scenting the room with a cool, refreshing aroma. There was a pile of blankets stacked in the center of the sofa, all the decorative pillows pushed into the corners to leave one large space for the two of you to share. It was a little… dare you say it… romantic. You looked over your shoulder at him, shooting him a suspicious glance. He had led you to believe he was “taking care of you”, but it seemed he had ulterior motives, too. Not that you were complaining.

Seating yourself next to the blanket tower, you peeled one off the top before unfolding it, letting the soft fleece tickle your ankles and lay across your lap. Shouto crossed in front of the TV, grabbing two remotes from the basket and coming to sit next to you. There was a respectful amount of space between your legs, and you couldn’t help but frown at the gap. You thought that he would sit right next to you…

It took a little while for you to settle on a movie, all the films from the past five years unknown and novel to you… even if Shouto informed you you had already seen them. He went along with your selection without resistance, opting to grab one of the biscuit snacks on the table before you.

As the movie began, you leaned back against the soft cushions of the couch, not really focusing on the actors on the screen. Your eyes were trained on the television, but your mind was elsewhere, unable to distract yourself with the story. You also noticed that Shouto was sitting stiff as a board next to you, focused on nibbling at his snack. He didn’t attempt any moves at you throughout the first thirty minutes, even after he’d finished with his confection. Slowly you allowed yourself to relax, succumbing to the film and settling into the pillowy sofa.

Shouto detected your newfound relaxation, a gentle smile tugging at his lips as he watched your eyes fix on the main character and her love interest. “I’m going to make some tea. Would you like a cup, love?”

“I’m okay, thanks…” you replied softly, not really hearing him as the love interest was in the middle of their heartfelt confession.

He took a moment alone in the kitchen to calm himself. Even though you had been very receptive to him, he couldn’t help but feel hesitant whenever he touched you. He wanted you to want him; for you to want him to touch you. But he didn’t want to force anything with you, in fear that he’d scare you off or make a bad impression. He didn’t want to be pushy. Even before the accident, his heart still pounded whenever you would smile at him. When you would grab his hand, bring him something because it reminded you of him… when you would moan into his ear at ungodly hours in the night… Now it felt like his heart was in his throat every time you spoke to him, like if he said one word wrong, you’d fly away from him and never look back. It was terrifying.

Shouto shook his head. Sighing to himself, he filled his mug with water and held the ceramic in his hands, steam rising off the surface of the liquid almost instantly as he activated his quirk. He allowed the tea leaves to steep for a moment before he fished them out, steeling his nerves and returning to his spot on the couch. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like you’d scooted over just the tiniest bit, shortening the distance between you two as he took his seat.

Your eyes flicked over to him and caught his gaze on you, inspecting the mug in his hands before giving a curious sniff. “Chamomile?”

He nodded and offered the cup to you, which you took in both hands. “Technically, it’s called Sleepytime Mix. But yes, it has chamomile. Have some, if you want.”

“Ah,” you gave a long inhale and smiled drowsily at the familiar scent. “I don’t wanna drink all your tea. And besides, it’s a little hot for me.”

“Oh,” Shouto said, taking the cup back into his hands. He focused for a second, and then the liquid no longer emitted steam, now a pleasant, warm temperature. “Try it now. Help yourself, please.” He handed the mug back to you, the light from the television flickering across his handsome face.

You blinked at him cutely, taking the mug in your hands again. Your fingers brushed against his in the transfer, and he cleared his throat slightly, skin warmed from your touch. “Wow!” you chimed after a sip, going back for another few gulps before you handed it back to him. “It’s really good. Perfect temp, Sho, thank you.”

Shouto felt his heart skip a beat in his chest, his eyes widening at the name he hadn’t heard in weeks. It sounded so good rolling off your tongue, so right. At his flustered expression, you laughed awkwardly, fingers delving into the blanket and looking away meekly.

“Sorry… I thought that that was probably what you’re used to me calling you, but I can use something else if you like.”

“No,” he said instantly, his hand automatically reaching for yours. He pried it out of the fleecy material, folding his fingers around yours. “I like it. Please call me that, I… I’ve missed hearing it.”

“Alright,” you mumbled, fingers squeezing his for a moment. You kept his gaze for a long pause, and then you duck down, scooching flush against his side and laying your head onto his broad shoulder. It caught him off guard, but after a moment of buffering, he moved, his arm tentatively wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you against his side. The action made your cheeks perhaps as hot as the tea in his mug, but you only settled deeper into his embrace, happy to be in his arms. You fixed the blanket so it covered his long legs, too, settling over the both of you snuggly.

You two stayed like that for the rest of the movie, another forty five minutes or so. Your hand gradually moved to rest on his stomach, his long fingers stroking your spine through your shirt. It was new to you, but it was comfortable— your body recognized his touch and welcomed it, even— years of unknowingly conditioning yourself to receive his affection allowing you to accept his embrace. By the end of the film, you were dozing off, warm and relaxed now more than ever, curled up into Shouto’s side.

Shouto, however, was wide awake, his pulse rushing in his ears at your proximity. It had been a very long month without you, and now here you were, cuddled up with him just like how you used to be every night. He knew you were somewhere in between consciousness and sleep, so he let the entire movie credits roll by before he decided to move you. Still holding his mug, which had been empty for the past half hour— but he didn’t want to risk moving and causing you to pull away— he set it on the side table, carefully maneuvering his wide frame so as to not disturb you.

You whined in protest but did not stir when he curled his arms around you, picking your form up and off the couch. After making sure all the candles were blown out and the lights were turned off, he quietly carried you to your shared room, not bothering to turn on the lights. It was then that he hesitated to make the next move— you were still in your clothes from the day, and he wasn’t sure if you would want him to see your bare body if he took the liberty to rid you of them.

His tongue wandered over the bottom of his teeth as he gazed at you, strewn across the soft blankets that covered your bed. The few beams of moonlight that slithered through the bottom of the blinds fell perfectly onto your face, your lashes casting long shadows onto the duvet and giving you an ethereal glow. He could imagine how your naked skin looked underneath that cute little sweater you donned, your bra strap poking out as if to tease him even more. His eyes slammed shut as he sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth, recognizing the color, and the image of you clad in the matching panties that completed the set suddenly sprung forth in his mind.

Acquainted was an understatement as to how well he knew your body, but the problem was not as simple as physicality— the problem was mental, and it could not be vanquished by anything except time, it seemed. The beautiful brain he loved so dearly was now wiped, void of all the memories the two of you had made and cherished together. Shouto clutched his stomach as he took a seat on the ottoman at the foot of the bed, feeling sick from the forceful whirlwind of emotion that came along with the thoughts that crept up on him in the night. The knowledge that you did not remember him, not even one measly memory of him, upset him more than anything.

He had not realized how much his world had shifted now that he had you. Of course, he loved you and he made great effort to ensure that you knew the extent of his devotion to you. But it wasn’t until you had woken up like this, confused and distraught, mind reverted to just months before he had even met you, that he had come to terms with just how much you meant to him. He knew that he loved you before. But now he knew the pain of being unable to hold you, and be with you— really, even talk to you like he had grown so accustomed to.

It was eating him alive, and tearing him apart.

When you had awoken after such an excruciating, lonely month, he had been overjoyed. Finally, he could be with you again— he could touch you and kiss you, hear your sweet voice, hold your body close to his as you fell asleep, and wake up with you still in his arms, groggy and adorable… except, he couldn’t. Because while you knew who he was… you didn’t, really. You didn’t know him at all. And what hurt the most was that he could see that you were trying… but at the end of the day, he was only a stranger to you. He was not your boyfriend, not anything more, other than a hero that you idolized and had a silly crush on.

At the very least, he found comfort in the knowledge that you found him attractive. Of course, you had revealed to him, albeit once you were deep into your relationship, that you had fantasized about him and fostered a schoolgirlish crush on him when you hadn’t yet been introduced. He remembered laughing at your embarrassed confession, pinching your cheeks and then kissing you through his smile… then, taking you from behind as you bent over the bathroom counter, pressing you against the mirror as he donned his hero suit, savoring your pleading moans for him to fuck you deeper, harder.

His cock twitched in his slacks, blood beginning to travel south as his interest grew for the first time in weeks. He groaned and he grit his teeth, frustrated at himself for even daring to feel desire while you laid asleep next to him, plagued by your wiped memory but sitting there looking like that. Gorgeous and untouchable.

As if his heated gaze had summoned you from your slumber, your eyes opened and you blinked at him, squinting at his silhouette in the dark of the room. Shouto recoiled even though he hadn’t been caught doing anything too suspicious; he was a good distance away from you, but still, you had caught him staring at you like a creep in the shadows.

“Sho?” you mumbled drowsily, a hand coming up to rub at your eyes. You propped your body up on your elbows, your shift stretching flush over your chest.

Shouto nearly moaned at the sight combined with the sound of your sleepy voice uttering his name. It didn't help the situation that was stirring in his pants one bit, only adding water to an oil fire. “Hey,” he replied, clearing his throat. “You fell asleep, so I brought you to bed.. Did you want to clean up before we go to sleep?”

You sighed, rolling over as you roused yourself from sleep. “Not really…,” you chuckled, and Shouto felt his chest tighten at the premise of having to get into bed with you with his problem at hand. “But I’ll be a responsible adult,” you finished, rolling out of bed and padding over to the bathroom.

He glanced over at you in the mirror as you brushed your teeth, the cat curling around his ankle and taking his attention away from you. Giving the animal a scratch underneath her chin, he tried to focus on calming himself, closing his eyes and controlling his breathing. Even though this wasn’t at all like how it had been before, it was still better than being alone. Your presence, the sound of you tidying yourself up in the nearby vicinity, took the month-long weight of loneliness off of his chest. It still stung, it still hurt— but at the very least, you were here. You were alive, and you were here with him.

It was you calling out for him that interrupted his train of thought, and when he looked toward your voice, he found you peeking around the doorframe, your hair pushed back and your face glistening with moisture from your nightly routine. “Aren’t you going to wash up, too? There’s two sinks in here, y’know,” you stated matter-of-factly, as if he didn’t know the layout of his own home.

But Shouto only smiled at you and nodded, leaving the cat and accepting your invitation for him to join you in your bedtime ritual. The situation in his pants had since relaxed, thankfully, so he didn’t have to worry as he took his place adjacent to you at the sink counter. Squeezing toothpaste onto the bristles of his toothbrush, and watching you put on your moisturizer in his peripheral, it felt almost as if nothing had changed. For the first time in a long time, he let himself forget about the horrible curveball that life had thrown at him, instead choosing to stare at you as you picked up the cat at your feet, and placed a sweet kiss on the top of its head as you cradled it in your arms.

You padded out of the bathroom first, opting to close the door behind you. After Shouto had finished his routine, he slinked out into the bedroom quietly, surprise flickering in his gaze at the pyjamas you were now dressed in— a pair of soft sleep shorts and an old t-shirt you had stolen from him years ago. He tried not to stare as you crawled into the sheets, the cat taking her perch at the foot of the bed.

The clearing of his throat caught your attention, and he licked his lip as your eyes settled on his. “Is it okay if I sleep without a shirt?” he asked, having to keep himself from smirking as your eyes widened and a flustered expression blossomed on your face. Cute.

“Y-Yeah,” you stuttered after a second of recalibrating, your eyes still trained on his. “The doctors said we should just live out our normal routine, so… whatever we normally do, we should do.” Sliding deeper underneath the comforter, you pretended to look busy as you fiddled with your phone.

Shouto bit his lip and wondered if telling you that your nightly routine of getting naked and passionate between the sheets would do you any good, but he decided against it, not willing to push his luck. Instead, he tore his shirt over his head and pulled down his pants, turning toward the wall so you wouldn’t have to look him in the eye. He could still feel your gaze on his flesh— he always could, for his skin prickled and the hairs on his body stood up as your eyes roved over every inch of him in appreciation. He didn’t need to see you to know that you were staring.

After he stepped into a long pair of sleep pants, he turned and pretended not to notice your obvious shuffling in a foiled attempt to not be caught looking at him. Carefully he slipped into the sheets on his side of the bed, ensuring not to wander too close to you in order to keep a respectful distance between your bodies… even though he wanted nothing more than to launch himself at you, and wrap his body around yours until neither of you could tell where one of you stopped, and the other started.

There was a long, stuffy silence as the two of you laid there, both of you unsure as to the level of affection you should be displaying at the moment. Shouto was doubtful that you’d want him to hold you like he so desperately desired, and you were hesitant to initiate anything with him laying frozen and a good distance away from you.

“Is this… how we normally sleep?” you wondered aloud, and though you were surprised that the words actually fell from your lips, you were grateful to have broken the rising tension.

Shouto left out a breath he had been holding at that, turning so that he was facing you on his side. “No,” he answered truthfully, his fingers sliding over the cool cotton that separated your bodies, wandering toward you at a snail's pace. “Usually… we like to,” he cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the lump that was situated there, “snuggle.”

In the quiet of the room, he could hear your lips part, a soft breath falling from between them as you processed his response. Your heart was beating faster now, body crying out for his touch, his embrace. “Can we?” you asked so softly that you hadn’t thought he’d heard you, but slowly, surely, he shuffled toward you.

You inhaled as he placed a gentle hand on your waist, pulling your body to slide across the sheets and meet him in the middle of the bed. Lifting your head so he could slip his arm beneath your neck, he brought your face into his neck, arms wrapping tight around your torso. His fingers dug into your side and the hair at the crown of your neck, curling around the tendrils as if he was scared that you would slip out of his grasp at any moment. Pressed up against his bare chest, you could hear the steady, fast thumping of his heart, and the shakiness in each breath he drew in and let out.

It sounded like he was trying not to cry.

Your hand wandered up and under his neck, your elbow angling around the back of his neck so that your fingers could trace the sinews that lined his shoulder blades. Your other arm slung around his back, and although it was just a bit of a reach, you managed to find his silky locks, combing through the ends with your fingers. Daring to push the fragile boundaries that kept you two separate, you threw your leg across his hips, trapping his legs between yours and pressing your body completely flush against his.

Shouto stopped breathing, tears threatening to spill over as he held you so delicately for the first time in what seemed like forever. Similar emotions were flowing through you as well, your body singing at the feeling of being with him, in his embrace. Your heart throbbed at the thought of leaving this man alone for an entire month, with no one to comfort him and calm his worries. No one to hold him and tell him that it was going to be okay, no one to plant kisses across his tear-streaked cheeks and help him forget his pain.

It wasn’t your fault you had been in this accident, that you had forgotten your memories from the past five years. But it wasn’t his, either. The two of you were forced to suffer in different ways, separated by your condition and worlds apart. You wished so desperately that you would just remember already— if not for your sake, then for his. Anything that would make him feel better, anything to ease the ache in his heart.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out quietly, overcome with emotion as you laid in the arms of the man you had once loved. The man you’d been learning to love again. “I’m so sorry I don’t remember you. I want to, I’m trying.” A tear dripped down your face and landed on his chest, sliding down to stain the sheets.

Shouto sucked in a shaky breath at your meager apology, rough fingers running over the back of your neck. “I know you are,” he murmured, and you could feel him swallow thickly as he tried to find the right words. “It’s not your fault, love… You can’t— you can’t blame yourself.” His voice broke at the last syllable, his arms squeezing tighter as he held onto you.

You pressed your face into the junction between his shoulder and his neck, uncaring of your tears that smeared across his skin. “Neither can you,” you sniffled, body clinging to him as best you could. “Please, Shouto, promise me you won’t.”

It was then that he let the tears he had been holding back fall, racing down his cheeks to plop onto the dampening pillow. You held him as he cried, unphased by the sudden outburst of emotion from the man who had shown you so little of himself in the past week.

“I’ll try,” he mumbled into your hair once he had calmed down a bit, lungs still rattling as he tried to suppress his emotions. “For you, I’ll try.”

You leaned back from his chest, his heart seizing up at the tear tracks on your cheeks that were illuminated by the soft moon’s glow. And then, you kissed him. It was simple and sweet, just your lips pressed to his as your thumb swiped across his cheek. But it felt like you were breathing life into him, like he had been starved of oxygen until this very moment.

Both of you gasped when you pulled away, the kiss having lasted as long as you could stand without breaking for breath. Your eyes wandered from his shining ones to his lips, shocked that you had planted such a passionate kiss there just seconds ago. It had worked, though— Shouto was breathing normally and his tears had stopped, dual-colored eyes now staring at you as if you had just given him a purpose to live. You licked your lips, not missing the way his gaze flicked down to watch the action with longing, but he did not act on it.

“We’ll get through this together,” you whispered, hand resting on his sharp jawline. There was not a hint of doubt in your voice, no hesitance nor fear. It was just a fact, simple as that. You let yourself look at his handsome face for a moment longer before you ducked and nuzzled into his chest again, taking your spot as if you had never left.

Shouto exhaled, his fingers trailing down your spine as he closed his eyes, syncing his breathing to yours. The feeling of your body wrapped around his made his bones glow with a missed sense of comfort, his heart fuller than it had been for quite some time. He welcomed sleep to take him, the exhaustion of many long and insomnia-plagued nights from the past month all piling on. Pressing his lips to your forehead as softly as he could, he closed his eyes and murmured one word, wishing with every fiber of his being for you to wake up the next morning and have just one memory of him.

“Together.”

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

.

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...soooooooo idk how this is only part 1, shit’s 11k already 💀 ahh for those of you who made it through, thank you so much for reading and i hope you enjoyed!! there was no smut in this chapter which is so foreign to me, but i’m hoping to improve my story creation skills as part of my 2021 author resolutions... so, let me know what you think! hopefully part 2 will come to fruition soon, but it would probably come faster if i knew people were waiting for it ;) 

➥ masterlist

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐩𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 38

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ word count: 17.1k (._.) ➻ rating: m ➻ warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba chapter specific warnings: blood, fighting, violence, weapons, choking (not the sexy kind sorry), self-inflicted injury, some psychological torture, graphic depictions of death, drowning but not really? someone being held underwater, implied suicide (but no graphic depiction) ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

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✧✧✧ act five ➻ part five

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Stepping onto the bridge with Wooyoung in tow is an experience to say the very least. Mostly because it is eerily quiet when you arrive, so startlingly empty that you pause the second you step into the room. Hongjoong sits still as a statue in his usual place even though he has truly no need to be in the captain’s chair since you aren’t going anywhere quite yet. The only movements he makes are to cross one leg over the other back and forth every few seconds like he can’t stay put for too long. Other than that, he makes no effort to acknowledge your presence at the edge of the bridge, which would be expected if not for the crucial nature of your mission.

The effects of Soojin’s little concoction are still weighing heavily on your muscles and bones, but you are at least able to keep your eyes open now. Jongho refuses to let go of your waist, and you might complain if you didn’t think you would crumble to a useless heap on the floor once he let you go. You don’t trust your muscles to cooperate that much.

“I see you’re bringing good news,” Hongjoong states as you draw closer to where he’s seated. One quick glance at the observation window tells you he’s carefully watching your every move, including the pair behind you that consists of Yeosang and Wooyoung.

“Aye, Captain,” Jongho says through a smile. Hongjoong finally shifts to look your way, eyes hesitating on your slumped form for a moment before moving to where Wooyoung stands.

“Glad to see you back on board, Wooyoung.” His tone won’t commit to showing how he truly feels, but there is a certain light in Hongjoong’s eyes that he cannot hide, and you find relief in his features as he looks over Wooyoung. It’s brief and temporary, but the obvious warmth that his countenance holds as he and Wooyoung make eye contact is enough to show you how heavily this has been weighing on the young captain as well.

“Glad to be back, Captain,” Wooyoung answers in haste. You can hear the smile in his voice even if you cannot see it.

“Were there any issues with the mission?”

“No, just… a small hiccup.” Jongho glances down at you, and the slight shift has Hongjoong redirecting his focus to you as well. You steel yourself for some sort of lecture, a backhanded comment about staying focused on the task at hand, or maybe even just a comment about you being a weak link. Hongjoong’s gaze never hardens though. Instead, he offers a small nod then —

“I see. Be sure to check in with Yunho in that case.”

Something else nags at the edge of your thoughts then, mostly due to the absence of one certain person on the bridge at the moment.

“Where is Jisung?”

Hands squeezing hard around your throat, shoving you under bloody waters.

Cold, cold, cold. Red in your vision, hands on your throat, and everything is cold.

“In the brig. We — I decided it would be best to keep him there until the situation changes.” Hongjoong’s answer is spoken through a stiff and uncomfortable tone, and you expect that he was met with some resistance when it came to such a decision. But of course, that begs another question about the other person who is not on the bridge or by Hongjoong’s side like he typically would be.

“And Seonghwa?”

“Also in the brig.” Hongjoong presses his lips together, and he shifts to glare holes into the floor. The shift in his demeanor is slight but unsettling nonetheless, especially as he forces a tight grin onto his lips a second later. “Wooyoung, after you’ve settled and taken some time to recover, I’d like to chat. I won’t ask anything too invasive, but I need to know a little bit about the places you were held and where San and Mingi could possibly be. And Yeosang, a mission debriefing is needed as well.”

“We can talk now, Captain. I’ve got some news that should be helpful anyway!” Wooyoung steps around you to talk more directly to Hongjoong, Yeosang lingering at his side the whole time, and you pull back to give them more space. “I’ll go see our dear doctor after we chat. He’ll talk my ear off anyway.”

“Do you need to see Yunho?” Jongho asks, stepping back with you.

“No, no, I’ll be fine. Right now I… I think I just need to see Jisung,” you murmur. How are you going to stomach looking at him without thinking of his hands around your throat and trying to kill you?

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

“If he’s in the brig being watched by Seonghwa, how much damage can he do?”

Jongho falls silent at that, mostly because your point holds strong, but he still stays by your side during the walk down there. And arguably yes it is your first time heading down to that part of the ship; the only times you’ve wandered in that vague direction are when you went to the cargo bay with Jongho. There is a different kind of tension in your muscles now though, one that feels much more like walking to your inevitable doom than anything else. That feeling intensifies with each step closer to the small hatch leading down to the brig, a ladder with metal rungs taking you to a place you aren’t sure you want to be. A quick glance over your shoulder shows you a minor portion of the brig, only enough to see three cells lined up on the left then a sharp corner that no doubt leads to more cells in a narrow hallway. Typical of a ship of this caliber. They aren’t built to house prisoners, and any slave trades made with such a vessel would only carry that precious cargo in the cargo hold. They would only need roughly twenty of these cells — five by five squares with just enough space for the average person to stand up comfortably but nothing more than that.

Yet when your feet hit the cold paneled floor and echo a hollow noise, your gaze falls upon Jisung and only Jisung. He is safely tucked away in the middle cell, walls of bars surrounding him and separating your body from his, but that’s hardly noticeable compared to Seonghwa’s absence near his cell. Hongjoong had claimed that Seonghwa was down here with Jisung, and the initial lack of his presence immediately sends your brain into danger mode.

“What did you do with Seonghwa?” You inquire without hesitation, leveling the man you used to admire so fucking much with a glare full of heat you didn’t even know you were capable of. Jisung laughs from the spot where he is curled up on the floor. He has his back pressed to the only solid wall in the cell, knees pulled up to his chest and elbows draped overtop them so that his hands hang loosely down in the space before him. The huff of air that passes through his lips almost sounds like a laugh. It does nothing to quell your nerves — if anything it makes your anxiety spike a bit higher, causing Jongho to lay a hand down on the small of your back in attempts to calm you some no doubt.

“Shouldn’t you be asking your dearest captain that?” Comes Jisung’s scathing reply, complete with a sneer and curled lip. The disdain in his tone isn’t hard to miss at all. His chin tilts. Eyes blaze with some fury. Then he presses his tongue against his bottom lip and forces the skin there to stretch under the pressure. “To think you escaped my cruel clutches just to fall into the filthy hands of a scourge who doesn’t care about anyone but himself. A beautiful irony, don’t you think?”

You don’t give him the pleasure of hearing any response from you.

“Don’t worry, doll. You’ll be safe in my hands soon enough,” he says, tone almost bordering on teasing rather than being serious with the threat. “What’s it? Got one back, no? Not the one you care about though, am I right?” Jisung brings his head forward again, staring down the line of empty cells before him like he’s taunting something nonexistent there. “Poor, poor lieutenant. Denied by both the people he loves. How much bending can an Elitist take until he breaks? I’ve always wondered that… never did get to see Hyunwoo snap after all. Perhaps now I’ll get to witness it with my own two eyes.”

“Don’t speak on things you know nothing about.”

That stops you dead in your tracks, your whole body lurching as you are midway to stepping closer to Jisung’s cell. The words don’t come from your lips, nor do they come from Jongho’s, but the tiny voice in the back of your head tells you that no one snuck down behind you and Jongho. And that Jisung’s staring isn’t coincidental or meaningless at all. A cruel smile curls the corners of his mouth. He prods at one side with the tip of his tongue and releases a laugh that is more hollow than anything else.

You force your legs into action and push yourself forward, although this time you don’t head for Jisung’s cell like you originally intended to do. Instead, you round the sharp corner leading to the remaining cells in the brig with bated breath and a growing sense of dread in your gut.

As it turns out, that dread is not misplaced in the slightest.

Because the moment you stare down the row of metal cages perpendicular to Jisung’s own holding cell, your gaze falls on something heart-wrenching and horrid to see. And Jongho might be confused — a bit beyond merely confused, you’ll admit — but you? You recognize this to be the cruel picture your mind conjured up the day Hongjoong told you that you would be going on the rescue mission for Wooyoung.

“I don’t know how much or what exactly you saw in Seonghwa’s memories. I do not need to know either. But something you need to know is that we have been back to Lynder exactly once since I met Seonghwa there. And that one single time, two years ago, we had to lock Seonghwa in the brig for six days straight to keep him from breaking out to kill his mother. Seonghwa tore cuts into his arms and shoulders so deep that Yunho had to come to stitch him every night until we finally chained him to a wall to get him to stop. When he finally gave up on trying to break out, I went in and took the cuffs off, only for Seonghwa to choke me hard enough to fracture my neck and leave bruises that lasted for several weeks.”

It’s Seonghwa who sits far in the back of the brig, curled in on himself in the very last cell in the block with what feels like leagues stretching between you and where he is. Chains cuffing his wrists together and a shackle hanging so heavy on his neck that he can barely lift his head. You’ve never seen a man look so small and insignificant in your life; the knowledge and realization that it’s none other than Seonghwa under those chains burn so deep in your chest that you forget how to breathe properly until Jongho shatters the weighty silence by joining you in front of the row of cells.

“Lieutenant?”

“The mission, Jongho. Did you recover him?”

How dare Seonghwa look so gentle and confident even while being chained and held in the brig of his own ship?

“I — yes, Lieutenant, we recovered him but — but you—”

“Good,” Seonghwa interjects. He gives a heavy nod that makes the iron hanging from his neck rattle. “Then there is no reason for you to be down here currently. I’m sure our captain would have much better use for you now than I do.” Seonghwa’s dark eyes remain fixated on you as he speaks, but you’re too far away to even try to discern the emotion concealed in them.

Jongho turns back to the ladder leading out of the cellblock. He doesn’t put up a fight or argue about the matter; merely looks the other way and follows the order like nothing is possibly wrong with the scene unfolding before him.

You, on the other hand, hardly consider yourself the kind of person who gives in so easily.

Thus, against better judgment no doubt, you step around the wall of cells separating you and Seonghwa, then take the steely walk over to that far corner of the brig.

And against better judgment, with Hongjoong’s words of warning ringing in your ears of how dangerous Seonghwa was the last time he was in such a position, you get as close to the cell as humanly possible. You curl your fingers around the bars as you sink to your knees in front of him, eyes unable to find a comfortable resting place anywhere on his body and instead finding purchase on the sliver of the floor still exposed under his knees. He, like Jisung, has his back pressed to the cage, bars digging harshly into his typical billowing black coat. He can’t extend his legs all the way in the cell and is thus forced to keep his knees bent at an awkward angle that will surely hurt after some time has passed. Hands are held together by that short chain and stretched as far as possible over his knees. You would never go so far as to say Seonghwa could ever look pitiful, but this brings you pretty damn close.

“I do not wish for you to see me in this position, Y/N,” Seonghwa whispers without looking over at you. He maintains the same honed stare on Jisung, and now that you’re closer to him you can see that flames of anger that lick at his dark eyes. Despite his words, you can’t bring yourself to move. The weight of your bones suddenly feels heavier than ever and even if you wanted to get up and leave, you don’t think you could. “It was shameful enough to ask Hongjoong to put me here.”

“You… you asked him to do this?” You inquire through a whisper of your own.

“He didn’t want to, of course, but—” Seonghwa cuts himself short and you watch his chest heave as he inhales sharply “—I’m ashamed to admit that I know how to get what I want from him. And thus… I made him put me here.”

“Seonghwa, I — you — why?” If only eloquence could be your strong suit.

“I cannot trust myself. I am not needed for these missions. I am a liability. Anything I do must be under careful watch and instruction, otherwise, I could risk the safety of the crew and the success of our missions.” Seonghwa swallows around nothing and drops his chin to his chest. His mop of black hair falls forward to cover his eyes. You hadn’t realized how long it had gotten in recent days as he pressed it back constantly, but now you can see how the ends caress his eyelashes and near the bottom of his temples. “I pose more of a threat than anything else in this state.”

“Says who?” You insist, pressing your face so far forward that your cheek squishes against the bars. Seonghwa seems startled by your sudden fervor. His eyes go wide and dart over to your face, but they linger for only a second before turning back to his lap. “Was it Jisung? Did he say something? Before he was locked up? Or maybe after? He’s — Seonghwa, you can’t believe anything he says. He wants to cause discord and issues in the crew, he wants trouble because he’s an enemy.”

“He has nothing to do with this, Y/N. Absolutely nothing.” The skin around his eyes crinkles as he squeezes his eyes shut, almost as though he’s in pain. “Please leave. I do not trust myself in this state, and if I hurt you on top of — on top of what I’ve already done, Y/N, please. I won’t forgive myself if I ever lay a harmful hand on you even in the slightest.”

“What did you do? No, what happened while we were gone?”

The chains around Seonghwa’s wrist rattle so suddenly that it startles you, and his abrupt movements send you back from the cage in a rush without thinking twice. You merely acted out of self-preservation and instinct, and yet —

And yet the damage is already done.

Your eyes dart up to look into Seonghwa’s. He looks more lost and confused than anything else, like a child who can’t find his way home. From the way his lip trembles to the wobble in his gaze and how his hands clench and unclench as though in an unknown ceremony of their own. The man seems — is harmless.

“Go, Y/N, before I truly hurt you.”

This time, you don’t fight him on the matter. You force your legs into action and push yourself up from the floor where you just unceremoniously sprawled in an effort to get away from Seonghwa’s cell. The walk away from him hurts something awful in your chest, like each step you take to get away from him causes a new piece of your heart to break off, but still, you walk until you reach the end of the hauntingly short hall. You can’t keep yourself from staring down that corridor to look at Seonghwa’s crumpled form one more time.

In that moment that couldn’t have lasted more than half a second, you believed that Seonghwa would hurt you, and he believed the same. It only took that much time for the line of trust you thought could be unbreakable to shatter and give out under you. Was it not only recently that you told him you were willing to place your heart in his hands and trust him with it?

“Are you content with yourself yet, Spectre?” Seonghwa’s voice rings clear in the room, echoing off the metal walls with more venom than before. You don’t think that venom is directed at anyone other than himself right now.

“Not even in the slightest, Lieutenant,” Jisung laughs in response. You don’t intend to make eye contact with him, but it happens nonetheless and once it does, you are transfixed on each of his movements. He drags his tongue over his lips before tucking it between his teeth and biting down hard on the tip. “I know plenty about making people break. And I can guarantee that by the time your dearest captain loses his will and decides to let you out, I will have broken you in ways you fear to even imagine. Let’s see how well you can play my game, Lieutenant of Death.”

The urge to reach a hand between the bars and strangle Jisung where he sits is so overwhelming that you see red. Somehow you find it in you to turn away, using some shred of reason and logic because you know you need Jisung as much as you wish you didn’t — until San and Mingi are safely back on the ship, you cannot risk killing him.

And to your surprise, Jongho is not waiting outside the hatch when you surface in the corridor again. It falls shut with a loud bang, trapping Jisung and Seonghwa both in their little prison once more.

The pressure around your head is mounting and becoming hard to ignore, even through the lingering effects of Soojin’s concoction. It seems the drowsiness wishes to win out, however, seeing as you pull yourself to your bedroom without much thought and more like it’s some form of muscle memory instead. Between all the things happening around you at the moment, it’s hard to pinpoint just one thing and focus on it.

San is still missing.

Seonghwa locked himself in the brig.

Han Jisung is terrorizing you and your crew out of some odd desire to claim you.

Mingi is still missing as well and at risk of being reprogrammed back into the Brute of Kebos.

Wooyoung, in the very least, is safely back but no doubt suffered new and awful traumas that he’ll have to deal with in the coming months.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa fought for what feels like the hundredth time.

You found Soojin in a brothel then promptly got confirmation that your memories were indeed wiped a second time without you knowing. Delightful, truly.

All that swirling back to the mounting headache that pierces the left side of your head so hard you see little flashes in your vision. And despite the need to most likely think through things, weigh your options, try to do something other than just sitting around and waiting for someone else to plan, you merely curl up under your sheets in the darkness after wiping away your leftover black lipstick and changing into some more comfortable clothes.

Alone again. It’s odd how you went from being on your own almost constantly for three years to now being so dependent on having someone by your side. Maybe it was the knowledge that you had no one back then that kept you sane. Now, however, you know there are people around you, close to you, people you would almost dare to say you can rely on for safety and trust. An image of Jisung’s cruel smile flickers in your mind before you close your eyes to sleep.

Trust got you nowhere before.

Would it be foolish to make the same mistakes again?

…

There’s a cold hand wrapped tight around your own, but even as you look down at it you can’t figure out who it belongs to. Another hand is folded over your eyes, blocking every ounce of your vision and leaving you shrouded in darkness. You have no idea where you are or where you are heading, and though your first instinct is to fight, you feel somewhat safe under the hand that holds yours.

“Kan han ceso, Umiko. Nu an nadu. Un cu nu, Umiko, un nukon.” The words grate against your ears, a soft-spoken voice whispering the foreign language to you through the darkness, and you blink hard against the hand covering your eyes.

“I-I don’t know what you’re saying,” you whisper back, only to be answered with more confusion and unknown words.

“Nadu, nadu. Sosun hen.”

The hand around your head slips away only to shove hard at your back. You don’t have time to turn to face your companion before a door is slammed shut on your back. You whip around to face the wall of metal, seeing nothing beyond the dark.

“Wait! Don’t — don’t leave me here!”

“Kidehon u Nurun, Umiko.”

Despite not knowing what any of the words mean, a chill rushes down your spine and leaves goosebumps all across your skin. Then a shrill scream tears you away from the door and back to the reality swirling together behind you. It’s moreso the contents of the scream that catch your attention because through the sudden swarm of yells and shouts, you catch one recognizable word.

“Yeosang!”

It’s like a veil is torn away from your eyes and you can suddenly see the world around you with so much clarity and brightness it hurts. And the first thing your gaze lands on is the sight of Wooyoung being dragged by the waist back into what seems to be a spitting image of the House of Lilies. His captors are hooded figures, unimportant and insignificant compared to Wooyoung who flails around desperately in their arms to get out. And across from him, running and running but never once catching up because a massive crowd of people blocks his path, is none other than Yeosang. You push your way forward as well in attempts to reach the Elitist. Each step is harder than the last with the way faceless figures shove your shoulders and force you back until his blond head of hair is out of sight. You can’t see Wooyoung’s face any longer either; all you can hear are a few distant shouts and screams that are unintelligible by now.

You have no choice but to let the crowd guide you to an unknown destination, shifting to follow their hasty steps before you get trampled to the ground. They’re too tall for you to see past their shoulders, all shrouded in black coats and suits with masks covering their faces as well, and you are only left with confusion the more you try to get a closer look at them. That confusion lingers for a while, and as you walk, the shouts and yells around you morph into cheering. It’s deafening, growing louder with each second, but the hoards simply continue into what seems to be the source of the sounds.

Once you finally reach that destination, your heart drops through your stomach because it’s tall colosseum walls that rise up around you. They are painfully recognizable, and you can almost guess what you’re about to witness given what you just saw transpire with Wooyoung and Yeosang.

The confirmation, albeit unneeded, hurts worse than you thought. As the crowd ushers you into the arena, you stumble up familiar stairs and come to a halt at the railing looking over the heart of the colosseum.

Mingi stands at the center of it all, donned in leather and copper armor like a gladiator of olden times that have long since become mere myths for children’s stories. Red streaks down his cheeks and covers him in a bloody glow under the sun. You watch him as though in a daze. Each movement he makes is like a dance between the way he swings a longsword in one hand and an ax in the other. The beauty of Mingi’s swings dissipates into a cloud of panic and horror when his opponent comes into sight across from his tall form.

“Jongho, Jongho, no!” You scream through the din ringing into your ears. A hand stretched down to the pit below in vain because there is no way for you to even attempt reaching them.

There’s a flash of red again, this time one that reaches across Mingi’s blade and spreads onto the sand below their feet. You clasp a hand over your mouth to silence the blood-curdling scream that tears through your lips.

“It’s not real, Y/N, it’s not real,” you murmur to yourself, not daring to look back down even as the cheers continue to swell around you. “It’s just a dream, you need to wake up. It’s not real.”

The most obvious clue that this is not real is the fact that you see Jongho — another Jongho — stepping out of the gates into the arena just seconds after Mingi cut him down. The body hasn’t even dissipated into thin air; it still sits at Mingi’s feet, a lifeless corpse that will continue to haunt you for god knows how long. The second Jongho comes forward to replace the last, standing completely still before Mingi like he’s nothing more than a training dummy for Mingi to kill over and over.

That is exactly what you are forced to witness too because the tall figures surrounding you refuse to let you budge or turn. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut each time Mingi lifts his arm. This hell is almost worst than the last. Seeing Yeosang and Wooyoung being torn apart burned deep in your chest but this?

Mingi killing the person who cares about him perhaps more than anyone else? Like it’s only a game or a sport to be played for entertainment?

That leaves a different pain in your chest. One that cuts deep and tries to sever your heart from your body.

You lose count of the bodies down in the area, and counting them would only hurt more so it’s a foolish plight to even imagine right now. Your limit comes soon enough, however, and in a fit of desperation, you shove so hard at the figures behind you that they topple over like dominos.

The mantra of reminders of how this isn’t real still runs on repeat in your head, but even forcing your way out of the crowds grants you no reprieve.

You can still hear the cheering, the way the crowd shouts for more blood then delights in another kill. And now that you know it’s Jongho being cut down by none other than Mingi, it makes matters much worse. You don’t make it three steps out of the arena before you’re stumbling to the ground on your hands and knees. A dry heave wracks your form, forcing up nothing but air. The contents of your stomach are nonexistent in this hellscape yet your body continues to convulse until bile drips from your lips.

“Please make it stop, make it stop, please, please, please,” you beg to the sand under your form.

“Y/N?”

Normally the voice would fill you with a sense of relief, but given what you’ve seen thus far, it only fills you with incredible dread.

You lift your chin to look Yunho in the eye nonetheless. He stands several feet away from you, unmoving and nearly statuesque with his pose. That peace lasts all of four seconds. He chokes out a cough. It sounds far too thick and wet for it to be merely a normal cough. Your fears turn to reality when blood coats his bottom lip after the next cough.

“Y-Yunho, no, n-no, not you too, please.”

Another cough and Yunho is on his knees like you are.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I… I wasn’t good enough to keep this from happening.”

“No, no, no, p-please, no, Yun—”

“This was the only thing I could get right.”

Your chin drops to your chest.

“You’ll be okay, won’t you? Our little Ghost…”

“No more. Please, Daichi, if this is your doing, then end it! End it please, please stop this!”

The response to your pleas is a hand clasping hard at the back of your neck. It shoves you to the ground with little effort until you are sprawled out on your stomach. You release a weak cry into the dirt, thrashing hard under the stranger’s grip. Another hand closes around your ankle. You aren’t given any time to prepare as it yanks you forward, dragging your body over the scratchy ground. You can feel your skin splitting under the impact yet as much as you twist to get out of it, the best you can do is flip onto your back and let the abuse continue there. Your new position allows you to at least see your attacker, a tall and lanky figure with sweeping black hair. You can barely see the outline of her face, but she looks strikingly familiar, like a person you’ve seen once in your dreams. It isn’t until you have been pulled all the way to a new destination that you realize exactly who she is.

“Mother.”

Seonghwa stands in the center of this barely lit room you’ve been dragged into, gun in hand and shrouded in a black cloak.

This is Seonghwa’s mother. Of course it is. This nightmare is not only yours but both Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s as well, the thing that has been so glaringly present for a while now. And in your inability to stop thinking about it, it has landed you here to live out this unending nightmare.

Seonghwa lifts the gun to aim it at his mother’s skull. He doesn’t spare you even the slightest glance, so dead-set on this mission that nothing else exists in his mind. You don’t have time to react before the gun goes off and echoes through the room. You scramble back on shaky legs when the woman in front of you crumples to the ground. Scarlet ebbs from her skull in mere seconds.

You think that’s it — hope would be a better word actually. You wish for the nightmare to end here with Seonghwa killing his mother, but it gets worse as Seonghwa turns the gun to his own skull and places the barrel against his temple. Despite already knowing that nothing you do in this dream will make it stop, you rush forward practically like an animal to stop him.

Something — or someone, rather — beats you to it.

A force hits you so hard that you are sent sprawling to the floor again, landing somewhere near Seonghwa’s mother, and upon looking up to see your sudden attacker, you find Hongjoong standing before Seonghwa instead. He’s in the middle of trying to wrestle the gun from Seonghwa’s hand, aiming it high at the ceiling before Seonghwa can hurt himself.

“Stop it, Seonghwa, I won’t let you do this!”

“Let me die, damn it, you were supposed to keep me from doing this!”

All you can do is watch as the fight unfolds before you with a growing sense of horror because you know where this is going to end. It will end the same way it has for everyone else in this nightmare. The thought of watching Seonghwa die and not being able to do anything to stop it is almost too much of a burden to bear.

If that was the worst scenario your mind could come up with, what actually happens minutes later is far far worse. You don’t see where it comes from but you don’t need to either; all you see is Seonghwa barreling into Hongjoong’s smaller form with all his strength until both are them are pressed to the nearest wall. The silence that overtakes the room is deafening. You don’t realize that there is anything wrong until you see hear the soft pitter-patter of blood dropping to the ground.

There’s a pointed metal spike sticking out of Seonghwa’s back, dripping blood from not only Seonghwa’s body but also Hongjoong’s.

“I’m sorry, my beloved.”

In a cruel twist of fate, you see the metal joining their bodies together, watch the way their chests rise and fall in shaky patterns that show their diminishing strengths. Hongjoong’s chin is the first to fall, dipping down to his chest as his eyes fight to stay open. Seonghwa is crying — no, sobbing with all the effort he can muster and pressing his lips to the edge of Hongjoong’s hairline through muttered apologies.

You know your limits, and you know you are not nearly strong enough to witness them die like this, even if it’s together and at Seonghwa’s own hand.

Thus, you push yourself up onto shaky legs and stumble out of the dark room as best you can with Seonghwa’s shaky cries ringing so loud in your ears that you fear you will never escape it for a second. There is a lingering sense of dread curling in your gut at the moment, however, because you have witnesses horrors happening to every single one of the crew except for one. And arguably, it is the one you fear the most, the one you wish to avoid the most, yet every attempt to force yourself awake before you can come across him fails miserably. The next room you stumble into is another familiar one, much like the distant memories you have of being strapped to a cold metal chair, but in this room, the chair is occupied by a man with jet black hair and a tuft of white at the front. You can’t manage more than a pained whimper as you step close to the chair.

Rounding the metal brings you face to face with him, although his eyes are shut as though he is asleep. For a fraction of a second, you think the worst has happened and throw your hands down on his chest to lean over San’s reclining body. He jolts at the contact, a sharp gasp tearing through his dry and cracked lips when he comes back to the land of the living.

“San, oh S-San, it’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, you’re safe, I promise,” you babble like a woman possessed. Your hands come up to cradle his face and brush a few long strands of hair away from his eyes. It takes too long for him to fully come to his senses, eyes blinking against the harsh light that filters down from the ceiling, and you wait with bated breath for him to say something as he registers your face. “Hi.” You’re too lost in the moment to remember this is a nightmare, too enamored with the mere sight of San’s face. When the reverie is torn away from you, it hurts worse than you could ever have imagined it would.

“H-How do you know my name? Who are you?”

Your chest tightens to the point where it hurts to breathe.

“It’s Y/N, San, don’t you remember me?”

“I don’t know who you are,” he whispers back, pulling his face away from your hands as best he can in his current position. You withdraw your hands as though burned and fall back onto your ass so hard you bounce a little. It should hurt, but the pain in your chest outweighs that by far. San sits up and slings a leg over the side of the chair, the other following shortly after. He steps down off the metal to come closer to you. His head is tilted in question, and his eyes search your face like he’s attempting to recognize you.

You hardly realize what’s happening before he’s bending over you and latching his hands around your neck. When he shoves you down to the ground, you aren’t met with the cold floor but rather a splash of water. It’s murky and an almost copper shade, like someone has doused you in blood and water. San’s grip on your neck tightens until you’re forced to choke up a few air bubbles.

“Did you think you were someone worthy of remembering?” San speaks to you through the water, voice coming to your ears in a muted tone. His features fall into a blur, and he squeezes at your skin so hard you see spots dance across your vision. You cry out in the water even though you know it won’t do you any good. “Did you think you earned that right? What use are you to me? Someone who couldn’t even do the bare minimum and protect me when I needed it… useless.”

San huffs out a loud laugh that echoes around you.

“You are completely and utterly useless to me.”

Sleep might have come easy to you but it does not claim you for long. Rarely are you ever awoken by nightmares; your body tends to just continue on with sleeping until the morning, but tonight is one of those oddities where the nightmares wake you up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. With the end of dream San’s cruel monologue, you startle awake, gasping for breath like you had been holding it the entire time you were asleep. A quick glance at the clock on your bedside table shows that it’s nearing one o’clock in the morning, so you were hardly asleep more than four hours.

You almost wish that Jongho stayed by your side through the night, if only to provide the comfort you want so desperately from someone who isn’t here. It wasn’t even an offer he posed or one that you asked for, but you find yourself wondering if it would have been better to seek out that comfort. And maybe it’s selfish of you to crave that peace that Jongho claims to have brought him for so long, but the appeal of not waking up alone is too tempting. Being able to have that with Seonghwa — the ability to go to bed at night and wake up in the morning with the knowledge that someone was there if anything went wrong — is something you took for granted. On nights like these, it’s all you could ever ask for. And while you and Seonghwa made the mutual decision to sever the more intimates parts of your relationship, it’s become glaringly obvious to you that you don’t have anyone to rely on for physical comfort anymore, even just the smallest action of holding a hand or sleeping beside you. Did you dream of him? Jongho might ask, hand outstretched to offer some sort of relief from the anxiety tugging at your heart. Either that or to try to take it away as best he can.

Yes, and it was wretchedly awful and horrible, you think. Something wet slips down the side of your temples before you can stop it. I feel I might lose my mind if I cannot bring him back safely soon.

Why, why, why did this happen?

Surely you’ve been through worse in the past, but this feels so much more potent than those times, either because those memories are tucked away or because you’ve never felt this strongly about needing to protect someone before.

You roll onto your side and let the stray tears slide across the bridge of your nose now.

Staring at the bed does absolutely nothing (even though you knew it wouldn’t); neither does reaching out to put a hand over the cold sheets there.

These days you keep finding your mind slipping back to the memories of Echidna. They’ve become so much more vivid since the entire kidnapping situation, yet oddly enough you cannot bring yourself to recall the actual torture you and San suffered together at the hands of Cara. Rather, you keep coming back to a monotone hotel room with a creaky bed and fluffed pillows.

“I won’t leave this time,” you mutter. You can feel heat radiating from San’s cheeks even though you can’t see the flush to his skin.

“I’ll hold you all night to make sure you don’t,” San whispers back. Hot breath fans over your lips. You aren’t sure what comes over you but you lift the hand resting against San’s chest to trace over the outline of his lips with two fingers. He smiles into the touch.

It brings a startling realization to your bones when you find yourself reaching out to the nothingness before you like he will be there because how could he be gone, why is he gone, he isn’t supposed to be gone.

“I’m scared to let you in,” you admit, bring your gaze back up to San’s eyes. He’s looking back at you with a gentleness in his eyes that catches you off-guard.

“You don’t have to let me in yet. Just try to trust me.”

“Okay… okay. I can do that.”

“Then that’s more than enough.”

You should have never let go of the hand he outstretched towards you. It’s a hefty realization, one that weighs down on your body so much you struggle to breathe because you would do anything to have him back. And perhaps you didn’t appreciate him enough while you had him, perhaps you took that time where he was safe for granted and didn’t think it could happen again. Because even though you had told Yunho back around the time of the incident that you would never be able to look at him without worrying something bad would happen once more, you let your guard down and believed him to be entirely safe.

A huff of air passes through your lips, then you sit up in bed to throw your legs over the side of the mattress. Your gaze lingers on the bedside table for a moment, only to recall what’s been hidden inside there since you returned from Echidna. You haven’t forgotten about the pardon papers per se; your mind has understandably been elsewhere and things took a turn during that mission with San. Before then you were so dead set on leaving without a word.

It wasn’t Hongjoong who convinced you to stay back then even though you left you with several pretty threats and propositions.

It wasn’t Seonghwa with his comforting words and touches that burned your skin.

Nor was it any other member of the crew outside of San. It was always Choi San, the Spectre with a cat-like grin and pretty eyes, and he wormed his way into your heart with such little effort that it still scares you quite a bit. If you had absolute certainty that what you remember from your time in the military was true and real, you might say that the only time you felt this way towards another person was with Jisung, but you doubt that now with recent revelations.

How much easier would life be if you could simply roll back into bed and find San there waiting at your side, all warm smiles and gentle gazes as he urges you to sleep once more?

Unfortunately for you, life is far from easy and that is not an option, so you do the only other logical thing that comes to mind and that is to stand up and leave your bedroom without looking back at that cursed bedside table. If you can’t have San or anyone else to calm you down at the moment, perhaps a short walk around the ship will do you some good.

It is that very thought that lands you on the bridge and in front of the observation window. Despite the late hour, some workers are milling about in the hangar bay Hongjoong has landed you all in, doing their duties without cease. Some are cleaning and sweeping at the floor even though it looks spotless to you, others are polishing other ships in the bay, and you’re sure that if you could see near the bottom of The Horizon, you would find them doing the same there. There are a few others who don’t quite look like the workers do — perhaps people from the other ships — who sit on boxes and offer each other seemingly menial chatter based on the way their gestures remain casual. They seem so calm and at peace compared to what you have been experiencing with this crew where trouble seems to be around every corner and you can’t get a breath of peace for more than a day.

Briefly, you picture yourself in their shoes one day. It’s something you can only wonder about because you aren’t sure whether that’s even a possibility for you, but the image of sitting on one of those boxes with Jongho sitting on one side and Wooyoung on the other floats to mind. And maybe Yeosang would be wedged between Wooyoung’s legs with hands held tightly together like even a breath of air could separate them. You imagine Mingi would be lingering near Jongho rather than anywhere else, draped over the other Berserker and pressed as close to him as possible because it grounds him and keeps him in one piece for the time being. Yunho would probably be doing something like reading a medical article or book and muttering to himself about the contents of the writing, nearby but never too far from the rest of you. In that daydream, Hongjoong and Seonghwa would come around the corner of the ship side by side, and the captain would have a hand pressed to the small of his lieutenant’s back because he can’t bear to be any further than that. Then San — darling San — would rush around them with a smile on his lips and dimples flashing to barrel straight into your chest with a resounding laugh. You dare to let yourself imagine the peace and serenity of the scene, dare to picture San pressing his forehead to yours as he exhales a laugh over your lips, but every image your mind conjures up hurts worse than the last.

You may want that desperately, but it’s not something you can achieve.

The daydream ends with hands around your neck and bloody waters clouding your vision. And thus, you startle yourself back to reality and tear your gaze away from the hangar bay below as not to let the images come back.

The peace you wish for is not one you can ever hold in the palm of your hand the way you wish. The crew cannot have it either so long as you are present in their lives. The next sound to tear through your consciousness nearly makes you believe that they wouldn’t be able to have that peace even if you weren’t around to mess it up. There’s a resounding shout of frustration followed by something loud thumping against the wall off to your left and behind you a bit. You whip around to stare at the door to Hongjoong’s quarters, the source of the sound, and wait with bated breath for something else to happen. You aren’t sure what exactly you’re waiting for — perhaps for the captain to step out in a huff of anger or something like that — but nothing happens for the next thirty seconds, which is what causes you to pull closer to the door. It’s hardly your place to eavesdrop on whatever is happening inside, although that doesn’t stop you from doing so anyway.

“I shouldn’t have had to put him in that fucking brig in the first place!” That clearly comes from Hongjoong; you can tell just from his voice, but he must not be alone in there as it sounds like his rant is directed at someone. “This isn’t the same situation as last time! He knows that the mission is our priority, that the goal is to get San and Mingi back, he wouldn’t let himself lose sight of that. The Seonghwa I know wouldn’t do that!”

“Then you shouldn’t have listened to him when he asked you to put him in there, Hongjoong! You were the one who bent over backward for him yet again.” It’s Yunho’s voice that rises through the door next, and that is equal parts shocking and unsurprising because you aren’t sure who else would possibly be in there with Hongjoong at this hour. “Your only two options are to either leave Seonghwa where he is or let him out to do as he wishes. If he chooses to go out there and kill his mother, then so be it!”

“That’s not what he wants, Yunho,” Hongjoong refutes without missing a beat. “And it’s not what I want either — I don’t care for either of those options. I want to let Seonghwa out and have that be that, nor for him to go off and murder someone! He hardly wants to kill her, it’s just what he thinks he ought to do as an Elitist but — you… you wouldn’t understand it, Yunho. You wouldn’t understand what goes through Seonghwa’s head or what he wants.”

The next sound to fall from Yunho’s lips is a scoff, and you can almost picture the way his eyes roll with the noise.

“You can’t pretend like you understand what all Seonghwa wants either, Hongjoong.”

There’s another clatter and something smacks into the wall again.

“I’m trying my fucking best! I am trying my best to know what he wants right now. All I know for certain is what he is afraid of, and I know that he fears turning into the kind of person his father was and he fears losing himself. This would—”

“You can’t know whether this would make that happen, Hongjoong, that’s the point I’m trying to make here.”

“Are you encouraging murder all of a sudden? When have you gone a minute without chastising me for taking an innocent’s life?”

“And when have you ever hesitated to let your precious Lieutenant of Death kill someone? How many people have you killed yourself? How many have you asked Seonghwa to kill? How many innocents have bled under your hands, Hongjoong?” Yunho fires back, seeming to grow louder with each question he poses. “Is his mother innocent of all crimes? Does she not deserve to die? Because Seonghwa sure talks about her like she deserves a fate worse than death!”

“And if she deserves death then I will bring it upon her myself!” Hongjoong accentuates his words by slapping his hands down on his desk, letting the sound echo after he speaks, and Yunho doesn’t respond for a bit.

“How angry would Seonghwa be if he found out then?” Yunho inquires, tone so low you can barely pick up on the words.

“He wouldn’t need to, Yunho. He wouldn’t need to find out. He could just hear that she passed away in her sleep a long time ago because of age or illness.”

“You’re so ready to base your relationship with him on lies when doing so was what caused things to go to shit between you in the first place. I can’t fix you a second time, Hongjoong. I can’t do shit if you are the one making things intentionally worse. You need to sit your ass down in that fucking brig like a god damn man would and take responsibility for your mistakes. Then you need to ask Seonghwa what he wants and hear it from his own damn mouth rather than assuming what Seonghwa wants and hoping for the best. Fucking listen to him and trust him for once instead of making every decision in his life for him. Why do you think he ran off to Y/N in the first place?” That causes your breath to hitch in your throat, and you seize up as though both men inside know you’re standing outside the door as they speak. “He at least got to choose her.”

“He chose to join my crew, he asked to join my crew, he chose a fuckton of things in his life, Yunho! You want me to be a man? I am his captain. Is that not enough for you?”

“No, it’s not, Hongjoong. You being captain doesn’t mean shit to me unless you have the balls to back it up, and from where I’m standing, you aren’t going to step up anytime soon. There are only two people on this ship who can put you in your place. That includes both me and Seonghwa, but Seonghwa stopped doing it a long time ago because you changed the dynamic of the relationship without stopping to ask him how he felt.”

“Are you trying to act like you’re in control now?” Hongjoong counters, but his voice has lost a bit of the edge in it.

“Act?” Yunho releases a tiny hum. You can almost feel the way the mood inside the room shifts despite not being inside yourself. “Now you’re just trying to rile me up so you get what you want and I forget about this conversation.”

“That would only be the case if it works, Yunho.”

You pull back from the door, having a slight sense of where this conversation is headed and realizing that you probably shouldn’t stay any longer. As you move to exit the bridge, however, you can’t help but wonder how much of what Yunho said is accurate.

Would — could Seonghwa really want to kill his mother? Maybe for a sense of closure and peace? To put that part of his life behind him for good perhaps?

If Hongjoong truly were to kill the woman behind Seonghwa’s back, then you don’t doubt that Seonghwa would be enraged, to put it mildly. Everything you have seen from him thus far since meeting him has shown you that he prefers to do things himself than to rely on others to do it for him. Yet… even if his mother passed of natural causes, you are not sure that Seonghwa could have his closure unless he saw her body with his own two eyes. So maybe that is why his inner voice is as desperate as it is for him to kill her.

You cannot speak for Seonghwa himself, but you do know a fraction about such closure. Not seeing Hyunwoo’s body after the execution and having to dig an empty grave was one of the most painful experiences of your life, even if you cannot remember much of it or if it was completely fabricated, the pain you were left with from said memory is still sore to the touch. You would have given anything to have his body to bury but instead, you were left with absolutely nothing, not even something small and of value to him in life. You were denied closure then. It causes you to think back to those pardon papers again. If you had been granted that closure, would you have even sought the pardon papers in the first place? Would you have gone off and settled down somewhere no one could find you?

Seonghwa has mentioned craving peace before. You know you will never have yours because of your lack of closure, so perhaps if he were to achieve his, then things would end better for him.

That thought stops you dead in your tracks, midway down the corridor leading away from the bridge.

Although… Seonghwa mentioned begging to be put in the brig. If he truly wanted this, then why the hell would he ask for such a thing?

“Please leave. I do not trust myself in this state, and if I hurt you on top of — on top of what I’ve already done, Y/N, please. I won’t forgive myself if I ever lay a harmful hand on you even in the slightest.”

You make a spur of the moment decision right then and there, spinning on your heel in the middle of the corridor and inhaling sharply as you head back to the bridge with a new thought in mind. You wish to hear from Hongjoong himself what transpired before Seonghwa was put in the brig and the reasoning as to why Hongjoong agreed to such a thing. Sure, now might not be the opportune time for such a discussion, but you have already made up your mind and it’s unlikely you would be able to sleep with this plaguing your thoughts anyway.

Less than a minute passes before you are back at Hongjoong’s door, this time rapping your knuckles as hard and loud as you can on the metal. You hear nothing more of a conversation inside — neither his nor Yunho’s voices filter through the door until after your knocking ceases. Then a bit of shuffling resounds followed by some mutterings that vaguely sound like complaints of some sort. That could not have prepared you in the slightest for the sight that greets you when the door finally slides open.

First of all, it is not Hongjoong who stands before you, but rather Yunho.

And not only that little shocking tidbit because Yunho is very much standing half-naked with pants hung low around his hips and absolutely no shame or insecurity in the way he leans against the doorframe to greet you.

The inherent shock from the sight causes you to sputter and choke on air, gaze darting off to the side and away from the healer as quick as humanly possible. You truly do your best to ignore the very obvious trail of bruises along the column of his neck and collarbone, along with the ones traveling lower.

“Oh? Looking to join us, Y/N?” He asks. An amused grin paints his lips, you can see that much out the corner of your eye.

“Abs-Absolutely not, Yunho, are you mad?” You refute through a stutter and dare to focus back on his face (and his face only). Yunho arches an eyebrow, not at all shy in the way he drags his gaze over your body from head to toe. You ignore him with a scoff then ready to duck around his stupidly tall form. He seems to catch that before you can though because he darts a hand out across the doorway and effectively blocks your path inside.

“You certain about that? You seem a bit eager to come in.” Your only reply is a pointed glare. Thankfully, Yunho picks up on the hint in that look after a second and shifts his tone. “Is it an emergency?”

“I need to ask Hongjoong something, it’s important. About Seonghwa.” You see movement just past Yunho’s shoulder and glance beyond him. Hongjoong stands back at the other edge of the room in the doorframe to what must be his bedroom. You nearly don’t recognize him right them because of how… incredibly fragile he appears to be. A blanket wraps around his shoulders and torso, dwarfing his already small figure and making him almost come across as something delicate. If someone asked you to point out the horrifying and menacing pirate captain in the room, you would glance over Hongjoong without a thought.

“I take it you’ve been down to the brig then?” Hongjoong pipes up. His voice bounces off the walls to reach your ears, confident and knowing.

“I have.”

Hongjoong ducks his chin to his chest, and the way his breathing shakes his form almost makes him seem like he’s laughing at your response. Then he comes closer to join you and Yunho where you stand. You hardly miss the way one of the captain’s hands darts out to touch Yunho’s bare waist before he brushes a soft kiss over the back of Yunho’s shoulder. It’s a rare — no, more than simply rare, it’s frankly a sight you have never seen from Hongjoong before in that you have never witnessed him be so openly intimate with anyone in the crew in such a way. Perhaps the closest he has gotten was when you were left in the medbay with him and Seonghwa, but even that was not as… openly blatant as the way he touches Yunho before you now. Yet it does not seem to be meant to tease you in any way; you moreso get the sense that it’s almost a threat in a way. After all, you are still the newest on the crew and you aren’t sure you have fully gained Hongjoong’s trust. If this is a challenge, you aren’t sure how it is meant to test you.

“Go back to the bedroom. I’ll be there shortly,” Hongjoong murmurs against Yunho’s slightly flushed skin. The healer steps away with nothing more than a nod. Hongjoong waits until the taller man disappears into that room he just emerged from before turning back to face you. He still seems smaller in your eyes like this even though he is closer; the two of you are more evenly matched when he’s not wearing his typical heeled boots. The blanket around his body strains as he pulls it tighter. He, like Yunho, is very clearly not wearing much in the way of clothes underneath, but at least he covered himself mildly even if you can see a deep v exposing his chest through the folds of the fabric. It is enough for you to see numerous bumps and ridges along that strip of skin, all discolored and mismatched lines that mar an otherwise perfect canvas of tanned skin. Even if expected, it’s an alarming amount of scars for such a small expanse of skin. And if you look past the points where scars are, you can make out the barest hint of black ink accompanying the marks — it spreads over him like a constellation, connected by lines and threads of varying thickness to meet each other in other corners.

You tear your gaze away with great effort, clearing your throat as you blink up to look the captain in the eye.

“Seonghwa mentioned that something happened while we were gone on the mission. He asked me to leave before I had the chance to ask further about it but…” Your voice dies in your throat then, and nerves suddenly curl in your stomach. When you speak again, it’s in nothing more than a whisper. “What happened?”

Hongjoong hums.

It’s the only sound he makes for quite a while too, and you think he has no intention of continuing the conversation until he shifts his blanket all of a sudden and exposes the lower half of his body. Just as before with Yunho, you are swift to look in the opposite direction before you spot anything you do not wish to see.

“That’s hardly appropriate, Captain,” you grit out, finding a newfound interest in the wall to your left. Hongjoong exhales a laugh that’s so soft it sounds more like a sigh.

“Seonghwa stabbed me.”

Now that has your head jerking back to examine him, and thankfully, your eyes settle on pants around his hips rather than nothing at all. One of his hands slips down to tap what looks to be a bandage. He peels it back as gently as possible and reveals a narrow yet long slice along his abdomen, almost parallel to his side. All in all, it doesn’t appear to be too gruesome or gnarly, no doubt held together by liquid stitches of some sort.

“We had a small argument after putting Han in the brig,” Hongjoong continues. As usual, his tone is near impossible to read with no clues as to what he is feeling as he recalls the memory.

“Did it involve discussions of Seonghwa’s mother?”

“Yes, yes, of course, it did.” Hongjoong returns the bandage to its original placement then tugs the blanket back around his body. He brings a hand up to run through his mess of fading blue hair. “It didn’t start that way though. He accused me of caring more about him appearing to be an Elitist than anything else. Threatened to tell Jisung that he is a Siren along with the rest of the crew. I doubt Jisung even cares about Sirens in the slightest given the way he is hyperfocused on you instead, but Seonghwa has always been so adamant about being wanted by others because of what he is. And I know that we were both acting rashly and out of fear rather than reason, but it doesn’t — that does not excuse what we said to each other. I told Seonghwa that perhaps he might feel better killing me rather than his mother, and that obviously did not go over very well. That’s when he stabbed me, well, it was more a glancing blow than a stab. Hardly even deep enough to cause significant damage, but Seonghwa damn near acted as though I was fucking bleeding to death though. He called for Yunho to get me patched up them begged that I put him in the brig. As much as I wanted to deny him that, I complied.”

“I can talk to him,” you offer without a second thought.

“Talk to him? What is it you think to do, Y/N?”

“I was denied my closure, Captain, and that has haunted me every day for the past several years. You… you are a person who achieved that already; I don’t need to know the details of your backstory to understand that because it is more than clear in the way you handle yourself and matters around you. But Seonghwa? He hasn’t gotten his closure either. At least allow me to talk with him and see if this is what he truly wants before you rule anything out.” Hongjoong regards you with nothing more than a lingering stare for a bit. You take it as a cue to excuse yourself and leave, yet the second you turn to do so, he catches hold of your wrist and pulls you back to be face to face with him. The jerk of his arm sends you propelling forward more than you expect because it tugs you close enough to nearly smack foreheads with the captain.

“I am willing to trust you with this and with Seonghwa, at least for now. Take care to remember that, especially when it comes to Seonghwa’s heart. For if you mislead him in the slightest, there will be hell to pay.” Your subconsciousness has you straightening your back at those words, reading the thinly veiled threat with ease.

“I won’t do anything to influence his decisions. They should all be his own anyway, so I won’t try to change that for him. You have my word. Besides, you no doubt plan to talk with him again soon, right?” Hongjoong’s gaze falls into a pointed glare at that comment, and you catch yourself a little too late. “At least, I’m sure he would appreciate that either way.” That soothes the captain enough for him to release his grip on your arm, and he lets you step away from the door after that.

“I pray for both our sakes that his mind is kind enough to have a reasonable discussion with you. But… don’t — don’t get too close just in case the worst happens.”

“Understood, Captain,” you whisper back. The warning is a bit haunting albeit necessary; it’s moreso unfortunate that Hongjoong has to even usher the warning in the first place because the Seonghwa you know would never willingly harm someone he cares about. Especially not Hongjoong.

As you walk away from Hongjoong’s quarters and off the bridge for a second time tonight, you have to remind yourself that it is still Seonghwa down there. He isn’t a different person, he’s not some monster even if there is a bit of fear curling through your gut as you walk down to the brig. He remains the same Seonghwa that you know and care about so much. Perhaps you have just been blessed enough to only witness the pretty sides to his character in the time you’ve known him. Thinking all the way back to the way you met — how you knocked him out cold in front of an airlock — he was not cruel or heartless then either. In fact, every ounce of evidence up until recently made you wonder how such a compassionate soul could possibly be such a deadly and fearsome pirate.

“Perhaps it’s time for me to go home and face my demons after all,” Seonghwa whispers, letting his smile stretch a bit wider. It falls away a second later, and something dark takes over, something you decide you don’t want to see cross Seonghwa’s features again. Because in that moment, you see something sinister and cruel, and all the legends you heard about the man come to life before you. The stories of a man in a black cloak bearing a silver scythe in one hand with a gun in the other, the fearless killer who stands beside the Scourge of the Black Sea rearing death in his wake. When Seonghwa turns on his heel and leaves the room, you see it. The dark shadows billowing behind him curl outwards and sweep across the floor, crude shapes built by the light in the hallway, and that cloak of darkness sits on Seonghwa’s shoulders. It’s like the Lieutenant of Death has crawled his way out of the dark abyss of hell that Seonghwa kept him buried in, and the face he rears horrifies you.

That thought keeps you occupied the whole way down to the brig, and it continues when you climb down the ladder with hesitant steps. As before, Jisung is the first thing you see when you reach the bottom, although this time he is curled on his side and facing the wall. He must be asleep given his position, yet you’re hesitant to write him off as so without knowing for certain. You don’t dare stop to find out, however, and instead just move past his cell as quietly as you can.

You find Seonghwa still sitting upright in his own tiny prison. He has shifted to put his back to Jisung now though, and his head hangs at an angle that is uncomfortable to look at. Whether he was already awake or merely sensed your presence, you have no way of knowing. Nonetheless, he shifts to glance back at you when you approach, chains jingling and rattling in the silence of the room.

“I asked you not to return,” he murmurs once you are close enough to hear him. You don’t kneel before his cell in the same way you did last time. There’s a bit more distance between you and the bars now, enough to be just out of harm’s way but near enough for you to reach out if you so desired.

“You know I’m no good at following orders,” you reply with a melancholy smile. Seonghwa’s gaze softens a bit at that. He tilts his head back to rest on the bars, still staring at you out the corner of his eye. He seems exhausted beyond belief — muscles lax and with no strength to them, eyelids drooping every time he blinks, breath huffing out in deep sighs rather than even exhales. Despite that, you don’t get the sense he wants to rest at all.

“Why aren’t you resting? I’m sure you’re tired from the mission.”

“I rested enough earlier.” But couldn’t stay asleep because of the nightmares. Nightmares in which you killed both yourself and Hongjoong. Ones where San took the serum and forgot me. “I’m okay.” That seems to be more for your own ears than for Seonghwa’s. He hums a bit anyway, acknowledging your words as his eyelids flutter some.

“You don’t need to come keep me company, you know.”

“I can’t just see you because I want to?”

“Y/N…” Seonghwa faces forward before finishing the thought. Something seems to overcome him, if the sudden spike of distress that rolls off his shoulders is any indication at least, and he curls in on himself some more. Your first instinct is to move closer to him and offer some sort of physical comfort, but Seonghwa only pushes further into the corner of his cell when you move. “Don’t.”

“I trust you, Seonghwa,” you utter back. You heed his words though and stop dead in your tracks.

“That would be your first mistake.”

“Why?”

“What?” Seonghwa’s counterattack sounds nearly incredulous.

“Why would it be a mistake to trust you?”

“You are at a greater risk than Hongjoong, yet I still hurt him. Just like last time.”

“How am I at a greater risk, Seonghwa?”

“I don’t — I fear… I fear my mind mistaking you for someone who should die simply because you are a woman.”

“Ah…” you exhale. The implication is there: he’s afraid of mistaking you for his mother in the craze that his head is putting him through. You hadn’t even thought that to be a risk before honestly. From the memories you saw of her, you don’t think you look anything like said woman, but you also have no idea of what Seonghwa’s demons are capable of convincing him to believe. If they’re strong enough to make him harm Hongjoong, then no doubt they would be capable of that too. Seonghwa reaches down to rub at the skin around his ankles, where the flesh has already turned red and bruised from repeated abuse.

“I can’t stay here, Y/N. I’ll lose my mind. I almost wish that fool behind me would do more to antagonize me, but it’s my own head that refuses to let me come up for air.” The chains rattle once more as he reaches up to massage his hairline. The thin black strands of hair cling to his skin like he’s sweating buckets, and under the little bit of light in the brig, you can see a sheen of sweat on his body.

The room is deathly cold.

“Hongjoong mentioned… he said you believe he is forcing you to masquerade as an Elitist.” The words are spoken quiet enough to where you don’t think Jisung could pick up on them even if he were awake.

“I don’t. That’s the thing — I don’t believe that. I know he’s not. I don’t know what came over me when I said such a thing. It isn’t his fault that I-I am like this, and he shouldn’t even have to b-blame himself for it. I’m the one who chose this and demanded the masquerade before he even knew my true identity.”

“But—”

You stop the thought in your throat, cutting off with a small grimace and sigh of air. Seonghwa jerks to look at you anyway. He waits and waits for you to finish the thought, and under his intense gaze, you have lost much of the confidence you had in saying such a thing.

“From what I saw of your memories, and what you told me of your childhood, you were not the one to decide that,” you say after some deliberation. “It was her.” Admittedly, part of you fears the reaction you might garner from Seonghwa in mentioning his mother directly, so you try to keep it as vague as possible. “You never asked to be kept a secret.”

“My worst crime then was being born,” Seonghwa murmurs more to himself than to you. “Now what is it? A son who wants nothing more than to kill the woman who brought him into this world? The more time goes on, the more I… I-I lose myself. I don’t know where my line of morality is, nor do I know how to adhere to it. Y/N, I’m—” Seonghwa falls silent, tongue caught between his teeth, and when he looks to you, there are tears shining in the corners of his eyes. “I’m so afraid.”

You don’t think you have ever heard Seonghwa utter such words, at least not with the raw conviction he says them with or the wrecked pain that radiates off his body.

“Are you afraid of what might happen if you do kill her or what might happen if you don’t?”

Seonghwa doesn’t answer right away; instead, he hangs his head between his knees and you can only watch helplessly as the man’s shoulders tremble under an invisible weight.

“The right answer… what a good person would say is that I fear killing her. But I’m more terrified of what happens if I don’t. How much longer do I suffer if I don’t take this opportunity now? Can I justify risking your safety, Hongjoong’s safety, the crew’s safety for being a good person? I know the blood on my hands is already immeasurable, the infamous Lieutenant of Death shouldn’t fear one more life ended, and I don’t. I just can’t figure out if the Seonghwa who isn’t an Elitist believes that or if it’s the Seonghwa I’ve pretended to be most of my life. Maybe part of me fears how you all might view me if I do kill her.”

“I can’t say it wouldn’t change anything, but I don’t know if anyone would view you as a bad or evil person because of it.”

Seonghwa huffs out a weak laugh and pushes his hair back with the hand he’s not keeping clenching into a tight fist.

“I think Hongjoong is convinced I’ll turn into some sort of monster.”

“He believes that you don’t want to do it,” you counter. “He thinks that your definition of losing yourself lies in killing your mother.”

“I thought it did too.” Hopeless. That’s the word you would use to describe Seonghwa’s current tone, and it burns you from the inside out to hear such desperation on his lips. “If I keep pulling away simply because I’m afraid to hurt any of you, then what right do I have to call myself a lieutenant? To work as Hongjoong’s right-hand? I-I should have some semblance of self-control rather than continuing to distance myself. I thought back then that my mind was crying for her blood bec-because it wanted me to go insane, but now it sounds more and more like a cry for help. When this is all said and done, when it’s time for me to rest, I don’t want to have lost any of you along the way. And I certainly don’t want to be the cause of it either.”

To you, that sounds like a decision. And so, you echo his words back to him with a resolute tone.

“If you tell Hongjoong that, he would take you there, Seonghwa.” You aren’t strong enough to push the full meaning into your words, but it lingers between you. He knows what you mean. “He’s adamant that the decision be yours, as am I. Even Yunho wants you to do what you think is the best course of action. And should you get there and not be able to carry it out, no one would force you to, and no one would do it for you unless you asked that of them.”

“I could never ask anyone to take that burden for me, Y/N.”

“Then you have your answer.” You muster up the courage to slide closer to Seonghwa’s cage and slip a hand between the bars. You don’t push your luck and touch him quite yet, merely letting your hand rest on the bed of metal for Seonghwa to regard with a terrified stare. Although it’s slow progress, he inches his hand down to rest a little ways away from your own. “I promised Hongjoong that I would do nothing to influence your decision, and I plan to uphold that promise. I just… want you to know you are loved today just as you were yesterday, and you’ll be loved tomorrow as well. Whatever kind of that love is, it’s love nonetheless. These people — the family you have built and chosen yourself — will continue to love you even if you get a little lost along the way.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sound so certain of something before.”

It’s your turn to exhale a little laugh, although yours is merely one of faux amusement.

“I wish you could see the way they look at you, Seonghwa. The respect they hold in their eyes when they see you, the admiration and love and affection — I don’t need to feel what they feel to know how much they care. It’s not a matter of thinking you are strong because they know you are. You don’t have to force yourself to show restraint or continue to be the thing your mother wanted you to be for them to know you are strong. You have already been with them through some of the toughest moments of their lives, you have been at Hongjoong’s side and you have led just as much as he has. I firmly believe that is not a bond that could be so easily severed.”

Seonghwa’s fingers are so close to yours, so close to curling around your palm and holding you at last, taking that last step of the fickle little thing called trust. At this point, you are throwing yourself headfirst into it with reckless abandon. While there might be some hesitance hiding away in your bones, you would rather see Seonghwa take this step forward in trusting himself.

In the next second, that precious thread of peace snaps and frays at the edges.

“Bravo, Y/N, bravo.” You withdraw your hand from Seonghwa’s cell with a start, lips pressing into a thin line as you turn to regard the man who spoke with a glare. Jisung smiles back at you. It’s all poison and menace. His chains ring to an inaudible song as he claps his hands together. “Oh, you must be so proud of yourself for that one, little lady. Absolutely riveting and… encouraging and… inadequate, don’t you think?”

“Don’t you ever tire of hearing yourself speak?” You hiss back without answering the question.

“I don’t think I do. Because every time I speak, I just dig my way under your skin a little more, and that? That amuses me to no end.”

“Don’t humor him, Y/N,” Seonghwa mutters. His hands are now withdrawn to rest in his lap again and curled into tight balls as he stares down at the floor. “I’ve found he wears himself out if you ignore him.” You can hardly imagine being trapped here for more than five minutes with Jisung, but Seonghwa has been in here for hours. Unfortunately, you don’t hold the same resilience that Seonghwa does.

You push up to your feet and stalk towards Jisung’s cell with no clear intent in your mind.

It feeds right into what he said though, it’s proof that he has gotten under your skin and bothered you to some extent, yet you don’t stop even with that knowledge.

“Don’t you have what you want? Haven’t you wreaked enough havoc in your stay here?”

“Oh? And what is it I want exactly, Y/N? Let me hear it from your pretty lips instead of my own.”

“You want me,” you spit back, leaning over the bars like it will intimidate the man behind them.

“And? Do I have what I want?”

“And you fucking have me. I made the deal, I did what you wanted, can’t you quit now?”

“Such foul language from my little lady’s mouth. A shame, truly.”

“I’m not yours to be clai—”

“Incorrect! You said it yourself: I have you. As far as I’m concerned that makes you mine. I really wanted us to find a nice peaceful place to settle down after all this, but you… you are so violent. Angry. I really would rather not be forced to deal with such behaviors, but if you continue to do so, then maybe we can try that method they’re using on the Spectre. What was it? Regression… therapy? I hear it’s quite effective in breaking someone’s spirit. Shall we try?”

You know better than to fall into that trap again. It’s all for show; Jisung is merely saying and doing these things to bother you because he knows how best to do so. He hasn’t yet even proven that he has the balls to follow through with anything he’s threatened, but he also understands that he doesn’t need to. Whether he proves it or not, he wins merely by garnering a reaction from you. It was a tactic you learned about years ago, something they taught your unit before you engage in high-risk intelligence-gathering missions.

“You don’t get to talk about San,” you fire back, right into the trap Jisung laid before you.

“San, is it? He’s the one you worry about most, no?” The smile painted on Jisung’s lips nearly seems genuine. It probably would be if not for the gleam in his eyes. “You always got too attached too quickly. I suppose that hasn’t changed.”

Jisung sits up on his heels and traces a finger over the bars separating you. Whatever the reason in doing so is a mystery to you, but you stand transfixed by the gentle movements.

“I bet you haven’t even told him how you feel. That’s the scary part, isn’t it? The part where they leave? Die? Or worse… forget everything about you? When the doctors go in to reset his brain, they won’t even think to keep those memories of you. If it makes you feel any better, I can take your memories of him away too.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

The laugh that tears through Jisung’s lips echoes off the walls and bounces off your ears.

“Is this so amusing to you?” Seonghwa is the one to pose the question, voiced raised a bit so it carries over to where you and Jisung are.

“I haven’t even begun to have my fun yet. I do so adore seeing relationships crack under the slightest bit of pressure though. I suppose that’s one thing dearest Y/N and I have in common. I’m not sure she’s let you glimpse into the cruelest parts of her yet.” His smile drops with such haste that it causes you to visibly flinch. “I’ve seen them all, Lieutenant. Oh, the fun we’ll have once together again, doll~”

“Fuck you, Han,” you spit through the curling fear in your gut. Your words have no effect and offer no respite, however; all it does is bring the smile back to Jisung’s lips and another laugh from his throat.

“You should be grateful that Hyunwoo spared you from living with the weight of your worst crimes. I wanted to let you live with them but he said you would be too guilty and too much of a liability if we left you with them. He had to be the one to take the weight of those crimes after all. I wonder how many of those broken memories will still be intact when I go back into that pretty little brain of yours again. Since Hyunwoo won’t be around to keep me from playing this time, that is. Which ones should I release first, Y/N?”

“Shut up.”

“You saw our lovely whore in Lynder didn’t you? Don’t tell me she forgave you for what you did… perhaps we should start there.”

“Shut the hell up, Han Jisung, if you want to keep your life.”

“Oh?” Jisung presses forward and gets to his feet without batting an eye. You hadn’t realized how close you had gotten to his cell until he comes face to face with you behind the bars, so close that the heat from his body radiates onto your skin. “I would be careful, Y/N. I’ve spent years learning how best to toy with brains using the military’s serum. If you want to keep your sanity, then I suggest you play nice like the good little doll you are. You wouldn’t want to be left with any horribly traumatic memories, now would you?”

Jisung’s lips fall into a faux pout, and you take a hasty step back from the bars in disgust.

“I told you: I know plenty about making people break. All I have to do is tell you the smallest white lie for seeds of doubt to take root. I can make you believe that you killed thousands of people without even taking a single step into your head. Take that into account before you attempt to threaten me.”

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe, but we… we’re merely two halves of a whole crazy, Y/N. You need me to survive because if you didn’t, you would have forgotten all about me a long time ago, wouldn’t you? Isn’t it funny how someone who doesn’t even have any true and real memories of her past clings to it so desperately?”

“You know, from where I’m standing, you aren’t doing shit to help us find the others, so I have no reason to uphold my end of the bargain,” you deflect, turning the conversation on its head to escape his pointless scrutiny of your reasoning. It works to your advantage perfectly because Jisung huffs air through his teeth and rolls his eyes.

“We’re on Dorado, no? Your Berserker is in the Lower Echelon of Lynder near the Smokehouses. Large warehouse preparing for reprogramming no doubt. You won’t be able to get him out. Your best hope is to wait until after the reprogramming as my crew will take him back to our ship, then we can play tradesies and bring him back while you come with me.”

“Or you can go to that warehouse and tell them the deal is off and there’s been a change in plans.”

You squat down beside Jisung’s cell, hand slipping over your waistband and dipping underneath it to pull the sheathed knife you keep there out. It glints under the low yellow lights above your head.

“Scourge was right in saying that it’s hard to threaten a man like you. But one thing fucks your plans up, Jisung. If I’m dead, then what do you get out of this?”

The playful gleam in Jisung’s eyes fades like a candle being snuffed out. His smirk falls, expression growing grave in mere seconds, and you crank up the heat a little further as you dance the knife over the inside of your wrist.

“If it means ruining your plans, I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to ensure the safety of my crew. You should know that by now.”

“You haven’t fucking changed in all these years.”

“Is that a yes?”

“You fucking wish, you harlot. Do you really think—”

You cut him short by digging the knife harder into your skin, just enough to break through and cause a stream of red to slip out. He falls silent with a sharp inhale of air.

“I hope you agree before I run dry, Jisung. You want me to be a psychopath so badly? Let’s fucking play. Ten seconds until I cut again, and this time it’ll be vertical, so I sure hope you realize the stakes now.”

“You think your boy toy in the corner over there will sit still as you kill yourself to prove a point?”

“From where I’m standing, it seems like neither of you is in any sort of position to stop me. Five seconds, Jisung.” A drop of scarlet falls from the tip of the knife to the floor. Jisung watches it splatter, eyes calculating and careful as it moves, then he blinks back up to look you in the eye.

“I’ll tell them to cancel the reprogramming and send your Berserker back to my ship.”

“That’s not good enough,” you reply without missing a beat. The knife careens back towards your arm, and Jisung lunges forward in his cell as you shift, a desperate attempt to stop you from continuing the damage. He can’t fit a hand through the bars with the shackles around his wrists though, and he’s left to hiss out a complaint when the knife penetrates your skin again. It’s closer to your elbow this time, a deceptively shallow slice the runs parallel to the bone. Red blossoms over the line immediately. “You go in there, get them to cancel the reprogramming, then bring him out yourself to deliver him to this ship and this ship only.”

Jisung doesn’t respond right away, prompting you to lift the knife again in threat, and he snaps into action at that. Scarlet trails down the blade.

“Fine! You can even send some fucking lackeys with me to make sure I get the job done.”

“I’ll save you the trouble of trying to fuck it up while out there; I will go with you, along with our Berserker Jongho just so you don’t forget what you’re supposed to do out there.” It’s hardly your place to make such decisions or plans in place of Hongjoong, but since he’s otherwise preoccupied at the moment and you have this chance before you right now, you are going to do the most with it. And if Hongjoong has any issue with that? You’re willing to take the consequences of your actions later.

“If that’s what will make you happy, then so be it. My intention has always been to help you recover your lost crewmates.”

“Even though you were the one who kidnapped and sold them in the first place?”

“Did you think I would make things easy for you, Y/N? Come now… don’t let my kindness fool you. You haven’t even thought to ask about the other one — the Spectre, was it? Here I thought he mattered to you. You were oh so concerned when I spoke of him before.”

“I’m fucking getting there, Han. You’re in no position to be impatient,” you hiss out through gritted teeth. Jisung merely laughs at the fire in your tone.

“I’m hardly impatient, doll. In fact, I have all the time in the world. However—” he hesitates to lift one of his shackled hands and points a finger directly up “—that Spectre has a countdown looming over his head, does he not? Countdown to the hard reset? I wonder what stage of regression therapy they’re at by now. Or maybe he’s already given in? My men told me that he was… so responsive whenever your name was mentioned. I wonder if he’ll beg like the mutt he is when it comes time for him to break.”

That tips you over the edge you’ve been teetering on since entering the brig for a second time. You drop your knife to the ground, letting it clatter and fall away from where you’re squatted in front of Jisung, then you thrust your bleeding arm through the bars to close your fingers around his throat where the band of his collar can’t reach. The strain and pull on your skin burns and causes the wounds to split a bit further. It doesn’t stop you from squeezing Jisung’s neck until his face turns purple.

“Run that by me again, Han Jisung, and see what happens.”

It’s that slight insanity creeping back up your neck and into your mind — the same craze that overtook you when Taskmaster Cara stabbed San back on Echidna.

“What? Is this not a fun game for you? You were enjoying it so much not too long ago. Do you not enjoy it not?” You taunt as you twist the blade in her.

“Y-You’re a fucking – fucking psychopath.”

The smile returns to your lips. You pull the knife out of her leg with haste then move forward so that you can squat down in front of her.

“I’ve heard that before too,” you mutter as you twirl the knife in your grasp. The smile coating your lips dissipates. “But only by the people who deserve their fates.”

It terrified you then, made you fear who you were and what you could become. Now? Your mind fights the urge to kill Jisung as best it can, but it’s a losing battle, because no matter how hard you try, you cannot peel your hand away from his neck. It’s like a voice is playing on repeat in the back of your head, saying ‘kill kill kill’ over without cease.

Your ears ring with the blood thumping through your veins. If you squeeze just a little tighter then—

“Enough.”

Your hand pulls away from Jisung’s neck with such haste that you slam it hard against the bars as you’re trying to withdraw it from his cell. You scramble back from the cell full of a terror that can only be directed at yourself because you don’t know what came over you in that moment. The figure creeping up on your left doesn’t even register until he is in your space and squatting beside you. A hand overlays one of your trembling ones and pulls your arm out until your injured forearm is exposed.

“Reckless. What else should I expect from you?” It’s then that you finally decide to look up at the owner of the voice, finding none other than the captain standing over you like you’re nothing more than a petulant child who can’t learn a lesson. Still, his tone holds far more softness than anger, and you don’t get the sense that he’s truly enraged by your actions. “Go see Yunho and get these cleaned, hm? You’ll need to be in top condition if you’re heading out on yet another mission tomorrow. Though we’ll have to discuss your tendency to jump the gun on planning things without orders in the future as well.”

Ah, so he’s been present for a while if he overheard that bit as well. Then he had every opportunity to stop you from harming yourself or making any propositions with Jisung the entire time. It’s almost touching in a way knowing that Hongjoong allowed you to have that moment of control — a moment to take matters into your own hands — even if he’s all but told you that there will be consequences for said moment.

You offer a hesitant nod in response, glancing over at Jisung one last time before Hongjoong helps you to your feet. You are about to step past the captain when he yanks you back by the elbow in a similar fashion to your earlier stand-off with him outside his quarters. He presses so close to you that you smell the distinct musk of a fresh shower on his skin.

“Yunho’s still upstairs so don’t bother dropping by his room.”

You don’t understand why he had to whisper that fact to you like it was a closely guarded secret, but you are not going to point that out either. Instead, you murmur a quiet thank you and turn to climb the ladder out of the brig. Just before you reach the top, you dare to cast one more glance down to Hongjoong. He has moved to assume your previous position in front of Jisung’s cell, squatted low enough to be eye level with the man, and he holds your forgotten knife between two fingers. The scene is telling enough, but you can’t help but wonder what Hongjoong saw when you had your hand wrapped around Jisung’s neck. If he saw the way you started to pull apart at the seams and become slightly unhinged, that is. An even larger part of you wonders if perhaps what he saw was frightening enough to cause him to step in when he did.

The thought does not dwell for long; you put the brig behind you and leave Hongjoong to his own devices in there, deciding it better to not think about whatever he plans to do or say until he inevitably mentions it later to the crew. And even if he deems it unnecessary for the crew to know, you would accept that as well. Either way, you wish to leave what just happened behind you, bury it in the recesses of your mind like it’s a memory that does not belong because you wish it didn’t.

Your hands continue to tremble by your sides for the entirety of the walk back to the Hongjoong’s quarters.

I fear I will lose my mind if I cannot bring him back safely soon.

✧✧✧ a/n: here we are again i really played myself and said yeah this will be under 10k so i LIED to mYSELF um yeah wow okay i never know what to say after finishing a chapter i just go brrr i have a lot of energy tho feeling good about this chapter bringing back the survey bc it’s been a minute and i’d love to hear how we’re feeling nowadays and as always let me know how you feel in the comments replies whatever you wish just bring it on let’s GO hit me with the theories and thoughts!

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