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animefreak1145 · 3 years

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What Could Be(Adler x Bell!Reader)

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Chapter 2

Summary: Bell and Adler try to figure out their path from here. Everyone else can only watch in entertainment or in annoyance.

Or where Bell tries to find her feet and takes control.

Warnings/Tags: Trauma, Recovery from Trauma, Mental Anguish, Brainwashing, Manipulation, Major Character Death, Post!Solovetsky, Post-Canon, Bell!Lives, Implied Sexual Content, COD:BOCW Season 6 Outro Spoilers, COD: Vanguard Pacific Trailer Spoilers, COD: Vanguard Spoilers, Past!Stitch x Bell

A/N: Sequel Fic to What Could Never Be. Happy Anniversary to Cold War! I want scruffy Adler S6 gifs

Words: 5.5k

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The private plane to America was spacious enough for their group, along with Captain Butcher so he can have contact with MI6 and plan accordingly to what he suspects is important in the red, white, and blue country with the stars and stripes. The plane had twelve seats total, spaced out significantly where private conversations can be made and closer to the cockpit was an area more like a booth than seats together that can sit four to sit in tan reclinable chairs and others where it’s two seats either next to each other or across from one another. Each seating carrying a nicely furnished table in front for refreshments and food, also able to recline slightly for sleep. Woods taking advantage of that in the seats to your left based on his light open mouthed snoring. Something that made you and Mason share looks of amusement or chuckles at Woods when the man would at times make a loud snort before quieting.

You three were the closest to the cockpit, you and Mason across from each other with the seats after Mason decided a little more distance from his sleeping friend is needed. The others were more spread out. Hudson was in the last row to the left in comparison to your right, seeming to almost always being on the phone or at the reports in front. Or just observing you. You aren’t surprised by that, he picked the perfect spot to watch everyone if anything would go amiss. You’ll give that to Hudson. He’s distinctly aware of how things can always go wrong and be prepared for the worst. Captain Butcher was on the same side as you and Mason, but two rows down. He had his own files that he looked through but now he appeared to be lightly reading a book. When you walked past once to use the bathroom, you saw the title Waiting for Godot, your eyes lighting up in recognition but only slightly aware of the synopsis. The only reason you recall it at all was due to Perseus, him quoting it to you.

“‘What do we do now, now that we are happy?’ Why, live of course! Live and keep living once the sad times come. Move forward until the happiness comes once more and just march. Wouldn’t you say so, little mouse that survives?”

That man would’ve been great, if he did not think everyone’s happiness besides Russia’s was void, you observe with a sad turn of the lips.

You couldn’t help when you left the bathroom to question the Captain more about it, the book. Him easily smiling under his scarf he still had over his face, the lines around his eyes crinkling as he motioned for you to sit across from him and the two of you began a small discussion of the book that is more a play. The play that argues about the mundanes of life, day after day and bleak but also something more underneath. Which the both of you agreed upon when the British man explained and summarized to you further about the play where two men are constantly waiting for Godot every day only to be told he is not coming. When their discussion about what the two men spoke about and their meanings could be, the Captain asked you what you personally thought the lesson is. Or the point if there is any.

“They shouldn’t wait at all for Godot. They should just go forward and meet him themselves. If you wish for something, take the action yourself.”

“My, and what do you say of the possible representation of Godot being God? That still your answer, darling?”

“I think the better title for the play would’ve been Godot Waiting. People tend to forget, that for any religion, it is God that waits for us. And it’s always us that have to move forward ourselves for the possible relationship to be formed,” You answer, before shrugging as you lean back against the seat and stare out the window. “That’s if one believes either way.”

The Captain still kept his smile throughout your explanation, eyes looking at you in appraisal but curiously tilted his head at your last sentence.

“And do you? Believe?”

You shrugged again, keeping your beliefs to yourself and moved from your seat with words you’ll leave him to his reading but not without him adding you have some of your mother’s traits when it comes to ambition and stubbornness based on your answer. You moved back to your seat and back by the powerhouse duo since the flight began.

Your eyes glance towards Adler, who was also on the left side with Hudson and Woods and one row down, an ash tray in front of him that had three cigarettes already snuffed in the hours they’ve been in the flight with another sitting idly in his hand against the table as he stared out the window, the light from the sun catching the lower part of his face for he had the curtain half down to protect his eyes. You felt his eyes on you earlier when you spoke to Captain Butcher, but he didn’t say anything. Keeping his distance since what happened the day prior outside small talks and all about work or having Hudson relax in his constant need to interrogate you. You don’t know got to broach the topic without having to bring up what happened three years ago to make you react like that. You rather not touch the topic at all. Pretend as if it never happened and you could pretend he was alright too and not seeming to still be affected by his past brainwashing and deprogramming.

Stuck in an impasse.

You know the two of you must speak about it, it would make sense. But you see no point. What would you talk about? Ask him why he did it? Why you?

You already know. And you see the logic behind the actions. If they didn’t brainwash you and took you in, millions would’ve perished. Something your past self agreed with wholeheartedly. You’re not a saint so no point in pretending to be one and acting like a victim when millions could’ve been.

Ask why he shot you? Try to kill you?

No point in asking that either. The logic still sound as to why. Keeping everything nice and clean and in order, accomplishing that being easier with you out the way. The possibility of your anger at your false feelings of betrayal towards them could’ve made you do something rash. Maybe your memory would’ve came back and you would’ve regretted saving everyone. You hold knowledge of MK-Ultra and past missions that Adler has done and that can’t be shared.

You know what he would say. No point in asking.

Still. It didn’t hurt any less.

A part of you, deep down, feels darkly satisfied that Adler now understands you. Even though the brainwashing method was different and not as drastic and for him it didn’t quite take. Perhaps this is another part of the problem on Adler’s side. He understands now yes, but he won’t apologize. Why would he? When he saved millions with your sacrifice? You see he’s been acting different towards you, slight as it may be, but they are still stuck.

Such as it is with impasse’s.

Adler only moved two hours ago when Captain Butcher proposed a game of chess with America’s Monster. You trying to glance and crane your neck and move up in your seat to watch the moves between the once Quartermaster and America’s Monster. For chess and how you play truly reveals what kind of person you are depending on the moves. Mason proposed their own game, making you frown but agree quietly. You’ll find out perhaps another time. You will find out Mason instead, although you already have an idea.

We share too much of the same sentiments, you think with a wry smile, the both of reaching periods where you were stuck and unwilling to sacrifice a piece until you finally decided to sacrifice your knight in order to move the game. Mason having some of your pawns and knight and soon your Bishop if he plays more sacrificing moves while you also had some of his pawns and his rook. We don’t like sacrifices but we know it’s necessary.

In the end, Mason won. You making too much of a hasty move with your Queen to protect the King, the kind of move where you lost her when you should’ve kept her. Mason even telling you so as the both of you cleaned up.

“What made you do that? Did you not see my knight?”

You huffed out your nose in amusement, smiling blithely as you picked up the pieces.

“I guess I just panicked. Saw my King was open and didn’t think about my next move.”

“That doesn’t seem like you,” Mason observed quietly.

“Maybe I was thinking too much,” you reply knowingly and Mason was wise enough to not question further.

Mason always knew what to say and when.

Now the both of you relaxed in your seats, but something has been bothering you and in your mind as you kept glancing Hudson’s way. Trying to be careful to not catch his gaze and therefore his glare because you rather not have that. That’s not your aim although you feel like his hard stare at you in inevitable like how the sun will always rise the next day. You also periodically and discreetly moved your gaze towards Adler, honing in when he got out his seat and moved to use the bathroom.

Your expression set, Mason catching it as you stood up and glancing back to where you were looking.

“You sure that’s a good idea? Maybe you should wait till we land.”

“I don’t want him to have an excuse,” you quietly answer, “I don’t want to have an excuse either. We have to settle this or this won’t work.”

Mason leaned back, giving his assent and throwing you a crooked smile.

“Good luck. You’re gonna need it.”

Hudson glanced up at you behind his shades, face turning harsh as you thought, only turning harsher based on the lines of his face when you sat across from him with hands clasped together and your gaze on him.

“We need to talk.”

“Did Adler put you up to this?”

You expected the sharp tone, so you stared unaffected.

“No. I think you know he would want to watch if he did. He can be controlling if you let him. And I don’t wish for his protection when it comes to this.”

“Yes,” Hudson said, contempt strong in his voice and how he almost curled his lips. “He’s been getting a strong habit of doing that with you. I wonder why that is.”

By the way he said it, it seems he has an idea onto why that is. He can’t go further however, for they have a guest near them and this made it impossible for any other sorts of scathing remarks or cold observations the man could make towards you. Hudson was probably aware of it too, which you felt made him more irritated if the growing lines around his mouth and his tense shoulders had anything to do with it. He made a show to look at a file in his hand, as if dismissing you would be that easy. Your eyes narrowed at him, wishing to be firm and not scared even though you felt clasped hands in front of you already grow clammy.

“That isn’t what I wish to speak on, sir. You and I both know I won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. Despite how you wish me gone. I have information that is imperative for the CIA to have and to use in order to stop Perseus. You know you have my loyalty based on the coded messages I’ve done throughout the years, messages that were trustworthy because with them the CIA have done successful operations against Perseus while I was with them. Only proving more when I made sure with my presence that Adler didn’t meet a bullet to the head as well as any of you.” You were proud at how even you sounded as you spoke to the frigid man that was as cold as his nickname from the others suggests. His visage became hard to read as you stated your points, his stare intense even with those shades as he listened and glanced at you. You spread your arms out, showing you were open. “I have been sharing additional information I have as well. And more.”

“What’s your point?” He asked in annoyed exasperation but you had him. You think it helped you didn’t add about your parentage. That’s a whole other can of worms you do not wish to touch and you didn’t want to imply anything that you wish to go back to Russia. “Despite your past constant need to ask questions, you never wasted my time. So what’s all this about?”

You always respected how straight to the point he was, so you’ll do the same.

“You don’t like me.” His brow arched above his shades, face practically saying no shit. You smiled bemusedly. “That’s fine. I don’t need you to. You probably never will, which I can understand. I was a commie Ivan terrorist bitch before and now I’m still an Ivan bitch, but you find me untrustworthy still due to the small chance of still being a Red. Of being a spy. I can respect your point of view, before and now, so I don’t blame you being wary of the enemy foreigner.”

At this point, Hudson lowered the file further but still kept the grip as he stared at you, unblinking. His brow arched now curiously at you as you leaned back in your seat with crossed arms, shrugging.

“Hell. I would’ve done the same. But,” you met his gaze evenly, dropping any semblance of a polite smile you may have had as you sat up in your seat. “We’re on the same side now, sir. There’s no doubt in that, not after everything I’ve done against Perseus. Which is why despite whatever negative feelings or thoughts we may have for one another, I wish to at least have both of us respect one another. We can’t have this affect the team or when we’re out in missions. We can’t afford it.”

It was silent for a few moments, a pin stuck in the air and waiting to be dropped as the two of you stared at one another.

Than, Hudson released a huff out his nose but his eyes behind his shades had a hint behind them you would never think you would see as Hudson dropped the file and clasped his hands in front of his chin, leaning against the desk.

“I see you’re done hiding behind Adler. Good.” You blinked as the man continued in his clipped tone but with less tension and more neutral. “I can’t stand those who can’t look at someone in the eye and tell it straight. I hate playing guessing games and hate cowards even more.”

A ghost feeling that felt like hope started to come up to your chest as your lips quirked sardonically.

“I always respected that I didn’t have to guess your thoughts before, sir. I’m an analyst, but never really liked guessing games myself when it came to people.”

An odd noise came out of Hudson’s mouth and you wonder if you’re dreaming or if the man actually snorted. You fixed your agape mouth quickly just as fast as Hudson sobered, before nodding at you.

“You got yourself an understanding, Bell. At least from me. You still have to talk to Black yourself when we land and give you the proper interrogation and win him over.” The famed Black which you haven’t seen or heard. You can feel yourself pale at the thought of how the man can kill you or spare you with just an order. As powerful as the President could be really as far as you’re concerned. “Let’s say that you did though,” Hudson continued, inclining his head as you looked up once more. “If missions deem you, Adler and I together—understand that you have to heed my orders. And I’m talking about every single one.” He tapped his finger against the desk with each word the last few words. “If I say to you to accomplish a mission clean, I want not a single chance for others to get a sniff that it even happened. Understand?”

This time you frowned, pursing your lip.

You have no problem following orders, but you’ve determined a long time ago who you would listen to explicitly in everything and it isn’t Hudson.

Hudson spotted your expression, and seeming to understand the problem as his face went back to a deep frown. Before you could answer and explain, Adler got out the bathroom and paused by the two of you with a rose brow. You stood, giving Hudson a stiff nod before you did with Hudson just going back to his files, you giving Adler a nod as well before you turned back to go to your seat. You could spot Adler looking at Hudson as if he could inform him on what happened between you two as you sat, but you doubt Hudson will give much if anything at all.

“So?” Mason asked, still across from you in his seat. You noticed that Woods snoring came to a stop as the man slowly awoke to their left, shifting as he blearily opened his eyes and closed them again. “Since you came back, I’m assuming you came out alive from our Ice Cube.”

You lightly chuckled, not quite feeling it.

“He might change his mind,” you say, still looking past Mason towards Adler who moved back to his seat with a thoughtful yet tense expression after Hudson said something. You looked away back towards Mason when Adler glanced at you. “We won’t see eye to eye but at least we have an understanding I’m not the enemy. I still have one more to go though as he helpfully pointed out.”

“If you say what you told Hudson, and show the evidence of what you’ve done, you’ll be fine.” Mason said, calming your nerves as he threw a kind smile at you. “I wouldn’t worry about it. It helps you got us to give a good word. Can’t piss off the people who help accomplish all their illegal missions.”

Woods snorted, but aware this time in response to Mason’s words, hearing some of the conversation. You and Mason looking at the rugged man as he fixed his sitting position and the reclined chair, spotting his amused expression.

“If they do that, they’ll have a bunch of shit they have to deal with themselves for once. And legal.” Woods laughed, voice still rough with sleep. “Rue the fuckin’ day they’ll have to do that.”

You laughed along with Mason good naturedly, your worries lowered but still there as you glanced at Adler once more, seeing he was smoking another cigarette and staring out the window with a leg over his knee.

“Rue the fuckin’ day that you two finally handle yourselves too,” Woods added and at your affronted glare he laughed again, only to glance knowingly over at Mason with a grin when you stated that there was nothing to handle.

You have a bunch of other stuff to do anyways.

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You were glad you managed to rest the last few hours in the plane, because from when you landed it felt like everything could blur together.

From driving to Langley to going through all the necessary entrance of security clearance from fingerprints to being thoroughly pat down even though everyone else knew you didn’t have anything. You throwing Adler an exasperated look as he watched with Adler catching it and only able to half shrug at you but throwing you a ghost of a smirk when you rolled your eyes at your situation, the distance between you too shortening with this interaction. Woods and Mason taken to a different area to give reports and giving you a comforting squeeze to your shoulder and a wave before they went. And Captain Butcher immediately went through other areas within the building, not seeing just how thorough they’re being to the once hero of WWII’s daughter, albeit of another country. Than going through all these halls with a visitors pass on you and Hudson and Adler escorting you down to the elevator, traveling quite a few floors below and you kept your shoulders straight. Expecting for quite a long and possible strenuous interrogation.

Doesn’t help Hudson is being all quiet or foreboding when he does talk, you think with an annoyed frown when he told you to stay outside here by the door while they go meet with Black, you sitting in one of the three chairs provided while they went through another door across from you they had to open with a key. Adler gave you a comforting nod over his shoulder, making your shoulders relax a smidge before they both disappeared and have been gone for longer than twenty minutes. They must be taking long on purpose. Making me nervous. Ugh, you leaned your head back, crossed arms and crossed ankles as you practically reclined on the chair as you stared up at the ceiling, your mood souring and nerves growing and writhing in you as more time passed, another twenty minutes. We don’t have time for this. The longer we take in all this, the easier the others will move out and get together in Perseus.

Adler, who you know would agree, came out with his usual apathetic expression but it was how the lines around his eyes looked tight that made you straighten and stand up as he stepped up to you. The rush of concern fled when the lines relaxed as he looked at you but you couldn’t help the nerves that no matter how you tried to shake them off stayed.

“Don’t look so nervous, kid. You somehow managed to get Hudson on your side after all,” His lips twitched when you blinked, wondering how far or what exactly the cold man said before Adler’s lips leveled. “Although I admit he had his moments where I wondered whose side he’s playing, I wouldn’t fret on it. You’ll be alright, Bell.” He than nodded at the door to the right of you, making you look at it and take a deep steadying breath in preparation. “They’re ready for you. I’ll be up with them but they’ll be the only two that’ll hear you.” You turned, arching a brow at him and Adler smiled dryly. “Not the biggest fans of me sticking myself out for you. Not like I give a shit what they think.”

You couldn’t stop the snort, smiling at how blasé the man could be. You missed it.

You took comfort that he’ll be there though, strangely. But everything about the two of you is strange so you don’t give much thought as you nodded at Adler, moving to turn the handle of the door only to be stopped by a warm touch to your shoulder. You turned your head, seeing Adler’s eyes stare at you attentively, his hand moving to go off your shoulder—thinking of what happened last time he touched you no doubt but you whipped your hand up. Placing it atop his, keeping it on your shoulder as you looked up at his steady eyes that studied you and your reaction, as you felt his knuckles from your hold just as surely he can feel your palm as you squeezed.

Adler’s gaze seemed to clear, finding what he was searching for as he did a gentle comforting squeeze of his own on your shoulder and took another step towards you, his voice quiet as he spoke.

“Black likes to play mind games. He wants to test you in every way and you have to meet each test correctly,” he advised as you listened attentively and not focusing too much how his touch affected you and the pulse on your neck. The fact that Adler is saying this is meant to be taken seriously. The clear implication that Black could play harder than Adler is concerning enough. You nodding when Adler asked you once more if you were successfully deprogrammed, your mind going ten different ways as to why he would ask that again when he knew. “He won’t be easy on you when it comes to some questions and will want to trip you up.”

“The world’s never been easy on me,” you say with a faux smile. “Doubt he will.”

Adler’s eyes squinted at you at your dark words, doing another squeeze as he shook his head.

“But I know you won’t. You’re a genius.” Your lips pulled up automatically genuinely at the compliment, Adler’s own following before adding, “If it makes you feel better kid, this is the same room me and Mason got chewed out.”

It surprisingly did. In a macabre sort of way. Adler slowly pulled his hand away. You allowing him to, yet the ghost warmth on your hand abd shoulder did not go away as Adler nodded at the door.

You nodding at him resolutely before turning and entering.

You didn’t allow yourself to be affected by all the televisions, turned off. Instead focusing your eyes towards the sole chair in the rather large interrogation room, eyes raising to the windows that only revealed shadows of two people with what appeared to be headphones over their ears, with one passing by only to disappear.

Adler. The one a little to the right sitting must be Hudson, which means the one standing right across and above must be Black.

“Good afternoon, Bell.” A voice you didn’t recognize, cool in its timbre and silvery and calm in speech. Sort of like Adler, but you didn’t trust the amiable words and didn’t find the mystery enigmatic like with Adler either. You sat, unaffected and hands on the arms of the chair as Black lightly tsked. “No, that’s not quite right. Would you prefer me to call you by your name? It’s my understanding you’ve learned quite a lot about yourself.”

You ignored the bait, instead of telling him your name. You felt distant to it, no matter how many times Stitch and the others said it, so you would actually prefer your actual name over the one you accepted as your own. Bell is too personable for you and Black shouldn’t call you that.

He said your name quietly to himself, almost tasting how it sounds before moving on. You controlled your expression from twisting.

“Not going by Petrova? I imagine it would be a great honor to be related to one from the famed Vanguard. Unless of course, you feel aggrieved due to her leaving you.”

You clenched your jaw. Black’s aiming for your points of weakness.

Starting with abandonment.

“I don’t know her, only of her. It’d be wrong of me to take her last name just because I found that out,” you steadily reply. “I didn’t have her last name before either, so why would I now?”

You can see the shadowed head tilt.

“You’ve found out a lot I imagine with your time with Perseus.” This is it. The questions badgering about what you did and where your loyalties truly lie. “All because of our use with you and MK-Ultra. A deadly shot to your shoulder in an arctic island that actually didn’t turn out fatal. Bringing you all the way here, back in our. . .care with information for us due to us stringing you along and erasing who you were to make you even not know your name. But according to what occurred in Trabzon, it seems you’re no stranger to be victim of being strung and dried.”

Your body long tensed when he mentioned and the drug and the cliff, you constantly having to remind yourself to calm your breathing or just breathe at all as you sat stiff in the chair and stared widely before your eyes slightly narrowed at the shadow that belonged to Black. His tone still smooth and even, taking care of the word he would use for when you were in their possession and will.

He probably did the pause on purpose, jaw tight but leaning your head back against the chair and crossing your legs to hide the sting, your eyes moving towards the televisions as if in dismissal but he attacked the part of you that still hurts. Still fresh.

Betrayal.

Black isn’t wrong you seem to have a bad habit of that happening to you. On both sides.

But the question, even though he didn’t ask any, was clear.

“I think my actions and willingness to do said actions without any orders shows I don’t care what happened before,” you pointed out, your eyes on the screens of the televisions around you as you put a hand to your cheek, elbow leaning against the arm of the chair as your eyes trailed further around the room. Spotting medical equipment with a tray in the right corner of the room, holding medical tools including a syringe. You turned your head towards a random corner in the room, eyes moving up back to the blurred glass. “. . .There’s more important things to worry about. I rather not waste time on pleasantries and making digs at me, sir. I rather start with the information about Perseus so we can catch them before they vanish in the wind.”

Your voice sounded less firm than what you wished at first, despite you wishing to not fall back into your fears once you caught sight of the syringe. But you managed to bring it back to clear for them to hear.

You feel like Black was able to catch it though, able to hear the smile in his voice.

“Quite eager to get back at those who used your face for their cause. And you were with them for a time. No one would fault you if your past relationships got mended during your time with them despite your helpful codes. Thank you for that by the way,” he ended politely.

Your brows furrowed before you blinked in realization.

Adler is keeping your past relationship with Stitch hidden.

Him. The one least likely to understand your convoluted relationship with those in Perseus due to being blinded by an obsessive drive.

This shit is getting complicated. You thought, bleak and lost. But perhaps this is the best. Not everyone should know of it, but perhaps I can use what I did to him as an example. . .

You thought of teases and stories of how small your eyes looked when you would try to read without your glasses before. Kitsune and Stitch calling you four eyes. Of Naga calling you blind as a bat and Portnova’s giggles that at least now you won’t have to look cross eyed.

This shit is complicated, you think again.

“I’m going to be clear,” you begin, done with this little game of poking holes in your mind and opening your head for weaknesses. “I have no interest in betraying all of you. I’ve done too much for your side against Perseus starting three years ago. It’s a miracle I’m even alive and didn’t get caught sending all of you the codes—all because I believe that those in Perseus only care for chaos and little else. Which isn’t something I will agree with. Not anymore.” You were playing up Adler’s advise, to say you wish to save and not for any other reason. “That, and I killed the current Perseus and what I saw who the next leader of Perseus could be. We should focus on the other members who can be deadly in their own right as Perseus. My relationship with them was void the moment I said Solovetsky. No matter what I had to say or do to have them trust me. I did what I must.” And than, before Black could possibly say it or hint it, you trained your eyes to the best of your ability of where you think his were as you leaned forward a tad in your seat, hands gripping the arms of the chair. “I had a job to do. And there’s still a lot left.”

You saw Black converse with Hudson after a moment of silence. The both of them speaking for a few moments, turning their heads to a place in the room you couldn’t see due to the window but you imagine Adler was adding something to their conversation, whatever they were speaking on.

You were confident they couldn’t get rid of you. Still, the hands gripping the chair felt clammy.

You saw their heads turn back towards you.

“Well,” Black said with a call of your name, “Let’s get started than.”

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A/N: I would piss my pants if I ever got interrogated by Adler. I will poop my pants if Black got involved. We never see his face, and we don't get much dialogue--but from the little we get, I know he ain't someone to mess with.

Good thing that for Bell, interrogations don't quite work on them. Unless they're willing to give information. Touching on weak points isn't something Bell will wish to speak on.

Also, I would be scared talking to Hudson too. But I felt like these two had to talk. They gotta work together and I always found Hudson's tone and comments distasteful. He'll still act like a dick though, don't get me wrong. That's Hudson's whole personality. I actually think he’s growing on me. 💀

More Adler later. We need to focus on everything else because woah is there a lot going on.

Tell me if you wish to be tagged for my future works or to not be tagged.

Tags:@tr1ppylady @parkeepingparker @weirdoartist21 @gojocat247 @mayaibnlaahad @dallmaistir-deactivated20211103 @salvija @kylezkie4adler @asaltryefl @stupid-stinky @aurora-windu @zombiequeennxx @writer-of-various @holy-crap-i-am-russell-adler @zulema117-blog @kylezkie4adler

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wheelsup-sevenup · 3 years

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it’s fun to lose and to pretend (a melina vostokoff character study, part 2)

word count: 4.5k (title from ‘smells like teen spirit’ by nirvana but u knew that)

warnings: the red room so: child abuse, graphic descriptions of violence, death (not explicit) guns, etc. plus additional warnings for drinking, arguments (not physical), despair/hopelessness, google translate russian, and dreykov although spoiler alert he does get punched in the face in this one :D

disclaimer: you don’t have to have read part 1 for this to make sense, but it is my fic and it’s really good so you know. go read it. -> part 1

she used to fall asleep to songbirds and crickets, now she falls asleep to harsh footsteps and muted screams.

homecoming, indeed.

~ возвращение. homecoming.

in america, she’s learned, this term has a special meaning. it refers to a dance the children attend at their schools, in which they dress up and find dates and, if american television is to be believed, find love.

it is different here.

traditionally, once returning from missions, if successful, widows give their mission reports. they have their wounds treated (with a numbing agent, if the mission has gone especially well) and go to bed with a full belly. for most, it is a perfectly adequate reward for whatever lives that have been taken or dignity that has been lost.

melina doesn’t think so, not this time.

this time around, she just wants to stay with her kids.

she sits quietly on the cold metal table, her comfortable “suburban mom” clothing exchanged for a thin hospital gown. for once she doesn’t appreciate the local anesthetic preventing her from feeling the doctor stitching the bullet wound in her shoulder; that kind of pain is an old friend and infinitely preferable to the kind she’s just rediscovered.

for the first time in too long, her heart aches.

she can already feel herself longing for the little house in ohio, for the warm summer breeze and the fireflies and the two little girls racing around in the yard, for the husband waiting for her inside who’s never laid a hand on her in anger.

for the freedom.

alexei at least looks as somber as she feels, the manic grin gone from his face as he stands beside her, listening to dreykov review what appears to be every moment of the last three years. perhaps he, too, grieves for what their life could be.

“and the children,” dreykov questions, snapping her back to the present. “they performed adequately?”

“yes,” melina replies, almost too quickly. “they kept up the facade with no slip-ups, and natash- natalia was quick to take over when i was injured.”

she hesitates a moment, then asks quickly, “where are they?”

she’s made a mistake. dreykov levels her with a stare that she holds without comment, a sick feeling growing in her gut.

“they are not your problem any more, melina,” he replies, putting a careful emphasis on her name. not melissa vostokoff, the anglicized version of her name, but melina vostokova, the iron maiden, not her own but the red room’s.

“yes sir,” she answers. she’s getting off easy and she knows it.

she sits in silence the rest of the meeting, letting the rumble of the mens’ voices drift by her unheard.

she goes to bed that night with a full stomach, knowing all too well this will not be the case in a week’s time. her hand lies cuffed above her head, a habit she’d just managed to kick entirely, alexei’s warm presence conspicuously missing from beside her.

she used to fall asleep to songbirds and crickets, now she falls asleep to harsh footsteps and muted screams.

homecoming, indeed.

the next day, she takes the long route on her way to the laboratories. she’s aware of the guard tailing her scarcely twenty meters behind, but she’s not going to do anything and they must know that, because he lets her walk.

soon enough she finds what she was, unconsciously, looking for. the year twos are practicing ballet. the class is made up of girls roughly four to seven years old, all standing tall by now with hair firmly pulled into knots at the backs of their little heads.

hidden behind the two-way wall mirror, melina watches the small blonde girl step into formation, lip quivering. the true horror of the red room never quite hit yelena before ohio, and the six-year old is clearly having a rude awakening.

yelena attempts a pirouette with bold confidence, evidently already learning to channel her fear and frustration into work. she doesn’t quite fall, but one knee buckles and she trips, barely catching herself before she starts to tip over. it’s a stumble. not unexpected, but bad news nonetheless.

the teacher’s stick catches her around the ankle and the little girl gasps, eyes watering immediately.

she can’t watch this.

melina turns sharply and walks away from the ballet studio, but as she passes the open door a gasp of recognition echoes from inside the soulless room. “mama!” yelena screams. “mama, mama!” she hears a step and a thud, and she knows the teacher must have shoved yelena back into line.

she keeps walking, ignoring for now the quiet rage growing inside her.

she thinks part of her heart stays behind.

that night she discovers the guard tailing her must have reported to dreykov about her detour, because rough hands yank her from her bed and march her barefoot down the hallway. she doesn’t ask where they’re going, just complies silently when they throw her into one of the barren solitary confinement cells.

she doesn’t speak again until they let her out, somewhere around a week later.

after that, melina is more cautious. she walks only to and from the labs, but is careful to check the casualty and medical reports that come out weekly. yelena, thankfully, has stayed off both lists but she learns that natasha has suffered a dislocated shoulder after losing a practice fight. natasha - natalia, now - looks exhausted in the photo, hair barely coming back in wispy curls after being buzzed to the scalp the second they arrived here. melina had known that would be the first thing they’d done, the second they got back, but it still burns her to see the one sign of the girl’s individuality being so carelessly removed.

the next time she sees natalia, she isn’t even looking for her - dreykov invites her personally. natalia, he tells her, will be fighting to the death for the first time in three years, since her first kill not even a month before leaving ohio.

she lets dreykov lead her, arm in arm, into the ornate training room where all of the most important battles take place. the room would not be out of place in a fairytale castle: a fireplace crackles against the far wall, a grand piano illuminated by tall, arched windows that let the morning light drift soothingly over the harsh marble floors. the statues that decorate the walls shine so tauntingly bright that nobody would ever guess how many times they have been stained by blood.

melina knows.

what really catches her attention, though, is the sheer amount of people gathered in this room. natalia and her opponent, irina, stand at attention at opposite sides of the room. madame b stands aside irina, and ivan has his hand on natalia’s shoulder. melina’s heart sinks when she sees the audience contains the younger girls’ class kneeling by the grand piano, yelena among them.

the girl sees melina at once, and can’t repress a whimper, though thankfully doesn’t rise from her knees. instead she remains, hands clasped behind her, hair pulled into a severe bun at the back of her head (yelena hates having her hair up, she wants to scream. it makes her feel trapped).

the nail in the coffin comes when she feels a muscular arm brush against her own, and, dreykov’s arm still wrapped possessively around her waist, she spares a glance at the man standing beside her. alexei is looking at her, she can feel it, and when their eyes meet she turns her gaze firmly away. there is no safe place to look in this room: not at her former teacher with her gaze as icy as ever, not at the man at her elbow that so entirely disgusts her, not at her former husband who she may have truly loved, given time. not at the little redheaded soldier who’s scared of the dark, or the innocent child she so heartlessly betrayed.

what is this, some kind of sick family reunion?

natalia’s eyes remain forward although melina’s sure the girl has noticed her little sister, her mama and papa all here to watch her lose either her life or another part of herself. she’s taught her daughter well, and that alone is enough to make her stomach turn.

she focuses on the crackling of the fire as everyone takes their places, forming a kind of ring in the spacious room. the competitors ready themselves, adjusting tank tops and shorts. irina pulls her hair into a bun while natalia, with hair not yet long enough to get in her eyes, brushes it lightly behind her ears.

natalia and irina take their marks.

it has to be irina, melina thinks. she’s sorry for the girl, sure. she’s only twelve, a year older than natalia, with dark hair and eyes and the ability to make a bullseye from the length of the shooting range. she’s only a few years from graduation, after which she would undoubtedly acquire quite the kill count and eventually die, but at least get to see somewhere outside of the walls of this prison before she does. budapest is quite lovely; maybe she would take to the lovely architecture and peaceful, quiet places like melina had on a mission years ago. she doesn’t want irina to die, but natalia cannot die for her. it’s not even an option.

irina makes the first move, lunging for natalia in a bold attempt at a throat punch, which natalia sidesteps, grabbing irina’s arm and twisting it ruthlessly behind her back in an attempt to disable her opponent. natalia then brings her knee up into irina’s chest, and the girl gasps, whirling around and landing a solid kick to natalia’s face.

melina lets no reaction show, but the other members of her family are not so deft; alexei inhales sharply, fists clenching, and yelena cannot suppress a cringe.

irina, flush with the thrill of victory, brings her elbow down into natalia’s back and the redhead falls to the ground. without hesitation irina leaps for natalia’s back just as she rolls, kicking upward and thoroughly winding irina. the two grapple for a moment before natalia turns. the girl catches a punch, twists irina’s arm sharply downward, and executes a perfect cartwheel, calves locking around irina’s neck. the two crash to the ground, natalia’s perfect flying head scissor pushing the fight to its end. natalia shifts immediately so her arms wrap in a chokehold around irina’s neck. both girls are winded.

natalia looks wildly around the room, catching madame b’s eye.

the older woman nods.

the whole room holds its breath in anticipation. the only sounds are the crackling of the fire and irina’s desperate breaths.

natalia’s eyes flick over melina and alexei. her former husband looks nervous as she’s ever seen him, head inclined ever so slightly. do it, he seems to say. melina shows no such encouragement.

natalia looks over to the younger girls, catches yelena’s eye.

yelena looks terrified.

natalia releases the chokehold.

she’s not sure what happens after that.

irina is dead, she finds out later, safe in her quarters and scrolling through the list of casualties for the week. one of the trainers did it. natalia has been in solitary confinement and will remain there until the month is out.

it’s not melina’s preferred outcome, but she knows it could have been so much worse.

“alright, милая. ready?” melina says, watching natasha shift into a fighting stance.

“ready,” natasha agrees.

“okay, go!” melina says, throwing a slow fake punch at natasha’s head. natasha grabs her wrist and uses it as leverage to start the cartwheel needed to lock her legs around melina’s neck, but she’s clumsy and one red sneaker smacks melina in the cheek. the nine-year-old tumbles onto the grass.

“i’m sorry!” natasha exclaims, getting back to her feet, wide-eyed.

“it’s okay, natasha,” melina quickly assures her, rubbing a stray piece of flaming red hair out of the girl’s face.

“do you want to try again?”

“you can do this, tasha!” yelena cheers from the front porch.

natasha smiles and nods. “yeah.”

“okay then.” melina fakes a punch again, and natasha moves again. this time natasha is successful with the leg grab, and tugs melina forcefully down to the ground. she lets herself fall, the two of them sprawled on the dewy grass in a laughing heap.

“good job, детка!” melina congratulates as natasha gets to her feet triumphantly, face glowing with delight. melina loves seeing natasha smile so freely, a rare occurrence but a truly worthwhile one. yelena cheers from the porch.

“mamaaaa,” the four-year-old begs. “can you teach me to do that?”

“your time will come, little one,” melina tells her. “first, let’s work on doing a regular cartwheel, huh?”

yelena grins and nods, and the two girls dash inside for dinner, which alexei is currently cooking.

“mom,” natasha says hesitantly, fingers slowly weaving through her bright curls.

“yes, love?” melina says, smiling.

“can i dye my hair?”

melina is taken aback for a moment; her hair has long been an identifying factor for her. the officials in the red room, ivan petrovich especially, had been rather taken with the girl’s red locks, and melina knows they’d be displeased if it was changed.

a thrill of rebellion races through her and she squeezes natasha’s hand.

“of course, baby. what color?”

thankfully, the next weeks pass without incident. both her girls stay out of the medical wing (this doesn’t mean they’re uninjured, of course - just that their injuries are not too serious). melina stays as far out of the way as possible, testing out simple modifications with the information she and alexei had worked so hard to obtain.

peace is a fickle thing, especially somewhere like the red room, but eventually it becomes… bearable. your head stays above water long enough that you think maybe you won’t drown, that maybe there is dry land in sight and maybe the waves won’t pull you down with them.

of course, there are always more waves.

the next wave comes in the form of dreykov, calling her to a meeting. he leaves it at that, knowing she’ll show up exactly when and where she’s supposed to with no further information.

she does, hating herself a little more, and takes her seat at the desk at dreykov’s right hand side. her stomach drops, just a little, when alexei takes the seat directly across from her.

“nice to see each other again?” dreykov asks, a maddening attempt at casual conversation.

alexei just looks at him.

“get to the point, Дрейков,” alexei says flatly.

the man next to her gives an irritated little huff. “i have a mission, for the two of you.”

“aw, not again!” alexei says suddenly. “no! i don’t want to be stuck again for so long, ugh! just day after day, nothing nothing…” he pauses, looks at melina. “of course, melina was very nice to be around,” he corrects himself. “and the girls, wonderful.” he looks suddenly wistful.

dreykov is… amused, somehow. alexei snapped at him, interrupted him, and he is amused. there are benefits to being the glory of the soviet union, she muses.

“this is not a long term assignment,” dreykov chuckles. “a couple of days, retrieving some weapons that a less talented widow misplaced.” he turns to melina, his face too close. “i trust you will not do the same?”

melina nods, eyes stolidly forward.

“everything you need is waiting in the jet,” he says, and alexei takes that as his dismissal. melina follows soon after, with a quick nod from dreykov. they hurry to the little airfield, armed escort close behind.

the plane is small, but that’s fine, it will get them to where they need to be. they sit squished together in the front, melina taking her side of the controls.

“at least i don’t sit on the wing this time, eh?” alexei chuckles, and melina almost smiles back. “i forgot there was this side of you, you know. all business.”

“that’s all this is,” she replies, starting the takeoff. fifty-five knots, then pull back on the accelerator and lift them into the air. unpleasant memories, perhaps inevitable, surface in the back of her mind.

“eh.” alexei is unbothered, rifling through his prepackaged bag of supplies. “shame this is so undercover, i could have gotten my suit back.”

“it’s just as well for me,” melina counters. “if it still smells as bad as the last time you wore it. i assume you’ve washed it since then?”

“no, no. i never wash it.” he grins and stuffs it back into the bag, spilling the rest of the contents onto the already limited floor space. carefully he replaces expensive suits, file folders probably containing top secret information, and a few spare handguns.

“hey. take care of my suit for when i get back,” alexei says, one hand lifting to brush against her cheek before the handcuffs on his wrists yank it sharply back. she nods. he’s not coming back. what he said to dreykov, what he did - a death sentence for a widow. for him, life in prison.

“you called yourself the red guardian, hero to the soviet nation,” dreykov spits, and melina notes with pleasure the growing bruise over his eye, orbital bone likely fractured. “you are a traitor. you will die alone, an outcast.”

alexei, for once, doesn’t respond, just lets the guards lead him away.

maybe she does love him. she wishes she’d realized it sooner.

when they reach cruising altitude melina digs through her bag. there is a dress, skintight and strapless, pistols and knives in hidden compartments. all the trappings of an undercover mission.

a few minutes later alexei is asleep, somehow, in his chair and melina spends the rest of the flight staring out the windshield, lost in the past.

soon they are touching down in the italian airfield and getting into the cab for their hotel in noto, sicily. alexei is almost vibrating with excitement at the prospect of the fancy flat they’re sharing, rambling about vacations he and his father would go on as a kid.

she doesn’t mind, actually. the more stories he tells about his childhood, the more she can almost invent one for herself.

“here you are,” the cab driver says in heavily accented english.

“grazi,” melina thanks him, the italian rolling easily off her tongue.

they’ve got a couple of hours before they have to be at the gala (conveniently located where the weapons are being held. dreykov’s influence sometimes surprises melina still), so alexei showers quickly while melina drug-tests the food and water and checks for hidden cameras. satisfied, she sits on the pristine white couch still in her red room uniform, and starts on the complimentary cheese and crackers.

alexei leaves her the bathroom a while later, suit half-on and a hairbrush in his hand. he knows by now her routine is much more complicated.

she leaves the bathroom a little over an hour later, hair neatly braided, makeup applied, and clad in the red dress she’d been provided. alexei almost drops the cracker in his hand when he sees her, then quickly stuffs it into his mouth instead.

she smirks. “i guess that means i did a good job on my makeup?”

“you look beautiful,” he says sincerely, voice muffled from the food in his mouth.

“relax, милый. i haven’t covered my scars yet.”

“you don’t even need to, melina. they just make you… more you, you know?”

she sighs and hands him the little bottle of concealer. by now many of her oldest scars have faded. there are only a few that are still visible: the jagged pink one that goes from her hip to her navel, the thin white line that stretches from ankle to knee, the silvery ones that encircle her wrists - all of which she’s been able to cover on her own. the too-recent bullet wound that entered just above her collarbone and exited aside her left shoulder blade, though, she can’t quite reach.

he’s careful applying the makeup, his hands surprisingly gentle. she sits quietly, picking at the fruit plate, while he works, and with a final flourish they’re ready to go.

the mission is a success. the two are a perfect team, easily becoming part of the sea of bureaucrats. they melt into the crowd, alexei entertaining anyone who approaches with made-up tales of his cover’s life, with his genius wife and two little girls.

then they sneak off covertly through the facility, place the shockingly small missiles in cases and exit out the back, cameras conveniently disabled and the bodies of security guards left in their wake.

all in all, everything goes as planned, aside from the shallow knife wound that lies under melina’s left armpit. it was her own fault, really - the bullet wound in her shoulder has left one of her arms stiff and sometimes awkward, in the swift action of hand to hand combat. not that she’d mention it to anyone.

“hey, another victory,” alexei cheers, stripping off his suit jacket and tossing it aimlessly over a chair. “we make a pretty good team, huh?” he holds out his hand, palm up, and melina startles backward for a second.

“high five,” alexei grins.

melina smiles and slaps his palm, muttering about the ridiculous american nonsense that he just won’t let go.

“oh, okay. well, we’re russian again, so…” he leans down and digs in the minibar, popping back up with a bottle of vodka in his hand.

“you go ahead, i’m going to get changed.” alexei, with his unique brand of super serum, can’t get fully drunk, but she knows he will feel the effects of alcohol a little bit, with some effort.

“aw, boring,” he says, the couch making an alarming squeak as he flops down on it.

fifteen minutes and a row of stitches later, melina sits down next to alexei on the couch and takes the vodka from him.

“i could kill for a good american beer right now,” alexei mutters, and melina sits up sharply.

“i don’t understand,” she says, the couple shots of vodka making her more brazen. “how you can be so casual about america. how can you just joke about it, like the last three years meant nothing at all?”

a hurt expression crosses his face. “you really think i don’t care?”

“all you do is laugh. you were there, you saw what they made natasha do. they made me do it, years ago, and soon yelena will do it too.”

“melina, calm down,” he says, and anger flares in her chest. “this is what they have to do. i don’t agree with some of their methods, but they will become great widows! like you. and one day they will have their happy ending.”

she almost laughs at that. “you still believe that? боже мой, after everything you know they do? we can’t have a happy ending, they make sure of that. you know what happens to the widows, after they can no longer go on missions? they are cast out. made to work for this organization until the day they die, unrecognizable, turned into a shell of themselves just so that they can turn innocent little girls into creatures just like them. it is a cycle, дорогой. no family, no children, no life. not for me, not for little irina, not for natasha and yelena.”

alexei looks away.

“and you? you’re compromised, if you keep talking about america so fondly. you think they’ll let you retire, knowing you might spill russian secrets to any old american? no. they’re using you. no happy ending for you, either.”

alexei gets up and melina draws back, fully expecting a hit.

instead he just grabs the bottle of vodka and storms into the bedroom.

melina stretches out on the couch, emotions racing through her and eventually leading her off to sleep.

melina follows the glowing blond braids across the park, letting the gleefully skipping five-year-old find them a good spot to watch the fireworks from.

last year, the four of them had spent the fourth of july inside, alexei playing with yelena while melina and natasha stayed in separate rooms, pillows pressed over their heads.

this year, armed with noise-cancelling headphones and weighted blankets that alexei carries easily, they are going to experience a real american holiday.

the second they set their picnic blanket down yelena has grabbed sparklers, and alexei lights them for her. melina takes a moment to let the image sink in: the little blonde girl in a red, white and blue dress, sparklers grasped in both fists, popsicle juice sticky on her chin. the officials made the right choice sending her, melina thinks ruefully. how could she be anything other than american?

the girls play with sparklers for a while, yelena running around frantically making the sparklers whiz through the air, and natasha twirling them gently in her fingers, sending a soft glow over her dark hoodie, shorts and vibrant blue hair. when the fireworks are about ten minutes from starting, they sit down to wait. yelena crawls onto alexei’s lap, suddenly looking worried.

“what is it, lena?” melina asks the girl.

“what if the fireworks hurt us?”

natasha shifts closer to melina, and melina wraps a comforting arm around the older girl.

“they can’t hurt us, baby,” assures melina. “you know how fireworks work?”

yelena shakes her head.

“so there’s a part at the bottom, and it’s full of gunpowder, which is full of potassium nitrate.”

“patsium nitate.”

“very good. now that ignites, and it makes a loud ‘boom’—” natasha stiffens under her arm — “and then the firework part shoots up into the air like ‘whoosshhh…” she makes a waving motion with her free arm.

“then that part explodes, too, way up in the sky. and all the little pieces rain down, and they burn up and then they’re gone. they won’t be able to hurt us.”

“okay,” yelena says, apparently soothed by the explanation.

melina slips the headphones onto natasha and herself, then wraps the weighted blanket around the two of them. it’s comforting, and best of all natasha looks happy. when the fireworks start, melina finds herself spending less time looking at the fireworks and more time on the awestruck expression on natasha’s face, the way the light plays across her wide smile.

melina looks up, alexei’s arm around her as an explosion erupts in the sky and the final pieces of the red room come crashing down, down, down.

her eyes find natasha’s face, features illuminated by the fiery glow.

she’s smiling.

“how’d you like it?” she asks natasha after.

the girl shrugs. “i think i prefer the fireflies.”

31 notes · View notes

btsmakesmehappy · 4 years

Text

Sweet Scent | 3

Genre: Agent au. Colleague au. Mutual pining. fluff. Angst. Light smut.

Pairing: Agent!Jungkook x Forensic Doctor!reader

Word Count: 7,3

Rating: 18+ (M)

Warning: little spoiler for the next story. Mention of guns. Kissing-make out without consent. JK is drunk-kisser boi. But not too descriptive.

Chapter: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | completed

Summary: Why does he always look so nervous in front of you? Is it because of your excessive flirting? But how come you don’t tease him when he looks so incredibly cute every time he blushes?

Series Masterlist: The Company

A/N: Thankyou @arizonapoppy to beta-read mine! I love you. And to you all who reading this story, I am very grateful. Also I’ll be more grateful if you send me asks about how you think about this story. I know, this is taking too long to write, but I enjoyed it!

“Come on! Just show me!” you begged.

“I told you right? That’s impossible to use that gun at such a far distance,” the female agent said with hands on her hips. She looked relaxed in this firing range, even though it smelled terrible, sweat mixed with gunpowder, in contrast with you who kept scrunching your nose.

You pouted. “Just do it. It’s an order,” you said sternly, but still, your eyes kept avoiding her eyes and you kept fiddling the hem of your shirt nervously. You cleared your throat when you met her gaze. “Please?”

The female agent laughed at your quirk, which she found it cute. “That’s why those male agents all fell for you.”

You tilted your head, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Nothing. Fine, I’ll show you.” The female agent put her earmuffs and took a gun on the desk, then walked to the firing line. She positioned herself and aimed at the dummy. “Close your ears.”

With that instruction, you brought your fingers to your ears, closing them as tightly as you could. Your mouth gawked as she did it so beautifully, hitting the target easily.

Your amazement was interrupted by a sudden bulky man behind you.

“Wow, you are always this good, aren’t you?”

The female agent removed her earmuffs and walked to him. “Hey Kook, what are you doing here?”

Kook, the man in question, beamed a wide smile, his eyes crinkling at the same time. “I want to help you; also I want to see you shooting. Can you teach me again?”

She giggled at the younger man, ruffling his hair. “You don’t need me, you do it just fine!”

“Noona- come on!” he whined as he tried to sneak his head away from her hand.

You couldn’t help but smile at that sight. You couldn’t believe what you saw. He was bulky, wrapped in a leather jacket, why did he sound so adorable?

“Fine, let’s see how well you shoot then.”

His eyes changed suddenly when he was behind those firearms. Your heart raced, and not because of the sound of the firearms blazing on your ears. This man was somehow captivating. You couldn’t help looking at him. And when he stopped shooting, you walked closer to him.

“Hey!” you yelled as the effect of the firing sounds still ringing in your ears. “What’s your name?”

The man turned his body to face you, his face turned red, and aghast. You felt confused in the way he reacted, but still, you found him adorable.

“Jung-Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.” he stuttered.

Jeon Jungkook, the name fell on your lips.

It just somehow felt right.

“Are you sure you want to work? It’s gonna be hard for you to type anything.” Jungkook faces you, his eyebrows furrow in worry. You are both in the elevator. After that incident, he decided that you should work on the seventh floor. You’re not gonna complain about it anyway. Since your office was trashed, you can barely stand to work at your desk anymore. Well, it’ll take a good amount of time for you to gladly work at your desk again.

You look at your bandaged hands, slightly clenching them. “Argh,” you cry in pain. Jungkook immediately takes your hands, examining them right there. “I’m kidding,” you say as you poke your tongue out.

He pouts but still holds your hands gently. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m sorry. But you’re just so cute worrying like that.” You bite your lower lips, trying to hide your smile.

He drops your hands and turns his back to you. “I’m not cute.” He stomps away from the elevator as you follow behind him.

“Please don't be mad at me.” He walks faster since his legs are longer than yours. You begin to speed-walk to match his pace. “Kook, wait for me!” And as you are finally just behind him, you reach his elbow, trying to catch his attention, but the pain starts shooting through your hand. You bite your lips to hide your wince.

You hope that he doesn’t hear you, but not only is he good at fighting, he has sensitive ears too. Jungkook turns back and sighs. He reaches for your hands, stroking them lightly to soothe the pain. “I’m not mad… Just please be careful.” He carefully looks at your hands and his eyes widen when he spots a red spot on the bandages. “It’s still bleeding. Let’s just go to the hospital. I think you need stitches.”

“I don’t need to. The cuts are not deep, really.” You retract your hands from him, but he stops you.

He holds your hands again, not wanting to let you go. “That’s what Jimin said! We need to know what professionals will say about your wound.”

“Kook,” you look at his eyes. “I’m literally a doctor.”

He pouts again. “It doesn’t change anything. We need to go to the hos-”

“I’m fine, Kook. It’s just a little painful sometimes,” you interrupt. “Only because the wounds are still fresh. It’ll be better over time.”

“Really? Are you sure you’re okay?”

You smile. “I’m sure.”

Jungkook sighs and brings your hands to his lips. “Please stop making me worry, I beg you...” he says it softly, not loud enough to make you hear it. When he realizes what he’s done, his cheeks turn red as he drops both of your hands immediately and walks away.

Your heart aches, longing for the lost touch. Longing for the warmth enveloping your hands again.

It is weird how he just does it so easily. Only a few hours ago, he couldn’t even stay with you comfortably in the same place. And now? He just holds you like it is a usual thing for him. It is weird that your heart keeps skipping a beat whenever he touches you. It is weird how he makes hope blooming inside your chest.

You just can’t get used to it yet.

You’re used to being with a shy-Jungkook, and when he drastically changes, a thought begins to circulate in your mind, trying to find some reasonable reasons.

Maybe he simply feels guilty. There’s no way Jungkook will like you.

“I think we should work in the meeting room. Your stuff is there, right?” He opens the door for you, gesturing for you to come in.

“Ye-yeah.” You stutter as he raises an eyebrow at your sudden silence. Well, to you, he is the weirder one, you should be the one who looks at him quizzically.

You sigh as you sit in the meeting room, opening some of the reports. You shake your head to clear your mind. There’s no time to think about this kind of thing. You worked so hard for this case. Let’s just get it done, and move on. This isn’t some romance novel, for god sakes! Control your mind, Y/N!

You try to ignore Jungkook’s presence beside you by drowning yourself in work. Not only that it’s hard, it’s simply impossible. Just the way he props his chin on his hand, looking at you working, it is too distracting.

“Why do you want to be a forensic doctor?” he asks abruptly.

Your jaw drops as you turn to face him. “What is this? Are you interviewing me now?”

He shrugs. “I am just curious.”

You blink your eyes several times in disbelief. “Because I like it?”

Jungkook snorts. “Other than that.”

You bite your lip, turning silent for a moment. “I’m scared of needles,” you whisper; you feel the heat rush on your cheeks in embarrassment. “Maybe? I don’t really know. I just hate seeing my patients in pain from what I did to them and needles is one of them.”

He nods in understanding, and just as he is about to open his mouth, you interrupt him.

“You really don’t need to fill the silence with some useless conversations, you know.”

He pouts. “Why do you think it’s useless? I want to know more about you.”

You look at him weirdly. “Kook, are you okay? Did you hit yourself in the head? Or did you eat something funny?” Why are you doing this?

He sighs and presses his lips into a line. “You know what, just forget about what I said. Do you need any help?” His eyes fall to your bandaged hands.

You tilt your head in confusion. This is really weird. “I just need to copy some of those reports into the computer. You’re right, it’s kinda hard to type.”

He smiles as he moves your laptop to his side. “Let me type it.”

“Thanks, Kookie.” You said it lightly, but it somehow had an effect on him, like it’s triggering something in him, something that makes him freeze.

His face turns serious as he leans to you, turning your chair to face him and caging you with both of his arms. He is too close to you; his cologne smells cotton-powdery-fresh, sneaking softly through your nostrils.

Like newly folded-laundry.

“With one condition: please stop calling me Kookie,” he whispers closely to your ear, his sweet voice rings your eardrum, sending shivers to your spine.

Your heart races. You’re holding your breath when he moves away from you, only to look you directly in your eyes. Why does he sound like he tries to sound more manly? You clear your throat, hoping it also clears your clouded mind. “Alright, I’ll work on it myself then.” You reach for your laptop, ready to slide it to your side.

“Y/N…” He whines as he holds your arms gently. “Just please stop calling me Kookie.”

You hide your smile again. “Fine, I’ll try.”

Jungkook pouts as he begins to work with your report, with you guiding beside him. He types faster than you; you’re glad actually, since it will finish your job faster.

It’s almost afternoon and the meeting room is hotter than before. The big glass window along the wall is facing directly toward the sun at this hour. Not only does it warm the room, the sunlight also gives you an opportunity to see Jungkook’s face more carefully.

In this natural spotlight you trace his jawline, his soft lips, and his long lashes, and how his curly hair frames his face perfectly. You even see the small scar on his left cheek. It is just insane how he keeps taking your breath away. This man is definitely beautiful.

Noticing the attention on him, he turns his face to meet yours, catching you in action. His cheeks turn reddish as he finally realizes that you’ve been watching him for almost five minutes. “Wh-what?”

“You have a beautiful face, Kook.”

He blinks his eyes several times, confused with the sudden confession. He turns his eyes back to the laptop and laughs awkwardly. “And you just noticed it now?”

You snort. “That’s ridiculous. I knew it since I saw you for the first time. I just want to say it again right now.”

He chokes in his own saliva, coughing repetitively to help him calm his racing heart. “Th-thanks, I guess?”

“Why do you want to be an agent?” you ask, unconcerned that he is still struggling with his breathing. When he looks at you in disbelief, you raise your eyebrow. “You can ask me, but I can’t ask you? Uh-uh. This is a two way street, sir.”

He sighs. “Why do you want to know anyway?”

“We’ve worked together on several cases, but I barely know anything about you except for your name, your job, and until just a few hours ago, your number.” You pout. “I also want to know you better.”

“I was recruited after I won a Taekwondo competition.”

You tilt your head. “Just that? Why this Company anyway? Why not the police, or army?”

“I saw Namjoon-Hyung in the briefing.”

“Ah, you mean that tall clumsy man who has feelings for that female agent?”

Jungkook laughs at your description. “Well, first of all: even if he is that clumsy, he is maybe the most elite agent in this Company. That guy is a genius. And secondly: how do you even know about them?”

You shrug, casually rotating your chair. “Just a hunch. They have the I-want-to-kill-you attitude with I-also-want-to-rip-your-clothes-apart-in-a-sexual-way eyes whenever they’re together. So yeah, it’s not that hard to figure it out.”

His laughs don’t stop as he throws his head back and almost knocks the back of his head in the process. You’ve never heard him laughing this much before, and it is captivating. He brings his hand to wipe tears from his eyes. “Well, they’re dating now.”

You widen your eyes. “What? I thought you can’t date a colleague or another agent in this Company. You know, since the incident with Jin’s wife.”

“Well, there’s actually no rule about it though.” He furrows his eyebrow and looks at you quizzically. “I didn’t know that you know her. It happened before you’re here, right?”

“Yes, she is my senior in med school. So, yeah, I know her. We’re kinda close.” You smile as you look at the window, gazing to the buildings lay in front of you.

He hums and turns his head to where Jin sat before. “Jin-Hyung never talks about you.”

You give a bitter laugh. “Has he ever talked about her for real? Nope. And besides, I think he hates me because of what happened with his wife. Well, that’s not my business.” You turn the chair to face him. “So, do you regret working in this Company?”

Jungkook smiles and turns back to the laptop, typing the report again. “Not at all. I love working here.”

A smile beams on your face too. “I know right? It’s such a pity that I have to leave this Company soon.”

His fingers pause and he turns slowly to you. “Ar-are you leaving?”

“Yeah. My rotation is over soon. Time does fly fast, doesn’t it? It’s just like yesterday was my first day working here.”

Jungkook swallows dryly. “So where will you be working after this?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t chosen yet. Maybe I should try the posting in Australia?” Out of your sight, Jungkook tightens his hands into fists and puts them under the table. “I am gonna miss teasing you, Kook.”

Jungkook rises up from his chair suddenly, eyes facing the window. “I am gonna report to the other agents. You should double-check the report, now I’ve finished it. I’ll be right back.” He walks away from your spots at the conference table and out the door, not even glancing at you once.

You look at the door with confusion. Did I just say something wrong?

Hoseok is puzzled. Why in the world was he stuck with cleaning the trashed office? He even cleans up the problematic cadaver’s heart alone, but not without a lot of yelling and curses leaving his mouth. Yoongi is probably checking the security footage again. Jin is reporting to the higher-ups, Jungkook stays with you. And Jimin and Taehyung? They’re supposed to help him clean the office, only God knows where the hell they are.

He props his chin on the end of his broomhandle. The room is cleaner than before. He laughs bitterly. Well at least there’s no glass shards on the floor and an organ speared on someone’s desk.

His mind wanders to what Jiseok said to him before.

“Did you just think you can stop The Black by locking me here?”

Hoseok shivers. Does it really mean he has an accomplice out there? Sure, Jiseok is manipulative, but Jiseok was serious about what he said.

Hoseok sighs. There has to be something in the hall yesterday, or someone.

"Hyung. What should I do to help?" Jimin pokes his head around the door.

"How's Y/N?" Hoseok points with his elbow to another broom in the corner of the room, which Jimin takes right away.

"She's fine. She's with Jungkook right now." Jimin steps gingerly around the mess and begins sweeping the floor. "They are just so adorable together."

Hoseok laughs and plops in a chair, moving it closer to the desk with his feet. "I know, right? It's just a pity that we can’t see them together."

Jimin stomps over to him and widens his eyes. "What do you mean? Of course they’ll end up together, why wouldn't they?"

Hoseok shrugs. "Jungkook's gonna need a huge push for him to accept his own feelings and tell her. I just can't see it happening."

"Hyung, trust me. He'll tell her his feelings and they’ll date each other. Happy ending."

"Even a man like you gets scared of telling a girl that you like her. How long has it been? Ten years? No, it is longer than that, isn't it?" Hoseok asks Jimin mischievously.

Jimin pouts, a blush forming in his cheeks. "Jungkook's situation is different from mine. Just stop bringing it up! I'm telling you, Jungkook will date her."

“What are you talking about?” Taehyung asks as he casually enters the room.

“Jimin keeps telling me that Jungkook will date Y/N soon.” Hoseok rolls his eyes and tosses his broom to Taehyung.

Taehyung catches it quickly, but just puts it on the corner. He had no intention to clean the room. “Meh, I doubt it. Jungkook doesn’t even realize that he likes her. I’m starting to pity Y/N a bit. Oh let me correct, I’m starting to pity both of them.”

Hoseok laughs loudly. “See? Even Taehyung can’t see it happening.”

Jimin sighs, but he still hasn’t given up yet. He is sure about it. "Wanna bet?"

“You all should go home.”

Everyone in the meeting room looks up from the briefing packets in front of them. Your eyes widen at the sudden announcement from a fifty-something man who just barged into the room. Jimin, who had been cut off mid-sentence by the newcomer, flaps his mouth wordlessly. Why was the newcomer spouting nonsense to you and the other agents?

“But, Mr. Lee…” Jimin pleads.

Lee shoots him another glare. “You’ve done enough. You can go home now.”

You look around the meeting room. All of the agents are avoiding your gaze. No one wants to talk some sense into the man. What is this? You look back at the man in the suit in front of you. “If this is about the threat, I’m fine with it. I’ll still finish the report.”

Lee’s eyes dart to you, he has an intimidating aura coming from him. You can’t help to step backwards a little. “We’ll send Chanyeol and Wendy to the police in a few hours. Since they admitted that they killed Baekho, they’ll be under arrest for murder.”

You gulp and gather all of your courage to open your mouth. “But, Baekho was killed before that. If you give me some time to finish the report…”

“There’ll be no need for that, especially since the victim’s body is destroyed. There’s no evidence.” Lee steps forward to you. “And shouldn’t you work under Sehun’s supervision? Why are you working alone?”

“But…” you want to protest, instead Hoseok’s hand grabs your arm softly, stopping you from saying more. You bite your lips in frustration. This is just so unfair. Lee, the Boss, knows that it’s not the truth, yet he still proceeds with it.

After the Boss leaves the room, the room is still silent. You can see the look in their eyes that they don’t like it a bit, but they simply do nothing. And it only makes you madder.

In fact, you’re disappointed.

You scoff and begin to gather all of your stuff. “This is all just so fucked up.”

“Sorry, Y/N,” Jin says warily. “The higher-ups thought that it would be better like this.”

You sigh. Holding your stuff in your tiny arms, you exit the meeting room quickly, not bothering to reply to them. You’re so mad at them, mad at the boss, mad at yourself. You’re so mad that you want to cry in despair. This is so unfair.

You push the elevator button quickly and wait for it to arrive. You control your breath, trying to hold back your tears. You don’t want to cry here. You shouldn’t cry here.

You hate it. This is not the reason you chose this field. You should do something, but the fact you can do absolutely nothing is frustrating to you.

Rapid footsteps on the tile sound behind you. “Y/N...” You don’t need to turn around to face him. You know his voice too well, he’s your favorite person in this Company, but you don’t really want to see him right now. “Are you walking home? Let me give you a ride.”

“I can walk by myself,” you hiss. You do know that this is not his fault, he’s just a mere field agent after all, but you’d want him to do the right thing. Or at least, be at your side, not on the side of some man in a suit who’s just barged out of nowhere.

Jungkook sighs. He knows that you’re as stubborn as him, but still he doesn’t want to back away. Somehow, he just can’t leave you alone like this. “Please? You’re too tired anyway.”

Well, he’s not wrong. You barely slept or ate anything since the incident; your body is in pain. Sure, a ride won’t be a bad idea. You’re too tired to fight for your pride. “Fine.”

As the elevator’s door opens, Jungkook follows you inside the elevator, snatching your reports and laptop from your hands. You are going to stop by your office to get your bag. You hesitate at first, but since your apartment’s keys are in your bag, there’s no other way.

When you arrive at your floor, you gulp. Is this a bad idea? Your heart beats faster and your hands turn clammy. You take a few deep breaths but still you feel afraid. The memory of the trashed office is fresh in your head, making you nauseous, making your hands tremble. Even the floor’s usual silence turns eerie.

Sensing your hesitation, Jungkook grabs your hand softly, guiding you out of the elevator. He walks in front of you with your hand in his. Even when you arrive in your office, he doesn’t let your hand go. His thumb draws soothing circles over your bandaged skin, slowly and carefully. No word escapes from his lips, no verbal reassurance.

Just his touch.

His warmth.

Only when both of you stop by your desk, he releases your hand. Jungkook packs your laptop in your bag quickly and slings it over his shoulder, then tidies the other reports on your desk. “Is this all?”

You nod weakly and he takes your hand again in his. The two of you leave your office as quietly as you entered.

His hand still holds yours when you’re back in the elevator, going down to the carpark in the basement. The only thing you can hear is your own breathing, as it quickens with your troubled mind. You’re too busy concentrating on yourself, you can’t see how Jungkook looks at you with worry. How his hand tightens every time you take a deep breath.

He finally lets go of your hand when you sit in his car, putting on your seatbelt carefully, like you’re just a little frail kid, like a fragile glass in a high table, sitting on the corner.

The car ride is also silent and feels longer than your usual car ride, well, taxi ride. You don’t have a car, so you go to work by bus or sometimes you walk, if you need exercise. There’s just a handful of occasions when you’ve been too tired to walk or take a bus, and you’d take a taxi. It’s more expensive, of course, and if you take a taxi any more often than that, your residency salary won’t leave you with a lot of money.

Again, you don’t notice how Jungkook keeps stealing glances at you, too busy with your own thoughts. You don’t notice how his fingers flutter as if to reach your hand sitting on your thigh, too busy looking at the window.

And just like that, you arrive outside your apartment.

Jungkook unbuckles your seatbelt quickly and exits the car to run around to your side. With your laptop bag on his hand, he hesitantly starts to give it to you, but then he rethinks and takes it back again. “Let me bring it to your door.”

The energy in your body is draining, you don’t bother to protest again. You just walk to the building with Jungkook tails after you. And after two flights of stairs, you arrive in front of your door, sending a tired smile to him. “Thank you, Kook.”

Jungkook sighs and scratches his neck, nervously he opens his mouth, “I’m sorry again, Y/N.”

Taking the bag from him, you shake your head. “That’s fine. You should go.”

“You need plenty of rest. I’ve already asked Sehun to give you some days off.” Just when you want to protest again, he interrupts. “It’s an order. Please, just rest.”

Sighing, you rummage your bag to find your keys. “Okay. Thank you, Kook. Have a safe trip back.”

And just like that you leave him alone in front of your door. Jungkook is frozen on the other side of your closed front door, looking at your apartment. He clenches his fist tightly until his knuckles turn white. Your tired face, your passion for your work-- he just can’t get them out of his mind.

His stomach wrenches. Not only has he brought you into danger, and got you hurt physically, now he’s worried that he’s hurt you emotionally.

He sees it in your eyes, how disappointed you are in him, in the other agents. How sad you are that you can’t do anything. How weak and useless you feel when you walk back to your apartment.

It somehow hurts him too. He doesn’t know why his heart keeps aching today, how it aches harder when he sees you, how it aches again right now. He can hear your sobbing even from outside and it makes his heart drop to the ground.

Jungkook raises his hand to knock on your door, but before he does it, he pulls it back to his side. He turns his back to your door and walks away, thinking that you may need alone time.

But that thought simply vanishes as he sits in his car. It’s his own car that he bought with his savings, his car that he cherishes the most, his car that he always washes every three days even when he is tired, but now, his own car smells like you.

And it just makes him miss you even more.

It’s Monday.

Your phone ran out of juice last night and it had been dead all night. It gave you an opportunity to sleep better without disturbance, but still you can’t feel refreshed no matter how long you sleep. It just annoys you, even though you slept right away after you cried your eyes out last night.

There’s a lot of ringing after you plug your phone into the power socket.

Sehun 8 new message(s), 17 missed call(s)

Sejeong 2 new message(s)

Jungkook 1 new message

You automatically sit up on your bed, scrolling through the message to look at the message from Jungkook. A tiny part inside your heart wants to check Jungkook’s message first, but there’s also a part inside that is still mad at him. So you decide to check on Sehun’s messages since it can be about work anyway.

Sehun 10.29 pm: Yah. are you okay?

Sehun 10.30 pm: JK told me about what happened. I’m sorry.

Sehun 11.12 pm: Please call me back T_T

Sehun 11.53 pm: why are you ignoring my calls? T_T are you mad at me? T_T

Sehun 00.43 am: are you sleeping?

Sehun 01.03 am: fine. Also you don’t need to come for today.

Sehun 01.05 am: you should take some days off.

Sehun 01.05 am: just please call me whenever you read this.

Sejeong 00.13 am: Unnie! T_T Sehun told me what happened. I hope you’re doing okay. I am so thankful for what you did for us. Let’s have dinner sometime T_T

Sejeong 00.29 am: Also please answer his calls, he’s worried. I’m also worried T_T

You smile at your phone. You’ve always known that he is a sweet guy, but why is Sehun so overreacting? Not to mention his girlfriend who you’ve only met twice, Sejeong, the sweetest girl, is also doing the same thing as her boyfriend. Right after you first met her, you just clicked so much with Sejeong. She’s like a little sister to you. And you’re glad they found each other. At least, you still have both of them on your side.

The smile on your face falls when you accidentally open the message from Jungkook.

Jungkook 07.27 am: I hung some food on your door. Heat it up first. -JK

You raise an eyebrow and walk to the door. Your jaw drops as you find a paper bag on the handle. You take it and set it on the counter in your kitchen, opening it slowly to find a bowl of Gukbap.

It’s weird how it sends a warm feeling in your heart. Still, you can’t shake a thought of why’d he do it. Guilty?

You pour the bowl into a pot and put it on the stove. You walk back to your room to call Sehun while you’re waiting for the food to heat it up.

It only takes two rings for him to answer, “Y/N?”

“Hey. where are you?”

Sehun sighs. “I am at the Company. The office looks so bad still, I can’t imagine what you saw yesterday.”

You scoff. “Don’t you even try to imagine it.”

“Anyway, are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

“I am fine. I got a few cuts on my hands, but that’s fine.”

You hear rummaging from the other end. “Wait, turn your video on. I need to see your wounds.”

You sigh and you turn your phone call into a video call. “Is this even necessary? There,” you say as you point the camera to one of your hands.

“Fuck, a few cuts my ass. They’re all over your hands!!”

You turn it back to voice call. “They’re not deep. It’s fine! Talk to you later. Thanks for the day off.”

You hang up on him before he says anything else and head to the kitchen, getting the warm food from the stove. There’s no need for you to put it into another bowl. It’s easier and more efficient that way, by any means, fewer dishes to wash. The only thing that you have to be cautious about is that you could get burned. But still, eating from a pot has a different feel to it.

You take a big spoonful of the gukbap and blow on it, making it less hot, and eat it slowly. This is what you love about gukbap, how it is easy to eat and digest. And just when it goes straight to your stomach, the warmth fills you right away.

The warmth is familiar.

You sigh. Why is Jungkook doing this?

Your reverie is broken by a ring from your room, indicating a message. You lay your spoon on the table and walk back to the room. When you spot the phone, you look at the screen quizzically.

Jungkook 11.23 am hope you had a good sleep. And again I’m sorry-jk

You throw your phone to the bed and ball your hands into fists. He’s just feeling guilty, he’s just sorry. You should know better. There’s no way Jungkook suddenly cares for you. You should know that, but why do you feel disappointed? Why does your heart ache so much?

You rush back to the kitchen. The gukbap is still steamy in the pot. It is one of your favorite foods but right now, you dislike it the most. The delicious smell has turned into a nauseating one. The taste of the broth lingers stubbornly on your tongue, even though you try to wash it away by drinking a lot of water.

A little part of your brain wants to throw the food away but a bigger part in your heart stops it. Your brain wants you to stop hoping that something’s gonna happen with both of you, to recognize that he’s just playing with your feelings. But instead, the feelings just grow stronger, hanging on your feet, not letting you go.

And just like that, you’re back sitting on your table, looking at the steamy pot in front of you with tears in your eyes. Slowly, you begin to pick up your spoon and devour the gukbap quickly, trying to trust your feelings again. You don’t care if you get burned right now, you’ll just have to worry about it afterwards.

There’s nothing.

Jungkook lays on the bed and just stares up at the white ceiling after checking his phone for a millionth time. He sneaks another peek at the screen and he finds nothing.

Nothing.

Why doesn't she reply to me?

Jungkook lets out a deep sigh, a loud one that makes the man beside him stir in his sleep.

“You know, when you told me that you wanted to crash at my apartment, I thought it’s gonna be a silent one,” Yoongi grumbles. “And what’s with that phone?”

Jungkook bites his lips. “Nothing.”

Yoongi sits up and squints his eyes to Jungkook. “Come on! Just spill it.”

“It’s nothing!” Jungkook stands and walks to the glass window. After all of the team were sent home yesterday, he decided to stay in Yoongi’s apartment. He didn’t tell Yoongi the reason, he didn’t even want to admit to himself that it’s because Yoongi’s apartment is closer to your apartment.

The sunset sky turns red. It’s almost twenty four hours since Jungkook saw you, yet he still thinks about your face, especially the expression he saw your wear in front of your apartment. The one that makes his heart drop to the ground whenever he remembers.

He couldn’t unsee it.

It sticks in his mind like a stubborn pieces of gum.

“Fine. suit yourself.” Yoongi sighs and scratches his head lazily. “By the way, I don’t have any food here. Let’s have dinner outside.”

“I’m even okay with instant noodles, Hyung. Let’s just eat here.”

Yoongi snorts as he walks to the bathroom. “You should open all of my cabinets! There’s literally nothing here,” his voice echoes from the bathroom along with the sound of trickling water. “Lamb skewers?”

“Fine.” Jungkook answers lazily. He takes his phone again and sighs when he sees nothing there. Again. He takes a deep sigh again and puts his phone in his pocket. “Shouldn’t your apartment be filled with some food at least now? You have slept here for a month!”

“Been busy.” Yoongi looks at the younger man with a faint smile on his face. Jungkook looks miserable? Troubled? He doesn’t know what to name it. But Yoongi decides, he can’t leave Jungkook alone right now. “Alright kid, let’s go have some drinks too.”

You’re always a working woman. Even in your college days, there was only a little amount of time that you spent in your dorm, and that only involved sleeping and taking a bath. The rest of your time you spent in the lab, library, and some club activities. There were even times you didn’t come home at all, too busy making the reports which made you fall asleep in the lab. It happened so often to the point of you even kept some spare clothes and your toiletries inside your locker. The only thing you loved about your dorm was the feeling of your tired body when it touched your bed.

That’s why when you’ve spent more than twenty-four hours inside of your own apartment, you’re getting anxious. But there’s no way you could go back to the Company at such an hour, especially not after yesterday. You just need to do something to take your mind off the recent disaster.

You decide to go shopping, your second favorite thing to do. Grocery shopping to be exact. You love how you can spend hours there, just walking from one aisle to another aisle, reading ingredients in the shampoo rack, calculating which tissue roll is the cheapest out of there, testing every sample in the food area, and observing the other people shopping for their monthly groceries. Plus, there’s no food in your apartment anyway. It’s just a perfect time.

A perfect time to take your mind off of Jungkook.

Although, after a couple of hours of shopping, several bags of groceries, and slightly pained hands, you still can’t wipe the man in question out of your head.

Especially when you see him in front of your door when you come home. The grocery bags drop to the floor with a rustle.

You shake your head and blink your eyes several times, thinking that you’re seeing things, but you still find him sitting in front of your door.

“Jungkook?” you call cautiously.

His head perks up to see you. “Y/N?” Jungkook smiles widely as he stands up clumsily and pulls you into his chest. “Where have you been? I was worried sick.”

You freeze with the sudden hug. “Wha-What are you doing here?” you struggle to break free from him, and when you see his eyes, your eyebrows purse together in a frown. “Are you drunk?”

Jungkook giggles and tries to hug you again. “Maybe a little..”

“Kook! Are you okay? You want me to call the others?” You hold his hands midair, stopping him from touching you. A door creaks open behind you, and you turn your head. You nod politely to the old man, your neighbor, who is glaring at you from his doorway. Mr. Baek always gets upset about the slightest noise in the hallway. You swallow hard. “Alright, let’s go inside first.”

Just after the door closes, Jungkook hugs you again, making it hard for you to walk. “Will you let me go first? I need to take care of my groceries, otherwise my ice cream will melt.”

Jungkook lets you go with a pout on his face. He leans against the white wall, his eyes never leaving your figure, as you unload the paper bag on the kitchen table. “You know, when I met you for the first time.. You kinda smelled like an ice cream cone.”

Your head tips toward him a little, and then you give your attention back to the groceries in front of you, ignoring his antics. Good thing that you bought a little more than you needed, just enough to distract you from him, several packs of instant noodles, canned hams, some eggs, dried laver, milk, cereal, beers, canned coffees, and some vegetables. And a pint of chocolate ice cream.

“Yes, you smelled like chocolate ice cream. Did you know that chocolate is my favorite flavor? Well, not really, I love mint chocolate more. Oh, Namjoon-hyung and Jin-hyung really hate that flavor, they always say that it tastes like a toothpaste. Like why do they know in the first place they taste toothpaste?” Jungkook giggles.

“What do you want to say, Jungkook?” You walk over to him with your arms crossed in front of your chest.

“What I want to say is, I also love chocolate ice cream but strawberry is a good flavor too. Oh also you just smell different now, are you changing your shampoo or perfume or something? I don’t mean it’s bad, but it’s jus-”

“Why are you here?”

He blinks his eyes several times, a little surprised with the sudden interruption. “I-I don’t know. I think I just wanted to see you.”

Your heart suddenly beats faster. He is mere inches in front of you. You can faintly hear his breathing. “Why?”

Jungkook sighs and scratches the back of his neck. “I think I just want to apologize.”

You look into his eyes, still red from the alcohol-- God knows how much he drank before he came here. “That’s okay.”

You step back but he grabs your wrist tightly, not letting you walk away. “I know you’re still mad at me.”

Raising your eyebrow, you look at him quizzically. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” His grip turns tighter, eyes bored into you. “Why don't you reply to my messages then?”

“I’m not mad at you, Jungkook.” You try to brush him away, but you can’t release yourself from his grip.

He turns around with you still in his arms, trapping you against the wall, sending a sudden pain through your back. He looks straight into your eyes. “Yes, you are. What can I do to make you forgive me?”

You sigh in frustration, “Again, I am not mad at you.”

“You like me, don’t you?”

A sudden heat rushes to your cheeks as your heart beats faster, like you’ve been caught doing something bad. “Wh-what?”

He pouts, “so, if I give myself to you, you’ll forgive me right?”

“What? What are you talking abo-”

Your lips are silenced with his lips on yours. He kisses you hungrily, fast, taking your breath away. His tongue swipes over your lower lip, asking for entrance, but you keep your lips closed. You simply freeze, not knowing what to do, how to respond. Jungkook on the other hand, senses it and moves his lips to your neck. “You want me, don’t you?”

Of course you want him. But not like this.

Not when he’s this drunk.

Not when he thinks of it as a redemption.

Not when he doesn’t love you the same way you love him.

“Kook, stop it.” Tears start trickling from your eyes. You try to push him away, but he’s stronger than you, he doesn’t even budge. And so you slap him on the cheek as hard as you can. “Stop it.”

Jungkook finally stops and looks at your face. His eyes widen when he sees you slump to the floor, your shoulders shaking. “Y/N? I’m so sor-” He reaches down to you, but you flinch at his touch.

“Just go.” You barely see him through the haze of your tears. Your hand trembles from slapping him; you try to stop it by hugging yourself. Your heart aches, you’re almost sure it broke into pieces. You feel humiliated. You feel sad. You’re confused. You gather your strength to open your mouth. “Please just go.” you whisper in between sobs.

“Y/N…” his eyes turn panic, realizing the enormity of what he’s done.

“GO!”

Jungkook bites his lips and steps back from you. He’s unsure whether it’s right to leave you alone, but he knows he shouldn’t be here. “I’ll be going then. I’ll call you tomorrow okay? Let’s make sense of this when you’ve collected yourself and I’m sober. Okay?”

Your eyes are still flooded with tears and you turn your head away from him, not wanting to see him at the moment. And when you hear the door close behind you, the grief breaks over you even more heavily.

Jungkook is a jerk, he never liked you.

You should hate him.

You give a light hit on your chest, where the pain is the worst. See? That’s for trusting your feelings without giving it much thought. You hit it again, hoping that you can turn your feelings into hatred.

But in fact, you can’t hate him. You still love him.

You just can’t control it. It just grows so fast, like a fire in a dry forest. Everything he did and everything you did, are like winds blowing to the fire, letting it spread wider and wider. And one thing for sure, it burned you.

Taglist: @kb-bangtanenthusiast @w0lfqu33n @gee-nee @jaienn @nctssidehoe @codeinebelle @kali-20 @mygalaxysupernova @jeoncookie-bts @kookunot @1-in-abillion @beingbeings @enchantingbrowneyedgirl @yiyi4657 @jinsalpaca @giadalin @spring2787

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brokenmercy · 8 months

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Same as it Ever Was

(colorless under cut! Queen of just dropping lines on us in casual convos)

#red stitch report #isabelle floop #rsr spoilers #technically .?#hi rsr fans #Isabelle my love what is UP with u

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diyeoracha · 4 years

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IwaOi Fanfiction Masterlist with 90+ Works

Hello! In celebration accumulating over 290 bookmarks on my AO3 account featuring IwaOi, Haikyuu S4 part 2, and @haikyuuweek2020 (Day 7 - Free Choice), I decided to create a masterlist of all of my favorite Iwaoi fics in order to keep myself organized as well as contributing to more traffic for those works! Works are split up into genres such as alternate universe (either not childhood friends or set on Earth), angst, canon compliant (post timeskip with spoilers), canon divergent (childhood friends but divergent timeline post timeskip), high school, and university au

Formatting update: Jan 13, 2021 (spacing is wonky on the mobile app!).

Fic update: Jan 7, 2021

This is incomplete as I got distracted while re-reading a lot of these and have only gone through half of my bookmarks, but feel free to check my own page here for the rest of them! I really do hope you guys enjoy reading these and leave comments and kudos! Please reblog and like so more people can enjoy

Titles marked with (♡) are my absolute favorites and there’s a chance I cried while reading them but otherwise they’re in alphabetical order

Alternate Universe

an allegory of all the things we could’ve been

Word count: 16k

Summary: “I don’t know anything about some red string,” Iwaizumi murmurs into the cracks of Oikawa’s skin, “or even about lifetimes or fate. But no matter where you are, I’ll find you. Gods or otherwise.” Reincarnation AU

And All the Prince’s Men

Word count: 65k

Summary: “Father only loves that which he owns, and I am the one thing that can never truly be his.” Royalty AU

Built a Temple in Me

Word count: 55k

Summary: Up the mossy mountain steps, past the komainu guardians and the faded red gate, and beyond the boundaries of the green shrine—that’s where the forest and the spirit world within it lies. That’s were Hajime met him, and where their story began.But intertwining of destinies can be ugly business, Hajime finds, when their first meeting begins with blood and the too-human eyes of a beast. God Oikawa AU

Quote: It fills his heart anyway, heals the hole in his chest that had been bleeding since he cut Tooru so forcibly from him.

Cotton Breathing

Word count: 13k

Summary: Long-distance and summer only but childhood friends AU

Conquering the Great King

Word count: 105k

Summary: Oikawa's lips twitched into a smirk and he brought them hovering just over Iwaizumi's, "One time thing, Two time thing, what's it matter as long as it's not a Relationship thing?"

Quote: Oikawa's eyes twitched wide for less than a second, his knee pressed in hard against Iwaizumi's thigh, "I may be gorgeous, but I'm not a doll."

dear diary, i met a boy

Word count: 15k

Summary: Iwaizumi's first impression of his upstairs neighbor involves getting woken up at two in the morning to the sound of Oikawa singing along to trashy pop music. He'd thought it would get better, but it all just goes downhill from there. Modern AU

Desperado

Word count: 82k

Summary: Clearly Iwaizumi had a checkered past. Kyoutani has never asked about it, nor has Iwaizumi ever brought it up. He knows it’s a sore spot for his mentor, just like the gorgeous Monte Carlo he keeps hidden away is, so he leaves it alone. Out on the streets, you learn a little something about when to turn a blind eye in order to survive; Kyoutani knows better than most to leave the past of men like Iwaizumi well alone. Heist AU

Even Heroes (have the right to dream)

Word count: 20k

Summary: Oikawa Tooru, ace reporter of the superhero beat of Asahi Shimbun, hates superheroes. Or maybe he just hasn’t met the knight one yet. Superhero AU

♡Infinite Risks

Word count: 8k

Summary: “It’s my fate,” Oikawa responds slowly. He’s crying. “It’s too lonely,” Iwaizumi’s heart sounded broken. “And I’m not there with you. Not really.” Edge of Tomorrow AU

In Defense of Reptiles

Word count: 9k

Summary: In their seventh year, Oikawa is chosen to be the Hogwarts champion in the Triwizard Tournament, and Iwaizumi suffers. Harry Potter AU

Quote: “You are so spoiled,” Iwaizumi tells him, but lets him shuffle down until Iwaizumi’s hand is now running through Oikawa’s hair instead of rubbing his shoulder.

In the Telling

Word count: 6k

Summary: Muggleborn Iwaizumi could not be less impressed with pureblood Oikawa Tooru. Harry Potter AU

♡Lockdown

Word count: 72k

Summary: Within the first few months of his stay, Oikawa gets caught up in a war between cellblocks, becomes a prime target, and must decide just how far he's willing to go to protect Iwaizumi Hajime. Prison AU

♡long nights, no peace

Word count: 18k

Summary: It's the steady knowledge that Iwaizumi Hajime will always be someone that he can rely on, that no matter what the world throws at the two of them, they share in a piece of each other's soul. Pacific Rim AU

Quote: Quiet settles between them softly, like the warm pressure of the blanket, or Iwaizumi's fingers curling to lightly hold the fabric of Oikawa's shirt.

The Long Light

Word count: 36k

Summary: Iwaizumi Hajime's seventh year at Hogwarts begins, and begins, and begins, and begins. Somehow, Oikawa Tooru is always there. Harry Potter AU

Magic Man

Word count: 12k

Summary: Oikawa is named the most desirable wizard in France. Iwaizumi is not impressed. Harry Potter AU

Quote: You keep saying partner or them. Is it rude of me to ask you to clarify?

Meet me in the grey area

Word count: 24k

Summary: Set in a hero/villain AU with Iwa as our trusty hero and Oikawa as our charming villain

Saw You at the Fish Market

Word count: 14k

Summary: In other words, Oikawa befriends hot part-time worker Iwaizumi and tries to impress him both off and on the court, in hopes of more.

♡♡ (sing with me) A Song of Conquest and Fate

Word count: 26k

Summary: When Seijou receives a missive from Aobajousai to discuss a potential peace, its emperor Oikawa Tooru could not have foreseen the series of events that would follow. Historical fantasy AU

Similar Creatures

Word count: 53k

Summary: "What's your name?" "Whatever you want it to be."(Or, Oikawa gets directions from an attractive stranger on a street corner.). Escort AU

♡Something Like Us

Word count: 28k

Summary: Friends since childhood, Oikawa and Iwaizumi now live together, both playing for the National Team. It's no secret that athletes who are bonded perform better. So if the two of them happen to bond...It'd be for the good of the team, right? A/B/O AU

Space

Word count: 44k

Summary: Tries not to think of his rooftop garden, or the apartment he used to inhabit, or Hajime’s broken expression on the night they whispered their goodbyes before Tooru’s launch, attempting to push it all to the back of his mind behind visions of this alien world terraformed. Astronaut AU

Stop the Time

Word count: 10k

Summary: Iwaizumi Hajime, 27, E.R. nurse at University of Tokyo Hospital. Hospital AU

♡♡The Loyalty of A Traitor

Word count: 76k

Summary: Iwaizumi Hajime was an undercover officer with a single objective: Infiltrate the Seijoh Syndicate of the Yakuza and tear them down from the inside out. His primary target was the boss, Oikawa Tooru. The job itself was simple enough, until Iwaizumi got in too deep and absconded not only from the mission, but from the city itself. Yakuza AU

These Flowers I Stole For You

Word count: 3k

Summary: ANBU don't cry. They tear themselves apart, bit by bit, and then they stitch themselves whole again. Naruto AU

on shipwreck shore

Word count: 8k

Summary: “I’m going to murder you in cold blood and feed you to the basilisks,” Iwaizumi says conversationally. “You can’t do that, I’m your boss,” Oikawa sings, positively sparkling. “Also we’re partners, which means,” he points at Iwaizumi and leans in, “you’re stuck with me.” Detective AU

Page 305 of 304

Word count: 53k

Summary: “…she called you ‘papa’,” iwaizumi managed. oikawa just stared for a moment longer before relaxing in a smile. “yeah. cute, right? but you can call me ‘daddy’ if you want.”

Temporary fix

Word count: 12k

Summary: “And you’ve shampooed his hair how many times now? Hmm. Yeah, that’s not technically a bromance.” A/B/O AU

Tokyo Boy

Word count: 16k

Summary: He has feelings for Iwaizumi Hajime, who probably has casual lovers just like him in every major city he visits on business. Oikawa is just his Tokyo Boy, just another pit-stop on Iwaizumi’s travels. Businessman AU

Trial by Fire

Word count: 78k

Summary: (lawyer!AU - in which Iwaizumi loves his objections, Oikawa is beautiful, and they have more chemistry than two opposing attorneys probably should.)

Watch Me

Word count: 32k

Summary: Oikawa's a cam model. It’s been a month since Iwaizumi first spoke in his chat. When they meet in person, things get complicated. Cam model AU

Angst

open when

Word count: 1k

Summary: Iwaizumi knew it was coming, but it still hurt. It still hurt when he opens one letter and drowns it in the tears he cannot keep at bay.

Chasing Paper Suns

Word count: 10k

Summary: Post-high school, Oikawa makes it to the national volleyball team but Iwaizumi doesn't. The next three years become an exercise in growing up without growing apart

Quote: “ ‘it’s just—I’m just trying so hard—’‘What, and I’m not?’

Timeless (We Have 30 Days)

Word count: 12k

Summary: Or AU where you're branded 50 days before you die. But Oikawa doesn't tell anyone so now there's only 30 days left.

the weight of water

Word count: 6k

Summary: “Again,” he says, the smallest tremor in his voice, and Oikawa blinks at him a moment before smiling, soft and sweet. “Iwa-chan,” he replies, and Iwaizumi closes his eyes. “Again.” “Iwa-chan.”

Canon Compliant

Are You Listening?

Word count: 4k

Summary: 30 times oikawa said i love you and 1 time he didn't have to

Quote: “Iwa-chan, watch out for the log—!” Oikawa looked on in horror as his best friend tripped and fell flat on his face.

Edge of the balcony

Word count: 8k

Summary: Iwaizumi looks older, he realizes. Oikawa knew he had aged as well, and so did everyone around him, but the thing was when you see people often, you don't notice the subtle changes in appearance. And Oikawa hadn't seen Iwaizumi in four years.

How can this loser ever win

Word count: 2k

Summary: everyone is in stupid love with Iwaizumi Hajime and he has no idea

♡♡♡Lost in Translation

Word count: 9k

Summary: Because misfortune come in threes, Iwaizumi Hajime starts his Thursday having a screaming fight with Shittykawa, spends his lunch break listening to the UCI women's volleyball team gossiping about how Ushijima Wakatoshi had gone public about his longtime love affair with Oikawa Tooru, and closes out the day by drunkenly dropping his phone into a sewer grate.

maybe we could be enough

Word count: 9k

Summary: iwaizumi hums in reply as the car goes silent, frank ocean crooning from the speakers. they stop at a red light when iwaizumi feels eyes at the side of his face, and turns to look at oikawa.

Most people never even get a single high school rival

Word count: 5k

Summary: Team Argentina gets to know Iwaizumi Hajime (27) Athletic Trainer.

Primavera

Word count: 8k

Summary: They say it takes twenty-six years, for certain breeds to fully bloom.

Quote: Did you know that distance is only me, growing towards you?

♡♡♡rest on your laurels

Word count: 4k

Summary: In Iwaizumi’s heart of hearts, untouched by time, they are young and alive, burning with the hearth of home and bright as winter light. Unbreakable. Invincible.

♡♡♡Something Borrowed

Word count: 16k

Summary: In which Oikawa and Iwaizumi have always been a foregone conclusion to everyone else, but a massive, unanswered question to one another.

‘Til Infinity

Word count: 2k

Summary: “Hey,” he says, “that cloud looks kind of like a dick.”

Quote: “I got you ladybug”

♡♡♡ You Set Off a Dream In Me

Word count: 15k

Summary: In which Oikawa is 41 and ready to retire. He's at the top of his game and ready to find a new challenge. Turns out his new challenge is pretty familiar. It's high school, round 2.

Quote: A past with an Iwaizumi that wasn’t on the opposite side of the net, monsters on all sides, guiding a setter that had lived the dream left behind in the ruins of Tooru’s past self.

Canon Divergent

a world alone

Word count: 60k

Summary: Iwaizumi has his medical books on the musculoskeletal system. Oikawa has his research papers on parallel universes. It isn't until much, much later that they realize they have each other.

♡Almost a Stranger

Word count: 16k

Summary: Iwa-chan's leaving Kapan. Tooru's not sure he can forgive him, but he's not going to admit his long-held feelings, either. A trip to Miyajima complicates everything.

Quote: There are only two things that have ever broken Oikawa Tooru’s heart. Iwa-chan would say Tooru has no heart to break, but that’s simply untrue.

Count your blessings, it goes 1,2,3, me

Word count: 7k

Summary: He's unsettled by the undefined boundaries of their relationship so it's all his luck that he accidentally wins three wishes to be granted just for him, and all that comes to mind is Iwaizumi.

Quote: Now, as an adult, past convenience of circumstance and the haze of hormonal lust, exactly none of his feelings have worn off

♡♡♡the courtship ritual of the hercules beetle

Word count: 66k

Summary: Tooru is pretty sure he could manage the mating habits of a mosquito. It’s the mating habits of people he can’t seem to get right.

♡days fall away

Word count:17k

Summary: Except now he’s back home, so close to his old haunts and to Oikawa himself, and it's—weird.

Quote: “You and Tooru,” he begins, and then shrugs. “I was just thinking, you look at each other a lot.” And he walks away, leaving Hajime winded, and sort of aching, somewhere deep in his chest. Whatever that means.

♡here comes your man

Word count: 8k

Summary: Iwa-chan, it reads, Have a good day today! Good luck! <3 <3 <3 Suga chokes. It’s hard to imagine anyone calling the scowling and fierce Doctor Iwaizumi “Iwa-chan.” But marriage probably comes with all sorts of liberties. Doctor AU

♡♡In damp earth my body

Word count: 15k

Summary: Onscreen, the nation’s favorite setter has arranged himself so that he’s bowing, forehead pressed to the court, like he’s thanking everyone for their kindness thus far, like he’s asking for forgiveness. Hajime thinks: shit, it’s really happening

In the Business of Love

Word count: 22k

Summary: Meet Oikawa Tooru: He's a best-selling shoujo manga artist, a hardcore romantic and you won't believe where he's getting his lovey dovey fodder from...Enter Iwaizumi Hajime: He's Oikawa's best friend, a realist who also happens to be a wedding magazine writer despite not believing in romance...

Quote: A flare of pride lit in Oikawa as he watched Iwaizumi's eyes crinkle with mirth and in that yawning second, it bloomed into a warmth that bordered on a burn, forcing a bittersweet inhale.

it's been so long (nobody knows me the way you do)

Word count: 8k

Summary: Tooru hums, only half-listening. Somewhere along the way, Hajime’s palm has settled itself over the curve of Tooru’s cheek, thumb tracing over the line of his jaw.

Quote: Iwaizumi blushes even more. “That you’re here, I mean. I’m happy that you’re here. With me.”

♡♡♡Mint

Word count: 19k

Summary: It's the December after Iwaizumi’s last year in university when Tokyo welcomes him with a new ad campaign for Bright Days toothpaste, and Oikawa Tooru—fresh off a run at the 2016 Summer Olympics—has decided to grace the city with his signature grin, a flip of his wayfarer sunglasses, and the most irrepressible tag line for the signboard above.

Quote: "To be able to tell him, in the new year." This comes under Oikawa's breath, so low that Matsukawa and Hanamaki can't hear, and the game continues.

Six-Month Lover

Word count: 89k

Summary: Iwaizumi barks out a laugh. “I’m still trying to get over the fact that you made a PowerPoint presentation about why we should date.” Oikawa doesn’t tell him the file has existed for the last twelve years, constantly receives updates, and that the original copy contained almost a hundred slides before he forced himself to get a grip.

Special Relativity

Word count: 22k

Summary: Time moves differently for people in different inertial reference frames. Oikawa goes on a two-year exploratory mission in space. Iwaizumi's been waiting for a lot longer than that.

♡♡sunset towns

Word count: 33k

Summary: In the summer of 2020, Oikawa Tooru returns home from his first successful stint as captain of Japan’s national volleyball team. In one hand, he holds the undisputed weight of an Olympic medal, and in the other, his unresolved feelings for a childhood best friend.

♡♡Thirty Years and Change (the Games of the XXXIII Olympiad)

Word count: 19k

Summary: It’s July 10th, 2024, and Oikawa Tooru is an Olympian. His smiling face airs on an NHK promo every 45 seconds. He’s captain of the national men’s volleyball team, reigning star of the professional leagues, and he hasn't spoken to Iwaizumi Hajime in two years.

Quote: Oikawa’s grin in the last set of the morning’s game. Oikawa’s grin as they sat on their asses on a golf course. Oikawa’s grin when they were in college. When they were in high school. When they were twenty-two, seventeen, fifteen, twelve, six.

High School

Bet On It

Word count: 13k

Summary: Hajime knows exactly how shitty Oikawa's personality is, and has no scruples whatsover about betting Oikawa six thousand yen that he can't be nice for an entire week.

Quote: The whole instant-compliance thing was seriously creeping him out. Oikawa from a week ago would have made a crack about how if he'd wanted something cold, he could have just put his face on Hajime's shoulder.

Betweens

Word count: 2k

Summary: Iwaizumi is asleep in the club room. Oikawa is blindingly awake in the club room. The sun moves slowly across the sky, and Iwaizumi’s skin is gold underneath it. Oikawa watches the changing shadows on Iwaizumi’s face and thinks about nothing in particular.

Don’t think too much

Word count: 6k

Summary: In which Oikawa and Iwaizumi have a confusing, drunken encounter and then deal with the (sticky) consequences.

Quote: As soon as that thought crossed his mind, though, Oikawa did what he always did: exactly the opposite of what Hajime wanted

Gates

Word count: 12k

Summary: The day after their graduation ceremony, they drive to the beach at Shirahama. Iwaizumi drives, because it’s his car, and as he has told Oikawa on multiple occasions, he’d rather die than let him touch the wheel.

Quote: ‘Yeah,’ he says, because they’re on a beach, and they’re supposed to be on a metaphorical journey, and they’re supposed to be growing up, and completing rites of passage, so it’s honesty, today - just for today, at least.

♡♡i sing the body electric

Word count: 8k

Summary: It was never part of the plan, falling in love with his best friend, but then again, most things in Iwaizumi’s life that involve Oikawa rarely unfold the way he thinks they will.

Quote: But Iwaizumi thinks about Oikawa laughing with that girl in the low light of the gym, a particular kind of quiet intimacy that Iwaizumi’s only ever read about in books hovering in the air, and all it makes him feel is small and petty and spiteful.

it’s better than words

Word count: 3k

Summary: [ or : oikawa makes iwaizumi participate in three bonding activities for new friends, and iwaizumi just wants to know why oikawa's being so weird about this]

Make sure you cross the line

Word count: 4k

Summary: With graduation just around the corner, Iwaizumi knows he has to gather the courage to really ask Oikawa out.

Quote: He’s been asking Iwaizumi to go out with him every single day this past week, increasingly panicked about getting his time and attention now that they’re nearing the end of this season of their lives.

Only the jellyfish know

Word count: 6k

Summary: Their third and final year at Aoba Jousai has come to an end, and the guys decide to go to the beach the day after graduation. That day, the ocean water is salty, the watermelon is sweet, and the people are sweeter.

static

Word count: 6k

Summary: Being snowed in with all of Seijou volleyball in his childhood home brings back a lot of memories for Iwaizumi, because it's kinda Oikawa's childhood home too.

Quote: It's fate that brought them together and choice that keeps them that way. The closest description in Hajime’s vocabulary is partners, but only because Oikawa taught him what its true definition is.

Told before and told again

Word count: 3k

Summary: This is how Hajime and Tooru fall in love, through the accounts of those around them.

Quote: When Oikawa lets out a long, heavy breath, Iwaizumi looks up at him and frowns, and flings a towel over Oikawa’s head to cover his face. Then, he tugs, once, on Oikawa’s fingers, and leads him down the hallway, Oikawa walking quietly in tow.

♡we can do better than that

Word count: 16k

Summary: Oikawa and Iwaizumi go on a road trip during the summer after their high school graduation. It doesn't go as expected, but maybe that's not such a bad thing after all.

Quote: Because Iwaizumi’s known Oikawa nearly all his life and never felt anything more than vague affection usually followed by intense irritation for him. But then suddenly at eighteen years old and nearly two weeks into a very badly planned road trip, it’s like someone flipped a switch somewhere inside Iwaizumi

♡when it starts to rain, they go inside

Word count: 33k

Summary: “Where?” starts Iwaizumi.“ My parent’s old lakehouse, silly, didn’t you hear me the first time?” OR: Oikawa takes Iwaizumi to his lakehouse for two weeks, post-graduation.

reassemble it

Word count: 15k

Summary: When Tooru was six years old, he discovered—unbeknownst to him at the time—two of the most important things in his life: volleyball and Iwaizumi Hajime. It was ironic that he had stumbled upon them hand in hand—quite literally, too.

♡things that change, things that stay the same

Word count: 8k

Summary: Oikawa realizes he's in love with his best friend; it sucks for a while. (But only a while.)

Quote: Iwaizumi’s expression right now is less terrified than it used to get back then, but he’s tight-lipped with concern, and his broad body blocks out other passengers as if their stares might be a danger to Tooru too.

University AU

An Archaeology of Affection

Word count: 23k

Summary: For Hajime, it is a riddle and simultaneously so evident. It fills his chest, surging like water, paints heat up his neck. In retrospect, it eats up his days, makes them its own until it feels like his heart has always been in his throat at the smile thrown over Oikawa’s shoulder, the stilling of his fingers on Hajime’s sleeve.

closure

Word count: 22k

Summary: In his first year of university, Oikawa builds a new friendship and upgrades an old one. Or: Ushijima is not a great wingman, but he tries his best.

Quote: “On the first day of his university career, Oikawa Tooru walks into his dorm, spots his assigned roommate, and turns one hundred and eighty degrees and walks right back out. He dials a familiar phone number - the first one he ever memorized - and starts complaining before Iwaizumi even gets the chance to say hello. “Iwa-chan,” he says, “tell me why Ushiwaka is in my dorm room.”

♡♡♡galaxies, within you

Word count: 21k

Summary: Hajime and Tooru move in together at the start of university. Too bad they’re stuck with the two gremlins that haunt their apartment.

Quote: I AM A HEADASS

Hands to yourself

Word count: 11k

Summary: He missed his parents, and he missed Takeru, and Takeru's badly behaved puppy. He missed Aoba Jousai, and he missed the volleyball team. He even missed Karasuno and Shiratorizawa, just a little.

Home, and how we made ours

Word count: 3k

Summary: “No, I like it here.” There’s a rustling as Iwaizumi shifts, inching closer. “I like it here, as in this crappy apartment—with you.”

Quote: “Do your fights end up being like—you know, about actual things and then extending into toddler days and suddenly you’re accusing Iwaizumi of kissing the girl you used to like in preschool?”

in progress to you

Word count: 6k

Summary: The eventuality of Oikawa and Iwaizumi falling toward each other is dramatically lackluster. Still, it's a process to go through.

Quote: “But what if you didn’t eat my pudding all the time?” Iwaizumi asks flatly, ignoring the way Oikawa is slapping his thigh to get out of his chokehold. “Do you think I buy them for you, huh? I buy them for me, you turd.”

Like we’re made of starlight

Word count: 6k

Summary: (a look into iwaizumi hajime’s journey of falling in love with oikawa tooru, from when they’re babies meeting for the first time to young adults moving in together.)

Ninety nine percent

Word count: 14k

Summary: more than anything, oikawa tooru wants to be with iwaizumi hajime, but he's only ninety nine percent of the way there.

Quote: Their ace was lining up for the ball, knees bent and arm pulled back, just as Tooru tosses the ball……to Hajime.

no sleep in the city

Word count: 7k

Summary: Along their journey to find Tokyo's best ramen, Iwaizumi finds himself asked again and again why Oikawa is still single.

Quote: “I was only telling Hanamaki literally yesterday that your personality isn’t as vile as before,” Iwaizumi informs, slightly stiff from the way Oikawa’s got an arm looped through his own. “Why do you make me such a liar to people I care about?”

Out of nowhere

Word count: 8k

Summary: They move in together after graduation and it's doing weird things to Iwaizumi's heart. He's a little in denial about it.

Quote: Oikawa excitedly ran up to him when Iwaizumi came home with groceries the other day. Not about the food but just to say how boring everything is when Iwaizumi's not there, eyes shining, and he couldn't meet his gaze after from blushing down to his neck. He doesn't know how much more he can take.

♡♡shiver

Word count: 16k

Summary: Oikawa was always the brave one. Hajime just followed two paces behind.

Quote: “I’m in love with you,” Oikawa tells him three days after they graduate junior high, head in his lap and hands gently folded over his chest and completely and totally unconcerned that he’d just shattered Hajime’s world.

Terpischore

Word count: 38k

Summary: They’d ended up going to different universities, Tooru and he. The distance was good for them. The confession Hajime dropped in both their laps wasn’t. That’s how it’d ended – a lifetime of friendship crumbled to dust in the space of five minutes. (Or, a lesson in learning to move on from things you can't have, in finding old loves in new ways and in understanding that life is never truly simple... till it is.)

terrarium

Word count: 11k

Summary: At this point, is he really happy with just staying best friends forever? Will he be writing journals and collecting rocks forever (he will, he knows, but that is aside from the point)?

these foolish things (remind me of you)

Word count: 3k

Summary: Oikawa helps Iwaizumi move into his new college dorm.

Quote: He’s desperate for something to happen. It must show on his face because Iwaizumi blushes and looks away. The thing is, Oikawa always looks at him like this when Iwaizumi isn’t paying attention.

They say it rains diamonds on Jupiter

Word count: 35k

Summary: "You're in love with him. "Hajime considers denying it. "Yeah," he says instead.

Quote: “Share the weight of your feelings with me, Hajime wants to beg when he hears Tooru's first hitched breath. Let me carry some of your burdens”

to be first, to be best

Word count: 26k

Summary: Hajime is apparently something of a masochist, and as he stares down at the tie-dyed AREA51 T-shirt in his hands, he thinks “I’m totally in love with this asshole, aren't I?”

Undecipherable

Word count: 4k

Summary: "Koi no yokan," he says. "The sense one can have upon first meeting a person that the two of you are going to fall in love."

Quote: Because for all the bravado, for all the flaunting Oikawa does, he wants Hajime by his side, and no one else.

♡we shine like diamonds

Word count: 26k

Summary: "You know Abe-kun from class?" they snicker, hands cupped around their mouths like they're passing along a filthy secret. "I hear his older brother is... gay."

Where you are (I’ll be)

Word count: 6k

Summary: Theirs is a love that starts out like a seed and it takes two sets of hands tending it for a shoot to appear. There are no dramatic declarations of love, only a pair of hands that find each other again and again and again.

Quote: Oikawa broke off into giggles as Hajime slowed the descent of his hand from a slap to the back of Oikawa’s head to a gentle ruffle of the taller boy’s hair

♡♡with every second that you could give

Word count: 9k

Summary: The journey of Iwaizumi and Oikawa going for gold.

Quote: He knows they’re too close. Iwaizumi knows it too, and they both decided to move in together anyway.

Your love is sunlight

Word count: 6k

Summary: It's Iwaizumi's birthday, and they have a talk about the future.

Quote: But Hajime doesn’t think any present could top this: them, kissing in a sun-dappled bathroom, Oikawa’s skin warm under his hands, and the promise of a life together stretched out before them.

#haikyuuweek2020 #iwaoi #oikawa tooru #iwaizumi hajime #i spent more time on this than all of my edits combined pls appreciate this

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infinites-chaser · 4 years

Text

winter’s end (ao3) | mlqc | gavin/mc | angst.

spoilers for ch.22!

winter world gavin angst.

He first sees her on a winter day, bitter, cold and grey, a far cry from the warm, golden autumn of another world.

There's no ginkgo tree. No blood-stained letter, no blushes and stolen glances and unspoken promises.

She still saves him. She always does.

Gavin’s winds are only ever gales. Strong, biting, cold.

(In this endless winter, they always have been.)

His Evol awakens under scalpels and bright artificial light, accompanied by the words “Experiment Success” from masked scientists looming close and his father’s answering nod of approval.

“Not completely worthless then.”

A scoff. His father’s voice warps in the still air around him—

“With the mother’s genes, I would’ve expected more, but I suppose it’ll do.”

—the sound echoes, takes new life as the wind darkens: it forms a shield, a howling cocoon that drowns out all else, then hardens, shoots out in a sharp, merciless wave, meant to maim, to kill, to silence.

The scientists scatter before the gales, but the winds fade before they can reach his father. Only the barest breath of a breeze brushes his cheek.

His father almost smiles.

Before he can summon up another blade of wind, pain explodes across his back: there, then gone, leaving his limbs numb and leaden.

His vision blurs. His father’s smile distorts, turning to something cruel and vicious, almost demonic.

Then—

Darkness.

He wakes to bright white walls, his father gone, and wonders if it was all a nightmare, some sick sad dream. but when he clenches a fist, black wind forms.

Not a dream, his mind supplies.

The rest is a storm of emotions— disbelief, rage, a grudging wonder.

They all fade, with time.

He lets the air wrap around him in their place.

He doesn’t know if he can call the power his but he doesn’t mind it.

In this world he doesn’t have the stars, doesn’t know ginkgo leaves or soft piano or a warm, warm smile.

But the winds stay.

He doesn’t know what the wind means to him. Flies for miles and doesn’t know why it never eases that tightness in his chest, never feels like wings, never feels like freedom. It’s only ever a weapon, wielded by his father, by the military and the STF, by anyone but him.

Months slip into years, into a childhood gone by with no sign of an answer to the question of the wind, to the question of his existence.

He doesn't know what his justice means. What it's for. Why he fights, if the world he dreams of isn't his, just like everything else he holds close. (The winds. The uniform. The missions.)

Somewhere along the way, he forgets to keep searching. And maybe it's easier this way— to lose himself in someone else's cause. To be his father's weapon, a well-forged blade.

Because how do you find something if you've lived your whole life empty, without it? How do you even begin to search if you don't know what you're looking for or why?

He loses himself to the empty sky, lets the storm consume him. Or maybe there hadn't been anything of him to lose to begin with.

Until—

her.

He first sees her on a winter day, bitter and grey, a far cry from the warm, golden autumn of another world.

There's no ginkgo tree. No blood-stained letter, no blushes and stolen glances and unspoken promises.

(She still saves him. She always does.

But, first:)

"Talk. Who are you? Why are you following me?" It comes out harsher than he intends. Cold. Angry. A mask for his confusion, his suddenly racing heart.

"Not answering? Where's your accomplice?"

(The questions are all wrong, but they’re all he knows how to ask.)

She's silent at first, a thousand emotions and more caught in her too-open, too-vulnerable gaze. Then, soft, stammering, panicked, she responds.

Her answers don't make sense, they sound like lies, bad ones, or at least he tells himself they do.

He pressures her. He wants the truth. (Wants to know why it feels like some almost-forgotten part of him's been waiting all life for this. For her.)

“Why don’t you believe me?!”

Some fragile thing hovering in her eyes falls and shatters. And maybe some part of him, deep down, realizes they’re stitched of the same fabric, their souls weaved from the same red thread because his chest feels like it’ll tear open at the sight. Maybe it does, at her outburst. At the trembling of her mouth. The tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

It shakes him. Softens his hold on her until he’s hyper-aware of her warmth and the delicate bones of her wrist under his fingers. It’s enough to melt his ever-present icy rage.

She’s suspicious, she’s been following him, and he shouldn’t trust her, shouldn’t even be listening to her, should’ve had her brought in and interrogated at the NW headquarters, and yet— she says she was his underclassman at Loveland High School. She says his name soft and sad, half-hope, half-resignation, and somehow it feels familiar. It feels right.

It feels like being lost all over again. Like being found. Like the thing he’d been looking for all those long cold years was her and her warm, earnest gaze, her hand in his. Her missing smile.

(He warns her away.

He lets her go.)

Or he wishes he could. But in the aftermath of the explosion, he sees her again, jostled and shoved by the crowd and his body reacts before his mind does— he’s across the street, her in his arms, the wind at his heels.

He wonders briefly, distantly, if this is what flying, what having wings, is meant to feel like.

Her eyes, full of disbelief, on the edge of wonder, are answer enough. This, his heart whispers, is what your Evol is meant for. This is what you’d fight for. What you’d live for.

She clutches his uniform, curls fingers tight into the stiff black fabric, and he doesn’t tell her to let go.

But once she’s out of danger, he forces himself away from her, pulls the mission back to the forefront of his mind. warns her to not follow him, again, words meant for her sake more than his.

She follows him anyway. and maybe some part of him wanted her to, but his father’s teachings, dividing society into the weak and strong, ring loud in his ears, give voice to cruelty of his own.

He hears himself mocking her and her Evol, as if from afar.

The words come out all wrong— what he means is don’t run into danger so recklessly. Take care of yourself first.

She argues back. He protects her. This, too, feels familiar, somehow. It feels right.

“This won’t happen a second time,” he says. He doesn’t want it to— not if it means she’s in danger again.

She reaches for him. He pushes her away.

It scares him. The way his instincts cry out for him to protect her, to lead her to safety, to take her hand and never let go.

(His heart’s more painfully alive than it’s ever been.)

He leaves her standing there, alone under the swirling flakes of snow, each step he takes away from her, purposeful, measured, unwavering. It doesn’t feel like a betrayal, not quite. More like he’s trying to escape the new weight of his heart and its storm of feelings.

His winds linger around her a moment longer, then follow, one step behind.

He forces himself to ignore the wind’s whisper in his ear— she’s crying, and maybe it’s his fault, and his heart tells him it is. But when gold winks up at him from where it’s half-buried in drifts of snow, he lets the wind guide his hand to it: it’s a ginkgo bracelet, it’s hers, it’s somehow so familiar it hurts.

He pockets it.

Later, in the cold metal darkness of HQ, he makes his report.

“Anyone suspicious?” The commander asks.

There was a girl, Gavin thinks, but does not say. She knew my name, she knew me. And somehow, I felt like I knew her, too.

There was a girl, and after twenty-four years of wandering the skies alone, her eyes felt like warmth. They felt like coming home.

“No suspicious individuals,” he says instead, and it isn’t a lie.

There was a girl, he thinks, even as his commander updates him with the other intel gathered. He wonders if he’ll ever see her again.

He doesn’t think he will, but he decides he wants to.

(He does.)

Explosions wrack the swirling storm clouds and stinging ice of North Mountain. As the cable car towers collapse in a flurry of smoke and flames, the wind tells him, she’s there. In the center of all the danger. Again.

He’s never flown faster than that moment, every fiber of his being focused on a single purpose: save her. (protect her. stay with her, until the end.)

She’s in the wind, then in his arms a heartbeat later.

“Gavin,” she gasps, snow-dusted, windswept, but alive. “How did you—?”

Her fingers clutch him back, clutch him close. She makes the smallest noise— of relief, he thinks, he hopes— and for a moment, she seems about to bury her head in his chest and he’s not sure if the roaring in his ears is from the cold gusts of air enveloping them or from the pounding of his heart, but. He’d let her, he wants her to, somehow, wants her to hold him tight so he has an excuse to never let go.

“You again,” he says, softer than he expects.

“Gavin,” she murmurs again instead of responding, his name like a prayer on her lips, like an incantation.

“Why…”

“Why—” he starts at the same moment, then breaks off, clearing his throat, daring a glance at her startled face, then looking away.

“You go first,” he says gruffly after a long pause.

She laughs.

It’s barely loud enough for him to hear with the rest of the air still alive with the echoes of explosions, but he feels her chest rise and fall against his, watches a grin break across her face like sunlight through the clouds, and the storm around them fades away— it’s just him and her and their shared patch of sky, made world enough for him with her smile.

But a heartbeat later, her laughter’s faded, her smile replaced by that same sad look: half-hope, half-resignation. In its absence, he wishes she’d laugh again. Wishes he could make her laugh again. Wishes he knew what made her smile.

“Why do you always protect me?” She asks. Soft, hesitant, as lost as he feels.

"Why is it always you?"

Some part of him knows: It's always been her. It'll always be her.

Before she can reply, another explosion rips through the air and why stops mattering as his instincts kick in. He pulls the winds close, pulls her closer, and his brain distantly registers the sound of his radio crackling but she fits in his arms like they were meant for her and her alone, and in that moment, that's all he wants to think about: his arms around her waist, her cheek pressed firmly against his heart.

They confront the cable car operator together, then follow the shadowy iron passage into the mountain's depths. He gives her his spare gun, tells her how to use it, how to hold, tells her to protect herself to ease the worry in his own heart.

"Your first and only mission is to keep yourself safe," he says.

She doesn't listen, it seems she never does, the first bullet she fires is to save him, and it doesn't make sense— he's been told his whole life he's only worth anything because of his Evol, the winds that are his but not, but she holds up the gun she barely knows how to use, and runs to his side, as if his life's more than being a weapon, being someone else's shield.

She saves him. She protects him. He tries to do the same for her.

She has his back, and he has hers, and together, they're invincible— his strength isn't his Evol alone, and maybe it wasn't ever meant to be, it was always meant to be this: the brush of her shoulder against his, the way she aims and fires without him having to remind her how, his nice shot! and her answering quicksilver smile.

"Gavin," she murmurs in the aftermath of it all, the metal limbs now harmless, in scattered pieces around them.

"Gavin, we did it."

She shakily lowers the empty gun, turning to him with a slight grin and a proffered palm.

"High five?"

It's ridiculously light-hearted for someone who's just faced death and won, or at least he thinks it is, until he sees the strain of her smile, the way her eyes shift nervously back and forth, and the way her fingers worry the edge of a tear in her coat.

And maybe it's his instincts again, maybe it's his heart, maybe it's fate and time, lost memories caught in the wind and carried back to him— but he takes her hand in his and pulls her to his chest, holds her close, holds her tight.

"Gavin," she says again, voice muffled but warm, and it sounds like don't let go.

(In another life, he swore to accompany her until the very end.

In this one, he does.)

He tries to give her bracelet back, but she tells him to keep it, even as she gazes at it, eyes soft, wistful, sad.

He tries to ask her about the person she's searching for, but she stays quiet.

He learns to stop, to give her space when her mind's a world away.

Through it all, he stays by her side.

(Maybe he never quite remembers the golden past of a life that was never his. Maybe she doesn't need him to.)

One day, she tells him she's stopped looking for that person, that they're already long gone.

"You sound certain of that," he replies. She nods and lets out a breath, blinks back unshed tears, then gives him a resolute smile.

"It's alright," she says, "because I've realized the me that was looking for them, the me that was destined for them— they're gone, too."

"Maybe they're together then?"

She looks at him for a long moment, a mini-eternity passing through her thoughtful eyes.

"Maybe they are."

He offers her his hand. She takes it.

His winds become soft for her, become gentle, become breezes he can call his own, and no one else's but hers.

She becomes his wings, and together, they fly.

(Their first kiss is still under a never-ending starry sky.)

#mlqc #mlqc gavin #mlqc fanfic #mr love queen's choice #mlqc bai qi #mlqc spoilers #val writes #im sorry it hurt me too c:#alrighttt now we're up to date <3 time to make the masterlist at some point or another

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365days365movies · 3 years

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May 6, 2021: The Martian (2015) (Recap: Part One)

We’re leaving lo-fi sci-fi, people. Kind of.

I mentioned before that films like Her are what I define as “lo-fi sci-fi”, which is a category that I’ve kind of made up. Basically, it’s the science fiction version of low fantasy, meaning it contains science fiction themes contained within an otherwise contemporary setting. In the case of Her, Joaquin Phoenix’s character, along with many others, live in a world and setting basically like ours, but with technology advanced enough to generate AIs (like Siri) that are intelligent enough to actually ascend our reality. Because we live in a society.

You give me Joaquin Phoenix, I’m gonna make a Joker reference; it’s in the contract of my existence. Anyway, that is admittedly kind of broad, right? I mean, that has the capability of crossing over with a BUNCH of sci-fi genres and themes. And, considering that we’ve already seen magic, speculative technology, time travel, monsters, and artificial intelligence, we’ve already touched on quite a bit.

And with science fiction, the sky’s the limit. Literally. So, I think it behooves us to re-examine lo-fi sci-fi a little bit. Specifically, we should note that it can also be defined as an extension of currently existing technologies and possibilities. Writers would call this “speculative sci-fi”, assuming in this case that it’s set within the present or a near and attainable future. Her definitely fits in this category, as does Westworld. But, let’s crossover to another genre by speculating upon another possibility. And it begins with this man. Probably.

Hey, Elon, what’s up? Now, Mr. Musk here is a...controversial figure, for COMPLETELY understandable reasons. Instead of touch upon the man himself, I feel like touching upon one of his recent focuses: space travel. With SpaceX and the various upcoming space trips and journeys that they’re planning, Musk has made it clear that he plans to shoot to the Moon. Again, literally.

In fact, this full plan is to go even further than that, and to fuel potential commercial space flights in the future, which is admittedly very cool. And of course, if you’re going to shoot for the Moon...

Guys...guys, that’s Mars. THAT’S FUCKING MARS

Is that not amazing? We have sound and pictures from FUCKING MARS! THAT’S A DIFFERENT PLANET, GODDAMN IT! It’s cooler than I have the ability to properly express, but it IS goddamn cool. And this means that, easily within my lifetime, we could (and likely will) land on Mars. Which is amazing. God, I really want to see that happen.

And so, landing on Mars is BARELY science fiction, but since we haven’t yet done so...yeah, it’s fictional at the moment. And so, any film about landing on Mars falls within this category. Well...to an extent.

2000′s Mission to Mars, for example, was a Disney-funded film (to my IMMENSE surprise; and it’s based off of an old Disney World ride, WHAT), and a movie that I saw a LOT when I was a kid. I also barely remember it, to be honest. But that film is straight-up science fiction because of, well...aliens. The idea of Martians is, as far as we know it, fictional. And most fiction involving Mars includes these aliens somehow. Whether it’s DC Comics’ entire civilization of Martians, as seen in Justice League, Supergirl, or Young Justice...

...Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s heavily mythologized civilization, as seen in the Barsoom series of novels (and another Disney film)...

...Or one of the best Looney Tunes characters.

Mmm. Yes. Isn’t that lovely?

But, yeah, Mars and aliens go hand-in-hand in our media. So, to properly look at lo-fi science and speculative science fiction in relation to the Red Planet, we’ll need a movie that goes to the planet, and doesn’t touch upon the concept of aliens AT ALL.

Enter...Ridley Scott?

Yeah, the director of Legend, Alien, Thelma and Louise, Blade Runner, Gladiator. Also the director of Kingdom of Heaven, Prometheus, Exodus: Gods and Kings, and...ugh, 1492: Conquest of Paradise. I’ve talked about his mixed record before, in my Recap of Legend right here.

In 2014, he was brought on to adapt a book by Andy Weir called The Martian, which is a great book! I’ve listened to the audio book, and I whole-heartedly recommend doing that. And because of that, I am VERY MUCH looking forward to watching this film, especially seeing as it’s often called one of the best science fiction films made during that year, and was critically acclaimed then and now. It got seven Oscar nominations (although it won none of them), amongst other awards. So, enough navel-gazing, huh? The Martian!

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (1/2)

On Acidalia Plantitia, at the landing site of the Ares III mission, a group of scientists are gathering samples. These scientists are commander and geologist Melissa Lewis (Jessica Chastain), pilot Rick Martinez (Michael Pena), systems operator Beth Johanssen (Kate Mara), surgeon Chris Beck (Sebastian Stan), German chemist Alex Vogel (Aksel Hennie), and overly talkative botanist Mark Watney (Matt Damon).

The group seems to have a good dynamic, but that dynamic is interrupted by a massive dust storm, which is large enough to cause the entire crew to evacuate. However, in the chaos of the dust storm, Mark is hit by debris and lost in the shuffle. Although Lewis goes back to find him, she can’t get to him before they need to leave, and Mark is believed dead. This is reported (pretty callously) by NASA Director Teddy Sanders (Jeff Daniels) to the press soon afterwards.

But of course, that wouldn’t be much of a movie, now would it? Mark’s alive! And Mark’s alone. With his suit damaged, and low on oxygen, he trudges back to headquarters, which is intact and still contains breathable oxygen. He gets inside, and realizes that he’s been stabbed in the abdomen by some debris. He removes it, and stitches up his own wound. Which is...god, it’s fucking BRUTAL just to think about, nevertheless watch.

Once he’s finished, he records a log for the future, if he doesn’t make it. It’s day 19 of the 31-day mission at this point, and Mark’s basically screwed. He needs lasting oxygen, water, and food, and he might need that for 4 years, when the next manned mission can come to the red planet. Additionally, he has absolutely no way to contact NASA, leaving him completely stranded. Another dust storm rolls in that night, and Mark looks over the belongings of his colleagues, packing them up for their eventual return. It’s somber, to say the least. However, Mark affirms that he’s determined not to die on the planet.

After doing the math, Mark should have enough food to last him for about 300 days, especially if he rations it. Until then, he’ll need to figure out how to grow his own food, on a planet where nothing grows. Which is, of course, going to be a difficult feat to accomplish. But Mark Watney’s a botanist with botany powers, and he’s gonna do it.

It’s day 31, and Mark’s brought in dirt from the outside, and uses the bio-waste from the crew’s stay there for a form of compost. After 5 days, mostly full of him watching Happy Days on TV and trying to farm, he realizes that he needs water, both for himself and for the soil. To do that, he goes chemical and decides to use hydrogen-laden rocket fuel, wood from Martinez’s belongings, and good old-fashioned fire to make water! And since hydrogen + oxygen = water, it should work. With a minor side-effect.

So, yeah, he blew himself up. As as he records a video log, the sound mixing makes itself impressively known by subtly and realistically generating a tinnitus sound. It’s VERY well-done, holy shit. Anyway, he makes a stable fire, and the place is soon covered in condensation, moistening the room and the soil successfully.

We get to day 54, and Mark’s planted leftover potatoes from the crew in order to grow them. And while he’s being mourned at a funeral on Earth, and in NASA, he’s seeing the fruits (or shoots) of his efforts.

Back on Earth, Mars Mission Director Vincent Kapoor (Chiwetel Ejiofor) is trying to convince Director Teddy to let him lobby for another Ares mission, despite the risk of bad press for the callousness of the proximity to Watney’s death. Meanwhile, satellite technician Mindy Park (Mackenzie Davis) looks down at the Ares III site, and realizes that the site has changed visually, meaning that Mark may actually be alive.

Shocked by this, she tells Kapoor, Teddy, and media director Annie Montrose (Kristen Wiig) about this, and they realize the absolute clusterfuck that this whole thing is. They can’t tell the other members of the Ares III crew about it, because it’d devastate them for the 10 months they have to get back to Earth, at the VERY least. They can’t tell the WORLD about this, because they just had a funeral for the guy, and they’d reveal that they left him stranded on Mars accidentally, destroying faith in the Mars Missions Program. And they can’t save Mark, who they’re sure will starve eventually. It’s a mess. And Kapoor also wonders what’s happening to Mark psychologically through all of this.

And yet, they reveal this to the world regardless, causing the clusterfuck reaction that they think it’s going to cause. But Mark’s busy on Mars, figuring out how to get to the site of the next Ares IV mission in 4 years, at the Schiaparelli crater about 50 days travel away. This is a struggle, as his Rover has only so much power and fuel, and he can only get more power by cutting out the heater is risking death by freezing. So, problems. However, he figures out a potential solution: radioactive isotopes! In a move that is, let’s face it, COMPLETELY INSANE, he digs up a radioactive generator from the ship in order to heat the ship.

On Earth, they try to figure out Mark’s moves, as well as how to resupply Ares IV sooner for Mark’s benefit. This is with the director of JPL, Bruce Ng (Benedict Wong), and the flight director of the ship Hermes, Mitch Henderson (Sean Bean), who insists that they tell the Ares II crew. They continue to monitor Mark, and note that he’s been travelling for 17 days in his Rover towards something. Kapoor figures it out, and flies to California.

See, Mark needs a way to contact NASA, and he believes that the way to do so is through Pathfinder, the first probe ever sent to Mars in 1997, lasting for 9 months since landing until they lost contact. Mark digs it up, and the people at JPL in California start their own efforts for contact. And despite communication being extremely rudimentary, initially limited to yes/no questions that use a still-frame camera, it fucking WORKS! WHOO!

To boost this communication hurdle, the two camps figure out a hexadecimal system for communication, allowing them to communicate using a circular table of numbers that represent an alphabet. That allows them to teach Mark to hack into the Rover, allowing it to piggyback off of its broadcast signal and send them messages via keyboard. Nice! Now that communication is reasonably possible, Mark’s able to ask how the crew is handling his death. But upon learning that they haven’t told him. He’s understandably a little goddamn enraged. And so, they FINALLY tell the Ares III crew about this.

The news breaks the crew, even though Mark continues to stress that he’s all right, and that it wasn’t their fault. Meanwhile, Mark’s able to survive for 912 days with his potato plants, and things improve with the help of technicians on Earth. They plan to launch a supply rocket to him in the next year, and things are looking fine! Unless, of course...something goes horribly HORRIBLY wrong.

Well...fuck. Good place to pause for Part Two, then?

#the martian #ridley scott #matt damon #jessica chastain #kristen wiig #jeff daniels #sean bean #michael pena #chiwetel ejiofor #benedict wong #science fiction may #sci-fi may #user365 #365 movie challenge #365 movies 365 days #365 Days 365 Movies #365 movies a year #bookstofilm #whatelsecanwedonow

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the-hidden-writer · 3 years

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Lucidity

A WandaVision oneshot (SPOILERS!) Words: 1,623

Summary: When White Vision leaves WestView and discovers that Tony Stark is dead, he starts to realise that he is very different to who he used to be, but isn't sure how.

Read on AO3! (check reblog for link)

Lucidity

He is Vision.

That was the one clear thought in his mind. It pierced through the stitches of the (now unfamiliar) mismatched coding, giving him clarity and yet confusing him at the same time. The overwhelming instinct to destroy The Vision and Wanda Maximoff slowly began to recede, leaving behind only the memory of an order and a small urge to comply.

It would be wrong to terminate Wanda Maximoff, would it not? He recalled telling her that he loved her. Loved ones do not harm each other, do they?

(“I love you,” he grits out, as her magic finally manages to penetrate the stone. The tiny sliver or relief overpowers the immense agony he is in and he releases the breath he has been holding, drinking in her features one last time before squeezing his eyes shut to embrace his fate. The last thing he knows is pain beyond imagination as she destroys all that he is.)

Or perhaps they do, depending on the circumstances. He felt like he should know the answer. He did not.

As the last of his new programming was broken apart, the order itself did not leave him.

Terminate Wanda Maximoff. Neutralise The Vision.

But he was The Vision. So… he must destroy himself, correct? That was the logical thing to do. So then why was he feeling hesitant to do so?

He flew straight upwards to set about to accomplish this, surpassing the strange red barrier of Wanda’s creation until he was far above it. Since the sky was clear that day, from his perspective he could see that it was hexagonal. He then angled his body so that he was upside down, decreased his density to more closely match that of a human’s, and let gravity do the work.

Eyes closed, he started to fall.

(“Mr Stark, there is something I have been meaning to ask of you.” Tony turns to him in surprise, but that surprise quickly morphs into that odd, warm expression he wears whenever he talks to him. He tells him to continue, so he does. “I have discovered that… that you and Dr Banner have programmed me in such a way that I am unable to bring harm to myself.” Tony’s eyes widen and there is an unspoken question which he does not answer. “I was wondering if you could change that. If I were to be corrupted in some way, I want to be able to stop myself before I hurt others.” The reasons he goes on to detail are perfectly logical, but he does not understand the heartbreak written on Tony’s face.)

He stops himself just as he is about to enter Wanda’s domain.

Life review is a phenomenon encountered by those having a near-death experience where it is said that their life “flashes before their eyes”. Not once did Vision ever think he himself would experience it. He did not when he was being killed by Wanda, he did not when he was being killed by Thanos. So it stands to reason that he should not in this situation, either. And yet he did.

Countless vague memories of Tony Stark. Much clearer memories of the destruction of Ultron and Sokovia. Of stolen moments with Wanda Maximoff. Of the mind stone communicating with him. Of Thanos.

He no longer had the mind stone. Wanda Maximoff was somewhere beneath him that very moment, appearing to fight a witch. The last he saw of Tony Stark was when he was on a news broadcast somewhere in New York. The last he saw of Thanos was when his hand was clawing through his skull in Wakanda.

He tried to access the Internet to find their whereabouts, but rather jarringly realised that he was completely cut-off. Unlike his memories that had simply been blocked from him, connecting to the Internet was now something he was physically unable to do.

He grimaced. That could prove to be a problem.

A problem that Tony Stark could fix. As the world appeared to be in no immediate danger, he could only assume that Thanos was not currently a threat. Once his disarranged mind had been mended, he would then go to Wakanda to assess the situation. Until then, he had to find Tony Stark.

Being restricted from using the Internet felt akin to the loss of a limb, which is why it took him a few moments to search through his memories and decide that the most rational place to start looking would be the Avengers Compound.

(“I never thought I would share a house with Tony Stark.” Wanda tells him after he asks her if there is a difference between a house and a home. “But I’ve always thought of a house as just where you live. A home is the people and memories attached to it.” He is still confused. He supposes that the Avengers Compound is his house, but is it truly his home if he has never lived anywhere else? Wanda seems to sense his doubt, as she always does, and she takes his hand comfortingly. “Vision… I think this our home now.”)

And so he began his flight, as fast as could, to New York.

~-.-~

The Compound had been destroyed.

Where the New Avengers Facility had once been were acres of flattened forest. From where he was hovering, he could see the teems of teams of people, all hard at work completing various tasks. Some were clearing the remainder of rubble, others were attempting to rebuild the facility from the nothing that was left, and, perhaps the most curiously, in the middle of it all there was a large group of journalists surrounding a small monument.

What had happened?

Unlike the rest of the facility, that mysterious monument was the only thing that appeared to be fully built. In an attempt to better understand the situation, Vision moved closer and partially phased into a tree to privately see it more clearly.

He waited for the crowds to move in such a way that he would be able to see what was written on the metal pillar, and when he could finally read it he felt his whole body tense.

(“Listen V, it’s my will and I get to decide who’s on it. Clue’s in the name.” He tries to argue but Tony interrupts him. “Nope, not gonna hear any of your ‘ohh but I’m not human’ bullshit. I had JARVIS down to inherit a bunch of stuff before this, and- yes, I know you’re not him, this is just to prove a point.” He listens in silence, still disagreeing with Tony’s decision. The man’s voice takes on a solemn tone. “I want you to have this much because believe it or not you’re like a son to me, Vision.” All of a sudden, all of his questions regarding his and Mr Stark’s relationship are cleared up. Having Tony say it himself helps it all make sense. Their bond had grown to be more than just inventor and creation. It was that of a father and son. “And I’m gonna treat you like one, even on my will, alright?”)

Tony Stark was dead. Anthony Edward Stark was… dead. If the words on the plaque of red and gold were to be believed, he sacrificed himself to save the universe on October 17th, 2023.

2023? He had lost 5 years?

Vision had felt different since the moment he was rebooted. It was not an unpleasant feeling. Just… different. And that difference had not been more noticeable to him than it was in that moment.

This was because a part of him (the JARVIS part of him) was stunned with disbelief. Then that disbelief was gradually replaced with other sensations. It was as if the voice in his head (he was uncertain if the voice belonged to him or JARVIS) was screaming in the confusion of what could have happened, the guilt of not being there to prevent it and protect him, and the overwhelming grief of losing the closest thing he had to a family member. His father. Sir.

But that’s all it was: a voice in his head. Outwardly…

He felt nothing.

He absentmindedly wondered if that should worry him.

With the knowledge that Tony Stark was dead and therefore could not help him, Vision decided to find someone who could. As far as he knew, Dr Banner was still missing and he was strangely hesitant to seek out the help of Shuri. So perhaps he could attempt to help himself?

No, stay! Stay and ask these people what happened! Ask if they need help! Find the other Avengers! Find out how Mr Stark died!

He left New York.

He had the memories of who he had been. He was not the same. Using those differences he could try and piece together an explanation. The world did not need saving at present, which meant that Thanos had most likely been defeated. And as Vision had nobody and now nowhere to go to, he would just have to wait until the world needed him.

(“Just so we’re absolutely clear,” the man says, “you are to terminate Wanda Maximoff and neutralize The Vision by any means necessary. She’ll be powerful, so be careful. And The Vision will match you for every move you make. After that, you report back to me and wait for your next orders, understood?”

“Understood.” He affirms, and for the smallest of moments his voice sounds wrong.)

Yes, he will wait. He will be useful again. They will need him- who? Humanity or those that weaponised him? Who was the old Vision loyal to? Is he truly Vision anymore? Why doesn’t he care?- and until they do… he will wait.

#marvel #wandavision #wandavision spoilers #mcu #vision #the vision #white vision #wanda maximoff #tony stark #tyler hayward #jarvis #j.a.r.v.i.s.#fic

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queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm · 5 years

Text

Daminette December Day 5: Fire (Continues from day 4’s prompt of gaming)

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Damian Wayne Al Gul was never known for backing out from challenges. So when the opportunity came to “unmask” Ladybug, you best believe he was determined to seeing that to completion. A game plan began brewing in his head, “How am I going to get a Parisian streamer/designer to come to the states?” He muttered to himself, “There need to be a reason.”

‘What could make her want to come?’ Damian thought. There in his room, you could smell the oil and hear the gears turning inside his head. He brought his fingers to his temples, completely lost to the world at the momment. And then, it hit him. “I’ve got it!” He almost screamed, “I could make it into a sponsorship!”

“Hey, Demon-Spawn!” Jason barged into the room. A kunai flew passed his head, “Do- Watch it! Anyway Brucie wants us in the living room.”

Damian scowled. His plans would have to wait for now. This had better be good. As he made his way to the living room, Damian didn’t have the slightest clue that old Brucie Boy was about to make his job a hell of lot easier.

*Line Break*

On the other side of the world, our favorite girl had just finished “Tim Drake’s” commission. The client didn’t give much detail into what they wanted, all they said was to make them a suit and mask for the masquerade. Marinette had full creative liberty over the suit and mask. She wanted to go over the top, but on the off chance it was actually Timothy Drake himself it needed the right amount of subtlety to be functional.

(A/N: I’m not really good at describing clothes, but I couldn’t find anything that looks like I have in my head. Sorry!)

Marinette doesn’t do themes often, but she decided this design would become the newest part of her “Elements” collection. The suit jacket itself was a dark green, almost gray, color with multicolored leaves hand stitched into the material. Marinette had barely made it visible, but if one looked close enough it was definitely there. The pocket square was olive green with brown undertones as was the bow tie. The suit’s pants were the the same color as the jacket. The mask, however, the mask made the piece come together. The mask itself was brown, but the small details on the mask were lined with gold thread. Everything about this look screamed nature.

It had taken her a week to complete, and boy was it worth it. Marintte was relieved it was over, but loved the finished result. She packaged the suit and mask duo and placed her handwritten thank you note inside. The note read, “Dear Mr. Drake, Thank you for commissioning me for your gala. I do not know if it is the real Tim Drake and if it’s not please remember you do not have have to lie to get my attention. But if it is in fact Timothy Drake, himself, I want to thank you for this opportunity. I hope everything is up to your standards. Please continue to commission me for anything! Thank you for shopping at “Miss Fortune” Bug our! Signed, Ladybug” Marinette went straight to the post office to ship it to the American adress and returned home shortly after.

The next day at school would have Marinette begging for someone to put her out of her misery. It was announced that the class had won the Wayne scholarship to visit Gotham. And while Marinette was happy her hard work had seen results, it meant more work would be piled onto her. Ms. Bustier had cut her train of thought off, “Oh, and before I forget, we are invited to the Wayne’s annual Christmas charity gala. And Alya, there is absolutely no recording or interviews. If you fail to adhere to these rules, you will be bard from any and all other activities involving the Wayne family.”

Alya looked deflated by that fact. Lila was going to cook up some lie about knowing the Wayne’s, but once again Ms. Bustier had opened her mouth again, “Lila, we all know about your condition to lie uncontrollably. That being said, if you feel compelled to lie about knowing the Wayne family I would keep your mouth shut. Gotham is known as the city with the highest crime rate in the world. The Waynes have been known targets of Gotham’s villains, we wouldn’t want to be put in danger.”

Marinette had smirked at that comment and Lila eye had twitched, “Of course Ms. Bustier!”

The only thought that was going through Marinette’s head after that was, ‘What am I going to wear?’

*Line Break*

A month had passed and the trip to Gotham was tomorrow. Marinette decided to tell her followers on her twitch why there would be no more streams for another two weeks or so, “Today I just want to let you guys know that I will not be going live for like two weeks. I’ll be in America with my school for a trip. We’ll be attending a very important event there! I hope you guys won’t forget about when I’m gone!”

The comments and donations came in hordes. Most claiming that they could never forget about a gaming goddess. There where some asking about where in America she was headed to, “Well, usually I wouldn’t say anything. Buuuut, this is a very large city! We are headed to Gotham city!”

At 3:28 pm Damian Wayne, felt his heart stop. Ladybug would be in Gotham because of her Parisian class for an important event. There was only one Parisian class that had won if he remembered correctly, he’d have to ask Tim. Damian grabbed his phone in a attempt to see if Marinette would answer this frantic texting.

Her phone dings on stream, “Wow, I’m sorry guys I thought I had that on silent,” Marinette silences her phone but pays no attention to the contents on it. Her phone continues to buzz, “I’m so popular today,” she giggled, “To Damian, who I know is watching, can you please stop texting me when I’m live? Please and thank you. And before you heathens ask, no Damian does not know who I am so do go snooping to try and find out who he is,” She said in her heavily accented English.

Damian decided he would talk to her later, lest she be angry at him. The stream was relatively short today, only an hour and a half. Marinette had to go so that she would “actually be alive in the morning” as she put it. And when the cat is away, the birds go and play. Damian donned his Robin persona as he took it upon himself to continue his mission in uncovering Ladybug.

As he suspected, only one class from Paris had won the scholarship. The class president’s name had also just so happened to be none other than Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Damian then deduced that Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Ladybug are the same person. Oh, what fun this was going to be.

During the Parisian class’s time in Gotham, they had left Marinette behind 5 times. Let me repeat that. Caline Bustier, an educator and chaperone, had left one of her students in one of the world’s most dangerous cities not once, not twice, not even thrice, but five times. Thankfully on her first time she had ran into a young Arabic man named Damian. Marinette laughed at how much this Damian had reminded her of her client. He wasn’t wearing her designs though so she couldn’t tell if they were one and the same, spoiler alert: they were!

The night of the gala had arrived and Damian asked to accompany her as her date. Marinette would have normally said “no, thank you” but Damian and Marinette had gotten to know each other over the course of her adventures in Gotham. So instead she said, “Yes!”

Marinette had spent a month on her newest creation. The purpose for this gala and this one alone. It would make its debut in her “Elements” collection, after the trip. Marinette was particularly proud of this one, this time the theme was fire and boy was there going to be one. The mask she wore was lined with blue to symbolize one of the hottest flames there are.

(A/N: As stated earlier I’m not good at describing clothing, so here’s a picture of what I’m talking about. Also this is not mine and kudos to whoever did make it because I want this for myself.)

Damian waited patiently for his date to arrive. He was dressed in the exact opposite way. Cool blues and slivers donned his suit. His mask was white with red linning to contrast Marinette’s blue. None of what he was wearing was of “Miss Fortune” though. There wasn’t enough time for him to ask.

When Marinette exited the elevator, Damian had the wind knocked out of him. She looked like ethereal and in that momment Damian wasn’t sure if she really existed. He had seen the dress on her streams while she was making it, but this was the first time he had seen Marinette wearing it. Marinette was the epitome of regality.

But when Marinette saw Damian dressed like the prince she’d known him to be, Marinette almost fainted. Together they looked like gods gracing mortals with their presence. Anyone who saw them, assumed such as well. They’d stop and stare at Adonis and his Aphrodite.

They walked the red carpet and at that moment Marinette realized three things, one: She would have to reveal herself as Ladybug, two: she would have to explain herself to her followers, and three: Damian is that Damian Wayne???

“Surprise?” He said with a raising of his shoulders.

“We’ll talk later,” she said lowly.

Together they passed the reporters to enter and Marinette made her big reveal, “Miss! Miss! Who are you wearing? It’s gorgeous!”

“I’m wearing my own design! I run a website called Miss Fortune. You would probably recognize me as Ladybug on Twitch though,” she giggled.

Before she could answer anymore questions, Damian pulled her inside to the actual Gala. He couldn’t wait to see the looks on his brother’s faces when they relized who he had on his side. And by the sound of the shriek that ran throughout the halls, Tim and Dick had just found out. They raced over in an attempt to introduce themselves to her.

Marinette noticed that Tim was wearing the suit she had made back in November. She paled when she remembered accusing him of lying in her note, “You are wearing my design. You weren’t lying to me!”

Marinette was apologizing and Tim didn’t need it. She had every right to be suspicious whenever someone claimed to know or be part of the Wayne crew. Jason had a Batcow when he noticed the angel of a girl on the arm of a demon. And then freaked out even more once, he heard who she was.

The rest of the night went off without a hitch. Well... that was before Alya and Lila were escorted out for recording and lying on the Wayne Family name. Oh, boy legal was going to have so much fun with them.

Bruce Wayne seen four of his children huddled around a small French-Asian woman. He thought he should introduce himself. Unknown to Marinette Bruce was also wearing her work. Apparently Damian had commissioned that suit for Bruce’s birthday. Marinette almost fainted for the second time that evening.

As the party came to a close, Damian and Marinette stepped out to chat alone, “I know this is kind of forward, but would you like to accompany me on a date soon?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Marinette smiled as she rested her head on Damian’s shoulder while staring at the sky.

Fire is volatile. It can burn, destroy, and even kill. But fire is also rebirth, warmth, and passion. Marinette is the fire to Damian’s ice. Complete opposites that complete each other, just as it should be.

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A/N: So the two shot is over!!!! Did you all like it? I think this one is my favorite so far. In any case thank you for all the notes, comments, and reblogs on the last part. I really appreciate it! If you want to be tagged let me know in the comments!

@daminette-december2019 @persephonebutkore @gingerdaile @seraphichana @mystery-5-5 @krispydefendorpolice @jardimazul @royalchaoticfangirl @theoryfan205 @goblinwhoships @emeraldpuffguide @spicybelladonna

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randaccidents · 5 years

Text

Fractured (Part 2)

The story continues! Featuring old faces, a fixer upper, and the knights getting some good comfort!

Also me failing to deliver one on my spoilers it in the next part HA

The next part or so should come soon I’m going overseas on school trip so RUSH HOUR TIME

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Epilogue

TW: Blood, Panic attacks, insensitivity to said panic attack

Shadow people AU by @mine-sara-sp

Cub paced around outside the Convex meeting room. Keloid and Avarice had been gone for barely a few hours at this point, leaving their typical trail of destruction. There was so much that they still had to fix.

But this wasn't about them. Cub was here because the Vex had called them. Only, this was different. The Vex had asked them to come this time. Asked. The Vex never asked, they commanded. Something was wrong, and Cub didn't like it.

Footsteps, then Scar rounded the corner. The members of the ConVex locked eyes and found the same questions in each other. Cub tilted his head towards the meeting room and Scar nodded, following. There were no questions to be asked. The Vex had called and they will respond. Even if the call had been so very wrong this time, like a timer ticking down to the inevitable explosion. Something was different, and the Vex wanted them there for it. Who were they to deny their patron?

Taking their places at the central table, Cub stretched and prepared to move to the Vex's dimension. Scar had already made himself comfortable, hat over his eyes and arms behind him, legs on the table, looking as though he was asleep. Cub would have to scold him for dirtying their cake table again, but for now he pillowed his head in his arms and waited. There was the telltale bells and windchimes, and consciousness slipped from his grasp.

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

He woke in the comfortable chairs of a dark oak mansion, fireplace blazing at the other side of the room. Fireplace? That was new. Cub looked around, trying to spot what else was different. Everything was in place, the chairs, the tables, the shelves, the cake. He scratched at his beard looking over at his fellow ConVex.

Scar was wide-eyed, staring around the room. That was not normal. "Scar, what's wrong? What do you see?"

Scar choked on his words struggling to find them. "That's the problem! Its what we don't see. Its, its," he gestures to Cub's chair frantically. "Can't you feel it? They’re gone!"

They? Another creature normally here that isn't anymore? Scar reached up to grab his hat, an action that betrayed his distress. "The Vex!" Scar finally blurted. "They’re not in the room!"

And Cub looked around and found that to be true. There were no vex mobs in the room, and he couldn't feel the lights of the Vex on him. For the first time in a long time, the Vex's influence couldn't even be felt. Now he was stressed. The Vex never let anyone wander their direction unaccompanied, not even the ConVex. Something was very, very wrong.

A wet cough, a coo. Those noises did not fit in the crossroads room they sat in. Glancing at each other again, they slowly stood up, unsheathing their swords. "Who's there?" Cub called out into the room, voice bouncing through to the outside halls. The unseen intruder responded with a hissing growl, audibly shuffling about. Scar raised his hand, pointing to a darkened corner beside the fireplace. His fingers counted down, three, two, one, and they jumped around the table, swords at the ready-

And came face to face with the colours red, yellow and blue.

Cub almost didn't recognise the shadow before them, the hissing growl deep in their throat and the bright blue in his vision bringing to mind Avarice. "Paladin?" Scar moved towards the shadow, hand held forward. Paladin's hissing growl deepened, and Cub had barely enough time to reach forward and yank Scar backwards before a diamond pickaxe sliced through the space he once stood.

Scar was in shock. The shadow had always been a passive mob, relying more on their vexed shadows for defence. He looked into their eyes and saw a feral fear that made him ache to step forward, to comfort them, but Cub held him back. Cub's eyes had seen something much more concerning to them.

Eyes upturned, Cub cautiously moved to put himself between Scar and Paladin. As he moved forward, the floating blue hands above them snapped to attention as the growling increased in volume, floating threateningly above, ready to grab the nearest weapon. Scar tugged his lab coat, whispering to him. "His cloak, I saw it move. Could it be?"

Cub nodded slightly. Eyeing over red-stained armour and leaking yellow wounds tainted blue, he grasped at what the Vex wanted with Paladin. Obviously, it had made some form of a deal. But what use did the Vex have for another mob when they didn't have its summoner?

The wet cough from before was heard again, causing the ConVex's hackles to rise. Paladin's attention immediately snapped away from them, turning to coo comfortingly at whoever was behind them. Cub caught a glimpse of red, silver and pale pale skin against yellow hair.

And he understood why they were here.

Scar seemed to have caught on too. His hand slowly slid past Cub as he took a step forward. The floor creaked, and the wounded shadow whirled back, cloak flaring out into a giant draconic wing on one side even as the other cradled Wels preciously. Scar stopped moving, but his mouth didn't.

"Paladin, calm down. We're just here to help."

The shadow's growling softened slightly, imperceptibly. A normal person wouldn't have caught it, but Scar and Cub were no longer normal people. Scar stepped in front of Cub, hands held up empty. Cub idly took note of the fact that Scar was using his patented Scar Calming Method™. "Paladin, we can help him. But you need to let us help."

The growl was now a hiss. The wings fluttered down and smoothed back into a cape as Paladin backed up slightly. There was movement behind them, and then Wels’ hand was gripped tightly around Paladin’s arm, preventing some of the light from spilling out. To his worry, Cub noticed that Wels was using his left hand.

Wels was right handed.

Muted whispering, and Paladin finally relaxed from their tense pose, limbs trembling. They never let go of the pickaxe however, and was still blocking Wels. "You need to move aside before we can help Paladin." Cub interjected, bringing the shadow's attention to him.

The shadow was noticeably trembling in place, eyes flickering about the room. "They aren't here, are they?" The voice was small, scared. It gave Cub whiplash from the shock. Paladin hadn't spoken previously and the sound of their voice only increased the sense of wrongness in the room. He might not have spoken to Paladin before this, but everyone knew that they were a proud and confident shadow, ego bursting at the seams.

"Who isn't here, Paladin?" Scar was still trying to reach out to the shadow while Cub tried to piece the situation together. The shadow didn't answer, instead glancing away to stare at the fireplace.

It was Wels who answered, voice halting and ragged. "We mean- the- the Vex." The name sent a full body shudder through both knights, even as Wels continued to speak, audibly gasping for air. "They- they brought- us here."

The only sound in the room was Wels' choked breath, Paladin having turned back around to assist him. Scar was at a loss of what to say. This was the Vex's dimension, there was nowhere they could go without the gaze of the Vex on them. But they also needed to calm the two broken knights.

Cub quickly broke the silence before it could turn tense again. "They aren't here right now. But when they come back, we'll protect you, alright? They won't do anything without our knowledge." He directed that last sentence to the walls of the room, hoping that some vex mobs were near enough to hear. He felt blind here without the Vex in the room.

Paladin and Wels glanced at each other, then looked back. Paladin spoke for both of them. "Can you promise that they won't come for us before we're ready?"

Cub didn't even need to look at Scar to know what he thought. "As much as we can against our patron."

That seemed to be enough for them. Paladin angled himself to allow the ConVex access to Wels. Scar wasted no time in rushing forward, Cub falling back in their natural order of observe and act.

"Wels, show me where your hurt. I can't see anything with all this blood. Cub?"

"I got 2 healing and regen each on me, no splash. Water?"

"Please. Bandages too. Alright Wels, I need to take this off, but the blood has dried so this might hurt. Paladin, hold him."

The next few minutes were a blur of gurgled screaming and dominated by the colour red. Cub brought every item Scar requested, trusting in his partner's ability to heal. Instead, he pulled a book from the shelves and catalogued every injury as it was dealt with, it's treatment and subsequent condition. It would help them track Wels' condition, but it didn't stop Cub from wishing he didn't have to witness anything.

A neck wound, gaping open and sluggishly bleeding. Seemed like it hit a vein, but Wels' throat had still flooded with blood and it had yet to stop. They didn't know how long it had been there, but Scar had dripped a potion of healing into the wound and force fed Wels the rest, Paladin somehow managing to look pale as they shakily held a struggling Wels still. Bottled potions might be less effective on wounds than splash, but they still did wonders to stop the bleeding and minorly stitch up his throat.

A major laceration on his right arm. Cub had seen a flash of white when Scar had moved the half bandaged arm and had to turn away to maintain his composure. Scar resolutely held on, inspecting the wound and reporting aloud to Cub. Bless his heart, Cub would have never had the courage to look at that injury after the first, much less verbally report it. The slice had gone through some muscles and hit bone, resulting in hairline fractures. Scar was quick to pour an entire regeneration potion into the wound, bandaging it quickly to spare everyone the sight of muscles reknitting themselves. They had no needles, so the wound still bled through, but it was all they could do. A quick makeshift splint made from a broken handle Paladin had pulled out, and they moved on.

Minor bumps and bruises on his back. Wels and Paladin hadn't noticed it, but Scar caught it when he had removed Wels' torn shirt bandages. It looked like he had been pressed onto some stairs, linear lines rising upwards in ragged bumps along his back, skin cracked in places. Scar looked at their stocks and poured half the remaining regeneration potion onto Wels' back, spreading it out until the bumps had become less swollen. The remainder was given to Paladin, who swallowed it at Scar's glare. Cub noted separately that the potion worked even less for the shadow, whose wounds barely even closed, although the particles leaking from them had slowed.

Finally, a stab wound through his left leg. Straight through. It had found a tendon and sliced it, which Cub knew from experience was a painful journey back to walking. Scar hadn't skipped a beat, grabbing their final health potion and pouring it in, bandages used to keep the healing effect contained as long as it was liquid.

Job finally done, Scar sat back on his knees. Cub put down the book, standing to grab some throw pillows from the seats to act as bedding. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Scar whisper something to Paladin and Wels, who was still catching his breath. Patting Paladin's shoulder, which elicited a flinch, Scar stood and joined Cub is grabbing all the pillows in the room.

Cub peered at Scar as they worked, concerned by how silent he was. Scar looked calm and composed, as he had been throughout the entire ordeal. But his face was faintly green, and the spacey look in his eyes told Cub that it had been worse than anything Scar had seen.

Which meant that it had been worse than anything Cub had been through. Which was a lot.

Pillows gathered, they returned to the fireplace, setting up a little nest bed. Paladin shakily carried Wels over, the until now idly floating gauntlets drifting downwards to help cradle Wels safely. Once Wels was comfortably settled into his new bed, Paladin sat down next to him, Wels' arm still gripped tightly around his arm, having not let go since their earlier meeting. Scar's voice was gentle, compelling. "Sleep Wels. You need the rest." Wels was wary, unwilling to slip away even amongst familiar faces. It hurt Cub to watch. Wels had always been so trusting, to see him fearful of even them hurt more than imaginable. Paladin softly cooed at Wels, their other hand settling over Wels' tight grip. This seemed to calm him enough, and the knight finally drifted off.

Alone now with the still cooing shadow, the room was silent. The shadow's trembling had died to a less noticeable level, and they finally seemed calm.

Until Cub broke it with a hammer.

"What happened to you both?" The question sent the shadow jerking away from them, the only thing anchoring them in place being their hand over Wels'. Their eyes flashed between the Convex members, but their face was resigned, as though they knew this was coming. "I don't know what happened at first," they began, looking back down at Wels. "But when I was summoned, I found Apex standing over Wels. I fought him off, and now we're here."

Cub frowned at the explanation. There was something missing in the middle, left out like a destroyed bridge. Scar cut in before Cub could harp on the missing piece. "When did you and Wels get so close? Last I heard, you two barely even interacted."

That the shadow was much more willing to elaborate on. "We had a lot of time to kill while waiting for Avarice and Keloid to pick me up." A wry smile. "Sometimes we would wait for hours because Wels didn't feel like answering you. Training together and all that. You relax and become close once you've knocked each other on your backsides a few time. He even got Keloid and Avarice to like him." The next sentence was said in a whisper, as though admitting something privately to themself. "It's like we're a family. We protect each other."

Scar was silent. Cub took the opportunity to address the elephant in the room with an anvil. His voice grew severe as he addressed the shadow. "Paladin. What did you do."

The shadow actually jumped backwards at that, arm remaining outstretched to hold Wels' hand while remaining the maximum distance from them. Their eyes had gone wild again, the trembling that had been nearly imperceptible becoming full body shudders that no one could ignore. "Wh-what do you mean?"

Scar was gesturing at Cub, trying to tell him to stop stop cut it off bad idea but Cub was insistent. "Your explanation earlier isn't the full story I can tell. You're blue. What deal did you make with the Vex?" Scar facepalmed.

The effect was immediate. The shadow dropped Wels' hand, scrambling back into a corner. The pickaxe reappeared in their hands and they held it protectively between them and the ConVex.

Scar glared at Cub, his look saying look at what you've done, before he slowly stood up. A hissing growl stopped him dead in his tracks. "Paladin, look at me."

The shadow turned their head towards Scar even as their pickaxe remained in the most defensive position possible. "Calm down ok? You don't have to tell us anything if you're uncomfortable." He glared at Cub, challenging him to say anything. "Please, sit down and put that away. We don't want anyone to get hurt."

The shadow didn't seem to hear much, breathing picking up. Before Scar could make another attempt, Paladin began talking. "I didn't know what to do. Apex gave me the chance to leave but I didn't. I chose to help Wels. But I haven't died as many times as them, Wwls dropped his sword before I was summoned so I didn't have a sword I was at a disadvantage it was a bad idea from the start but I couldn't help it. Wels needed me. He's family." The shadow's speech became faster as tears began spilling down their cheeks. "I was panicking I didn't know what to do. Then the Vex showed up and offered their help and what was I to do? I took it. I took it and chased off Apex but I don't know what to do with wounds we were stuck there and then the Vex came and took us here and I know I made a mistake Im sorry I didn't know what to do I needed help they were the only help I had I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry-" The shadow sat down, legs buckling under them as they curled up. The cape curled upwards with their motion to wrap around them in an unconscious action. The pickaxe was still held shakily before them even as Paladin kept whispering "I'm sorry" over and over like a broken record.

Scar looked back at Cub, uncertain about what to do. Cub shrugged his shoulders back. He was not the emotions guy. He tended to ruin it actually, this mess was his fault. He would not be a great option or have good ideas for this issue.

Before the situation could escalate any further, another hissing growl echoed through the room, deep and staticky. Cub looked at Paladin, but they were still shaking in the corner. "That wasn't-"

And suddenly he was across the room, pressed into the bookshelf by a large grey arm, blue faces leering down at him.

Ah, they were here. He could hear Scar shouting something from behind Avarice. A series of clicks, and Cub was unceremoniously dropped to the floor, Scar thrown at him. Cub looked up to an impossible sight.

Keloid and Avarice were standing tall over Wels. But instead of aggression, the vexed shadows looked, concerned almost. Keloid's arms were stroking his face while Avarice mimicked the look Cub had earlier, analysing each injury. A sniffle from the corner caught their attention, and they turned to the balled up Paladin.

"S̵̠̿h̵͉̔ȋ̷̯n̶͍̚y̷̝͝!̴͓̃" The duo crowed in unison, rushing forward slightly. "D̸o̶n̵'̶t̵ ̵c̴r̸y̴ ̸S̷h̵i̸n̴y̴,̵ ̸w̸e̷'̷r̸e̶ ̴h̵e̵r̵e̸!̵" Keloid happily expressed, wings flapping slightly as it reached forwards to hold Paladin. Avarice's arm blocked the way, and it slowly knelt down to Paladin's level, cooing. Paladin shakily chirped back, unwilling to look up or release the pickaxe. Keloid reached forward, split arms tugging gently at the pickaxe until Paladin loosened their grip, relinquishing the weapon. Avarice spawned a floating hand, fitting it under Paladin's chin and raising their head. Keloid, having removed the weapon, slid around to fit its arms around Paladin, Avarice leaning in to fill the remaining empty space. It was a tight fit, but it was comfortable and familiar. Paladin leaned their head into Avarice's chest, taking deep shuddering breaths as Avarice patted their head plume gently. The room was quiet for a while, especially once Avarice had glared at Cub who was trying to speak around Scar's hand. Cub had given up then, opting instead to check on Wels.

Eventually, Paladin stopped shivering, sighing deeply. Avarice took the opportunity to ask a question, "Ẇ̸̗h̸̩͝a̷̜͑t̷͍̄ ̷̤́h̴̹̽ä̸͎́p̵̝̕p̷͕̏e̵̝̓n̵̮̓e̶̳͝d̷̪̈́?̴̫̈́"

Paladin flinched, then settled when Avarice leaned forward to push its head into their plume, reducing the space Paladin had to move.

"Apex."

The vexed shadows growled in unison, static echoing through the space. Paladin flinched, and Keloid noticed, quickly reverting to thrilling coos to comfort them, Avarice following suit. Once Paladin had untensed, Keloid piped up with another question. "S̴h̸i̸n̵y̵…̵ ̴V̶e̶x̸ ̵d̷e̶a̷l̵?̴"

Paladin gave a small nod, too exhausted by their earlier panic to do much more than shudder. The number of hands increased suddenly, more hands possessively holding and touching Paladin while still giving them freedom to move. "T̷h̴e̷y̸ ̴a̵p̸p̴r̶o̶a̵c̴h̷?̷" Avarice followed up. They nodded again. "Fought Apex, defend Wels." came the tired response.

The vex shadows rumbled, Keloid's head coming down to join the head pile. "W̵e̶'̵r̷e̷ ̵s̶o̴r̷r̷y̴ ̸S̴h̵i̴n̸y̵.̸ ̶Y̷o̵u̷ ̴a̷r̶e̷ ̵s̴a̸f̶e̶ ̸n̶o̵w̵.̸ ̴W̶e̸ ̸a̵r̵e̴ ̶h̸e̶r̸e̷.̷ ̷W̶e̶ ̴w̸i̸l̷l̴ ̷p̷r̵o̶t̷e̵c̵t̶ ̶y̸o̴u̸.̷ ̴R̵e̸s̵t̴.̶" Paladin didn’t protest to the impromptu cuddle session, pushing deeper into the vex shadows for comfort as their gauntlets finally floated down to rest on the shelves.

And the room was silent, each vex pair piecing together their respective broken knight.

#shadow people au #wels #paladin #cub #scar #avarice #keloid #this was originally longer and worse #but I decided they need a break #the vexdows appear!#look out for the next parts I need to get them out before I go overseas #my writing #trigger warning time #blood #panic attacks #insensitivity #enjoy the fluff #no one knows how long it will last #FIXED CONTINUITY ERROR I SAW EARLIER TOO

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