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morallyinept · 2 months

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Adrift With You - A Frankie Morales Series - Chapter 8

Summary: Heading away on a work re-location, Frankie embarks on a flight, but unbeknownst to him, his life is about to change forever. For starters, he will need to fight for it; harder than he's ever fought for anything else before.

Marooned on an isolated island in the middle of the ocean, still recovering from an addiction, his chances of survival are bleak; but he’s not alone on the island, and soon he’s running towards a different kind of life - a life with fellow survivor, Jude, fighting right beside him every step of the way.

And if they can both survive the island together, they can survive anything, right?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OFC Jude

Chapter word count: 7.2k

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

☝🏻See Series Masterlist for full smut warnings & triggers in this story. Chapters that contain smut or triggers will be highlighted in the chapter notes below. 👇🏻

Chapter notes: Time passes on the island. Frankie and Jude try to stay busy whilst they face uncertainty. Descriptions of drug use.

Enjoy! 🖤

Chapter 7

Three years before the island…

“She brayed like a fucken’ goat all night, man.” Benny cajoles.

“Goats don't bray.” Frankie says stoically, fingers pressed cool against the glass in his hand.

“What?”

“Yeah. Horses bray. Donkeys bray, not goats.” Will adds.

“Goats bleat. Like sheep.” Frankie informs.

“Yeah. So, did she sound like a goat or a donkey?” Will asks.

“The fuck do I know? It was a weird fucken’ sound like buraaaahhh, and I just shot my load and left, man.” Benny chuckles.

“Cue illegitimate child in nine months' time.” Will remarks to Frankie with a side eye roll.

“Nah, I got the snip.” Benny retorts with scissor fingers.

“Wise man,” Frankie nods, looking about the bar furtively. His grip around the glass intensifies as he can feel the heavy buzz in them twitch.

Around the table, mismatched chairs huddle in, their well-worn upholstery offering a comfortable respite from the hustle and bustle of the crowded bar. The chatter of patrons fill the air with a growing hum, mingling with the crackling strains of music drifting from a nearby speaker. The American flag is draped everywhere.

"You ever notice how they just go about their lives, completely clueless?" Will remarks, his voice tinged with frustration as he glances around the bar filled with naive civilians laughing and drinking merrily.

A loud clap on his back from Benny pulls him out of the cloud threatening to pour over his head.

On Veterans Day, Frankie and the Miller brothers find themselves gathered around the little table in the corner of the bar they often frequent, nursing their drinks in sombre reflection.

The atmosphere is tinged with a hint of bitterness, a toast to the fallen in remembrance of Tom, and Santi’s obvious absence from their lives for the past eight months.

A pretty woman walks by the table, her eyes flickering over the group of grizzled vets with a hint of curiosity. Benny catches her gaze and flashes her a charming smile.

"Hey there, sweetheart," he calls out, his voice tinged with flirtation. "Care to let a hero buy you a drink?"

She smiles. “Sure.”

Benny turns to the two of them and smirks. “Don’t wait up boys,” as he stands and escorts the woman to the bar.

"Did you see that?" Will exclaims, his voice tinged with incredulity. “Slick asshole.”

Frankie can all but chuckle as he shakes his head. “You want another?”

“Fuck yes.” Will mutters.

Frankie heads off to the bar, making a detour to the bathroom.

Closing himself in one of the stalls, he breathes out deep and long, fumbles with trembling hands to produce a small packet from the depths of his jacket pocket. With a shaky exhale, he tears it open, revealing the white powder nestled within.

Without hesitation, he bends over the makeshift altar, the cold porcelain of the toilet seat pressing into his skin as he carefully prepares the lines. With each snort, etching its presence into every crevice of his mouth, leaving behind a metallic tang, he feels the familiar rush of euphoria coursing through his veins, washing away the pain that plagues him like a relentless tide.

An intense rush surges through Frankie's veins, flooding his senses with a fleeting sense of invincibility. A wave of warmth and energy washes through, momentarily erasing the weight of his troubles and the burden of his thoughts. His heart races in his chest, the steady rhythm of its beat echoing in his ears like a primal drum.

Colours seem to intensify, vibrant and alive, as if the world around him has been turned up a notch in hues of heightened perception. He closes his fist in and out noting the shakes dying away, his hand feeling steady again. No longer seeing the gun inside his grip, the blood that stains his fingers.

But beneath the surface of reprieve lurks a darker truth - a gnawing emptiness that lingers just beyond the edges of his consciousness. A hollow sensation, a stark reminder of the void that threatens to consume him from within, even as the drugs whisper promises of escape.

For a fleeting moment, he allows himself to forget - to forget the demons that haunt him, the sounds of gunfire and shells, the screams. Tom’s dead eyes; the memories that torment him, and the emptiness that bites at the edges of his tattered soul.

In that moment, there’s only the numbing embrace of oblivion on his knees in a feculent bathroom stall.

As Frankie returns to the table, his movements heavy and sluggish with the weight of his clandestine deception, he can't shake the feeling that he’s teetering on the edge of a precipice - a single mis-step away from plunging into the darkness that threatens to consume him whole, jaws open.

Will can't help but notice the subtle change in his buddy's demeanour. There’s a distant look in Frankie’s glassy eyes, a shadow of unease that flickers across his usually stoic features.

“You alright?” Will asks, as Frankie puts down the foamy glasses.

Frankie looks back at him and his breath catches in his dry throat, his mind scrambling for a plausible excuse. But as he meets Will's gaze, something shifts within him - a familiar instinct kicking in, urging him to deflect and deceive.

It’s surprisingly easy to lie, to mask the turmoil churning within him with a façade of false reassurance.

The words slip and uncoil from his pale tongue with practised ease, each syllable carefully crafted to deflect suspicion and conceal the dark truth.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Frankie replies, his voice steady despite the turmoil raging within. "Tired, y'know?"

He watches as Will's expression softens, the furrow in his brow smoothing out as he accepts Frankie's reassurances with a nod.

A weight lifts from Frankie's shoulders, even if it is a pyrrhic victory.

Benny returns to the table with the woman, and now her friend in tow, as they nestle in around them.

“This is Carla,” Benny introduces to Frankie, who nods at her with a small blooming smile.

“Encantado de conocerte, Francisco.” (Nice to meet you.)

“¿De dónde eres?” (Where are you from?) He asks with raised eyebrows.

“Pensacola, you?” Carla smiles with a nonchalant shrug, as Frankie leans in closer to converse with the pretty Latina with gorgeous brown eyes smiling back at him.

“El Paso then. Pensacola now. Y'know, around.” He smirks.

"You get around a lot?" She asks.

He shakes his head looking at her dewy lips. "Not anymore."

Day 16 on the island…

Frankie and Jude continued to fish in the bay daily and rationed what they could; eating the fish and occasionally snacking on some of the remaining treats from the trolley as they dwindled slowly, but their stomachs rumbled regardless.

They used some of the shampoo and soaps to try and clean some of their clothes, but that salty, ocean smell still lingered over them making them stink like a packet of salty chips constantly. But it was a small sacrifice in the grand scheme of things.

Frankie tried the iPhone several times more, until the battery finally gave out and died. Switching it on and off and trying to obtain some signal up on the ridge desperately, but ultimately to no avail.

Between the two of them, they started work on re-building the shack in the tree line to keep busy. Frankie collected some soil and mud from the woods and mixed it with sea water in one of the rusted over tins to make a sludgy cement to insulate the shack.

Although the heat was currently unbearable, they couldn’t be confident that it wouldn’t get colder as the seasons changed on the island, so it was best to be prepared.

Jude collected large, waxy leaves and rolled them up tightly to create layers of insulation for the roof, tying them together with vines. Using the lifejackets, they created a watertight under layer for the rooftop.

It took several days to build fully and whilst Jude was rolling up leaves on the beach, she’d look over and catch Frankie, shirtless in grubby shorts using the switchblade to sharpen and cut branches.

He’d crack them over his knee to break them and each time he did it, she noticed the tightening of his stomach and became mesmerised by it until he’d glance over and smile at her, and she’d have to look away quickly, feeling hot.

Jude noticed a scar tucked into the side of his hip when his shorts would hang low; a silvery line flashing at her against the tan skin dipped under his subtle paunch on the right side. The line of blue faded numbers that ink around his wrist, hidden under his watch strap. The way he walks towards her sometimes with a subtle limp.

“You hurt yourself? You're limping.” She questioned.

“It happens sometimes. I'll be fine in a minute.” He shrugged off with a tight smile, and she didn’t question it further, despite her mind ticking about the origin of all these things that make Frankie up into the mysterious clay of who he is.

She wondered if perhaps he’d noticed little nuances about her too, then realised she’d been staring too long when he looked back at her quizzically from under the shadow of his cap.

She showed Frankie how to braid vines so they would be more robust and not snap as easily when he used them to tie the planks of wood together.

“I've no idea what I’m doing; kinda free styling it right now.” He chuckled, and then she laughed harder at his messy attempt of braiding them.

“It’s like this, under, over, under, over...” He watched as Jude’s fingers weaved the vines and he followed along with his, seemingly with ease like watching a live YouTube tutorial.

“Like this?” Frankie asked, holding up a long braided vine when he was done.

“Perfect!” She praised taking it from him and securing the end.

They soon had a stack of them and she would hold the planks in place whilst he reached up and tied them together.

Their relentless teamwork enabled the shack to be fully completed after six days.

Whilst she was down at the shore washing their clothes and cleaning herself up in the water, Frankie put the finishing touches to the shack.

He arranged the seat cushions they ripped out of the fuselage; tying them together with the straps he cut from some of the life jackets. He was down to the last two and decided not to cut anything off them, instead placing them on the suitcase he had turned on its side and used as a makeshift bedside table.

He considered in his gut that it might be wise to have two working life jackets; even though that thought made his scalp prickle with a cold shiver.

He made a hanging mobile of colourful beach shells he’d been collecting randomly from the bay each time he went down there to fish; reaching into the water and looking at their pearly undersides and putting them in his pocket that rattled as they walked back.

He tied it above the beds, using shoe laces from his boots and Jude’s Converse that were pretty much ruined now. He just either walked around barefoot or in a pair of flip flops that were a little small for his feet that he’d found in a case.

Frankie folded the clean clothes Jude had washed and that were dry into another case he kept open, he tied together a cluster of branches to make a broom to sweep leaves away that would blow in on the breeze. He used two large branches that he wedged into the sand and made a clothes line with vines, so their clothes could dry in the sun, rather than spread out on the rocks and blow into the sea when the wind whipped up.

Life became somewhat domesticated.

Now, as Jude makes her way up the beach, he’s coming back through the tree line with some plants and leaves inside one of the rusted over tins and stops to greet her.

“Hola,” (Hello,) he calls and waves with a large open palm before she heads into the cave to return the toiletries.

She smiles and waves back.

They’d mutually decided to use the cave mouth as their storage pantry for the food, fish and toiletries. The fire still burned and Frankie would check on it regularly. He’d dug a deep trench around it which was ashy and had scorched the sand black, but when it would get a little breezy in the evenings, it meant the fire wouldn’t blow out fully whilst they slept.

Frankie places the makeshift vase of plants down on the bedside case and steps back to marvel at their creation.

Jude pokes her head through the door, lifting the plastic sheeting he’s cut to make a doorway that creaks softly in the breeze.

“It’s finished?” She asks, stepping inside and looking about in wonder.

“Yeah, what do you think?” Frankie asks her; his hands on his hips and face shining with sweat.

“It’s really great. You did an amazing job.”

“We did an amazing job.” He corrects holding out his giant palm, and she high fives him.

She glances over his shoulder at the bed and spies the cushions pushed together. He’s rolled up some of the clothes that were too big for them and stuffed them inside some of the vile patterned shirts to use as pillows.

“Urm-”

“I can separate them, it’s just to conserve space.” Frankie begins, rubbing at the back of his head. “It’s, uh, a little tight in here.”

“Uh-huh.” She smiles at him and notices the blush creeping into his ears as he stuffs his hands into his shorts pockets.

She simply saunters past and lays down on the bed looking up at him. She pats the empty space beside her and he lays back on it with her; them both looking up at the shell mobile twirling silently above their heads.

“That’s really pretty.” Jude comments nodding up at the shimmery rainbows inside the hollows of the chalky shells hanging in different lengths.

“It’s the little things that make a house a home.” Frankie muses.

In that moment, memories flood his cerebral cortex: the familiar streets of Pensacola lined with palm trees, the scent of salt in the air, the warmth of the Florida sun on his skin. He can almost hear the sound of seagulls crying in the distance, the gentle lapping of waves against the shore.

But as quickly as it had come, the moment passes, leaving Frankie with a bittersweet longing for the place he once called home, even if he put all of his effort into destroying it.

“You’re very good with your hands. Perhaps you missed your vocation as a carpenter or something.” Jude says.

“Maybe,” he crosses one of his long legs over the other at the ankle and rests his arms behind his head. "I like to fix things, make things, I guess."

“It’s much cooler in here already,” she surmises with a smile of relief and closing her eyes.

She feels Frankie shuffle beside her and opens her eyes, turning her head to see him reach for the notebook. He scribbles something in there and then puts it back.

“How many days?” She enquires.

“Twenty-two.” He says with a flat tone.

He hears her take in a deep breath and release it out again in a heavy sigh.

“You know, when you’ve been missing for more than forty-eight hours, people tend to stop looking for you.” She says bluntly.

“Don’t.” He says softly.

“Do you really believe that we’re gonna be rescued?”

He pauses before answering. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because if I don’t I’ll lose my fuckin’ mind.” Frankie mutters.

He reaches up with a long arm and taps one of the shells and the whole mobile wobbles about above their heads.

Her gaze fixes on the spinning seashells with a faraway look in her eyes.

Jude sits upright on the bed after a few moments, and then stands. She looks down at him over her shoulder.

“You’d better not snore, mister.”

Frankie grins back at her and watches as she leaves the shack.

The first night in the shack lying so close together, is weird to say the least.

She’s only known this guy for just over three weeks or so and Jude can feel the subtle warm whooshes of his breath on the back of her shoulder as he snoozes contentedly beside her.

She woke through the night, and was startled to have him so close to her, momentarily forgetting everything in that oneiric haze rousing her from unconscious slumber. His right hand thrown up hid most of his face as it casually lays there, blocking half of him from her view.

But she can see his right eye, the light from the fire outside casting dancing shadows on his face, and it’s closed; fanned eyelashes twitching gently as he dreams.

His body is slain clumsily on top of the cushions, and she can see he’s still wearing one of his flip flops, although just barely as it clings to life desperately on his big toe. Her eyes trail the length of his long legs, smattered with dark hairs and the occasional graze or bruise.

She wanders back up the length of him, taking in the golden colour of his contoured arms and broad shoulders, the odd freckle constellation en route to the back of his left hand with thick ropey veins and long fingers. His hands are huge; the surface area of them spectacularly ginormous.

A wayward thought creeps into her frontal lobe; thinking about him getting to know her body with those big hands...

His eye is now looking at her, studying her as she meets it with her own curious trailing up to his face, and she struggles to find words to greet him when he’s intrusively near like this.

But he never touches her, despite their proximity; a subtle, permanent gap where neither of them venture into, even when asleep.

Instead she doesn’t move, just lays there taking him in and fixating on all the details of him, much like he is with her. It’s a weird feeling; a contented bloom that settles her, yet an undeniable pull that she can’t resist against as they both take in one another through their sleep laden, yet curious gazes.

She smiles first and he moves his hand to reveal his full face to her; a face full of boyish good looks and sharp angles, trying to cling onto youth underneath crinkled, golden skin and fuzzed facial hair peppered with grey on the sides of his jaw.

Frankie tosses a crooked smile back at her through those meaty pink lips before she closes her eyes again and tries not to think about how hot she suddenly feels.

Jude isn’t able to sleep much as the night proceeds; rolling over and then realising she’s too close to him and then backing away again. Paranoid she’ll break wind or snore or dribble in her sleep and he’d hear it.

After much tumultuous tossing and turning, she gets up quietly and exits the shack onto the beach.

The fire is still burning, although the flames are low inside the pit, and she chucks on a few branches, wrapping the shirt she’s wearing around her for warmth. The breeze picks up at night, but the warmth in the air still lingers and suffocates above it.

She sits down by the rocks on the shoreline and looks out into the bleak, enveloping darkness, hearing the waves crash and roll in.

She scans the horizon as best as she can through the dark, but there’s nothing there, as usual. There’s never anything on the horizon, and after twenty-three days it’s getting harder to fathom that someone could be looking for them.

There has to be some sort of panic and worry back home. Her mother would be having a fit and her father going absolutely crazy and calling the embassy and Amnesty, or any other official body he could think of, demanding that his daughter be found and brought home.

She imagines that Frankie will definitely be missed back home; he seems the type to have hundreds of people surround him, a social butterfly.

So why is no-one coming out here to them? Why haven’t they seen a boat or heard a plane or helicopter flying overhead at least? Someone has to be looking for the missing flight - it just doesn’t make any sense at all.

She thinks of her room back at her parent’s house from when she’d moved back in after splitting from Nate, with all of her essential stuff crammed boxes, and wonders who will take what from it all when they eventually accept the fact she’s dead and not coming back ever again.

What will happen to her credit card debt? Does that just disappear and get written off?

She scoffs to herself when she realises she won’t miss that at least.

Her thoughts drift to Nate. Is he missing her, is he concerned for her welfare? Will the thought of never seeing her again be the crux of him realising what an utter idiot he’s been to ever let her slip through his clumsy, cheating fingers?

Her eyes well up and she absentmindedly wipes them with the sleeve of the shirt and sniffs as the breeze ripples through her hair.

Why couldn’t he love me? What’s wrong with me?

She cries into her knees, feeling foolish and bereft, and more than anything, utterly lost.

Frankie rolls over in the morning to be met with an empty space where he expects Jude to be laying asleep next to him. He sits upright and rubs his eyes before traipsing out the shack to find her.

He discovers her curled up on the rock asleep in a huddled ball and nudges her awake gently.

“Did you sleep out here all night?” He asks her with an unreadable expression.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“If it’s too weird I can separate the cushions. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me.” He explains with a frown as she sits up rubbing at the crick in her neck. His face looks a little disappointed as he speaks, she notes.

“No it’s not that. I just...” She searches for the words. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

“You wanna talk about it?” He probes gently.

“And say what exactly? That I’m terrified that no-one’s coming for us? That the reality is looking more and more bleak that we’re going to be rescued any time soon? I think we may be here for the long haul.” She huffs.

Frankie bites down on his lip.

“If you wanna live in denial that’s fine, Frankie, but I can’t pretend that everything is okay when it’s not.” She snaps a little too harshly at him.

“I’m not in denial.” He corrects. “I-I have hope; there’s a difference.”

“Hope? I’m struggling to understand what that word even means right now.” Jude snorts.

Squaring his shoulders, Frankie looks out at the ocean marred by the dull sky hovering above it and feels that heavy pull in his gut. Jude’s despair is slowly matching the growth of his own; a silent spectre that haunts his every thought and action.

Despite his best efforts to remain optimistic, to cling to the belief that help will come, Frankie can't shake the feeling of impending doom that hangs over them like a dark cloud. It’s a relentless onslaught - a constant barrage of doubt and fear that threatens to consume.

He’s reminded of a time when he could drown out these muddled feelings with a quick fix - a line of cocaine to numb the pain and silence the voices of doubt echoing in the depths of his mind.

But on the island, he’s forced to confront those fears head on as he glances down at the incessant aching tremble in his fingers, reminding him of this new, terrifying reality he's wading in, as he balls his hand into a fist.

“We’ll get through this, look at what we’ve done,” his arm points out to the shack. “We can survive because we can support each other, okay? You lean on me, and I’ll lean on you. Deal?”

Jude looks out to the sea and the sky seems gnarly. “You hardly know anything about me, Frankie.” She says, bitterly.

He sits beside her on the rock. “And you don’t really know that much about me, either. But I know that you’re a survivor. If you weren’t, you’d be at the bottom of the ocean right now.” Frankie reminds her.

She looks at him, soft brown eyes burrowing their way in, and offers him a small glimmer of a weak smile.

“We can get to know each other better, right? It’s not like we’re going anywhere...” He trails off.

“Way to stay hopeful there, Fish.” Jude remarks with a pout.

He smiles at her use of his code name. “You know what I mean. Right now we’re here. Let’s make the most of it; keep busy. We can fish, cook and talk. Whatever you want, okay? If you need space, I can sleep in the cave.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t be silly.” She tucks her hair behind her ears. “Thank you,” she says to him. “I think if I was alone, I probably would’ve died by now.”

Frankie confirms. “No. You’re stronger than you think, hermosa.”

She smiles up at him. “What does that mean?”

He hesitates for a second. “It uh, it means… beautiful.”

She blinks in surprise, as she turns to meet his gaze. It’s a simple compliment, casually spoken, yet it carries a weight and significance that catches her off guard.

Jude’s face softens as she looks at him, a small tinge of pink blooming in his tanned cheeks under the wiry hairs on his face.

“Gracias,” (thank you) she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes shining at him with a mixture of surprise and delight.

The sky breaks later in the afternoon; those gray clouds rolling in from the sea bringing with them torrential rain.

The fire is extinguished; steam wafts from it in a small curl and the bottles they’d planted into the ground are filling with water and overspilling into the sand.

Jude twists the caps onto them and stacks the bottles inside the shack whilst Frankie’s outside checking the waterproofing on the shack’s outer walls.

“It’s holding together,” he says, with an accomplished smile as he steps back inside; his clothes utterly drenched and water from his cap dripping crystal lengths down his cheeks.

He reaches for the Finding Nemo towel and dries his face. “At least we have plenty of water again.”

Jude nods back at him with a relieved look about her.

He sniffs in and reaches for the spears. “You up for some more fishing?”

“Won’t we get wet?”

He looks at her like she’s stupid. “We’ll already be wet in the water.”

“I’m such an idiot!” She laughs and rolls her eyes.

“Well, I didn’t wanna point it out.” Frankie muses as she shoves him in the arm, following him out of the shack towards the bay.

They manage to collect some fish, but are unable to light the fire due to the rain pelting non-stop, so they don’t eat much. They share the last of the snack bag from the trolley stash sitting in the cave mouth together watching the rain, and once they’ve finished, Jude looks up at him with some concern.

“We’ll be okay with the fish.” Frankie persuades gently. “There might be some mussels or something around the rock pools. Maybe even some lobsters...” Maybe that’s wishful thinking, but the thought makes his mouth water.

“I’m going to dry off and change. Can you wait out here for a few minutes?” Jude asks him.

He nods, “of course.”

Frankie puts the fish inside the tin down by the side of the shack wall. The rain has already filled the tin and the fish are submerged in the water with their bubbly dead eyes looking up at him as they bob lifelessly around.

He looks up into the dank clouds as rainwater falls into his eyes.

He stands, affirmative and taught with his head pointing upwards into the direction of the sky itself letting the raindrops wash over his skin.

His eyes are closed and he allows himself to feel the sensations that each tantalising droplet has to offer as they beat over his face. His bare toes search their way into the damp soil and take root there, as if he’s connecting with the earth on some spiritual level unknown to anyone else.

His private sanctuary in which Frankie dwells for a stream of time that seems unrelenting and almost as if he’s at one with the elements.

Jude appears on the other side of the plastic sheet ready to tell him to come back inside and just looks at him for a few moments enjoying the rain.

It feels as though she’s invading on this private moment that seems to render her still with a quiet awe. Just watching as the rain soaks him as he leans back, face turned to the sky with a small smile blooming over his face.

It takes him a short while to come back to her level when she calls his name gently, and he opens his eyes smiling sweetly at her as if the show hasn’t occurred at all.

Once inside, she shuffles around awkwardly and says she’ll wait outside for him to change too, but then realises she’ll get wet all over again.

“It’s okay, you can stay inside.” Frankie reassures.

“I won’t look,” Jude promises and promptly turns around facing the wall.

She fingers some of the clay mud in between the planks of wood anxiously with her nail, as she hears him shuffling about behind her. She hears the buckle of his belt and imagines he’s dropped his shorts as she hears them plop onto the ground.

She shuts her eyes and tries not to think of him removing his boxers too.

Fuck.

“Okay, I’m done.” Frankie says and is pulling on a dry t-shirt as she turns around. He’s in new shorts and proceeds to ruffle the towel through his dripping curls.

“You alright?” He asks her, noting her bashful unease.

“Fine,” she replies smiling, and makes her way over to the cushion bed and sits down.

He sits beside her and reaches for a bottle of water and hands it to her.

She twists off the cap, takes a mouthful and hands it back to him. “Where are the fish?”

“I left 'em outside, figured they might start to stink in here. As soon as the rain stops, I’ll light the fire again and we can cook.”

“Sure,” she replies.

They sit together in silence and it’s all kinds of awkward the longer it lingers.

“It’s a shame we don’t have a board game or something.” Jude mutters after some time, and he smirks.

“A deck of cards. We could play poker; I’m good at poker.” Frankie replies.

“I’m not,” she laughs.

“Everyone’s good at poker, come on.”

“You’d see through my poker face immediately.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. I have one of those faces that gives the game away.” She says, feeling a little hot under the collar still.

“Really? I think you don’t give much away at all.” Frankie states.

“What do you mean?”

“I never know what you’re really thinking; you hide your emotions well.”

“Dude, I’ve cried in front of you.” She reminds him.

“Yeah, but you don’t need to cry to be emotional, right?”

She thinks about it for a minute. “What makes you cry, Frankie?”

“Being kicked in the balls,” He remarks.

She snorts as she takes a sip from the water. “Have you been kicked in the balls a lot?” Jude enquiries.

“Once or twice.” He chuckles.

“Come on, what really makes you cry?”

He shrugs with those broad shoulders of his. “I dunno. I cried when my dog died.”

“You had a dog?”

“Yeah, when I was little.”

“What was his name?”

“Luca.” Frankie answers, accentuating the pronunciation.

“I’ve always wanted a dog, but I’m away a lot so it wouldn’t be fair, I guess.”

“What would you call it if you could have one?”

“Humphrey.”

“Why Humphrey?” Frankie questions.

“After Humphrey Bogart, of course.”

“Of course. How did you get into photography?” He enquires as he relaxes back on the bed.

“I love taking pictures and then it kinda just slotted into place. I started my own travel blog originally, and I just got some freelance jobs from that. Then I spent some time with a travel website and got regular work with them.”

“I assume your fiancé didn’t like you being away a lot.” Frankie puts.

“Oh, he coped fine. In fact, I doubt he noticed I was away a lot. He was more than pre-occupied and kept busy.” She remarks sourly.

“He sounds like a dick.” Frankie surmises.

“He is a dick.” Jude laughs.

“Well, it’s his loss,” Frankie says, gently.

Two molten brown eyes catch her own, and she reminds herself to swallow the water.

“Yeap,” she says after gulping. “It’s your ex-girlfriend’s loss too by the way.”

Frankie smiles, looking down at his bare feet. “Thanks.”

Two months on the island…

Life, stranded on the island, continued with much of the same for the next two months.

Yep, you read that right; two whole months had passed by, and with no rescue attempt either.

Frankie and Jude continued to fish in the bay, collect and ration the rain water to stay hydrated as best as they could, and spent the evenings talking and eating around the fire; star gazing on those clearer nights when the universe would give them a clandestine peep up its skirt.

To try and keep the boredom at bay, Frankie created a few games for them to play.

He dug holes in the sand up the beachfront of various sizes and spaced apart, and they would toss pebbles into them, keeping a tally of the score in the sand with who got the most pebbles in the holes - beer pong, but without the beer.

Sounds simple and incredibly mundane, but it kept them preoccupied for a while. They’d play Tic-Tac-Toe in the sand with shells and stones, and Jude always beat him, much to his dismay.

“You’re cheating. There’s no other explanation.” Frankie muses, with a frown as he places his shell down confidently only for her to block him making a line with her pebbles.

“I never cheat.” Jude confirms confidently.

“You better not be; you know what happens to bad girls who cheat.” He smirks, pursing out his lips as he rakes the stick through the sand drawing out another grid nonchalantly.

She looks up at him incredulously with cheeks that feel hot and decides it’s best to change the subject.

“You urm, you know how to play chess?” She all but squeaks out.

“Sure,” he nods and they play that too, trying to remember which stone or pebble they’ve allocated for their Bishop or Rook pieces.

“You can’t make that move, that’s your Knight.” Frankie corrects her, and laughs when she gets confused.

“Whoops.” Jude raises her eyebrows innocently

“I knew you were fuckin’ cheating.” He winks at her playfully as he places his Queen shell down. “Check Mate.”

They never spoke about the number of days racking up in Frankie’s notebook.

He was regimented in his routine of opening it up in the dim morning light and writing in it. He’d often scribble away in it for a while, lost in turbulent thoughts.

Jude never asked him what it was exactly he wrote in there, and she soon stopped asking him to tell her how many days it had been when they hit the thirtieth day on the island.

Frankie, of course remained cautiously optimistic, but whenever she looked at him with a concerned face, he no longer offered his monotonous words of “they’ll be here soon” to her anymore.

She didn’t want to hear it; he could tell by the way her face sank, and he didn’t have the strength to summon the words and their pointless inflection either.

The toiletries had halved considerably, despite rationing them out as best as they could. They discussed it and decided that instead of bathing in the sea daily, they would decrease and alternate between using shampoo and soap rather than both. They would no longer use them to clean their clothes either - plain old sea water would just have to do.

They would sit in front of the fire at night and he would teach her some Spanish, marvelling at her pronunciation attempts until she could converse with him in basic sentences.

“How do you say my Spanish tutor is doing a good job?” Jude asks him with a compliment.

“Mi tutor de Español está haciendo un buen trabajo,” Frankie replies in deep, Spanish gravel around his voice with a thankful nod and smile back at her.

“How about my head hurts?”

“Me duele la cabeza y estoy cansado.”

“How do you say I have sand in my underwear?” She giggles and Frankie can't help but smile at the sound.

“Tengo arena en mis calzoncillos.” He laughs, and then mutters, adding “quizás deberías quitarte los calzoncillos…” (perhaps you should take your underwear off…)

“What does that last part mean?” Jude enquires.

Frankie shakes his head at her trying not to grin, and doesn't elaborate any further on it.

They agree to use the razor for sparse grooming only, meaning Frankie will have to let his facial hair get wispier, and Jude wears her jeans more despite the heat, covering up the hair on her legs growing, even though he says she shouldn’t have to worry.

Yep, think about it, you ain’t going to be a hairless beauty on a desert island for very long. It isn’t like in the movies. In fact, Jude braves herself to look in the cosmetic mirror in the make-up bag one day, and can see her eyebrows are growing a little wild and her bangs are getting longer. She plucks her eyebrows, neatening them up as best as she can, inwardly cringing at the state of them.

She happens to notice she’s dropped some weight too. Two months of eating nothing but white fish and drinking only water sparingly would be a Keto dieter’s dream, right? She’s in the sea and cleaning herself down one morning, and can notice the difference in her torn jeans when they feel significantly looser as she dresses.

It’s a worrying thought, but it’s soon interrupted in its blooming by frantic shouting.

She looks up to see Frankie running towards her as she scrambles to throw on her t-shirt to cover her modesty.

“What’s wrong?” She questions with wide eyes as he dashes towards her; yelling for her to come quickly and grabs her hand.

He yanks her along with such force that she almost loses her footing.

He’s speaking as they run, but it’s all incomprehensible noise as her heart thunders in her ears as he pulls her through the trees and out to the other side of the island into the bay.

He points to the horizon - there’s a boat in the far, far distance.

“Oh my God!”

Frankie starts jumping up and down, waving his hands around and yelling. She starts doing the same too; her lungs and throat burning from the strain of her screams and wails.

The boat is a tiny white dot in the distance, glimmering as the light hits against it from the sun; it’s definitely there and not a mirage.

Jude looks around and realises the fire is on the other side of the island, on the rocky beach, and the hills are covering the wispy smoke. The boat won’t see it.

“HEY! HEY!” Frankie yells like he’s possessed.

“WE’RE HERE!” Jude screams at the top of her lungs.

She sees the flash of the boat again and they both stop shouting, realising with a swamping dread that the boat is disappearing from the horizon - it’s leaving.

“No!” She gasps.

“Come on, we can swim!” Frankie runs towards the water’s edge and she watches, horrified, as he dives into the sea after running fast through the shallows.

“Frankie, stop!” She runs after him as he powers through the waves. “Frankie!” She splutters as he swims further away from her.

“We can make it!” He shouts back at her.

“It’s miles out! It’ll be long gone before we can even catch up to it!” She protests, water splashing in her ears.

He doesn’t seem to hear her as he carries on swimming, lost to all rational reason and thinking.

“Frankie! STOP!” She yells at him again.

She catches up to him and reaches for his shoulder pulling him back. He tries to shake her off, but he stops dead in the water as she reaches for him again.

“Frankie, please! It’s gone!”

He looks back at her after being still; eerily unmoved and silent on the water’s surface for a few moments. The look on his face is worryingly blank and chills her to the bone immensely.

Frankie simply swims back past her, defeated and towards the shore; she follows with a racing heart.

When he reaches the shoreline he stomps up it, dripping wet and stops in his tracks, his hands balled into fists.

Several looks sweep across his face, similar in how a chameleon adapts to his surroundings; fear, frustration and then abject fury.

He stands before Jude, drenched and barefooted as she is, with a look of utter distaste continually changing and morphing on his face, shaking his head vehemently with flaring nostrils.

“Frankie.” She reaches out to touch him, but flinches away as he absolutely loses his shit.

He picks up rocks and hurls them into the sea with all of his might. Cursing and yelling out in Spanish profanities.

"¡Sácame de esta maldita isla! ¡Dios, ayúdame! ¡Infierno! Maldito hijo de puta! FUCK! FUCK!” (Get me off this damn island! God, help me! Hell! You fucking bastard!)

Frankie bellows and heaves, and eventually falls upon his knees in the sand, worn out; his fists squeezing and shaking in anger.

Jude becomes numb; frozen in her stance with eyes open wide, mouth opening wider. Unwilling and unable to move, for at that moment he controls everything on that beach front with his searing rage.

She can only watch horrified as his distilled and purified agony engulfs him as it rips him apart from the inside out.

She approaches him cautiously, and then clutches him in her arms and holds him tight. She hears him wheeze and gasp out through strangled, incoherent yells and groans dying in his native language as they shrink back into his hoarse throat.

He eventually breaks completely, sobbing inside her arms. His body is a rumbling earthquake as he gasps into her shoulder and chest, clutching on tightly to her.

What makes you cry, Frankie?

It’s enough to render Jude teary too, and they hold each other as she realises, aghast, that any shred of remaining hope that Frankie had been carrying all this time, had just died a horrible death in front of her.

She looks back out to the horizon in the desperate hope that the boat has re-appeared and is coming back for them.

It doesn’t. No-one comes back for them.

To be continued...

SERIES MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

Thank you for taking the time to read my story; it really means so much to me. I'd love to know your thoughts, and I'd really appreciate a re-blog so others can enjoy this story too. Thank you so much 🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: If you'd like to be added/removed, please let me know.

Tagging everyone who asked to be tagged/commented on/re-blogged my initial teaser & prologue:

@suzdin @missladym1981 @magpiepills @millennial-teenybopper @legendary-pink-dot @linzels-blog @msjarvis @tightjeansjavi @burntheedges @inept-the-magnificent @casa-boiardi @sin-djarin @rhoorl @disassociation-daydreams @quinnnfabrgay @chronically-ghosted @fuckyeahdindjarin @chiriwritesstuff @copperhalfcent @bluestar22x @5oh5 @gobaaby-blog-blog @myloveistoolittle @pastawench @maggiemayhemnj @secretelephanttattoo @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @thethirstwivesclub @seratuyo @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @toomanytookas @survivingandenduring @lizzie-cakes @sawymredfox @iloveenya @elegantduckturtle @covetyoursins @undercoverpena @connectioneverywhere @trulybetty @nerdieforpedro @thisneozonerecs @fckyeapedrothots99 @goodwithcheese @anavatazes @doughmonkey @lilmizmoz @76bookworm76

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #pedro pascal characters #frankie morales x OFC #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier fic #frankie morales angst #frankie morales smut #adrift with you series #jett's writing

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exhaslo · 3 months

Text

Corruption Ch8

(Villain!Miguel x F!Hero!Reader)

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4, Ch5, Ch6, Ch7

Warning: Minors DNI, smut, fingering, doctor play?? grinding, mentions of sex, violence, blood, murder, twisted thoughts, experimentation, language, wannabe fluff, established friendship?

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

Three months, Eight Days until D-Day

Today was finally the moment Miguel's been waiting for. The day that got you on your nerves. Today, was the day of the health examinations. To be precise, your full body examine given by none other than Miguel.

You were currently in your office, mentally preparing yourself. You could feel your nerves getting the better of you. You had been telling yourself about this for weeks now. Not even your hardest fights got you this nervous.

Recalling your last few weeks, you let out a grunt before sitting on your chair. You hate to admit it, but you took Miguel's advice. This super hero stuff was new to you and because of it, you kept getting injured.

Slowly, but surely, you were letting the Public Eye do their job and protect the people from the small issues. You just took on the villains and other high risk problems. It felt wrong, but nothing bad was happening to anyone.

"(Y/N), it's time. Please head to the twelfth floor for your examination. Miguel has a private room for the two of you." Lyla chirped as she appeared before you, "Do you still need that relaxing sedative?"

"Um, y-yea. Lyla, does...does Miguel know what he's doing."

"Yep. I made sure he studied hard for this," She teased, appearing by your door, "Let's go before you're late."

"Yes."

--------

Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose as he waited for you to arrive. Everything he needed was set up for him by the doctors he hired. You were just a few minutes from giving him everything he wanted. Miguel was going to enjoy this.

"S-Sorry I'm late, Miguel...I-I...I'm just nervous." You said, biting your lower lip as you tried to calm down. Miguel resisted a chuckle, finding you quite amusing,

"Well, relax. We're going to start with the normal stuff. Empty your pockets and step on the scale."

"Um, don't judge me...Okay?" You huffed, taking your shoes off and getting on the scale. Miguel raised a brow as typed on his tablet,

"For what? Your weight is below average. You need to eat more."

"I said no judging."

"I'm just stating facts," Miguel said.

You needed to gain more weight if you were going to produce the perfect child. If this was about you thinking that you were fat, then Miguel was going to have to convince you otherwise. Having you sit on the chair, Miguel took your blood pressure first. After that, he went to one of the main courses-your blood.

"Remember, after we take your blood, you're going to feel really dizzy from the relaxing sedative I give you. When you come to, don't push yourself." Miguel warned as he watched your blood drip into the bag.

"I know," You muttered, "Just don't bully me too much, okay?" You asked with a huff.

Miguel just smiled towards you, more focused on your blood. He was being a little greedy and taking a whole ounce from you. This was for the sake of helping you. Miguel was going to make himself into a superior being just like you.

For the sake of his experiments.

Once the blood was drawn, Miguel gave you a minute to relax. He checked your ears, eyes and mouth before giving you the drug. Once you took it, he waited a few minutes for it to kick in. Your body soon started to slump and you wavered in place.

"How's my good girl?" Miguel whispered with a hum, lifting your chin.

"Beeeetter," You slurred, smiling sheepishly.

Miguel couldn't hold back his laughter. He had you where he wanted you. The drug included a little truth serum along with a touch of the same drug that made people high. Taking your robe off, Miguel inhaled deeply at the sight of you. Your body seemed like it was glistering. Tossing the robe aside, Miguel first grabbed your arms, stroking down to your wrists.

"(Y/n), my dear (Y/n), how did you get your powers?" Miguel asked sweetly, watching you shudder,

"Mhm, I got bit....by your radioactive spider," You cooed, leaning towards him, "Mig, be careful~"

"Why?" Miguel smirked at how woozy you were.

"I can shoot webssss~" You giggled.

Miguel raised a brow in awe as he pressed against your wrist, watching the organic webbing shoot. He gasped in awe, eyes sparkling as he did it once more. This was fantastic! You were Miguel's little toy until that drug wore off.

Miguel had exactly one hour to ask you whatever he wanted. To do whatever he wanted to you. Wanting to return to your webbing later, Miguel hummed as he continued his examination. He still had to give you something professional by the end of his.

"(Y/n), why didn't you tell me about this?" He asked softly against your ear.

"I....was afraid that I'll be your next experiment." You whimpered, leaning against Miguel's chest, "I don't want to be cut up."

Miguel felt your body tremble as his hands massaged and examined your breasts for any lumps. His head was against your shoulder, just listening to your sweet, soft whines. Cut up? Oh how wrong you were. Miguel wasn't going to kill you like the others.

He had bigger plans for you.

Miguel grunted lowly as you squirmed against him. Moving away from you as he felt something stir within him, Miguel continued with the examination. He tested your reflexes while telling himself to focus on the main task.

"Did gaining these powers affect any part of your body?" Miguel asked, propping your legs up and removing your panties.

"I can shoot webs~ and stick to walls~" You cooed, giggling lowly. Miguel glanced at you,

"When was your last period?"

"Last week~"

"Still a virgin?" Miguel typed on his tablet.

"Yep. Waiting for you~ Migueeeeeel, I love youuuuu~" You cooed, holding you arms out. Miguel placed his tablet down before washing his hands, "I love you so much!"

"I know, (Y/N). I know," Miguel hummed as he put his gloves on, "I made sure you stayed single, my dear (Y/N). No one is allowed to have you now. Not when you are so, so special."

"Ah~ M-Miguel...d-don't-"

"Shh, the doctor is working," Miguel chuckled.

He wasn't exactly lying. Miguel was performing a full body examination of every part of your body. Spreading your folds, Miguel just scoffed. You were nervous about this part. Your pussy was just dripping for his attention.

It was a shame you weren't going to remember this. Sliding his finger inside your hole, Miguel inhaled to the sounds of your whines. He was just testing for any strange lumps, but this was nice. This stirred that same feeling he tried to ignore.

"Mig~" You whimpered.

Miguel wiggled his finger around, watching you squirm and whine. This was new. A different kind of experiment. Miguel wanted to see what would make you cum. He had watched you do it yourself enough times, how hard could it be?

Inserting another finger, Miguel hovered over you as you reached out for him. His attention was towards your face as you moaned against his touch. His fingers pumping deep inside of you with each thrust. Miguel felt his chest grow heavy as he felt eager for more.

"Why'd you become a hero, (Y/N)?"

"I-I wanted, ah~ t-to save you~!" You moaned. Miguel chuckled darkly as he curled his fingers,

"Save me from what? I think you're the one who needs saving."

Miguel inhaled deeply as you cam against his gloved fingers. Your breathing heavy as you calmed down from your high. Miguel removed his fingers and threw out his gloves before returning to you. Oh how delicious this was.

"Would you do anything for me? Because you love me?"

"Yes,"

"Even be my little trophy, waiting for me to come home and test your stamina?" Miguel's smile turned wicked as he hovered over you again, his pupils blown as he gave you a crazed look, "As I take over the city as the new powered individual, while you wait at home pregnant with the future of humanity?!"

"Mhm,"

Miguel grabbed your cheeks, forcing you to look into his insane looking eyes.

"Answer me, (Y/N), will you be my good girl and do whatever I say?"

"Yes."

Miguel broke into a fit of laughter as he stepped away from you. He leaned against the wall, covering his face as his laughter turned sadistic and cruel. Oh how delicious this was. How perfect you were for him.

Nueva York's precious Spider-Woman was being tainted. Miguel was going to turn you into his personal trophy. Now that he had your blood, Miguel was going to fix himself. He was going to rule over this city with you as his little obedient wife.

"Oh, (Y/N), you drive me insane." Miguel hummed, "Is it hard to keep your secret from me?"

"Yes. Sometimes it feels like you like Spider-Woman more than me,"

Miguel raised a brow as he put your panties back on. You looked like you were about to cry. Rolling his eyes, Miguel went to put your clothes back on.

"Before I knew it was you, I did find Spider-Woman more interesting; however, you were always in my line of interest," Miguel sighed, knowing damn well you weren't going to remember this, "But you were always mine."

"Miggy," You whined.

Miguel felt a shiver run down his spine as you called him that. Grunting lowly, Miguel set up his work and grabbed your wrist. He cussed lowly and had you sit on his lap, your chest against his chest so that he could work.

"Miggy~"

"Stop talking, (Y/N), I need to take notes of everything," Miguel grumbled as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

"I like this~ So warm~ I love you~"

Miguel grunted once more, finding it hard to concentrate. You were squirming against his lap, breathing softly against his ear. That eerie feeling in his chest return as he felt the urge to do something he had never thought of before.

"Miggy~"

"¡Maldita sea, no puedo follarte hasta que sea como tú! (Dammit, I can't fuck you until I become like you!)" He cussed out in Spanish, which was rare and only when he was really frustrated.

Realizing what he just admitted, Miguel cussed lowly once more. You were really testing him. Miguel had to behave. He couldn't risk his plan by giving in now. Shit, just the thought seemed so ridiculous. This was going to be Miguel's secret.

He was never going to let you know about this weakness in him. No one was going to ever know about this.

"I'm sorry, Miguel," You whispered, apologizing against his ear.

Miguel lazily glanced at you, wondering if you could ease his harden erection. It would be taking advantage of you for sure, but you would still do it. Wrapping his arms around your waist, Miguel just decided to grind his erection against your cunt.

"Miggy~"

"(Y/n), my little stress reliever," Miguel hummed as he took his dick out, rubbing it directly against your panties, "Who is your toughest villain?"

"Ah~ Uh, mhm~"

Miguel chuckled as you shook against his body, moving your hips against his. Your panties getting wetter as Miguel pressed himself against you more.

"D-Doc...O-Ock was ah~ h-hard...H-He hurt me, mhm~ r-really bad, but...you took care of me~" You moaned. Miguel grunted lowly as he felt your body shake from cumming again,

"Wrong answer," He muttered, groaning as he coated your panties white, "It's me."

Finally feeling some relief, Miguel cleaned himself up then you. He didn't want to hear any questions or concerns from you. Placing you back against his lap, Miguel continued to do his work on the computer.

--------

You whimpered lowly, feeling yourself come back to your senses. As you started to waver back into realty, you noticed that you were still in the doctor's office. Resting your head, you groaned softly as you tried to remember what happened.

Everything was a blur.

Turning your head to the side, you saw Miguel working intensely on something. His face just inches away from yours. Sinking that in, you gasped and went to jolt back, but Miguel grabbed you. He pulled you back into his lap, grunting angerily,

"Don't move. I'm focused," He spat.

"Miguel? Why am I-"

"Shh," He hissed.

You kept quiet, still feeling a bit woozy from the drug. Your body felt heavy and your vison was spinning. Relaxing against Miguel, you hummed quietly, enjoying this moment. You felt your eye lids slowly close.

"Tch, it's as if they know I'll kill him." Miguel hissed harshly. You nuzzled into him, whimpering softly,

"Hm?"

"Someone's getting comfortable. Did you forget that I'm your boss?" Miguel huffed, leaning back and glancing towards you.

"Mhm, you said....not to move," You whispered. Miguel's hand rested against your head, sending a shiver down your spine,

"Because you're reacting poorly to the drug. I didn't expect your body to be so sensitive," Miguel hummed, smirking, "But, since you were such a good girl for me, I'll treat you to dinner. We have to get your blood cells pumping."

"I'd like that,"

Your smile grew wide as you stayed in Miguel's lap for a while longer. This was nice. Maybe, just maybe, you could try and ask him out for a proper date. With how Miguel has been lately, there might be a slither of a chance he says yes.

"Oh, and (Y/N)?"

"Yes, Miguel?"

"If you call me Miggy again, I'll have to punish you." Miguel said firmly.

Your face turned bright red as you apologized and buried your face into his shoulder. You had only called him that in your wet dreams. Now you were worried about what else you said while you were drugged. Hopefully nothing more than just the little nickname you called him.

--------

Miguel kept you on his lap for another hour or so. He quite enjoyed the thought of having the city's favorite super hero on his lap. It won't be long until he joined the game and turned this city into his playground.

A villain's playground.

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Next Chapter

(Going on a short break, gotta finish Persona 3 Reload in time for Final Fantasy 7 Rebirth!)

@tojishugetiddies @miguelsfavwife @foulsharkheart @club-danger-zone @ivkygirly @jollystrawberrycycle @amber-content @weirdothatwritess @smartyren @mangoslushcrush @nyxzoldyck6 @migueloharastruelove @chaoticlovingdreamer @sukioyakio @killjoy-nightshadow @heyohalie @the-pan-liquid @bokutosprettylittlebimbo @kpopscoups17130000 @pochapo @killerwendigo @barbiecrocs @miss-galaxy-turtle @oscarissac2099 @lazy-idate @lauraolar14 @migueloharacumslut @straw-berry-ghoul @daisy-artfield @sukunash0e @undf-stuff @iamperson12280 @nightingale1011 @reader-1290 @mcmiracles @keepghostly @marlyharper

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara smut #atsv miguel #across the spiderverse #miguel x you #miguel x reader #spiderman miguel #miguel ohara #miguel x y/n

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lusinzak · 10 months

Text

Let me say this once and be done with it.

Nearly every character in Riordanvers had a tragic past and most probably has a tragic life.

BUT

Leo Valdez.

It sometimes seems that even the books forget what he went through and how unfair everyone was with him.

Starting from the beginning. He had the worst childhood of all. Let me explain.

He was the one from The Seven + Nico, who hadn't had a home since the age of eight. He was the one rejected by everyone around. It's like Percy had his mother, Annabeth had her father and later Camp Half-blood, Frank had a loving family, Piper had her father, Jason had Camp Jupiter, Nico had Bianca and also Camp Half-blood if he wanted, Hazel had a mother, but Leo was not wanted by literally anyone since age eight, lived on the streets occasionally and never showed his emotions to anyone.

But the worst part is that unlike all the others (meaning The Seven+Nico) he never got the understanding he deserved. His friends considered him to be the seventh wheel. For some, he was just an annoyance. Not even his best friends knew his secrets, and no one deemed him and his feelings important or worthy of attention. Jason and Piper loved him, still his presence was not welcome. Leo had to face threats multiple times and even all alone. Worked the hardest throughout the entire HOO, made a giant ship all by himself, flew it across the world, and didn't get a thank you. He was the real hero in Heros of Olympus. Gaea knew how important he was going to be during the world saving operation and knew she could prevent it just by killing him. Was the main hero of the prophecy. He knowingly died without being entirely sure if he could be resurrected. He literally saved the day, but all the regards went to other demigods. Nobody even tried to make sure if he died. And even after dying and coming back, some say he isn't that smart.

What I'm trying to say is that Leo Valdez is the best character in the Percy Jackson but is not considered such. He was the only one ever, like EVER to come back to Calypso, he DIED for her, and yet nothing is clear with them. He was an amazing friend, but his friends only understood how they needed him when he was thrown into the sky. He was ready to help everyone but was not able to ask for help himself. He used humor to hide all the trauma from his past instead of accusing all, yet everyone thought it was insufferable.

I just want justice for Leo The Super-sized McShizzle Valdez.

Do you agree?

#LEO is the best #He DESERVES the best #leo valdez #percy jackson #pjo #camp halfblood #hoo #toa #tsats #annabeth chase #jason grace #piper mclean #frank zhang #hazel levesque #nico di angelo

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youremy-celebrity · 1 year

Text

fbi open up // my hero academia (social media au) [completed]

amongst search histories and private youtube videos

bakugo katsuki x fem!reader

genre: university/college au, fluff, crack, angst

warnings: swearing, sexual themes, adult stuff in general, jokes about dying, bakugo, slow burn, violence

disc: all pictures i used were found on pinterest and belong to their respective artists! i’ve only watermarked edits i’ve made!

taglist closed! thank you for your interest, reblogs are appreciated! <3

part one: todoroki shoto step on me

part two: squash me with your biceps

part three: this isn't about you anymore

part four: you can't threaten me with a good time

part five: we don't ice our drinks like pussies

part six: say sike rn

part seven: they're not so nice anymore

part eight: i'll do anything for a spicy man

part nine: payback for puking on my shoes

part ten: teasing AND threatening

part eleven: i'll cut you

part twelve: how is he hotter when i'm sober

part thirteen: like some eboy

part fourteen: i don't really care if you're into turtle porn

part fifteen: "what i want shinsou hitoshi for"

part sixteen: bakugo this is not a drill

part seventeen: everybody press the red button

part eighteen: please put the baby aside

part nineteen: you're a menace to society, cupcake

part twenty: i haven't invited you yet babe

part twenty-one: oh

part twenty-two: you don't mean anything to me

part twenty-three: can't a girl crave some ramen

part twenty-four: being a bitch for bitch's sake

part twenty-five: hiding in your room like pussies

part twenty-six: what, no cupcake?

part twenty-seven: i'll break all your teeth

part twenty-eight: i’m not whipped

part twenty-nine: it’s not very baby of you

part thirty: be my girlfriend

part thirty-one: who do you want?

part thirty-two: he says he doesn’t care

part thirty-three: a knife in my bedside drawer

part thirty-four: bubbly fun wheat juice

part thirty-five: can't cut carrots for shit though

part thirty-six: i'm going on a bird hunt

part thirty-seven: get in line bakuhoe (written)

part thirty-eight: don't be the dumbass now, love

part thirty-nine: i think my boyfriend's been kidnapped

bonus part forty: love you too babe

afterword

thanks for reading!

main masterlist

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xoxoavenger · 4 months

Text

Try Me

pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

summary: Y/N has powers that can heal any illness or wound through her cooking, which comes in handy when Matt gets hurt.

word count: 2279

warnings: small mention of wounds but not graphic

12 Days of Christmas masterlist main masterlist

"Matt, oh my God." Y/N said as she walked into the office to see Matt all bruised, a cut above his eye. "What happened?" She asked, walking closer to see it closer. He looked away, but she was already sitting on his desk, moving his glasses away.

"I, uh, I fell down the stairs." He told her, but she just shook her head and clucked her tongue. She reached into her bag to grab the pastry she packed that day. She always packed one everyday just in case, but she didn't think she would have to use it this early.

"Did you eat breakfast?" She asked, trying to keep herself from running a hand through his hair. Because of course she had to fall for him, her coworker.

"No, but I-"

"Come on, Matt." She smiled as she got off the desk, pulling her skirt down. "I can practically hear your stomach growling from here." With that she walked to her own front desk, Karen's old one. Y/N had taken over the blonde's position of secretary, and she was good at it.

"Good morning you beautiful people!" Foggy practically yelled as he walked through the door. The man had way too much energy for eight thirty in the morning. "Y/N, here's your coffee." He grabbed a cup out of the cup holder and placed it on her desk before winking at her.

"And here's your breakfast." She handed him a pastry, because she always gave one to him even though she knew it wouldn't do anything.

The truth was, Y/N had a power. It wasn't one she flaunted, hell, she hardly ever used it, but she practiced it just incase. She could heal people with her food; how, she wasn't sure, and she had only found it out ten years prior, when she made food for her friend. A couple minutes later, the small cat scratch on her friend's cheek was miraculously gone. After that, she continued to test her theory until there was no doubt in her mind that she had powers.

Just like the Avengers.

But she didn't want fame. She didn't want to be in an elite team of super heroes. She wanted the life she had, working with Foggy and Matt and Karen when she was in the office. It was a fine life.

Plus, she was totally in love with Matt Murdock.

"You're telling me I'm not the only one you make breakfast for?" Matt asked, causing Y/N to smile. She looked over to see Matt eating, which made her happy. She was glad he would be healing, and her heart was hurting slightly at the fact that Matt had to live all alone. Obviously he could take care of himself, but she wanted to be able to take care of him, to heal him when he did things like fall down the stairs.

"Fine, from now on, I'll make breakfast for both of you." She smiled as she looked between the two boys.

"That isn't fair! I bring you coffee, which means Matt has to bring you something too. You cannot just give your baking talents out like that!" Foggy complained, making Y/N roll her eyes.

"I'm sure I'll think of something. Until I do, just keep track." Matt smiled at her before going to his work, grabbing his glasses and putting them back on. Y/N stared for a few seconds before going to work filing and sorting.

"Matt," Y/N said in surprise when she walked in the next day. It wasn't surprise of his presence, he had often been in the office first now. Foggy told Y/N that he used to never come in, that Nelson and Murdock had once been done for because Matt never showed up, but he was obviously over it now. No, she was gasping because she was so in shock at his state. He didn't look any better from her pastry - in fact, he almost looked like he'd fallen again.

"Y/N," Matt smiled, but she could tell it was strained.

"Matthew, what did you do this time?" She sat on his desk once more, giving him the pastry. She took his glasses off before he could protest, and looked at his wounds.

"What do you mean?" He chuckled, shying slightly away from her. "I fell down the stairs."

"Twice?" She wiped her finger over some of the dried blood off his face.

"No, I fell the night before yesterday." He told her, wincing as she touched a fresh cut.

"No," She fought back, frowning. "That's fresh blood." She wanted to say that she knew it was new because the pastry should have accelerated his healing enough that he shouldn't be bruising this bad.

"Must've reopened a cut." Matt shrugged, but he made no move to move her hand. She rubbed her fingers over his bruises, hoping the pastry she brought today was enough to help him.

"I'm fine, Y/N. Don't worry about me." He waved her off and she stood, not wanting to annoy him.

"Have you figured out a way to repay me for the pastries every morning?" She asked, trying to find a topic he'd be comfortable talking about.

"Not yet. But, I promise I will." He looked in her general direction, eyes unfocused. She stared, not out of confusion or disgust, but out of wonder. Why would he hide his eyes? They expressed so much emotion, and they were beautiful. He must have sensed her staring, because he quickly felt around for glasses before putting them back on.

"Well, keep me updated." She said as she went to her desk.

"Morning!" Foggy was opening the door a couple seconds later, which put Y/N back in a good mood.

"Good morning, you beautiful person!" She said, referring to his greeting the day before.

"The usual, my fair lady." He said in a strange accent, and she tipped her imaginary hat to him.

"Thank you, kind sir. Whatever would I do without you?" She smiled as he went to his own desk.

"So, Matt figure out what to pay you with?" Foggy asked, bringing out his computer out of his bag.

"Not yet." Y/N shook her head, looking through the company emails.

"I know what he could pay you with." Foggy looked up and smirked at Matt, who began to talk at the same time of Y/N.

"What?"

"Shut it, Fog." Matt had temporarily paused his work, but he got back to it when the conversation dropped. Y/N looked between the two, but Foggy only smirked at her before going to do his own thing.

"Did you forget my pastry?" He asked, making her eyes widen. She had forgotten, and she felt slightly guilty. She reached into her bag to get Foggy's pastry, standing and bringing it to his desk.

"So sorry, sir." She joked, bowing and going back to her work. She couldn't help but sneak glances at Matt all day however, watching his bruise start to fade.

She smiled to herself when she left and his cut was almost fully healed.

She still made Matt pastries every morning, however he hadn't come in with any injuries that she could see.

Until he didn't come in a week later.

The door wasn't open, and even after she tried knocking she didn't hear any movement. So she tried calling him.

No answer.

"Hey Matt, I'm at the office and apparently you're not here, because you didn't answer the door, so if you could just let me know if this is a holiday or something?" She chuckled at the end, but her heart was beginning to pound. She called Foggy next.

"The time hasn't magically warped forward, has it?" He joked as he answered the phone.

"Where's Matt?" She felt bad but she needed to get down to business.

"He's not there?" Foggy began to get worried now as well.

"No, and he's not answering his phone." She told Foggy quickly. "Ya know what, I'm just going to check on him." She said, walking back out of the hallway and going down the stairs.

"Don't worry about it! I'm almost there anyway." He rushed out, but Y/N shook her head.

"I'm coming too." She wanted to help if she could, wanted to be there incase he happened to be injured. Foggy was quiet for a moment.

"Fine. I'll meet you there. He may be sick."

"He's not sick." She said. He had been eating her pastries every day, and she knew that was all someone needed of her cooking and baking to keep away from the common cold or viruses.

"He could be." Foggy pointed out, but Y/N shook her head as she walked down the street. Matt didn't live super far away, so it didn't take long for her to make it. Luckily, Foggy was also pretty close.

"I'll be there soon. Wait outside - the doorman is a stickler. He won't let you in alone." He told her, so Y/N confirmed and hung up. Foggy was there a minute later, and the two walked into the building together, hearts racing.

"He does this all the time." Foggy assured her, but she could tell he was freaking out, even if it was slightly less than her. "He probably just overslept." His voice seemed to give away more than his actual words.

"Right." She nodded as they began to climb the stairs. They got to Matt's floor and walked quickly to his apartment, Y/N banging on the door as soon as she could.

"Matt?" Foggy called out from her side, both of them going quiet to try and listen to what was going on.

"Matt, are you okay?" Y/N yelled, heart getting lodged in her throat as she couldn't hear anything.

"That's it," Foggy reached into his pocket to grab his keys, picking through them to find a key that Y/N assumed was Matt's. She stood back to let him open the door, and the two walked in, their worries for their friend outweighing the fact that they had just actually broken into Matt's apartment.

"Matt? Matt are you alright?" Y/N yelled, following Foggy in. She heard a groan from the living room and rushed with Foggy through the small hallway to see Matt on the couch, only in his underwear. She was about to look away when she noticed that he was covered in cuts and bruises, the blood wet around the cuts but drying down his body. There were at least four thick, deep cuts and dark, almost black bruises.

"Shit," Foggy muttered. He thought that Matt would be bruised from his after work activities, but he was hoping it wasn't this bad. He didn't want Y/N to come with him, but he couldn't exactly tell her no.

"Oh my God," Y/N made her way to his side, assessing the damage.

"I was hoping you'd find me." He muttered as he opened his eyes slightly. "I need your help." He grabbed her hand, shifting with a groan.

"With what? I can't stitch you up! I don't know the first thing about medical aid." She muttered, instinctively reaching up to push his hair out of his face.

"Maybe not," Matt chuckled but then ended up coughing, causing Y/N and Foggy to wince. "But you do know a thing or two about healing." Y/N froze, her heart stuttering. How did he know?

"What?" She whispered, but Matt squeezed her hand. "How did this happen? This is worse than falling down the stairs." She tried to change the subject, but Matt moved in pain again.

"I notice things." He said, as if that would explain everything. Before Y/N could answer, he was speaking again. "Could you make something while Foggy helps me clean up?" All she could do was nod and look in her bag, taking the two pastries she always brought for the boys out.

"If you can get these down, it'll help, but I'll make some soup." She smiled at him and got up, squeezing his hand before letting it go.

"What is going on?" Foggy whispered to Matt, making him chuckle slightly.

"Let's just say Y/N's soup is special." Matt closes his eyes and tries to ignore the pain while Y/N works. Foggy looks between them quickly.

"What the fuck does that mean?" He cries, making Y/N chuckle.

"It's alright, Foggy." Matt has a tired smile, one that worries his friend.

"You need medical attention." Foggy tries to convince Matt, who just shakes his head.

"Try to eat the pastries!" Y/N calls from the kitchen.

"What the fuck are pastries gonna do?" Foggy screams, wanting to rip out his own hair.

"Foggy, how many times have you gotten sick in the past six months?" Matt asks softly.

"That has absolutely nothing to do with you dying on the couch." Foggy gets up to grab a cloth to wipe at the blood on his face.

"I am not dying." Matt mutters with the roll of his eyes. Foggy returns and gets him to shut up by wiping at his mouth.

"The soup just has to heat up." Y/N comes out of the kitchen and kneels next to Matt. "Foggy, can you run to the store to grab some bandages?" She asks, taking the cloth.

"When I get back, you guys are telling me what I'm missing." He says very seriously before he walks out the door.

"How did you figure it out?" Y/N whispers, wiping his blood away with one hand and his hair out of his face with the other. "How did this happen?" She changes her question while shaking her head.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." He muttered, causing Y/N to scoff.

"The food I make can heal people. Try me." She smiles.

"Well, you know Daredevil?"

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @one-sweet-gubler @thefandomplace @punzoquack @mcueveryday @icequeen1371

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock imagine #daredevil x reader #daredevil imagine

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magicshopaholic · 1 month

Text

Another World

Summary: Jungkook finds himself going down a path he never intended - and his best friend might just be collateral damage.

Pairing: Jungkook x OC, Taehyung x OC

Genre: Angst

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 7.7 K

Warnings: none

A/N: Whew. This required some research. A disclaimer for any gaming fans out there: the kind of liberties I have taken with the video games described in this fic cannot be overstated. Think Troy butchering The Illiad source material (but with good plot anyway). Set over a period of a couple of months, starting a month after Los Angeles pt. 2)

Tagging: @bbl32 @ggukkieland @bangtannoonalvg @pb-n-juju @juciu @jeoncookie-bts @quarter-life-crisis2 @dreaming-with-happiness @meirkive @faearchives @margopinkerton @sumzysworld @purpleseoul7 @kflixnet (italics cannot be tagged. If you want to be added to the taglist, drop a comment or ask)

Listen to: "layla" by eric clapton

taehyung masterlist | jungkook masterlist | main masterlist

Jungkook liked gaming. He liked how immersive it was, how fast it was, how much it required him to get into character and beat the bad guys. Most of all, Jungkook liked to win. Video games were winnable, for the most part. Whether it was rules, strategy or just plain speed, gaming was about beating the bad guys and winning the game.

It may have been due to this reason that all the games he owned and played broadly followed this narrative: hero, quests, bad guys, save the world, win. When he and Dilara moved away from FIFA and Real Racing (both extremely winnable games), this was how Jungkook had introduced her to his collection and invited her to play Mortal Kombat.

Dilara hadn’t been super impressed, although she’d played without fuss. She was in London and he was in Seoul, the night beginning for her and for him, the dawn nearing. They played together, shooting, jumping, killing, running. Winning. She’d played with supreme focus (he could see her on the video at the bottom of the screen). Her eyes were trained on the screen, slight frown on her forehead that remind him ostensibly of Taehyung, her fingers moving rapidly on the console, not uttering a single word except at the beginning of the game: save the cheerleader, save the world.

Jungkook hadn’t got the reference, but she’d said it wryly, as though it was a joke only some people were meant to get. Still, she played with him and four hours later, when they were less than halfway done, she’d sat back in her chair and raised her arms over her head, stretching.

“Don’t get lazy,” he’d commanded, still in the zone. He’d tapped his headset. “We still have so many levels to complete.”

“JK,” she’d sighed. It must have been hot in London; her neck and chest were shining in the fluorescent light from the screen. She swept her long hair up into a bun and her tank top rode up slightly, suddenly revealing how tight it was.

Jungkook had looked away out of habit. It never did well to check out your friends’ girlfriends.

“Don’t you need to sleep? Isn’t it morning for you?”

It was - but Jungkook had the day off. He told her as much but she told him she had to sleep.

“In the middle of the game?” He was aghast. “How can you do that?”

She’d wrinkled her nose. “It’s not a cliffhanger. We can just pick it back up tomorrow. The next levels will be the same. Just shoot ‘em all.” She made a finger gun and pointed it at him before dropping her hand. “There’s no story. All the characters are just… graphic. There’s no emotion, no empathy, no… passion to save the world.”

He’d stared. “It’s saving the world. You need passion to do that?”

Dilara had chuckled tiredly. “Even guns and explosions can have a compelling story. Have you ever played Yakuza?”

Of course Jungkook had played Yakuza. It wasn’t bad, but it had been a lot of information to keep track of. Too many characters, too many plots. He’d played until he’d won, but only because it would’ve killed him not to.

“I have to be at the factory at eight am. I’m going to bed.” She’d pushed back her chair and stood up, and the screen filled for a moment with her chiselled torso, hips, and tan thighs from under her shorts. This time, it took Jungkook a moment longer to look away.

He’d bid her goodnight with a bit of half-hearted whining until she promised to resume play the next day. Once she’d logged off, Jungkook switched back to his screen and took a sip of his Americano, debating continuing without her anyway.

A moment later, he’d sighed and switched off the game, heading to bed.

—

The day Jungkook realised he wasn’t cut out for elaborate, story-telling games was the day he played A Way Out with Dilara.

She had told him about it in passing, mentioning that she’d also only played it once, years ago, before life had got in the way. Jungkook had been about to shut it down with glee right then but she’d seemed so mournful about never playing it again that he’d relented and bought the game, sending her an invite to login as well.

“It’s like I’m sixteen again,” she sniffed dramatically, making herself comfortable on her chair. The Red Bull logo on her oversized t-shirt came into full focus for a moment while she adjusted her camera, and Jungkook grinned in satisfaction.

“Well, you wouldn’t shut up about it so you basically forced me to buy it.”

“You know what? Even if that’s true, it’s going to be so worth it. This is the best game, JK,” she added, her face shining. “Emotional connections, moral conundrums, deep friendships…” She sighed and shook her head in wonder. “Just the best,” she repeated.

Jungkook raised his eyebrows at this display but said nothing. “Shall we start?” he asked.

“Yes. Okay, now, don’t worry about not getting the game initially,” she informed him. “I haven’t played it in forever either and I’m sure with the updates and everything, it’ll practically be a different game.

This, Jungkook supposed, was in response to a rather childish moment he’d had a couple of weeks prior where, amidst his inability to grasp the concept of the game, he’d sort of shrieked, yanked off his headphones and proceeded throw himself on the bed in the gaming room, face down for several minutes while Dilara called his name in irritation.

He scowled. “I’ll be fine. Will you?”

Dilara grinned sheepishly; she didn’t take well to losing either. “I’ll be okay. I’m Vince and you’re Leo?”

They commenced the game then. The story read more like a movie than a video game; Jungkook watched in awe as their characters, both in prison and holding a grudge against the same mobster, formed a begrudging alliance and escaped.

It was a gorgeous game; the screen, the special effects, the dialogue - he and Dilara read them out as quickly as possible, eager to move through the game.

“Oh, my God,” muttered Jungkook after a while, shaking his head slowly as Leo and Vincent, on the run from the law, made a campfire in the dead of night. “That’s why Vincent hates Harvey, too?”

“Harvey was an arsehole,” said Dilara with feeling. “There’s a reason Vincent wanted to partner with Leo, even if it meant he risked getting caught. There’s nothing like common hatred of a person to bring two people together.”

Jungkook stole a glance at her, which she caught.

“What?” she asked, chuckling and looking a bit embarrassed. “That’s the fun of these games. You have to really get into it.”

He smiled without meaning to. “I get it. He killed Vincent’s brother. Vincent gets to hate him.”

“Shut up. Ooh, look, it’s Leo’s story now.” They started reading the dialogue boxes together, Jungkook reading them out in slightly accented English, when a sound cut through the soft soundtrack.

“Helicopter!” Dilara yells. “It’s the cops! Okay, go left!”

“No, I think it’s right!” The screen changed as both characters ran through the wilderness, the animated figures running faster than Jungkook could ever hope to. “Okay, we have to get into that house, I think.”

Their characters took shelter in a hut, evading the police, and looting the place for clothes, weapons and a truck.

“It’s a car chase!” Jungkook exclaimed. “You should drive!”

“You know it’s not a real truck, right?” she called out, but still manoeuvring Vincent into the driver’s seat. “Okay, let’s go! Seatbelt on!”

“I thought you said it wasn’t real!”

“I didn’t stutter, JK!”

Jungkook snorted before getting back into character, his heart racing; if the cops caught them, they were back in prison, meaning the game was over.

“Cliff!”

“Get out of the car! There’s a rowboat! And go from behind the trees!” she added as the sounds of the police’s gunshots got louder. They hopped into a conveniently placed rowboat by the banks of a thrashing river and began steering with their controllers.

“Is that a - is that a waterfall?”

“Jump!”

“What?” Jungkook’s eyes widened in a panic. “We don’t have life jackets!”

“It’s not a real river, JK!” Dilara yelled as she threw her character into the water, escaping a gunshot by a nanosecond. “Leo knows how to swim!”

Feeling his ears get hot, Jungkook obeyed and Leo jumped. The two characters somehow made it through the river and landed on the other side, the police finally no longer in sight.

“Whew.” Jungkook exhaled and takes off his headphones for a moment, shaking his hair out of his eyes. He put them back on to see Dilara grinning in the pop out screen.

“Great game, huh?”

“Holy shit. This is what you meant by emotional connection?” When she nodded, he shook his head. “Crazy. Oh, wait - Leo’s story.” He read the dialogue again, his own tone sounding more and more surprised. “Harvey betrayed Leo, too? What a jerk!”

“Villians,” was all Dilara said by way of explanation. “Oh, look! Aww…”

Jungkook followed an instruction to call home with a nearby telephone. “Leo has a wife and kid? What is this game?” he exclaimed. “This is like - like something that should be in the Oscars! Where are the machine guns and the aliens?”

“I can see your eyes tearing up, Jeon, so don’t give me that.”

He didn’t even bother defending himself; he was more engrossed in this fully human story than he ever had been in a video game before. He glanced at Dilara again, his stomach settling comfortably when he realised he wasn’t alone.

It was a flurry of activity after that: purchasing arms, being betrayed by the arms dealer, getting in touch with a mysterious pilot from Vincent’s past who offered to fly them to Mexico to escape. The pilot also dropped another bombshell.

“Vincent has a kid?”

“Vincent is having a kid,” she corrected him. “Okay, we have an option to go to the hospital. We’re going, right? No way is Vincent abandoning his daughter before she’s even born.”

“He’s not abandoning - okay, sure,” he said quickly, catching Dilara’s surprisingly troubled expression. “It could be a trap, though.”

But Dilara ignored him, and both characters headed to the hospital. Warning bells instantly went on in Jungkook;s head, for he’d played enough video games to know what a calm spell looked like before they got attacked. But he followed Dilara until Vincent met his newborn baby girl, Julie.

“I’ve never made it this far in this game,” murmured Dilara, her voice wobbling slightly. Jungkook couldn’t help but feel like this was a slight overreaction over an animated baby, but something stopped him from commenting on it.

“Gwaenchanha?” he ventured, but at that moment, a pop-up appeared on the screen, informing them that the police had surrounded the hospital.

“Told you!” Jungkook exclaimed, but his heart raced with excitement. What a game.

“I’m not sorry!” she replied as they rushed out of the hospital. “I swear to God, JK, if you and Tae are ever running from the police and I’m in the hospital giving birth to his kid, you better make sure he’s there!”

“Er, sure thing,” he assured her, before changing the subject. “Okay, we have to split up.” With no indication either way, he went right while Vincent went left. He avoided the police as best he could while continuously keeping an eye on the split screen to see Dilara’s progress as well.

She escaped; Jungkook breathed a sigh of relief and took his eyes off his own screen for a moment too long to see Dilara pump her fist in the air - long enough to get captured.

“Shit!” He’d lost the game - swallowing his disappointment, for Dilara hadn’t yet, he urged her to continue. “Go! Keep going!”

“I can’t,” she muttered determinedly, turning Vincent around and going back into the hospital with his gun loaded. “We’re in this together, mate - if you lose, we both lose.”

Despite the tension, Jungkook felt his stomach flip in excitement: he loved playing with Dilara. She was competitive, she took risks and she was good at gaming. It had been a long time since he’d met someone who matched this well with him online; it was no surprise that he constantly looked forward to their next session.

“Okay, hold still -” Dilara frowned in concentration, aiming her gun - only two bullets left - at the cop who had Leo in a headlock. Her thumb swiped over the controller ever so slightly and shot the cop straight in the head.

“You saved me!” Jungkook gasped, immediately spurring his character on and out of that damn hospital.

“Don’t sound so shocked,” she muttered, although she looked relieved as well, a grin flashing across her face.

They escaped after that, taking up the pilot’s offer to take them to Mexico, where they were ambushed by the mobster Harvey and his men. There was the old school gaming face-off: guns, fire, jumping off buildings and eliminating NPCs left and right.

“Oh, my God,” said Jungkook in surprise. “We did it. We killed Harvey.” He looked up hopefully at Dilara. “Is that it? Does that mean we win?”

“I don’t know…” The game told them that now that Harvey was dead, they could return to the US but the moment they did, they were surrounded by the police again. “Oh, no…”

“No! Come on!” Jungkook whined, frustrated now, but something was wrong. He frowned as one of the policemen, took the gem they had stolen from Harvey from Leo’s hand and handed it to Vincent… along with his gun.

“Oh, no…”

“Wait…” Jungkook frowned. “Why did the cop just -” He squinted at the screen to read the dialogue box, even though Dilara was reading it out loud. “Is - is Vincent a cop?” His eyes darted to Dilara’s picture in the pop-out. “Are you undercover?”

“Shit, I had no idea,” she murmured. “I told you I’d never reached this far in the game before.”

His stomach churned. We’re in this together, she’d said. “I’m supposed to take you hostage now,” he stated, reading the instructions. Before she could shrug in acceptance, he subdued her and ran. It ensued in a chase again, but this time between Leo and Vincent, with Leo trying to run and Vincent trying to catch him.

It’s not real. Jungkook knew, he knew Dilara knew, and he knew the game was set up to be a certain way for the story. But it still stung, being betrayed, and before he knew it, he was being chased into a warehouse by Dilara, both of them injured and losing energy.

“Some game, Komyshan,” he muttered, sighing. He didn’t know how long they’d been playing; bonding over their shared hatred of Harvey felt like hours ago, as did each of them discovering they had kids. He chanced another look at Dilara on the pop–out and paused.

Her eyes were wet, tear tracks down her cheeks. He started, suddenly wondering if her sixteen-year-old self knew that she would have to betray her ally like this.

They climbed up the warehouse and onto the roof, both their energy packs beeping to indicate they were running out. There were their guns, bright and clear. This, Jungkook knew, was the end. One of them got the gun and shot the other, and the other died at the hands of a one-time ally.

She was still crying, even as her fingers flew over the buttons on the controller. Jungkook watched, as though in slow motion, as Vincent on screen dove for the gun and pointed it at Leo, shooting him, ending the game.

“What - what did you do?” Dilara frowned, looking taken aback. “You didn’t even go for your gun. Did - did you let me win?” she demanded, sounding horrified.

“No!” But didn’t he, though? Jungkook couldn’t tell. “I - I didn’t see the gun,” he explained weakly. He fell silent as the epilogue appeared on screen.

“Vincent tells Linda about Leo’s death…” she read out, swallowing, “... and goes back to his wife and newborn daughter.” Dilara blinked rapidly.

“That’s a happy ending, right?” Jungkook murmured. “He didn’t have to abandon his daughter.”

Dilara was quiet for a moment. Then she chuckled softly, without humour, not looking away from the screen. “Jesus Christ, JK,” she sighed. “It’s not real. It's just a game.”

Jungkook nodded but it didn’t matter. He hadn’t seen Dilara ever break down in front of him like that, even though she’d held it together reasonably well. It stayed in his mind even as he went to bed at dawn, the image of her biting her lip while her eyes swam with tears at a fictional character leaving his wife and newborn at the hospital, and he privately came to a conclusion: he was not cut out for story-telling games.

—

The worst loss Jungkook had ever faced in a video game was the night he invited Taehyung to play.

He didn’t truthfully know what he’d been expecting when he’d invited the older member to join. All he remembered was that years before Dilara entered their lives, Taehyung had been the person who stayed up with him into the wee hours of the night when they were crippled with jet lag and played video games all night.

But it didn’t feel the same. Even the way the plan came to life felt… off. They were in a supermarket in Seoul, during a serendipitous week where their tour schedule and Dilara’s F1 calendar had somehow coincided to have all of them in the same location. A get-together had been planned which Hoseok had volunteered to host, with all seven members, Seokjin’s girlfriend Seulgi, Sooah, Chaeyoung and Dilara in attendance. All the members had been delegated by Namjoon, who seemed to be making a huge effort to gather everyone together, to bring different accompaniments for the night; in the gigantic mall, five out of seven members roamed around trying to fulfil their duties.

Taehyung, Jungkook and Dilara had been dispatched to purchase liquor and mixers. On their way to the store, Taehyung bumped into a friend and, after fondly introducing Dilara as his girlfriend, encouraged her and Jungkook to go on without him.

“How are you balancing this thing?” Jungkook asked tightly, as he tried to keep the cart he was standing from bumping into any of the aisles.

“It’s called steering,” she said knowledgeably, her much smaller frame somehow managing to manoeuvre the cart with ease, almost as if she were riding a manual scooter.

“Race you to the end?”

She grinned as they positioned their carts next to each other. “Remember, we buy what we break.”

“Good thing we can both afford it.” Jungkook winked at her, half-heartedly dodging her playful kick to his shin. “Ready?”

“Go!”

They were careful to keep quiet and not attract attention, staying at the back of the store where they were the only customers. They stifled their giggles while trying to maintain their balance and simultaneously sabotage the other.

“Careful, Lara,” he called to her as her cart wobbled slightly.

“Oi, you don’t get to call me that,” she admonished him, wincing and straightening her cart. “Something’s wrong with this cart, ugh…”

“Oh, yeah? Brake failure?” he taunted her. “You can’t blame everything on your engineers, you know?”

Dilara gasped as she turned her cart at the last minute to avoid hitting a standalone shelf of bottles. “How dare you, Jeon Jungkook. I’m going to kill -” She gasped again, out of his sight this time, followed by a soft oof! from someone else. Just as Jungkook spurred his cart on to make sure she hadn’t hurt herself, he heard the giggles - both of them.

“You’re not allowed to do that in here,” he heard Taehyung’s deep voice, and his heart sank unexpectedly. “You could be arrested for that, you know?”

Jungkook appeared just in time to see Taehyung tugging Dilara backwards to him, gripping both her wrists loosely in one hand. His head was tilted towards the side of her face while she smiled in a way that made Jungkook feel as though he’d walked in on something extremely private.

Fortunately, she caught sight of him and stepped away from Taehyung, albeit still staying close. “Alright, don’t we have stuff to buy?” she asked, changing the subject. “Who has the list?”

Jungkook and Taehyung both opened the group chat to check the list compiled in it, naming different liquors out of order. “Why don’t we split up?” Dilara suggested. “I’ll go to the wine section,” she volunteered, waving at both of them and disappearing behind the aisle, leaving both boys to scan the hard liquors.

“Whiskey, obviously,” stated Taehyung, picking up a bottle of Glen Fiddich and checking the price. “Probably the first bottle Hobi hyung will ever have in his house.”

Jungkook forced a chuckle. “True. I don’t think I’ll be able to stay long enough to see him at that stage of the night, though.”

“Oh, yeah? Got plans?” He raised his eyebrows mock-seriously. “Hot date tonight?”

Yeah, but it’s with your girlfriend. It was only a moment later when he looked up to see Taehyung frowning slightly at him that he realised he’d said the words out loud. “No, I just meant -” He let out another choked laugh, his heart jolting in panic. “We - well, she wanted to game tonight. We don’t have a schedule tomorrow, so…” He cleared his throat.

Taehyung paused for a moment, but then simply nodded. “I meant to ask you, Jungkook,” he said after a moment, now examining another bottle. “Is everything okay?”

“I - how do you mean?”

“I mean, like with you and me. Are you mad at me or something?”

Jungkook’s eyes widened. “N-no. Not at all. Why would you think that?”

Taehyung shrugged. “You’ve been a little short with me the last couple of days,” he remarked casually. “Did I do something?”

He shook his head, lost for words, for this was getting seriously out of hand. What was wrong with him? The tiredness from the tour was bound to catch up sometime but were his moods that erratic, that Taehyung could have misinterpreted them for hostility?

“No, you didn’t,” he answered honestly. “I’m just tired, I swear,” he added, throwing an arm around Taehyung’s shoulders and squeezing them. “Sorry, hyung.”

Taehyung nodded, seemingly a little surprised at this reaction. “Oh, don’t worry about it. Get some sleep tonight, maybe.”

“We’re gaming tonight, though,” he answered apologetically. “You know, you should join us,” he suggested, still reeling in the mild panic that Taehyung might think he was angry with him. “We used to game all the time, before. It’s been ages since we’ve done that.”

Taehyung raised his eyebrows, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Are you sure? Wait, do I still need to let you win?”

Jungkook scoffed, hugely relieved. “Don’t worry, Dilara has beaten me more than once so losing isn’t as shocking as it was before.”

Taehyung grinned and was about to respond when Hoseok appeared out of nowhere, looking distinctly unamused.

“Wasting time, are we?” Before either of them could respond, he slapped Jungkook lightly on the shoulder. “You - go get the beer. And you - wine. Now. Now,” he repeated when Taehyung opened his mouth to argue.

They exchanged a meaningful look and went their separate ways, Jungkook straight towards the fridges with the beer. After filling an entire cart with multiple six packs of different brands, he looked around for the others, finally spotting Namjoon in the middle of the store, typing on his phone.

“Hey. Got what we need?” Namjoon asked when Jungkook joined him and peered into the cart. “This is just beer. What about the rest?”

“Hoseok hyung was with Taehyung and Dilara getting that stuff…”

Hoseok joined them then. “Take me with you,” he stated to Namjoon, looking mildly traumatised.

Namjoon frowned. “What are you talking about? Have you guys got everything?” All three of them turned to see Taehyung and Dilara by the wines, seemingly in a serious conversation. “What’s going on over there?”

Hoseok raised his eyebrows. “Well,” he began, “Taehyung is pretending to be a wine connoisseur giving a tour of his private winery to Dilara, a socialite who is trapped in a loveless marriage.”

Namjoon stared at him, evidently able to make neither head nor tail of this statement. “What?”

Hoseok nodded. “Yeah. Like I said, please take me with you.”

Namjoon responded, but Jungkook barely heard him; he watched Taehyung and Dilara, standing apart but still close together, their hands brushing and their gazes fixed on each other, apparently having forgotten that they were not alone.

The party was supposed to start in three hours; they simply did not have time for this right now. “I’ll get them,” he volunteered, abandoning the older members with the cart of beer and striding over to the happy couple.

“Sorry, guys,” he muttered, stepping in between them, for that’s where the Pinot coincidentally was. “Namjoon hyung sent me - he’s getting really impatient.” He pretended not to notice Taehyung’s annoyed sigh or Dilara self-consciously fluffing out her hair.

Later that night, after a pleasant evening at Hoseok’s apartment, Jungkook settled into the gaming chair in his own, ready to play Trine. In light of Taehyung joining them, Jungkook put forward the one three-person game they had in their backlog, a medieval fantasy game with Zoya the Thief, Amadeus the Wizard, and Pontius the Knight, played by Dilara, Taehyung and Jungkook respectively.

Jungkook was determined to have this session go well. He wasn’t exactly sure why or what it was, but he felt as though he had something to prove to Taehyung, probably because he was the guest during their regular two-person gaming sessions.

Trine was different from A Way Out, mostly in the sense that while the latter was a human story of moral conflict and emotional connections, Trine was, in every sense of the word, a game. Three misfits having to free themselves of a magical curse, each with their own weapons and abilities - it was straightforward and promised to be fun.

Dilara, in Jungkook’s opinion, was made to play Zoya the Thief. Zoya’s skill was archery and with her excellent hand-eye coordination, Dilara shot every single arrow exactly where she was aiming, her brow furrowed slightly in concentration. Jungkook and his character, Pontius the Knight, watched in awe, his sword dangling uselessly at his side - until something appeared out of nowhere and hit him in the head.

“What was that?” he demanded, his eyes darting across the screen and groaning when he saw that Pontius’s energy level had dipped. Without thinking, he slashed his sword through the air, the animated flame at the end of it rising but causing no damage.

“Pay attention!” Taehyung - or Amadeus - had evidently thrown some kind of object at Pontius. As Jungkook watched, Amadeus conjured up another similar looking object, while Taehyung grinned in the pop-out screen. Begrudgingly, Jungkook had to admit that even Taehyung was made to play Amadeus the Wizard - quick, witty and wearing ridiculous robes.

“Oi!” Dilara’s voice rang through his headphones. “You both know we’re all on the same side, right?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes as they continued through the game, entering a ruined castle.

“Okay, here goes.” Taehyung cleared his throat as a dialogue by Amadeus appeared on the screen, and proceeded to read the entire thing in a gruff, grandiose sort of voice that Jungkook supposed he considered a wizard’s. Through the dramatics, he could hear Dilara laughing at the voice and when he glanced at the pop-up screen, saw her looking at something to her side, and it occurred to him for the first time that Taehyung and Dilara were sitting in the same room.

The thought annoyed him more than he expected. This wasn’t how gaming was supposed to be done. Gaming was different timezones, dead of night, coffee runs and straining eyes - not sitting ten feet apart in the same bedroom and giggling at inside jokes.

It didn’t get better as the night went on. The game went well; in fact, they were progressing at an alarming rate, finding objects, overcoming obstacles, gaining points and keeping their energy levels at an all-time high. All three of their characters seemingly worked well together, their powers in perfect tandem.

However, Jungkook was slowly starting to regret inviting Taehyung to play - not because he wasn’t good, but because it wasn’t right. There was a disturbance; he didn’t seem to understand Jungkook and Dilara’s normal trash talk, had a habit of making rather asinine observations in the graphics of the game that more often than not, ended up leading to a clue the other two had missed, and seemed to be more interested in the personality of all three characters than the actual quest.

Most frustratingly, Taehyung was beating the game - and the other players. He seemed to be able to come up with the most absurd solutions to problems - and all of them worked. During a play where they had to get at a clue that was sneakily tucked into the ceiling, Jungkook and Dilara were looking for ways to unlock a ladder that the game was offering them for a certain number of points.

“Do you have enough energy to break through the wall with your arrows?” Jungkook urged her.

“I can try…” Dilara aimed and Zoya shot an arrow which simply bounced against the wall. “I don’t think that’s the way. And I’m running out of arrows. There has to be another way to break down that wall.”

“Okay, well, the ladder is behind it. Maybe we can blow it up?”

“You’re the one with the flaming sword.”

“Maybe I can throw it at the wall or something… burn it down…” Jungkook searched the screen frantically, passing by Amadeus, who was using his power of conjuring to simply create cube-shaped objects. “Taehyung hyung? Some help?”

“Yeah, hang on just a sec…” Taehyung, seemingly ignoring their conundrum entirely, was now stacking the objects one above the other with a slight gap between the edges, levitating the ones at the top. “There,” he said, once they almost reached the ceiling. “Use those as steps and get to the top.”

Dilara gasped and Zoya immediately sprinted up the slanting tower of blocks, easily retrieving the clue from the ceiling. “It worked!” she exclaimed in wonder, the character jumping down gracefully. “My hero,” she said dramatically, looking out the side of her screen again, which Taehyung returned with a grin and a wink at her.

Jungkook poked his tongue into his cheek. “We have, like, seven more clues left,” he said stonily, but his words were drowned in the midst of their joking and laughing. This, right here, was the problem, he reflected: he, Jungkook, had the obvious goal, which was to collect the most points and win the damn game, whereas Taehyung’s primary objective seemed to be to make Dilara laugh, the game a mere secondary.

He wondered why Dilara wasn’t more annoyed, for she enjoyed winning just as much as he did. But she seemed equally excited at the prospect of a fellow player reading out the dialogues as though they were a script, inventing a voice for Zoya and changing her accent, getting immersed in the characters and the story along with Taehyung, with Jungkook having to remind them that time was running out.

“We��re going to lose,” he stated sullenly after a while, when it seemed unlikely that they would finish before their energy packs died.

“Not necessarily,” pointed out Dilara, moving Zoya through an empty corridor to look for the last clue - the Trine.

“Found it,” said Taehyung casually, as though he had just found his sock and not the Trine that would allow them to win the entire game. “Let’s go?”

“Yes - oh, my God!” Jungkook ran down the castle, making sure Zoya and Amadeus were both following Pontius, his heart racing with the familiar anticipation of possibly winning the game.

“Ah, my controller is stuck.” Taehyung clicked his tongue as the animated Amadeus slowed down without Taehyung speeding him along.

“What? Don’t you dare make us lose this, Tae!” Dilara threatened him, when they’d almost reached the final destination, where they could see the other two artifacts they must combine with the Trine.

“Wh - I can’t help this! Lara - catch!” Amadeus flung the Trine - the Trine - to Zoya, who lunged for it at the last moment, fumbled it and dropped it just as the timer ran out.

“No!” Jungkook dropped his controller and covered his mouth in horror. “No, no no!” He glared at the pop-out screen, vindicated to see Dilara glaring out the side of her screen before she stood up and disappeared from view, reappearing in Taehyung’s video.

“I’m going to kill you,” she muttered to Taehyung, who grabbed her hands to stop her from doing any damage. It was a few more seconds before Jungkook realised they had moved on from the momentary seriousness to mock-anger, until Taehyung tugged at their clasped hands playfully and she fell into his lap, giggling.

Jungkook watched, dumbfounded, until Taehyung, laughing, said into the speaker, “This was so much fun, really. I think I’ll head to bed now, though,” he added, as Dilara got off his lap and went to her own laptop, pulling on her headphones.

“Yeah?” Jungkook muttered. “No rematch?”

“We’ve been playing for three hours,” he remarked. “You want to play more?”

“I want to win. Dilara?” he asked hopefully.

“Oh, I -” She bit her lip, apparently mulling. On the pop-out screen, Taehyung had already logged off. Jungkook stared at her, his stomach churning in premature disappointment as she looked at something off screen and visibly tried to hide a smile.

“Dilara?”

“Uh… I think I’m done for tonight, too. But let’s play Person 5 tomorrow, JK. Without Taehyung,” she added deliberately, Taehyung’s muffled protests audible in her background. “Had fun, though, love. Good night!”

Jungkook swallowed as the screen went dark. Had fun? Jungkook didn’t think he’d ever hear Dilara say that about a game she had lost, even though he had never seen her laugh this much while gaming before.

Still reeling from the loss, he went straight to his gaming menu and clicked on Real Racing. No characters, no story - just cars and speed. It was weird playing this game alone, but he needed this win right now.

Anything to not feel like a loser.

—

Sometime in the summer of that year when the group was in New York, wrapping up the America leg of the tour before starting in Europe, Dilara Komyshan DNF-ed a race.

Partly due to jetlag and partly due to the fact that it was pouring outside, almost all the members were in the suite where the race was being aired. Only Yoongi and Jimin weren’t there, the former because he was working and the latter because he was in the gym.

Jungkook had declined Jimin’s offer to work out together; he was tired, and there was the race. He would work out later, for sure. The rest of the members lounged about, doing various activities while the race played at low volume. It was beyond exciting, real-life cars going at a speed of three hundred kilometres an hour between the gorgeous mountains of Mugello, Italy.

Jungkook wished he were there; Italy had been one of his favourite countries to visit during the Red Bull collaboration last year. The views were incredible, the weather was summery, the air was pristine and the house they’d lived in had been so beautiful and rustic, with enough space outside for him and Dilara to work out together while she went through her extended break-up with Taehyung.

Jungkook sneaked a glance at the aforementioned member. Taehyung didn’t look like he was thinking about Italy last year at all; his gaze was fixed on the screen, biting his lip and tensing up every time Dilara’s car was shown on screen, as though he expected her to crash any second.

Therefore, when her car did touch another car and they both spun out, Jungkook flinched and Taehyung was on his feet instantly, eyes wide at the screen. It didn’t seem like a violent crash, but he stayed standing, the veins in his neck popping as he stared until Dilara climbed out of the car and took off her helmet.

“Oh, thank God,” he muttered, sighing hugely in relief and sitting back down, dropping his head in hands.

Jungkook frowned; of course he was glad Dilara was okay, but she was also disappointed, for sure. She had effectively lost the race - didn’t Taehyung care about that?

The rest of the race went by with far less interest from anyone in the suite, Dilara appearing briefly in the garage, having changed into jeans and a team t-shirt. From the sounds of it, the commentators seemed to agree that it was a “racing incident”, though caused by Dilara who had apparently attempted a very ambitious overtake that had gotten away from her.

Taehyung’s face was unreadable; he was flitting between looking at the screen and constantly checking his phone, most likely waiting for a text from Dilara. The race ended and the winners were celebrated, followed by post-race interviews where Dilara was asked about nothing but the crash.

“I did speak to Carlos as soon as we were out of the car,,” she said, nodding. looking a bit cornered with several mics being shoved at her. “We’ve sorted that out. It’s definitely really unfortunate about both our races; it wasn’t the intention and I wish we’d been able to continue, but at the same time…” She shrugged. “It was a gap, you know? What kind of a driver would I be if I didn’t take the opportunity?”

“Even if it was at the cost of a fellow driver?” asked a faceless journalist off screen.

“No - of course not.” Dilara frowned and shook her head. “Like I said, Carlos and I talked about it and I’m - I’m very sorry, obviously. But I tried to go for the gap and he tried to block it - we would’ve both done the same thing if the roles were reversed, I’m sure.” But she looked visibly rattled. The interview ended then and Lewis Hamilton appeared on screen for his interview.

Jungkook reached for his phone and typed out a text.

Jungkook [11:15] I saw the race. I’m sorry. Let me know if you want to get your mind off it. We can play anything you want :)

It didn’t take long for her response to arrive. Jungkook waited, recalling how this had genuinely helped her get over a bad race earlier in the year.

Dilara [11:20] Thanks, JK. Just don’t feel like it today though. Sorry.

As Jungkook read her message, once, twice, thrice, trying to process this and not feel disappointed, Taehyung’s phone buzzed on his lap.

He answered it immediately, jumping to his feet. “Hey,” he said softly, as he walked away towards the rooms. Jungkook stared after him as he nodded at the conversation, his voice growing quieter as he left the group, eventually going into his bedroom and closing the door behind him.

A couple of hours later, after Jungkook had dragged himself to the gym and worked out harder than his body was technically allowing him, he sat at his laptop with a coffee, knowing he had only a little while before it was night in Austria.

Jungkook [14:40] Last chance? We can play Life Is Strange. Seeing me play a teenage girl might make you feel better. I’ll do the voice too.

Dilara [14:44] Haha. That might. Will have to take a raincheck though. Sorry.

Jungkook [14:45] No problem. Let me know if you want to talk or anything.

Dilara [14:46] I will. Thanks, JK. You’re a good friend. The best actually.

The message stayed in Jungkook’s mind the rest of the day, through rehearsal, soundcheck and the concert. The best. The best. He was her best friend. He’d cheered her up on a bad day, even if it was only on text, even if it was only for a moment.

Later that night, once everyone else was asleep but for some reason, he was still awake, Jungkook checked his phone. He didn’t know what he was expecting to find; it was the crack of dawn in Italy and almost the next night in Korea. The only people he knew were in remotely the same timezone as him were on this very floor of the hotel.

He turned to Jimin with whom he was sharing a room. After a long and borderline nauseating conversation with Sooah that Jungkook had accidentally walked in on, Jimin had finally gone to sleep and was now dead to the world. Jungkook reached for his laptop and opened it to Life Is Strange, connecting his headphones before the sound could disturb Jimin.

As it turned out, it was a good thing Dilara had declined taking part in this game for it didn’t seem to have a multi-player option at all. The single player was to assume the character of Max, a photography student in Arcadia Bay with the power to turn back time. It was the most cerebral game Jungkook had ever played; it was difficult, required concentration that was in short supply for Jungkook right now, and he found himself missing having a partner to solve the puzzles and quests with.

But Jungkook was a solo player, as was Max. He started feeling a kind of kinship with Max, who also seemed to be surrounded by people in her hometown and yet, played alone. The game began with Max experiencing a vision of a tornado during class that destroyed the town, following which, while stepping out to calm down, she witnessed a fellow student shoot another in the head and kill her.

Jungkook flinched at the gunshot, the sudden sound startling him, when he discovered Max’s new ability to rewind time. Upon going back in time to before the student - Nathan - shot the girl, Max saved her, a girl who was apparently Max’s childhood friend Chloe, now her partner in solving a series of mysterious deaths in the town of Arcadia Bay.

Jungkook imagined Dilara reading Chloe’s dialogue, even though Chloe wasn’t a player. Chloe had a very similar vibe to Dilara, he felt; they looked nothing alike, but there was a determination of a kind that Dilara had. Chloe was sensitive, asking for Max’s help to find out what happened to her missing friend Rachel, brave in her desire to fight the bad guys not afraid to cry when they discovered that Rachel was dead.

Jungkook sniffed but powered through; this was exactly the kind of game Dilara liked, with characters and story and human relationships and connections on screen. He got it now, now that it was Max and Chloe against the world. Best friends. He watched, played, went through every motion to keep them together, including going back in time to save Chloe’s father from dying in a car crash. When that alternate reality meant that Chloe was instead injured in the crash and paralyzed from the waist down, Jungkook didn’t hesitate: he went back in time once again, letting her father die and saving Chloe once again.

It was almost dawn when the game was coming to an end. Jungkook could tell the end was nearing because the timeline was meant to span less than a week, but he couldn’t tell where it was going. He frowned as the game took him, Max, to San Francisco for the opportunity to display her photo at an art gallery. It almost felt as though the game was getting away from him, for why had the story moved so far away from Arcadia Bay and from Chloe?

Max calls Chloe.

Jungkook read the dialogue, his heart skipping a beat, for here it was: the tornado, the one that Max had had a vision of hours ago at the beginning of the game, was here in Arcadia Bay, threatening to destroy everything and everyone.

The game took Max back to the moment she took the gallery photo and Jungkook swallowed, the lump in his throat painful as he and Max descended into a pit of alternate realities that existed as a result of them messing with time, only to come to the heartbreaking conclusion that it all began because Max had saved Chloe from being shot.

“No,” whispered Jungkook out loud, his voice breaking. This was why he hated story-telling games, he thought angrily, biting his lip and feeling his eyes fill up anyway. What was the point? You got attached to a character, to her best friend, to her family, and just when you thought you were making it, it imploded and forced you to choose between two equally important things, between freedom and the ally you made in prison, or between your best friend and your integrity.

What was he supposed to do now? Let the town be destroyed to save Chloe, a character who wasn’t even a player? That definitely wasn’t how the game was designed; he couldn’t imagine the programmers would consider that a win. No, if he had to win the game, he had to save the world. Save the cheerleader, save the world, Dilara had said, months ago. It always came down to saving the world.

Jungkook followed the instructions, his vision blurring as Max went back to Arcadia Bay while the storm approached, reuniting with Chloe when the moment of truth arrived. Jungkook’s finger hovered over the button on the controller, his face screwed up as he clicked on the option in the dialogue box.

He watched motionlessly as the animation exploded, the storm rolling in and destroying Arcadia Bay, the entire town razed to the ground. As the camera panned around the devastation, Jungkook swallowed the lump in his throat and let the tears stream silently down his face as Chloe appeared amidst the ruins, alive and relieved. She and Max clasped hands and left Arcadia Bay together, leaving the wreckage behind them.

—

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