[ epitaph. ] — trounced from the warlock your heart’s attached to, minho’s powers have a benefitting way of putting you into the future to increase your experiences.
rating: mature!
pairing: warlock! minho x gender-neutral! reader
genre: warlock! au, supernatural! au, smut
word count: 1.3k
[warnings]: jumps back and forth a lot (on purpose), biting/marking, hickies, heavy teasing, oral (reader! receiving), praise kink, doggy-style, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions of combat + dimension shifting
A/N: my best friend explained to me that in the anime jojo they use epitaph as a way to see ten seconds into the future so i got inspired to write this. thank you dino ily. also, this was a drabble from last year! it’s just been revamped because (it needed it) it fits my kinktober concept!
do not interact with this if you are under 18.
— kinktober 2021 masterlist
Panting frantically with your lips pressed roughly against his, his teeth nearly broke the skin of your mouth with a gnawing bite. A moan vibrating into the kiss, his body only retreated away from you for a moment to slip the handles of your bags into his palms.
Lifting to put them on the counter, his opposite hand guided you down the hall towards your bedroom, tracing your back with his fingertips.
The sudden sound of birds drew your attention back to your reality as you walked up the pathway towards the home, not at all inside or with Minho just yet. Your frantic eyes peered around you, taking in the encompassing space like it was otherworldly and not the same as what you had been walking through for more than a matter of minutes now. The man’s eccentric tricks always had you on edge, wondering in what part of time your next breath would be in, where you would be and doing what actions, and most importantly: understanding the point he was making through the ploys up his sleeve. Minho, the warlock who had long taken your heart, used you as his best trick of all.
Minho was impatient, waiting for you as he occupied himself with small tasks like refilling his flasks and cutting up some ingredients. He didn’t want to leave the comfort of the home just yet, having watched you disappear outside with big eyes and empty bags.
The time wasn’t right, his powers were too dull to protect himself after his last battle. In a dimension where those with capabilities unlike humans were considered dangerous enough to be separated and have their own space to live, constant strife was always taking place. Minho had to be strong enough to go out that door and control what he could—to keep you safe, his very own human now the first to be housed inside the unusual community. He never considered how well you’d be off, even on your own from time to time.
You had been handling things well, caring for him as he healed until he was almost fully recovered. But the worry of another clashing combat caused him to salvage all he could and stay inside. The hatred he had for staying in the small cottage alone was nothing like you had witnessed before, his stir-crazy expression evident even through the small panes of the kitchen’s door as you walked across the stones towards the home.
Enthralled by the warlock, you had to admit he had power over you even if it wasn’t intended. Since the first time you touched—when he claimed you as his own, you were able to see the future. A small bit that made a large difference, you always knew what he needed, wanted, and imagined. It was an omnipotent skill to gain.
The moment his hand jiggled the doorknob, you knew what was going to happen. Your bags lightly dropped to the ground, his lips overlapping yours as his teeth nibbled against your lips. In a single blink, his hand was at your lower back guiding you towards the hallway.
The bags were disposed onto the counter without a care for any particular items that might need to be stored in a specific temperature. His lips urged another kiss from you as the walls sped by, the soft impression of your bedroom all around. Your back sunk into the mattress, the weight of his body protruding over yours heavily.
His silked lips and pearled teeth left your face to taste the skin of your neck. Light sounds of his name ricocheted in your throat but were imbricated by his louder groans, his hips grinding down into you in search of friction. The cold temperatures of the glasses of potions held in his hands all day were still mirrored into his touch, his frigid palms running along your hot skin to lift your shirt from your body.
The feeling of his tongue running a hot streak across your chest brought your mind to run fast into time, a new feeling cascading every nerve of your body. His tongue thrashed at your arousal, your hands cupped over your mouth to keep from screaming. You could feel your legs shaking around his head, his fingers toying with the spots his tongue couldn’t get to.
Lucidity reared you backwards again, his digits just now toying with your bottoms and underwear to pull them off your limbs and discard them onto the floor. His eyes wavered over your body, matching with your pupils. His were blown in proportion to your own, the unnaturally colored specks reading that his supernatural soul knew what you had experienced, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.
“You’ve done so well for me today.” Minho’s awareness spiked the process of the universe, toying with his own abilities by dragging the pads of his fingers up and down your thighs in a painfully slow way. His voice soft and aspiring, your whine and the light thrash of your legs under his touch made him apply pressure. “Ah—ah, patience baby. You’ll get what you deserve in time.”
The force of his arms pressing your legs into the edge of the mattress reaped a groan from you, his lips playfully running across where you needed him most. Hips bucking, he continued to play with time—with what you witnessed in the flash of the future. The single wink of his eye being the only warning he gave you before his tongue finally delved between your legs.
You couldn’t release any noise to express the pleasure you were receiving, his tongue lapping at your body like a dog drinking water. His hands clamped around the outside of your thighs, pulling you closer to run his tongue in all directions and give harsh sucks to places that had you seeing spots. Your eyes shut tight, another premonition floating you into the future.
Your front was meshed into the covers of the bed, his hips rutting against your ass as his voice filled your ears. The sound of skin slapping echoed along the walls, the feeling of him pushing into you so realistic that your fingers had to grip the comforter just to keep yourself stable. The bed thrashed beneath his hard pace, one of his hands on your hips turning your head for his mouth to connect to your ear.
“Where are you right now?” He grinned in your peripheral, your eyes blinking and staring straight in thought. A single snap of his hips made your body shudder, Minho’s teeth sucking at your neck as he lightly whimpered from the clench you had around his cock.
Filling you to the brim, a wave of relief ran over your body, his fingers lacing with yours from behind as your orgasm hit you hard. Shivering from the cold air, he slowly pulled out of you, turning you to lie on your back and stare up at the ceiling.
“Hey,” He called out, your eyes tired and lids heavy. Gaze falling down, his head lifted from between your thighs, blinking innocently as your arousal dripped past his chin. A darker smirk grew, your brows knitting at the sight of him still between your legs and not hovering over you as he did seconds before. Your hand lifted to your neck, the love bite he had sucked into your skin not yet made.
You watched as his bottom lip sunk between his teeth, eyeing you up and down before meeting your gaze. “We’re not quite there yet, baby.” His grin was cheshire, enjoying the way you looked so lost yet found. No matter how much he twisted your mind and messed with your comprehension, he always knew how to push your buttons even better. “Don’t get so far ahead of me.”
Given the task to deliver an expensive piece of jewelry across the city, you’re partnered with a half man/half cyborg named Han, who’s said to know every road, building, and danger around. With a time limit and the estranged partner at your side, a world of bright colors and high stakes bring you closer together than you imagined.
DETAILS — [ 18+ | fic | 5.5k ]
PAIRING — cyborg! jisung x gender-neutral! reader
GENRES — cyberpunk 2077! au, romance, crime, angst, suggestive
WARNINGS — corrupt corporations and police, depictions of smoking, abduction, swearing, mentions of loss and loneliness, altercations/combat, near-death experiences, blood/cuts/bruises, smut mentioned but not in detail, love at its finest
A/N — hi i have no self control and swapped a flopped main writing blog fic into a jisung fic. enjoy
prologue.
“In all do respect, sir-” Your voice was drowned out by the blasting bar down below, a shallow tone still reaching the large man’s high-tech hearing aids latched onto his ear. “I don’t think you should have come looking for me like this.”
“Got some more important plans tonight?”
The corporate ruler sat forward on the smooth leather, the furniture wearing down from his fancy tuxedo right on the spot. A massive barter, the kingpin had come across you stealing from him months ago. At your release, you made a deal to allow him to come to you for any task he didn’t feel the need to do himself. It was a mistake speaking to the yuppie at all.
“You know I have zero patience for any slow business. I can’t even stand watching you sit on your ass right now with me in the room.” The groggy voice was like nails on a chalkboard to you. He had wandered in, leaving out of his fancy limo that would be stolen had he not come with bodyguards. Men larger than you by three times your size, yet smaller than the kingpin himself.
“I am aware of that. But this—this task.” Your eyes darted anywhere but the man’s blank stare, his tolerance for your stalling making him huff smoke from the cigar on his lips. “Getting something so expensive across the city, and alone? I won’t last twelve hours out there.”
“You think I don’t know that?” His eyes squinted, teeth baring like a bear about to catch an innocent salmon swimming upstream. “I got someone that can give you protection, but he’s a hard man to convince.”
“You have to convince someone?” Talk of the man sounded dangerous himself. The kingpin was known for getting the hands of anyone he needed in the snap of two fingers or the nod of his head. If the unnamed, faceless man needed convincing, where the hell did you lie in the equation? Just as a piece of meat, bait for a man that will kill you halfway through and dump your body so that you’re never found? He already sounded like a handful as it is.
“Man’s known as a mad dog. Feral when he’s at work, but calm behind the eyes when he’s not. All I know is where he stays and what he’s named.” Plump lips separating to pull the large cigar from his mouth, the two fingers holding onto the drug placed it down into the large ashtray on the table beside him.
“Okay, where am I supposed to find this guy?”
“Mad dog, named Han, tends to stay around the fun parts. Unseen places, empty spaces, anywhere he can go undetected.”
“So where is he?”
“Try Clouds in JapanTown.”
The largest diamonds you’d ever seen clasped into more gold than what was stocked in Watson. A tangible necklace amassing more Eddies than your family would receive for your own life insurance. All for the kingpin’s daughter as a gift for turning eighteen and getting married on the same day. If you left out of Watson with this, even held the case for a moment’s time inside of a crowded space, you’d be put six feet under. But the payment you’d get, the respect you’d receive for treating his family as important as your own, and the finishing of the deal you made years ago would take the bounty off your head. You could live again without struggling to keep a roof over your head and food in your stomach. And even more so, have the possibility of your name being paired with one of the most critical and important men in the business through chat and gossip.
“I’ll have him by my side before dawn tomorrow morning.”
one.
Your defamation: you’re solely human. A lifeform all around you with expensive technology and people with robotic limbs and partners, you managed to stay only flesh and blood. A defamation, many would call it, because you were considered absolutely weak. Soft and temperate, you were considered fine china lost in an old thrift store in a lifestyle like this.
Japantown in sight, the smells of grilling meats and flowers from the marketplace gave you a sense of calmness. The space commonly busy had rushing people in all directions, stifled laughter at the bike beneath your form almost daring you to stop and walk beside the transportation instead of riding it between others.
One of the hardest things to cope with in such a high-tech world, the way everything expanded to quickly. The old bike was from centuries ago, rusted on its hinges but still mobile. It wasn’t the first time you had been laughed at for using such an ill-made creation; it was all you had on you from Watson. Fortune wasn’t in your favor or future, only stability.
Which only makes being in a place so unfamiliar to you dangerous. Sliceable skin and a slow-paced ride compared to the bots and heavy-rated vehicles all around, you were out of your element taking an empty alleyway as a trail.
Your directions were to make it into Japantown like any casual person would, look as if you weren’t holding something that was worth more money than your life and your soon-to-be partner’s together. The cyborg pronounced himself stupid to be commonly in the area when he didn’t have a mission, lingering in the dark corners and out of sight but still managing to be caught by the kingpin’s bots to find his location. If anything, the man is a joke to you.
Dark cement under the bike’s tires, the sudden open road connected to the alleyway drew chills across your skin. It was normal to see an open road way out from bits of the city, spaces used for drops and swaps, but never a single road. Red lights too small to seen by your naked eyes, cameras placed in the top corners of buildings by corrupt cops tracking them to capture stranglers and take them in. They’d be prosecuted, snatched and tampered with until confessions of anything illegal or useful were given, then placed in jails and prisons to live out miserable lives. All so the cops can meet their quotas, the abhorrent bastards.
An engine roared behind you, the petals under your shoes’ soles not moving fast enough. The car was far faster, more equipped than you, and a cold hand reached for your collar before yanking you into the warm space. Ripped from the old bike only to hear it crunch and snap beneath the large tires of the vehicle, your whine was swallowed than the rumbling engine and his laughter mixed.
“You claimed me dumb, but you took the wrong street.” Big eyes, pushed back hair pressed down with gel, high cheekbones and a few wires sticking out of the same arm that rushed you into his car: you haven’t found Han, Han found you. “The netrunners are probably all over you right now. I bet they have evidence of something, anything to use against you. You must be insane thinking you can get around on that bike all alone.”
“Why? Because I’m human?”
“Because you’ve got the necklace and we have fourteen hours to get it to Konpeki Plaza without bullets in our skulls. But yes, that is something I could live through and you won’t.”
The man was already frank with you, living up to his nickname Mad Dog rightfully. The car’s tires sped up faster, quick turns left and right, all sending you back and forth in the front of the car from not being strapped in by the seat belt. One sharp turn right again, and you were sitting on top of the stranger’s lap like a lover.
“Well, hello.” His eyes squinted in focus, his left arm moving across your waist to hold you to him. In an effort to make it off of him before the next turn, his shallow voice caught your ears. “Don’t look now, but we’ve got fans.”
His arm only got tighter around you, holding you to his chest as his eyes caught sight of two bikes riding in closer and closer to the car. You felt Han’s right leg clench, his hold leaving you to wrap your arms around his neck securely to keep yourself from rushing through the front windshield as his hand took hold of the steering wheel. Sturdy hold on the gear, your mind devoid of the fact that he had joked about your transportation when his own was just as old—only remodeled. Stick shift cars had long gone out of style, Han’s fingers clenching around everything he held harder to work the car through skinny roads and off into a bigger set of streets: the highway.
With the hasty change of events, and your body still sat on your partner’s lap hugging him like the world was ending, things returned to still. Cars zoomed even faster, the bikes having turned off onto another street to avoid a chase in such a high-paced, seeable area. Able to release a breath, you took in the man’s heavy perfume before any oxygen with a cough.
“Wh-What happened to self-driving cars?” You asked him, voice shaking with the rumble of the engine as you moved off of him and into the passenger seat.
“What happened to stating your name before you get all up over me like a doll?” The rude comment passed over your head, sighing as you fell back into the comforting seat.
“You already know my name.” The smirk on his face evident, your palm met his shoulder in a light tap to quit his ego from overpowering his courtesy. “Knock it off. That was already a lot.”
“That was a lot?” His pupils dilated at your words, face meeting yours from an inch away. Torso hunched over towards your side of the car, the vehicle took over the directions. It was, in fact, a self-driving car, that much obvious with Han’s face aligned with yours and his plump lips still holding the ten-million dollar smirk. “Baby, we’re just getting started.”
two.
“The technology around us-” Twenty long minutes of silence beside the man, and you finally spoke again. “-it’s all so much all the time.”
“Not used to our world, but living in it. You must have had it rough.” His fist clenched the steering wheel, knuckles turning white just before releasing to a natural color again. Han seemed like the type of person to always have a comment, and yet you could visually see him biting his tongue.
“Rough is an understatement.” The neon lights drawing the shapes of each building made your irises shine in the darkness, the city absorbing the vehicle with its many colors until it was well hidden. With such a busy space, so many people and things taking over the world, Night City itself nearly outperformed the moon’s glow.
“Considering you were on a bike older than both of us combined, I’ll take your word for it.” White teeth peeking from between his lips until you could see his gums, Han took hold of the gear and shifted it while maneuvering through traffic and into the fast lane.
“We’re headed back near Clouds. There’s a motel close by we can stay in for the night without risking our skulls.” The reflection of his face morbid in the driver’s side mirror, the passing lights turned the car into a rave as he only drove faster. “Had to drive around the long way just to get them off our trail.”
Not keeping you out of his plan, the guy seemed to be the first open-player you met when it came to speaking his mind. People in the city were so shut in, scared of telling others what they wanted or are going to do in chance of sabotage. Han was quite the opposite.
“What did you do to the Kingpin to piss him off so much that you got stuck with me, anyways?”
Thirteen hours left to be stuck by Han, he was truthful. No reason to keep quiet now, he may be the only one who knows of your past in the entire city by the time the mission is deemed over.
“How often do you lose people?” His eyes shot over to your form, your fingers laced together as you stared out the front dash like it was a movie. Even in your peripheral, you knew he held concern. “And I mean—back to back lose them.”
“Back to back?” Riddled with confusion, focused on driving, his mouth could only repeat the question.
“I’ve never been more desperate for money than I was then, and still am now. The expenses of losing one person can stifle any source of financial stability.” Looking down, you felt the tears threaten to fall. “I am just one person. And I had to pay for two funerals that only I attended. Even in a world so cold, you’d think people would come to you at your death to give their wishes and remember you. No one deserves to be that forgotten.”
“Ahh-” He sighed, reappearing in your peripheral like a mirage. Legs stretching, gas pedal reeling back and the car slowing, Han seemed to understand. “I don’t forget easily, you know. Really have to make an impression on people for them to show up to your funeral, but I’ve never been to one. Memory is in the brain, but meaning is in the heart.”
Your smile faint, you nodded without giving him a glance.
“I won’t be forgetting you.” Hazed eyes restless, he captured your chin in between his fingers to stare you straight on a second time. Like a weight lifting off your shoulders, the worry of being just as alone in the ground as the ones you buried, you had hope that one lengthy man would show. “So wipe those tears away, settle back, and let’s get your ass out of debt, shall we?”
“Going to cause me any problems?” His lips ran thin, pretending to be thinking as his brows rose and descended and eyes blinked.
“I’m not much of a problem as I am usually a solution.”
“Then I’ll take your word for it.”
Clouds, the busiest running doll ring in the area. Petite robots in all directions, greedy and greasy men running after them; the place is a circus at all hours of the day. Pornographic sounds from floors up, stains across every block of cement around the building, and the grossest smells you’ve ever known.
Thankfully, a lesser degree of the place was cloned directly next door. The motel rundown, hopped up by druggies and glorified Nomads that ran the place, you and Han got a room in the first ten minutes of walking through the doors. Two floors up, a long hallway, and a single bed in the room. Shifting eyes caught Han stretching his arms upwards into the air before sitting on the edge of the mattress and falling backwards, his greased back hair falling in all directions from the sweated-out product.
“A mattress—haven’t been on one of these in weeks.” A puff of his chest, and his eyes shut in relaxation. You shook your head, attempting to swallow the smile of seeing the man be so comfortable so fast, and lifted the case of the necklace from inside the bag to feel that it was still secure. “Keep it in.” Voice turned deep, the abrupt instruction made the case fall back down, your fingers losing their grip. “This may be a motel run by Nomads, but they’ll sell us out in a minute if it means making money to keep this roof over their heads.”
“I know how that is.” You signed, taking a seat beside his sprawled form to rest for a moment.
With such a unique item on your person, you knew danger lurked around every corner. The safety net of having the cyborg as your partner was just a bigger gamble. Han was just as compromising, well known for having bounties over his head and weapons to battle at the ready—but it didn’t make him immortal.
“Take it easy, shark bait.” His high-raised cheekbones expanded, blowing out a fit of oxygen he seemed to have been holding while watching you speak about him in your own mind.
“Shark bait?” The nickname was dire.
“You took something from a shark, kingpin, and he’s using you as bait to keep his own men safe and sound - probably for something bigger to come soon - which makes you shark bait.”
Shaking your head, he finally saw the smile on your face. Han appeared well rounded, but the leap in his back sitting him upright to watch you smile for a little longer was virulent to his nature.
“You should smile like that more often.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Han.” You laughed between speaking, his glistening eyes only opening further along with his gummy smile.
The most difficult thing to do in Night City is be on the same side as another. Most people were corrupt, fighting their own way up and not caring who was in front of them, nor their significance. A lover, a family member, a long time friend—all irreplaceable to the common person, but not one with a desire to be at the top of the food chain. Smiling at Han and having him smile back, it was like the world wasn’t so horrible around you for a split moment.
Until an abrupt knock startled you back into reality. Always on edge, your head swung towards the door first. With a finger over his lips when you looked back at the cyborg in silence, you witnessed him become what he rightfully is. A yearning solo stuck in the position of a rockerboy within the city, and only one real task at hand and in his head at all times. Kill and live.
Han rose silently, his arm clicking open to press a button and emerge a spectacle from the Bluetooth piece in his ear, one long hidden by his long hair until now. The small glass spun, enveloping in a red light. Although you are new to most gadgets—red is the universal color for danger under any circumstance. The detecting technology gave away that the person behind the door was absolutely not some fancy room service at a run down motel, but an enemy.
His arm caught you first, Han taking you by the waist and walking you backwards silently. Your original plan to rest in the bed beside the man was as far out the window as your bodies, hands pulling your bag with the necklace inside over your shoulders. The click of the window gave you away, Han’s glass notifying you that the person had stumbled into the room seconds before you both leapt for the ground and landed.
“My car, go!” A stranger’s head poked out from the window, a call of curses and threats just as quick as they were. Before you could blink, take in that the bounty was real and you and Han were now in full, combative danger, the stranger plowed Han’s head with a blunt object.
A thump sounded through the alleyway where you stood in worry, a buzzing following that couldn’t leave your ears. Arms moving, things clicking, and Han looked back at you once. “Get out of here!“
Your legs gave out from under you, knees scraping the concrete as you stood and raced from his side. Leaving him behind to fight, the sounds of the battle followed you all the way to his car. A loud beep, the passenger door opening, the engine starting, and even from nearly a block down—the cyborg had you under his palm of protection. His car smelled strongly of him, the scent engulfing you just as the doors shut and locked before the vehicle took off from its parking space. You reeled back in the passenger seat, the seatbelt in your hands instead of over your form from the state of panic you were in. No driver, the car raced down two streets before halting at the edge of another alleyway. The cyborg looked run down, Han’s hair a mess and blood splattered across his face.
“Han!?” The driver’s side door opened for him, his long legs bending to climb into the car and sit in silence. His eyes shut in pain, ringing in his ears noisy enough to reach your hearing from across the front of the car. The battle was half the problem, Han’s half-human side worn out and half-cyborg side about to circuit.
“Bio—ware.” His voice faint, weak body falling back into the seat. The car started off again, now in the direction of somewhere unknown to you.
“Bioware.” You spoke, repeating what he said as he nodded in agreement.
“Faulty at times.” He laughed, eyes opening to meet your concerned ones. Your hand reached out for him, his cheek falling into the palm of your hand for comfort. You could feel his skin running warm, the robotic arm traded in for his lost limb in the past now twice as hot as the fever surging through him. All from the interaction of a battle, the man looked lost in himself. “I’ve never been this weak before, you know?”
You shook your head. Without the comprehension of his life, more about his past and what he’s been through, the fact that he is what he is, part gadget, riddles you clueless. Helping him yourself wasn’t an option, the car finding place in a dark parking lot at the same time he sat up in his seat facing your direction.
“I’ve never had a partner, either. I guess this is a time for new things. I just didn’t want anyone to see me like this.” For once, the strengthened man was at his barrier, the catastrophe of what he had struggled with still a mystery, but slowly showing itself.
“You’ve been like this.” Your words were a statement, a soft nod as his response. “You’ve been like this-” you repeated. “-and you’ve done nothing about it.” Now you were just scolding him. “So many places to go and get fixed up, and you’re here with me.”
You released the belt from your hand, letting it sway back to the wall of the car as you moved in closer to him. Taking your hand across his arm, the metal alone ran too hot to touch. A hiss from you, and you did all that you knew to do.
“I’m going to unplug the connection from your body to your arm.” His eyes went wide, staring between your face and his arm like he was watching two people argue and didn’t know who to focus on.
“What?”
Your fingers pulled promptly, the USB-like plug removing from his arm as it fell limp in his lap. A soft groan came from him, a pout on his lips as he stared at the deadened piece. From three seconds of being unplugged, the additional limb was already returning to a natural temperature.
“It was overheating because of the pain from the cuts in your skin.” You saw his face run red in the alleyway, even took notice of how bloodied his skin had become when he sat down as the liquid soaked into his shirt. Finally taking a glance at anything other than you and the arm, Han noticed you were telling the truth.
“I am meant for more damage than this.” He sighed.
“Apparently not for a long while, Han.” You said in rebuttal. “Is this what you meant when you said you didn’t want anyone to see you like this?”
“I’ve been weak since my last mission. I went underwater in a river. Guess I’m not as water-proof as I thought I was.” His words forced laughter from his chest, resting back into his chair.
Taking out a cloth from your bag, you ran a bottle of water over it and began wiping away the blood from his cuts. As if he was inhuman, entirely, the cuts were visibly healing in time right before your eyes.
“You took Speedheal?” Almost astonished by the man’s quick wits, he could only shoot a smile your way. “Han, that’s what made you overheat. Sometimes the shot contradicts cyborg limbs because the medicine tries to rush through the wires.”
“Look at you, knowing more about me than you originally admitted.”
“I’m being serious. And the side effects, you’re weak because you’ve taken it too much.”
“You’re a way better partner than you intended to be right now, you know?” He laughed at himself. “I guess it takes a dumbass to know a dumbass. We have a bounty over our heads that we won’t lose for another-” His eyes shifted down to the digital clock in the dash, his mind counting the hours left quickly. “-eleven hours, and you’re more concerned about caring for me than checking your ankle currently throbbing right now from the fall.”
You hadn’t taken into account that the drop from the window down to the alley way was deeper than it looked, and how you hadn’t hesitated to follow Han’s lead out for a split second to remember you’re only human. You peered down at your purple ankle, the bone not broken but fractured enough to have the pain setting in as you took notice of it. “Ow.”
“Ow is probably right.” He chuckled, running his hand up and down your thigh before tapping your knee and taking control of the steering wheel. In a matter of time, the man was healing and becoming himself again, all while you were now the one injured. “At least we’re in this together.” It was like he read your mind, speaking the exact words you hoped to hear in this moment. “If we can’t rest, we can at least use a few hours to travel to the plaza. And we can take it slow this time, we’re ghosts now.”
Your sigh of turmoil didn’t go unnoticed, his big eyes capturing the side of your face before he croaked for you to speak up. “Question.”
“Shoot.”
“How are we supposed to sneak into one of the richest, most exclusive hotels undetected?”
“Oh-” He cackled, pressing at his messy hair with his fingers to put it back into place. “I’ve got that covered.”
three.
Clothes with more thread counts than you had ever seen in your life - much less wore - now layered your body. A matching set that can be worn separately, your arm slinked into Han’s form fitting one with fake smiles on your lips.
"Four hours left. We used all that time just finding something to wear. You said you knew a guy!” Your laughter between the words made him chuckle, a soft moment to be witnessed by those attending the before-party of the wedding.
The Kingpin’s daughter was somewhere in the room, between the waves of stragglers and an array of significant people, and the only way to get to her to give her the gift was by a simple strategy. A couple, you and Han linked with fake rings on your fingers, and the lie of being old friend’s of the bride on your tongues.
“Keep your calm, baby. I told you we had to find something last minute.” To anyone eavesdropping on the two of you, you sounded like a casual quarrel to blank ears.
But you meant what you said, the man stealing nearly eight hours of your time by messing around and pleasuring you in the dressing room of the old store. “Just for fun, to ease the day we’re about to have.” Han’s tongue was far more satisfying working at your body than it was at convincing you.
The entire façade made chills run up your spine in the way everyone looked over you like they could sense the lie all around. Like your pearled smile wasn’t convincing, Han’s kiss at your temple forced others to finally break eye contact.
“Easy. We’re here now. Let’s just make our readmitted acquaintance.” His hand caught the shoulder of a staff member, asking which direction the bride would be in—if they even knew.
Your bag new, fresh scented like it was straight out of a department store, and yet it felt to strange on your arm. Fingers laced with Han’s, the white path towards the bride’s side of the building caused your heart to leap into your throat.
And even worse when Han’s hand was being pulled form your own. The groom wore a large smile, his side pulling your partner in and swallowing him into the dressing room to get into a party game, one he didn’t request to join in the first place.
Han’s wide eyes caught your sight across the room just before you stepped into the bride’s side, the white color everywhere almost blinding to your pupils.
“Finally!” Her voice seemed more annoyed than grateful to see you. One of the bridesmaids ripped your bag from your shoulder, her long nails scraping at your skin in the process. “Thought I’d never see my gift.”
The necklace was pulled out like it meant nothing to her in comparison to you and Han, the piece clipped around her neck by a second bridesmaid in tandem with her huffs of approval.
“I didn’t think you’d even make it in.” She resorted to a pained look on her face, disgust riddled in her eyes as she looked you up and down. Her tone was meant to be harsh, and yet it only made you question what you’d really be receiving from the Kingpin at the brink of this. “And your husband, oh your poor husband.”
Sudden mention of Han made your attention rise back, her highlighted face just as bright as the rest of the room with a smirk on her mouth. “He really did fuck with the wrong people. Using you as bait was almost too simple. Daddy knew he would find you to be a catch, he seems to like anything with a heartbeat and mouth.”
Fists clenched, the temper you held back was visual in your eyes. Stomach-churning laughter filled your ears, the girls surrounding you like you were a film they could watch on repeat and never get bored of.
“Is that why he had interest in you?” You knew jealousy on the tip of someone’s tongue, only this wasn’t coming from yours. A straight slap to your cheek from the bride, cherry red skin, and you knew you hit a nerve.
“Han made a mistake leaving me! He’ll regret it for the rest of his life-” Her voice went from a high pitch to a low tone, slow and drowning. “-or at least, what’s left of it.”
The gasp couldn’t leave your mouth fast enough before your legs were running out the door, down the hall and over the walkway across the party below. The groom’s had long left, the door to the room now open with sizzling sounds emitting from inside the room.
You didn’t want to look—to find the man you’ve come to love having be your partner possibly broken down, or gone altogether. Nothing in life had prepared you for such an ephemeral relationship, Han’s body sprawled on the ground with wires sticking from his skin and his eyes softer than normal.
A thin laugh left his chest and puffed from between his lips, his mouth opening only enough to release it. “Found me?”
“Of course, you idiot.”
More bloody than after the escape from the motel beside Clouds, more beaten and bruised, and more worn down to his cyborg half than you’d hoped to ever see the man at. The position was detrimental, Han’s life at stake.
“Stop looking at me like that.” He hissed gently, palm stretching his fingers to catch your hand. Your crouched form next to him, tears rushing down your face and a look of grief that visually made the man feel weaker at the knees then any other time before. Han knew time was ending.
“I am-” he grinned despite the pain rushing through his limbs. “-so glad to have you here. By my side—a real partner you are, my baby.” His tips of fingers twisted the ring on your finger, playing with the object like he loved seeing it on you just as much as he admitted to loving your smile.
“Han—” You wanted to pull him from the glazed state, his body trying to convince him the pain isn’t all there, but you are.
“You know—come to think of it, I’ve never felt love like this for anyone in such a long time. I almost forgot what it feels like.”
Your lips caught his, blood seeping onto your tongue with a metallic taste that had you reeling back. Although it was cut short, the man still smiled.
“What does it feel like?” You asked, referring to the love he once felt.
“Like when I finally tap out, you’ll have a way to revive me and bring me back.”
“Hey, mad dog?”
“What is it, shark bait?” He grinned.
“I ever tell you I’m a Netrunner in training?”
“So start fixing me up then and let’s get the hell out of here, together.”
we've got some tough calls to make / brig to angela
angela cannot help but laugh out loud at brigitte's wording of the entire situation just as another mortar sends the building next to them into pieces. reflexively, she ducks, expecting the debris to come raining down upon her, but brigitte's shield offers more than enough protection against some pesky pieces of stone and glass.
"i think that may be the understatement of the year," the doctor shouts above the din. her shoulders ache--she isn't sure if the wings attached to the suit even function anymore, not after careening down like she had. still, torbjorn lingers in the back of her mind, and angela will be damned if they don't make it out of here. she leans back onto one leg and carefully looks beyond the car they hid behind. an upturned market stall laid in sight.
"there is a stall not too far--a hundred meters at most!" she yells, barely able to hear even herself.
There was no use in denying the statement. Angela’s staff was steadily improving, its usefulness at last more reliable than traditional medical practices, and the shimmering gold beam had made short work of the gunshot wounds peppering Lena’s back. What once would have necessitated hours in the operating room could now be erased in mere seconds. The only evidence, now, that the wounds had ever existed was the telltale red that fringed shredded fabric at the soldier’s back.
A tender smile graced Angela’s features as she gave her charge one last look. Around the corner she could hear the gruff shouts of men held at bay by the remaining members of their team. So different from the metallic clang of oncoming omnics, it ferried her nonetheless to a different time and place, when her tech was in its infancy and Lena stood alongside her in heroic blue. That little cap had rested so cheeky on her young head and her brave heart had carried her admirably in the very first armed conflict she had ever faced. And here they were, kneeling behind sparse cover, Lena’s brave heart beating just as strongly as it ever did.
Yes, the world could always use more heroes–more specifically, more heroes like Lena Oxton. And today, she would fight again by the virtue of hard-won nanobiotic tech. That in itself was a momentous victory, such that its significance was not lost as Angela brushed the dust from Lena’s shoulders.
“I’ll always find you.”
Steadily Angela rose, wing blades shifting to test the air.
I’ve been playing Mercy again and it’s been giving me some serious inspiration. Here’s a little excerpt to a ficlet-turned-starter, available below the cut. Advance warning for important character death and low-detail combat scenes.
This is an open Moicy starter. If you love it and want to participate but your muse is not Moira, shoot me a message and we’ll see what we can tweak to make it work. It would definitely work really well with an Overwatch member who happens to be close to Angela–no extra deaths necessary.
Over the chaos Angela heard a voice–husky, angry, shouting in Gaeilge. Her heart sank and nausea rose up in her throat all at once.
“No.”
She swallowed hard, grimacing through the sudden realization. She wanted to believe that it could be anyone, that it wasn’t her. But she would know that voice–and that tone of disdain–anywhere.
That meant Moira had weaponized Angela’s lifesaving technology. And, worse, it meant that at the end of the day she may well have to step over the body of her once-lover.
Gunfire peppered the streets. Angela dove for cover behind a building, her heart pounding in her chest. It was not her own safety for which she feared; her team would be the ones running headlong into danger with little more than the promise of her tether to keep them alive. These were not nameless, faceless soldiers. These were her friends, colleagues. After the Recall there were only so many of them left–only so many to address the growing terrorist threat.
The order came to move. Angela stayed close and low, ever at the ready to pump someone full of nanobiotics. Regardless of the mission, no matter who she rubbed shoulders with, the prime directive was to heal. Fortunately no injuries had as of yet occurred, but that didn’t mean she was willing to relax. That could change at any moment.
Staccato machine gunfire came from somewhere to the right. Angela whirled around, staff at the ready, golden light already enveloping those that were hit. No fatalities, thankfully; resurrection was still in its trial stages, in truth not even ready yet to be deployed on the battlefield. The offenders retreated, finding safety on the other side of a building.
It would be a firefight. Angela steeled herself for the carnage that would surely follow. She had never truly gotten used to the bloodshed, but in moments like these she thought of little else but protection. With her to fix the beam of her Caduceus Staff on any in need the damage was minimal. This couldn’t last much longer, she thought as she saw a direct hit to the side of one of the aggressors. The man fell, there was a flash of gold, and before long he had clambored to his feet to rejoin the fight.
Angela narrowed her eyes and inched as close to the edge as she dared.
“They have nano,” she relayed to her team over the comm. Her teeth ground around the words; to have her own technology used against her team was infuriating. “Don’t rely on wounds to take them down.”
A chorus of ‘affirmative’ sounded around her. It would be alright, she assured herself, it would be fine.
A pulsating sphere of purple light floated in their direction. Shouts of confusion heralded its arrival, followed by grunts of pain as it sent out tethers of light to those it passed. Angela ducked away from it, even so not quite fast enough to escape a sudden wave of pain–like a limb losing its blood supply.
It had not been horrible enough to cause any serious damage, but it had caused enough confusion for the Talon assailants to regroup and push forward. It didn’t make any sense; Angela’s mind whirled to figure out what it had been, and where it had come from.
The fight drug on, but in time the Overwatch team managed to push back toward the warehouse they intended to take. The bodies of Talon operatives lay here and there along the sidewalk. The fatalities suffered by Overwatch had been quickly erased, reversed with the strenuous use of technology that should not even be out of the lab yet. Even so, as the first man rose to fight another day, fear and gratitude in his eyes, she thought it might be worth the risk.
Soon the Talon operatives had their backs to the warehouse. If they were clever they would retreat to save their hides. Each time a man fell with non-life threatening injuries there was a flash of light–sometimes a golden orb much like the unfriendly one–and he would be up again. Each time Angela lost focus in the wake of her anger.
Still longer the fight ran. Angela was beyond weary, exhausted by the constant dance from person to person to boost them up. Over the chaos she heard a voice–husky, angry, shouting in Gaeilge. Her heart sank and nausea rose up in her throat all at once.
“No.”
She swallowed hard and grimaced through the sudden realization. She wanted to believe that it could be anyone, that it wasn’t her. But she would know that voice–and that tone of disdain–anywhere.
That meant Moira had weaponized Angela’s lifesaving technology. And, worse, it meant that at the end of the day she may well have to step over the body of her once-lover.
‘Eliminated the medic.’
The information came over the comm to an echo of pleased, triumphant grunts. Angela only felt numb.
The mission was a success. The few remaining Talon operatives had fled, leaving their fallen fellows behind. The Overwatch team did a thorough sweep of the warehouse and surrounding areas before declaring the area clear. Angela strove to keep her eyes on her team but almost without her permission they occasionally swept the ground around them for a familiar flash of red hair. She didn’t want to see. She couldn’t stand to see. But she needed to, she needed the closure. Even now, knowing that Moira would have likely taken her life if given the chance, her heart ached.
The team had spread out to clear the area, and it seemed that wherever Moira had fallen was not in the area Angela’s group patrolled. She wasn’t sure if she was glad for the fact. The commander called for transport and until their lift out of there arrived, there was nothing to do but wait.
Angela lasted only a minute before she stepped carefully behind a stack of boxes, then slipped away as quietly as she could. The comm line was still live; she would hear if she was missing the transport. In the moment she couldn’t care much anyway. The urge, the compulsion, to find her was too much.
The search lasted longer than she had expected. Angela peered around corners, in the alleys outside the building, behind beams, and did not find her. Panic gripped her lungs in a vicegrip, restricting her breathing and causing her heart to flutter pathetically. She shouldn’t be doing this, she should go back, she should–
She glanced swiftly into a room that appeared to be an office and stopped in her tracks. On the dirty concrete floor lay Moira’s body, arms and legs sticking out at odd angles, looking so much like a marionette with the strings cut from above it. Tears pricked at Angela’s eyes.
Now that she was here she couldn’t stand the open communications channel. Angela switched it off, knowing it would alert her team. She didn’t have long.
“This didn’t have to happen.”
Her voice was little more than a thick whisper. Angela stepped into the room reluctantly, as though afraid of disturbing her. She dropped to her knees and found the gunshot to the neck that had killed her old friend. Her breath hitched; Moira had always been so proud, so arrogant, so sure. It had likely been those very traits that were her undoing.
“I’m sorry.”
She was. Angela rested on her knees, eyes downturned. Though her eyes burned tears did not quite fall. She had to hold it together, at least for now. At least until they returned to base. Then she could lose it.
God, they’d had some good years together. It seemed that each time their eyes met heat crackled between them. They were one another’s greatest adversary in the lab, most cunning conversational opponent, and after a time, the fiercest of lovers. Her shaking hand rested on Moira’s chest. Even through her clothes Angela could feel how cold she was, how still.
Fuck. She couldn’t.
She had to.
Angela choked back her grief and stood. The technology had not been tested after so long post mortem; but if ever there was a person to convince her to conduct reckless testing it was the woman on the cold floor below her. Just as a precaution she collapsed her Caduceus Staff and slotted it into the holster, instead drawing her Blaster. This was risky. This was stupid. She shouldn’t do it. It would, beyond a doubt, come back to bite her in the ass later–and possibly take some lives.
She stepped back, giving herself some space to fight, and hovered her hand over Moira’s chest. The pull of energy was huge, much greater than a more recent death. Angela tensed through it and shuddered when the nanos discharged. Golden light enveloped Moira’s body and then faded as quickly as it had appeared. She waited, panting, watching for any sign of life.
Being the dull, historical warfare obsessed individual I am. I was speaking with someone today, who claims to know everything worth knowing about historical martial arts, about hand-to-hand combat. So, when I mentioned that it would be interesting to see what would happen when two totally different styles collide what would happen and how would the combatants adapt. They responded "The style that is better"...You are wrong and always have been wrong
