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sourbkg · 4 years

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𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚜

[𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎]

➪ synopsis: a villain hits you with a quirk that makes you forget things.

➪ pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

➪ warnings: angst, cursing, reader & bkg are 3rd years!, for plot reasons: dadzawa/dadzashi, eri is ur lil sis bc i said so <3

➪ word count: 4k+

➪ a/n: i think this is the longest fic i’ve ever written. ty @bokunokangae + @a-boy-is-a-gun for being my beta reader ily guys.

No one would ever guess Bakugou Katsuki was a sucker for planning dates. Or maybe he’s just a sucker for you. Regardless, he’s good at anything he does, and this includes taking you on an unforgettable trip in the city for your belated one year anniversary.

You never thought you’d date Bakugou, having joined U.A. late in your first year and getting belittled by the blonde; claiming you’d fall behind quickly due to not being there from the start, and singling you out in an effort to wear down your will. You butted heads constantly, and when everyone found out who your parents were, things only escalated. You don’t know when, you don’t know why, and you definitely don’t know how, but by some miracle, the bickering simmered down and began to mold itself into something different.

Something entirely new that neither of you would expect.

By your second year, you’re dating, and that leads to where you stand now- in your third year, holding the blonde’s hand while walking to the next meticulously planned date spot. Bakugou gave no hints as to where your next location would be, despite your persistence in asking.

“Not even a hint?” You question, tilting your head to the side. The streets are empty, save for a couple stragglers who pay you no mind, and the warm night air keeps your spirits high.

“Nothing.” He replied, not looking at you. He can feel your pout.

“How about if I guess?”

“Nope.”

“Are we going to the record shop I like? Or maybe to the food truck with all the spicy noodles? Or maybe-”

“I’m not gonna tell you if you’re right, so you might as well stop.” He rolls his eyes. You huff.

“Fine, fine, I’ll let you keep your surprises-”

A yelp is drawn from your lips as you pass an alley; something- no, someone pulling you into the darkness. Your grip on Bakugou’s hand is lost at the sudden game of tug-o-war, and despite your training, it takes a moment for you to process what exactly is happening. Bakugou is quick to act, attempting to take you back from the offender's embrace, but the sight of metal being pressed against your neck makes him hesitate, before he’s stopping altogether.

“What do you want?” He asks, voice rough while his palms spark. His eyes continue to look over your form, to the person who has you hostage. An opening. All he needs is an opening.

You feel nothing but helpless, attempting the shy away from the blade that presses against your skin. The man holding you gives a laugh. You don’t find any of this funny.

“You may not know me, but I know you- Child of Aizawa.”

Everything clicks quickly as he continues to speak- over-explaining as villains do. How your father threw him in jail, how he fought tooth and nail to get break out, and how he planned on ruining one of his most important things in his life- you.

Villains who seek vengeance through others are nothing but cowards. Someone using you against your parents is truly the worst, especially now as it interferes with your date with Bakugou.

“Your bone to pick is with my father,” you can’t help but bite, wincing when the metal nips deeper into your skin, “I don’t have anything to do with his affairs.”

It’s not entirely the truth, but you’re buying yourself time. You can see the calculations running through Bakugou’s head, the possible ways he can go about this without you getting hurt- you just need to get him an opening. A time where you’re out of the way so he can give this guy hell.

“Maybe,” the villain's breath fans against your cheek, you hold in a gasp at the feeling, “but I’m sure you can imagine the look on his face when he sees his child, beaten and bloodied due to his own faults.”

You’re throwing your head back at the man’s face without a second thought, hearing the satisfying crack of his nose. The knife splices against your skin as you jerk away, but it’s not the worst injury you could’ve sustained through such a reckless move. You wrangle your body out of his grip just in time for Bakugou to whirl past you, unleashing a hellfire of punches while you press a hand to your neck.

There’s only a moment of reprieve, before Bakugou’s being thrown to the side like a ragdoll. You can only stare as he’s slammed into the wall of the alleyway, while the villain stands as if his punches did nothing. But you know your boyfriend. He’ll get up and finish this guy, he just needs a moment-

The villain's eyes settle on you. You make out a smirk forming under his hoodie.

“Now where were we?”

Your quirk is a simple one. It allows you to move through shadows, but there’s a couple rules; you must have a destination chosen to exit- if not, you’ll just be spit out in a random shadowed area. Your eyes always take a moment to adjust when you come back to the ‘real’ world, and you’re always so cold after going through the realm of shadows. It’s dark. It depletes a lot of your energy.

Bakugou still isn’t moving.

Your eyes flicker to your boyfriend, then you feel yourself being swallowed by the shadows. Your chosen point of exit is right behind the villain, in hopes of knocking him unconscious before he can do anymore damage. It seems he’s done his research on you, on your quirk, because he’s prepared. You’re unready for his retaliation, grabbing you by the throat and slamming you against the ground.

Clawing at his wrist does nothing, kicking at him does nothing. He’s unaffected by any weak attempt you have at fighting back, grip on your neck only increasing. There’s no shadows for you to disappear into, there’s nothing in the alley to aid you, and your struggling is just getting weaker and weaker the longer his hands cover your windpipe.

He holds one hand over your face, letting you watch as his fingertips glow a dark red color. His quirk. You know nothing about his quirk. He grins as you struggle with new vigor.

“My quirk is nothing special,” he turns his hand so his palm faces up, examining his own fingers, “but the backlash is extraordinary. How would you feel about forgetting the people you care about? How will you parents feel, knowing they’re the cause for this sudden amnesia?”

He presses the tips of his fingers against your temple. You don’t feel anything at first, before you’re feeling it all at once. Memories flash in front your eyes, only to disappear into a blank slate seconds later. There’s an explosion going off that feels like it’s miles away, but the pressure being removed from your neck tells you it’s Bakugou. Your mind goes white, then you’re unconscious.

When you wake up, your adrenaline is spiked. Sitting up and looking around hurts like a bitch, but you’d be damned if you weren’t ready to fight again. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the fluorescent lights above you, and the blurred voice of someone telling you to calm down brings your attention to the right.

“Oh my god, we didn’t know when you’d-”

It’s Hizashi, you can make out the blonde hair falling over his shoulders from his loose bun. Blinking a few times helps your eyes, and you rub at them with the heel of your palm, looking around the room once more.

A hospital. You’re in a hospital. But why? You don’t….. Oh. Oh.

The villain really did some damage to you and Bakugou, huh?

Why were you with Bakugou in the first place?

“-an you hear me? Do I need to go get the doctor? Sho just left to get some coffee, I wish he w-”

“I’m okay.” You say, voice rough and throat dry. Hizashi offers a bottle of water that you take gratefully.

“‘M gonna go get the doctor, let them know you’re-”

You’re reaching out to grab his arm without realizing, grip weak, but it’s enough to make him falter and look at you.

“Please don’t leave me.”

It’s a whispered request, yet he hears it loud and clear. With a nod, he’s sitting back down and pressing a button beside your bed to call for a nurse. Your mind is still frazzled, but you find enough sense to ask a few questions.

How long you’ve been unconscious, if they caught the villain, what happened after you passed out.

Three days, no, Bakugou called an ambulance before he passed out himself were the answers you received. You open your mouth to ask another question, maybe why you were with the blonde, before a doctor steps in with Shouta.

Shouta looks tired. Both of them do, but he gives a small smile when he realizes you’re awake.

The doctor introduces herself, and explains what they believe is wrong with you. They think you have a concussion and ask you simple questions. The year, what school you go to, what year you’re in, what class, and if you can name some people for her.

She starts with the two men sitting beside your bed.

“Do you know who these two are?”

You nod, “Hizashi Yamada and Shouta Aizawa.”

“And their relationship to you?” She prompts.

“My parents.”

“Good, okay, that’s good.”

She has Shouta and Hizashi show you pictures of your 3-B classmates and people who you should know. Eri, Kendo, Tetsu, Shinsou, everyone has a name to their face, and the doctor seems satisfied with each response.

Then, Hizashi’s pulling out his phone and showing you a photo. It has your brows furrowing and eyes glancing over to your parents.

“Do you know who this is?” Hizashi asks, shaking the device lightly.

You nod, “Yeah, that’s Bakugou but… why am I kissing him?”

The photo is very clearly you, taken from a mirror in your dorm. You stand on your toes while Bakugou stands with his arms crossed, your lips pressing against his cheek.

Hizashi and Shouta share a glance between each other before looking back at you.

“Do you know what he is to you?” Aizawa asks.

“An acquaintance?” You feel bare as they stare at you, “Right?”

“May I speak with one of you outside, please?” The doctor asks, writing something on her clipboard and stepping out the door. Hizashi stays, squeezing your hand in his own.

He talks about things you’ve missed. How Eri says she can’t wait to visit, but seems to enjoy being babysat by Mirio and Tamaki. How Nezu’s promised to waive any tests or assignments you may have missed, but that doesn’t mean you can slack off. He stays away from the topic you’re itching to talk about- what you're missing. You aren’t stupid. You know their reaction to whatever you don’t remember isn’t good, and you doubt they’ll tell you until they know how you are mentally.

You jump when the door swings open, followed by Bakugou stumbling in while a nurse and your dad try to keep him out.

“You’re okay…” he breathes out, heaving a laugh, “they told me you were but I just had to-to make sure…”

His right arm is bandaged from wrist to elbow and his lip is busted, but he looks fine otherwise. You spare a glance to Hizashi, who’s now standing from his seat.

“What’re you doing here, Bakugou?” You ask, pulling the blankets closer to yourself. Your mind flashes to the picture your dad showed you previously, and you shake your head. There’s no way…

“What am I… Bakugou?” He seems more surprised you use his surname than anything, “What’s up with you, (y/n)?”

You make a face at him using your given name, scrunching your nose but offer no other rebuttal.

He sputters, looking to his teacher and the doctor, “Why are they acting so weird?”

You have half a mind to ask why he’s acting so weird, but Shouta…

“It seems they don’t remember you’re… dating.”

Dating. You? With Bakugou Katsuki? Dating?

Bakugou’s eyes cut to you and you flinch under his stare. ��No. No, no, no, no, no, come on (y/n), tell me they’re lying-” He’s stepping towards your bed, but Hizashi stands in front of him before he can get too close, placing a hand on the younger man’s shoulder.

“I-I… I have no idea what you’re… we were dating?”

He visibly deflates, giving another glance towards your parents and the doctor, before Hizashi’s leading him out the door.

A week passes, and you learn Bakugou’s been discharged while the doctor requests you stay a couple days longer so they can monitor your ‘amnesia’. Hizashi and Shouta promise they’ll bring Eri by, and you’re pleasantly surprised when Hizashi opens the door with the little girl in his arms. She fights against his hold until she’s being placed down, not stopping for a second to clamber her way up your bed and embrace you in the biggest hug. You laugh.

“Eri, I’ve missed you!”

“I’ve missed you more.” She says, face burrowed in your neck. The two of you stayed like this for a moment, Eri content with sitting in your embrace, before she’s pulling away and messing with your tangled hair.

“I miss you and Bakugou playing with me,” she says after a pause, pulling her hands to herself and looking down.

You only force a smile and rub her cheek, “I miss playing with you too.” Is all you can come up with.

There’s no speaking on Bakugou’s behalf, hell, it’s hard to believe he’d even have the patience to sit and play some dorky princess games with Eri and you. But, it seems he managed some amount of tolerance, since Eri’s able to recall fond memories. You wonder if there’s really anything to miss about Bakugou. Everytime you dwell on the thought, or try to remember any semblance of a memory, you end up with nothing but a headache.

It’s frustrating.

Eventually, Eri wears herself out and falls asleep on your chest. You don’t mind, used to her using you as her personal pillow. Running your fingers through her hair, you look over to your parents. They speak in hushed tones next to your bed. You look away, instead focusing on the wall directly in front of you.

“Did I really love him?” You can’t help but ask, voice soft. The two adults pause, glancing over to you in time for you to catch their eyes. “Bakugou,” you clarify, though you’re not sure why, “did I really love him?”

They hesitate, looking to each other. Hizashi opens his mouth to answer, but Aizawa beats him to the punch.

“We don’t know that you’re ready to discuss that yet.” His tone is in no way harsh or demeaning, and yet it feels like a slap in the face. This was your life you were asking about- the least they could do was tell you about it.

“I think I deserve to know,” you can’t help but snap. Eri shifts in her sleep, and you take in a small breath, looking away from your parents, “I just… I wanna understand…”

You see them share a look from the corner of your eye, before Hizashi gives a soft sigh. They both sit up straighter- well, Hizashi sits up straighter. Shouta leans forward with his elbows resting on his knees, a vacant look coming across his features.

“You started dating about a year ago,” Hizashi starts, pulling out his phone and scrolling through some apps, “you told us about a month and a half after- you were scared Sho would string Bakugou up by his toes if he found out.” The blonde can’t help but snicker at the thought, sparing a glance to his husband.

“I would’ve, too,” Shouta adds nonchalantly, clasping his hands together, “if you hadn’t been so adamant about us ‘playing nice’.”

Hizashi hands you his phone and you see he’s opened a photo album called ‘The Love Birds’. You make a face at the cringey name, but begin scrolling through it nonetheless. It’s filled with pictures of you and Bakugou; holding hands, going on what you can assume are dates, and even some of you kissing (though it’s mostly just small pecks on the cheek).

“Those are all photos you’ve either sent us or that we’ve taken ourselves. Bakugou wanted them to make a scrapbook or something.”

Your heart honestly hurts at the sight. These are all photos of you, and yet you have no recollection of any of them. You look so happy in each of them, too, gazing at Bakugou with such an adoration that you don’t think you could ever muster right now. You lock the phone and pass it back to Hizashi.

The doctor releases you the next day, having been convinced fairly easily by Shouta. You’re back at home with them for a full day, before they allow you back at the dorms. While they’d prefer you to just be home, the villain is still loose. They know you’re better off constantly around your peers than sitting at home alone, however, they make it a point to stop by when time allows it.

Everyone in class B gives you a warm welcome back, and no one asks about your situation. Kendo helps keep you distracted by planning game nights and offering to do face masks when she can. Testu tells you jokes that keep a smile on your face when he’s around, and sometimes joins you and Kendo on your game nights. Monoma helps you catch up on any assignments you may be confused with, seeing as you’re being thrown back into classes after missing about two weeks. Shinsou makes sure you’re never alone, and is a shoulder for you to cry on or a face to complain to.

Things are relatively normal, you’re slowly getting back into the swing of things, and yet…

Something still feels off.

Deep down, you know what it is. Your relationship, well- lack thereof, with Bakugou. You feel like a piece of you is missing, but it’s just… hard to really believe you dated him. It’s hard to admit to yourself that you were in a relationship with the Bakugou Katsuki.

Staying up at night becomes your new norm. It isn’t too bothersome, Shinsou taking after your father in the fact that he rarely sleeps at night, and is more than happy to keep you company. Some nights, he falls asleep before you, or doesn’t have the time to stop by. On these nights, you try to keep yourself busy. Catch up on homework, getting ahead on assignments, maybe throw in a few exercises if you’re feeling especially motivated, but tonight…

Tonight just feels different. Your room feels cramped yet too big at the same time, so you do the one thing you can think of in the moment and leave. It may not be the best decision, walking outside in just pajama shorts and a t-shirt, but it seems like the most plausible choice given the time.

U.A.’s campus is pretty at night, you discover. The air around you is cold, biting at your skin, but it’s not something you’re unused to due to your quirk. It makes you realize that more time passed than you thought. Stars twinkle in the sky and you smile to yourself at the fact that despite everything changing, the world has stayed the same. Walking around aimlessly does good at helping clear your head, regardless of the frigid air surrounding your frame. You jump at the feeling of something being draped around your shoulders, whirling around to face the sudden intruder.

It’s Bakugou, who holds his hands up in surrender and ensures there’s some semblance of distance between you while he speaks, “Just thought someone should tell you to not be a dumbass and come out with no jacket.”

Even though what he says has an edge, his tone holds no malice. His voice is soft, as if he’s afraid speaking any louder would scare you away. It’s the first time you’ve interacted with Bakugou since the hospital, and you genuinely wonder for a moment what he’s thinking.

You pull the jacket closer around you and look away, mumbling a small, “thanks.”

The two of you begin walking together with no particular destination in mind, mostly content with one another's company. Bakugou asks why you’re awake and you give the simple reply of not being able to sleep. He mutters out a short same and soon, you find yourselves sitting on a hill that has the perfect view overlooking the city. It’s then you notice Bakugou isn’t wearing a jacket himself, clad in only a dark tank top and sweatpants. You wonder if he realized he was being hypocritical in giving you his own.

“Do you want this back?” You find yourself asking, gesturing to the jacket, “I remember you… don’t really like the cold.”

“Nah, I don’t need it.” He waves you off with a shake of his head. Truthfully, he’s freezing his ass off, but he knows you despise the cold more than anything. He knows it’s all you feel when you use your quirk, and made a promise to himself to do whatever he can to help you avoid feeling this way.

The silence that surrounds you is nothing unwelcome, but you’re itching to ask the question everyone has been avoiding. You bite the bullet.

“What was our relationship like?”

He isn’t as surprised as he should be by the question, but it still makes him falter. It takes him a moment to regain his thoughts, and you wonder if maybe you’ve crossed some unknown boundary-

“It was nice,” he starts, looking up at the stars. You pull your legs to your chest and rest your cheek on your knees, keeping your eyes on him to let him know that you’re listening.

“I asked you out on a whim,” he continues, “Denki said if I didn’t, he’d ask you out for himself, and I couldn’t be one-upped by that idiot- even then, it wasn’t really me asking you out. It was moreso a challenge.”

You laugh a little at the thought, because that’s such a Bakugou thing to do. He smiles at the sound. He looks so soft, so tired, so worn out from what life has thrown his way as he’s bathed in the light of the moon, not pausing as his gaze remains on the sky.

“I told you were gonna wrestle- no quirks, and if I won, I’d get to take you on a date.”

“What’d I ask for if I won?” You ask, only for him to shake his head and scrunch his nose.

“In the moment you didn’t say and I didn’t care to ask. I wasn’t thinking far enough for what you could’ve wanted. I was hellbent on winning, anyways. But,” he goes on, “we fought. I had the upper hand, you were pinned down while Kiri counted the seconds and you…”

He pauses, closing his eyes as if the memory was still fresh in his mind. Maybe it was.

“... you leaned up and kissed me. It threw me off, and you used that to flip us over. You ended up winning.”

Bakugou opens his eyes and looks over at you for the first time since beginning the story. You can make out the pink dusting his cheeks under the moonlight, and you never thought you’d think of Bakugou as something akin to angelic, but here you are. Fantasizing about a memory you don’t even remember.

You wonder if his lips are as soft as they look now.

“What happened next?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper. You must sound like a child, asking a parent to finish a bedtime story, but you don’t care.

“You laughed at me,” he says, shaking his head with a small laugh of his own, “you rubbed it in my face that I lost, and I threw it in your face that you cheated.”

You can’t help but grin, “But I won.”

“Yeah,” he looks down for a moment, forming a soft smile of his own, before looking back at you, “yeah, you won.”

“And after that?” You can’t help but press on, wanting to know more about the story that was more than just a story.

“You finally told me what you wanted for winning.”

“Which was?”

You don’t realize you’re slowly leaning towards each other, or that his breath is lightly fanning against your cheek until it’s happening- you can pick out every freckle he has and see how his eyes aren’t just red, but the color of a ruby.

“A kiss.”

He feels your own breath hitch against his lips and he…

Fuck...

He’s about to close what little distance is left when someone calling your name draws you out of it. You pull back like you’ve been caught doing something you’re not supposed to, and hell, you might be with how late it is and how deep in the campus you are. With a glance behind you, you realize it’s only Shinsou. He remains a distance away, arms crossed over his chest.

“Saw your dorm door was open and couldn’t find you in the building. Got worried.”

You and Bakugou remain on the ground a moment longer. Then, Bakugou’s standing and offering a hand to help you up.

“You should go to bed,” he says low enough for only you to hear, “it’s late.”

You give a small nod, “You should too…”

There’s a pause, as if he has more to say, but decides against it, then he’s walking off in the direction of the dorms without another word.

“Your jacket-” you begin to take the item off, but he shakes his head without a second thought, not bothering to stop and retrieve his clothing. He knocks shoulders with Shinsou as he passes.

“Keep it, it was one of your favorites.” He doesn’t turn around as he speaks, gives a wave of dismissal.

You hug the jacket closer to yourself in return.

#katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #boku no hero academia #my hero acadamia #my hero acadamia x reader #dad!aizawa #dadzawa #dadzashi #dad!hizashi #angst

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summahsunlight · 3 years

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Worth the Risk, Part 12

Rating: Mature(18+only)

Word Count: 1707

Pairing: Army Pilot!Poe Dameron x Nurse!Reader (1940s AU)

Summary: It’s the 1940s, Army pilot and Captain Poe Dameron is flying on missions for the United States Army in Europe. After being shot down off the coast of France, Poe wakes up in an Army hospital in England, to find you, a nurse, taking care of him. Throughout the process of his recovery, Poe finds himself falling for you, and even though you, for the most part, maintain a professional relationship with him–you’re falling for him as well. Both of you know the risks of falling in love during a war, but then again, both of you have never cared much for being cautious.

Warnings: Angst, Holocaust imagery (not graphic)

Start from the beginning!

Taglist: @fanfic-addict-98, @thescarletknight2014, @blushingwueen, @americasassromanoff, @ginger-swag-rapunzel, @spider-starry, @totelpoedameron, @captain-america5, @liadamerondjarin, @m1rkw00dpr1ncess, @paintballkid711, @justanotherblonde23, @castiel-barnes, @itspdameronthings

Hello readers, I am so sorry that this part took this long. I hope you enjoy reading it! Remember the taglist is open, just comment here or send me an ask/message if you would like to be added!🥰 As I mentioned in the warnings there is some mention of the Holocaust, however it is not graphic imagery but I wanted to warn readers.

August, 1944

It was quiet now. Earlier that day the streets of Paris had been lined with citizens cheering the Allied Forces as they rode into the city. Poe had collected so many roses from the adoring crowds that he had enough to give you two dozen. You’d found a glass jar and they were now sitting on the small table besides your cot, the sweet smell permeating the air.

Currently your head was resting on Poe’s bare chest, listening to his heart beat, as well as the drunk Frenchman singing outside your window. In a few days he’d be moving out of Paris with his unit, while you would be staying behind and treating the wounded. You knew that this was coming at some point--the Army was going to station your unit in a more permanent place--and Poe would be on the move. Because of this you clung a bit more tightly to one another tonight.

“I’m gonna miss Paris.”

“Why? Because all those random girls wanted to kiss you?”

Poe chuckled and pressed his lips to your temple. “It did give a whole new meaning to French kiss.”

You playfully hit him on the shoulder and laughed. Someday, you would get to lounge in bed like this, without a care in the world--without the war right outside your window. “You’re an idiot.”

“Arana says I’m a lovable idiot.”

“True. And you’re my lovable idiot.”

His finger ghosted over your cheek, his brown eyes softening as he gazed at you with so much love in them. “Do you know for the first time since this war began I actually feel hope that we might win this? That I might actually walk away and be able to go home to the ranch and build a life with you.”

It was so easy to feel hopeful when he talked like that, you realized. Softly you played with his hair. “What’s the ranch like?”

Poe smiled, softly. “Hot.”

You returned his smile. “Hotter than the South of France in August?”

“Much hotter.”

“Can you see for miles?”

“Miles and miles of blue skies and rolling hills.”

“Are there horses?”

“Lots of horses.”

Closing your eyes you tried to imagine the ranch where Poe had grown up. You’d grown up in the city--there had been no wide open spaces or horses--other than the ones pulling carriages or police officers rode. “I always wanted my own horse when I was a little girl.”

Poe ran his fingers through your hair, heart softening at the thought of you as a child wishing for a pony.. “Do you know how to ride? I could always teach you.”

Even thought you had not been able to have a pony when you were growing up, your parents did provide you with riding lessons. “I know how to ride but it’s been a few years--I might need a refresher course.”

“Something to look forward too then.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I know the perfect spot on the ranch to ride out to.”

Placing a kiss on his shoulder, you smiled. Tomorrow morning both of you would be back in the thick of the war, but for now, it was just the two of you, dreaming about the future.

Poe wrapped you tightly into his arms and kissed your temple. He was dreading having to say good-bye to you tomorrow morning but he would at least have peace of mind knowing that you were safe in Paris while he pressed on with the Army deeper into Europe. Since taking back France there was a new sense of hope resonating with the boys--they were going to see this through to the end--they were going to win.

You fingers brushed his hair back. He’d gone back to trimming his curls since he’d left the hospital in England, but you still loved how incredibly soft his hair was. “What are you thinking about?”

A gentle smile spread across his face as he looked at you. “Just feeling incredibly hopeful.”

“Me too.”

“A year from now we’ll be on the ranch--you’ll see--it will be over, finally.”

--------

September, 1944

It wasn’t often in the last few weeks that you got to leave Paris. There was still heavy concern about Nazi troops inciting guerrilla warfare in the forests and along the country roads that led to towns and villages outside of the city. You had already been injured thanks to one sniper before--you didn’t want to go through that experience again.

However, a few volunteers had been asked to assist with the medical needs of some prisoners that had recently been freed from a Nazi camp.

There was far less destruction out here in the countryside, although there was still evidence of war, of the Allies heavy bombing runs. Poe couldn’t talk about those, at least not with you and you weren’t sure if it was because he was sworn to secrecy or if the very idea that he could kill innocent people rendered him speechless. You surmised it was both.

His letters that last few weeks had been short, upbeat; he would let her know if Arana was fine--still a pain in my ass, but I love him--Poe had written.

“Lieutenant,” the driver said, pulling your attention away from daydreaming. “Did the Army give you any forewarning about what you’re going to see?”

“No,” you said with a shake of your head, suddenly feeling a pit forming in your stomach. “Is it that bad?”

“Treated them worse than animals,” the driver mumbled as pulled down a long, narrow drive that led to a stone farmhouse. “And they’re not soldiers ma’am--civilians, French civilians. The French Red Cross has been caring for them, but with the war still going on, it’s overwhelming. They asked for some help.”

Something inside of you sparked, the conversations you’d heard your father have with other men in the neighborhood when he thought you were not within earshot. What had you agreed to expose your nurses too? Already they had seen so much--too much.

The jeep came to a stop in front of the farmhouse. You glanced at it for a moment, a picture of the French countryside at the onset, but you knew inside.... it was a much different story. Stealing yourself, you took a deep breath and got out of the jeep. With your medical bag in hand, you headed inside to find the doctor in charge.

It was eerily quiet. Beds lined walls with far too thin men, women, and children. A French nurse handed you a mask, told you to put it on because they were dealing with an outbreak of influenza. Judging by the condition of the patients, this came as no surprise to you; they had no immune systems to combat even a cold.

Slipping the mask on you, you buried your emotions and got to work. Later, when you sat down to write a letter to Poe, you’d let them all out. But for now, you had work to do.

------

Eight hours later, you found yourself hugging a toilet bowl. In all your lifetime, you had never seen people so sick, so frail, or so thin. Not even when you and your mother had traveled to rural parts of New York to help people in need during the Depression had you seen such horrendous conditions.

The Army private that had driven you to the farmhouse had been right--these people had been treated worse than animals.

“Lieutenant?” Jess called from the other side of the door. “You okay?”

“No,” you answered, truthfully before vomiting again.

“Can I come in?”

“Enter at your own risk.”

Slowly, the. door to the bathroom opened and Jess stepped inside. She closed it behind her before speaking. “I know this probably means nothing to you--but the way you held it together today, it really helped all the girls. I don’t know how you did it.”

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you answered her, honestly, “I’m not sure how I did it, either. My parents helped several families get out of Germany before the war began, they told us stories but I never...I never thought it would have been like this.”

Jess sat down next to you, pressing her back against the vanity. “I don’t think anyone could have imagined it was like this, Lieutenant. How could anyone sane imagine this?”

You had to agree. Dropping back on your feet, you glanced exhausted at your friend. She looked just as drained as you; the pair of you had spent the entire day helping treat patients and listen to the ones that could communicate with you what they had been through--ripped away from their families, losing everything they owned. None of them were sure if members of their families were even alive--they had been sent away to other countries--you had heard the word Auschwitz a few times.

“Do you think Captain Dameron is right?”

“About what?”

“The war being almost over.”

“I think he wants it to be almost over.”

“Me and him both.”

Sighing, you swallowed the sour tasting bile in your throat, wishing you could unsee the sick and dying people today. Suddenly you were feeling Poe’s absence harder than ever--you wished he was here so he could pull you into his arms and just tell you that it was going to be okay.

Jess reached for your hand and gave it a squeeze. “Maybe you should go write to him.”

You glanced at her, incredulously. “How did you know I was even thinking about him?”

“Because if the man I was gonna marry was that good looking--I’d be thinking about him all the time as well,” she said, with a big smile.

“He is pretty cute,” you said, returning her smile. And then you both started laughing. When the laughter had died down, you rested your head on Jess’ shoulder. “Thanks, Jess. I feel better.”

“Anytime, Y/N,” Jess said, softly. “You don’t have to shoulder all this alone, especially if we’re going to be here helping these poor people for a while. We’re going to need each other to lean on.”

#my writing #star wars imagine #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron x reader #WW2 AU #100 followers celebration #worth the risk

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silverwhiteraven · 4 years

Text

Words Most Important - MariBat GarMari Soulmate AU

[Hello~! This is a 7+k word fic written for a MariBat AU fan in need of some Garfield Logan/Marinette Dupain-Cheng content! (They also Beta read this, so thank you to them!!) Content includes an original Akuma, Puns, GarMari crossover pairing, Adrinette platonic pairing, an original take on First-Words Soulmate Tattoos (please credit if you decide to use it), and ends with a first-meeting! Hope you enjoy~!]

[Posted on A03]

This was not how the day was supposed to go.

No, not at all, not a bit.

But they're there now.

And here’s what happened.

Beast Boy had been in one of the Titan’s aircrafts heading for Paris, France, on an investigation of an old rumor. The rumor was really just a random, by-chance, overheard conversation heard in passing from someone describing having taken a vacation to France a handful of years back. The highlight of the vacation they had described was a shapeshifter. A beast with bright violet eyes had begun its attack at the city zoo in the form of a panther, and they supposedly witnessed it be defeated while in the form of a Tyrannosaurus-Rex by a pair of local heroes.

The friends of the teller were skeptical — not because of lack of belief in heroes and villains, but because, as they searched the internet for satisfaction to their curiosity, there seemed to be no evidence whatsoever. The speaker had simply shrugged, stating they had been too panicked to take footage of their own, and the local news had skimmed over it excitedly — but too quickly to record a copy. They added, a little confused themselves, that when they returned home and tried to look it up, they, too, had seemed to be pulling up blanks with their searches.

Their only proof of evidence was their own word and memory.

They claimed to have found a few obscure posters online who shared similar stories of travels to Paris, but they all seemed to have very little luck in getting their stories shared or noticed.

Even the European branch of the Justice League only had a shrug in response to the questions.

Direct conversation seemed to be the only way these tales went heard, yet they never went far, a strange trait for rumors to have.

So, there he was, on a simple recon mission. No engaging the enemy if seen, ask questions but do no harm. That’s was all it was intended to be. Well, it certainly didn’t go as planned.

Garfield watched as rather suddenly near the heart of Paris, a huge cloud of mixed colors and shades erupted. Perplexed, he began a slow turn to circle it, a mile wide berth between them. He barely got the controls turned before the cloud began to expand outward all round, and a wall of colors was heading for him. With wide eyes, he went to evade, but it was far too fast.

For a short moment, he took notice as the closing in colors distinguished themselves through the new proximity to be small flower-like petals. They were uneven, non symmetrical, like little ovals cut diagonally through their minor axis.

Then they struck.

Well, not so much struck as phased through the craft and him like they were nothing.

Until the petals cleared and one, single, coral red petal struck him solid in his chest. He stumbled back, his seat no longer under him and the straps no longer securing his body to it.

In fact, the entire aircraft was gone. He was newly collapsed on the ground in an open street, a walled-in river to one side of him. In a panic he looked around, down at his chest and then right up into the sky. He spotted it still airborne and far off, with the wall of the cloud of colored petals having left it far behind as it disappeared into the distance. It took him a moment to realize it was now without a pilot.

“Uh-oh.”

He was off the ground in a moment, transforming into a falcon and took off after the craft.

He didn't reach it —definitely not for a lack of trying.

Rather, barely after he started after it, a pale red glow emitted from his chest where he had been struck, and he found himself teleported once again back towards where he had been dropped the first time. He tried twice more before giving up.

Perched and pouting on top of a chimney, he watched as the craft finally crashed outside the city limits and unceremoniously caught itself on fire, leaving a glaring dark smear of smoke in the air. “Well, that sure went up in flames. What now.”

A distant crashing sound pulls his attention completely around, and he finds himself staring wide eyed at a collapsing Eiffel Tower.

“Well, today certainly has room to get better,” he remarked absently as the iconic landmark disappeared under a debris cloud of its own making. The glow from his chest started back up again, and he sighed as he braced himself.

Beast Boy dropped into a bush, transforming back into his most human form as he jumps back out. He stops when he notices a very out of place rusted beam across his path. A lot of interconnecting beams.

He looks down the length of the structure and realizes he’s at the Eiffel Tower now, at least, somewhere around where it’s now laying. Likely near what used to be the top, considering the beams were gathered close and the higher up ones sloping upwards and out, while the place where they gathered closer seemed to be supporting a floor, the rest of the structure's top hidden from view by the angle from where he stood.

He barely has time to consider what his first move should be before the glow is back, at the same time he hears another building collapse in the direction of the Tower’s feet, and he’s standing in a different spot.

At the bent and upturned feet of the Eiffel Tower.

His brows furrowed and arms crossed, “I get the feeling I’m being dragged around now, that’s uncool ya know,” he adds, looking down with a halfhearted glare and frown to his chest.

Not wanting to take any chances that whatever the coral red petal did to him would respond in kind, he turned back into a bird and took off in the direction he was being teleported, which seemed to correspond a little too well with the latest destruction. He really hoped he wouldn’t end up joining in a fight. He already lost his ride, he didn't want to break one of the mission’s rules, too.

Beast Boy watched the ground from above, and after a moment spotted movement followed by more noise. A giant came jumping out of a collapsing building. Several people, actually, two smaller, normal sized people carrying several others each followed suit.

The first person was huge, twice the average height. Their clothes — a simple androgynous formal suit and domino mask — were colored as though to mimic the cloud of petals as it had first appeared. The entire thing was swirls of blacks, greys, and whites, with an iridescent sheen like oil or mother-of-pearl. Their eyes and short hair matched as well, the entire look one matching theme.

And they looked as mad as a smacked hornet.

The other two were running away from the first figure and setting down their human loads in safe spaces, people who must have simply been stragglers of an evacuation seeing as how there were no other people around, before heading right back towards the colorful…person. Was it even human? Nothing that tall was usually human.

One was wearing an all-black, shiny leather bodysuit with matching close-body plates of armor, his eyes flashing green and catlike through his loose pale hair as they glared towards what Garfield now assumed was the enemy of the pair that rescued the people from the collapsed building.

The other of the two wore an armored-looking bodysuit as well, but this one was red, black, and spotted, and just as shiny as the other. Her midnight hair was up in a braided bun, which was held in place by a pair of red, black-tipped ribbons, leaving her ocean-blue eyes clear below side-swept bangs.

The two, obviously heroes, barely got close with a charge before they were jumping to retreat and dodge as the colorful villain began blasting them with shots and beams of equally colorful energy. The energy seemed to be dragged from the center of their chest, where two solid, iridescent metal petals, oil-black and mother-of-pearl white, slotted together into a heart, and into their hand’s grasp.

“Power sources?” he mused as he settled on a roof edge. He was a bit worried, the heroes seemed to be doing just fine on their own for now. They were slowly gaining ground, without one sign of being injured at all. But it didn't seem to be fast enough, seeing the trail of destruction the fight was leaving behind.

Maybe, he could help, just a bit.

Yeah.

Yeah! He could!

He wasn’t exactly engaging the enemy, just… assisting some heroes! Besides, the enemy he was looking for in Paris obviously wasn't this one, so he was still following instructions, in a rule-dodging way, but still.

Mind made up and a crooked grin on his beak, Beast Boy transformed once more. He was still a bird, but this time he chose a much smaller, much less noticeable bird.

A hummingbird, to be exact.

Zipping through the air, he made his way towards the fight, staying above it and out of the way of wildly-aimed energy shots, whipping yo-yo wire, and metal bo staff swings. He zigzagged through the air as they moved about, following and watching for an opening. The two other heroes communicated wordlessly, clearly teammates well-versed in their dynamic. He could tell though that the black-cat-styled one wanted to speak up a few times like a habit. Garfield could practically see the unsaid quips in his mouth, but he never got a chance, as they were interrupted by attacks every time.

“Mood,” he said to himself, as he was also not one to stay quiet for long. He just couldn't help it! It made the fights so much less tense for him, so less frightening.

He also made a small note of how the villain didn't talk as well, and guessed that he had simply missed all the typical villain-monologue this one had had in stock.

The two heroes found their own openings before Beast Boy did, and they each struck opposite shoulders of the villain with their weapons, knocking them back into a wall with a crash. They didn't get up from the ground right away, but were quick to raise their hands yet in a counterattack. When the villain finally sat still for just a moment, Beast Boy struck.

Still a hummingbird, he dive-bombed straight down to the villain. He flew past their head on one side, grabbing the petal-heart-object as he pulled back up, then shot off back into the air on their other side.

The energy blasts fizzled out, since their power source — “Yes! I was right!” —had been removed. The villain looked panicked, looking all over the ground frantically for the item Beast Boy just stole and was now holding high in the air. The item, despite being metal, was surprisingly light, and his worry of needing to shift into a new form to hold it was dismissed.

The hero pair, seeing the defenses of their opponent vanish, closed in.

The fight was over the moment the wire of the ladybug themed yo-yo secured itself around the villain, unbudging. They took an extra moment to secure them to a tree, just in case they thought to try caterpillaring away as a last ditch effort.

“Pound it!” the two cheered in union, bumping their fists in a clearly traditional fashion. The two then glanced around themselves, looking for the villain’s power source that Beast Boy held. He noticed a purple mask-like butterfly symbol appear before the villain’s eyes as they scowled, fruitlessly struggling.

The two heroes looked to each other then the villain with questions in their eyes. “Where did your Akumatized object go?” the ladybug-themed hero asked, clearly confused yet wary.

The villain scoffed. “Like hell if I know. Yes, I don’t know where your stupid Akuma went, Hawkmoth, so leave me alone. We clearly lost this one. You aren't getting your precious Miraculous through me, and clearly I won't be finding my Soulmate through you.”

The colorful person doubled over and fell sideways in pain, held upright by the yo-yo, and Garfield felt alarmed and concerned at the sight. He dropped the Akumatized Object he had stolen, flitted closer to the tied up person, and transformed once more, now into a butterfly, and perching on the bark of the tree near them.

The object made a light, ringing clatter as it hit the ground, and pulled the defeated villain and hero pair’s attention to it.

“Oh!” the pair said, grinning to one another.

“Care to do the honors, Chat Noir?” The ladybug one held out a red-and-black object, halting her partner in walking over to retrieve the heart-looking item.

Garfield saw the gleeful and mischievous smile spread as he took it. “Of course, might as well get some use out of it, don’t you say, Ladybug?” She only laughed and waved at the villain’s power source laying on the ground.

Chat Noir lifted and pulled back his arm, holding the red and black object, before flinging it forward at the Akumatized object.

It struck true, and embedded itself upright into the ground among the now perfectly split remains of the colorful, heart-shaped petals.

The red and black item stopped quivering in its spot, and, besides the abnormal colors to the usually silver piece of merchandise, Garfield recognized it.

It was a letter opener, with the handle in a perfectly shaped miniature replica of the Titans Tower. Garfield had one back in his quarters in that very Tower.

Then, a violet-streaked black butterfly emerged from the shattered metal remains.

“Well, all together that was rather unnerving,” Beast Boy commented quietly, and the villain, who happened to be close enough to catch it, whipped their head around with wide eyes, staring at what used to be a very unassuming Beast Boy in butterfly form.

“Sup,” he says, just before the enemy is rapidly covered in dark, violet black bubbles, which scared him off his tree perch and almost, almost, making him transform back into his usual form, but manages to hold it off.

He stared at what is now a normal looking human, with no costume or signs of powers to be seen. The cable around them fell away with the slack. He kept staring, so much so that he missed whatever Ladybug does with her now retrieved yo-yo as she calls out, “No more evildoing for you, little Akuma! Gotcha!”

He did, however, manage to pry his eyes away from the un-transformed person quickly enough to watch Ladybug open her yo-yo to release a pure white butterfly.

“Bye-bye, little Butterfly.”

He flew up into the tree as the hero duo approached, ignoring the impromptu dagger Chat Noir had thrown, and shifted into a chipmunk to better perch and look down from the branches.

“Hawkmoth is no longer a threat to you. How are you feeling?” Chat Noir asked, crouching down by his partner. Concern was laced into his soothing tone. Ladybug had gathered up the petals of the broken Akumatized item, revealed to be a set of two half-heart pins, as well as the letter opener, and was now sitting close to the untransformed person.

“I…” They paused, looking down at their now-exposed arm. Two lines of text flowed parallel up their forearm. The bottom one had faded into a sickly grey. Some of the words he could read of it were not very pretty. Tears built and fell from their eyes and they sobbed.

“She said something to me, it- it was bad, really bad… I never knew that words that ‘mean the most’ can sometimes be so… so mean. I...” They sniffled. “I wanted to find my other soulmate, I really needed them…”

Ladybug gave them a sympathetic smile and rested a hand on theirs in comfort. It became apparent to him that this person must have been a victim to this Hawkmoth person and that dark butterfly he had seen.

“Words have a lot of weight on us,” Ladybug said to them, “The people behind them and their meanings can be a lot to have sometimes. I want you to remember something,” she requests, and wiped away a tear from the civilian’s face.

“Remember that if these aren't the words you want on you, to make an effort to change them. Make sure she puts in the effort, too. You know why? Because they are her words to write, not just yours to bear. You don't have to accept these words if you don't want them to be the ones that have the most meaning.”

Ladybug gently tapped the faded words with an encouraging smile. “See? Even now, you’re making sure they don't stay. You can bring them back, if you still want to keep your connection and strengthen it. Just make sure the words that are there are the ones you truly want to value most.

“And them?” She tapped once more on their arm, now on the other set of words, and finally dropped the two heart halves into their palm, then closed their fingers around it. “You'll meet them when it's time. Not even I could make mine come sooner than they're meant to. Don’t worry, you’ll meet yours and hear their words, I’m sure of it, when it's right.”

“Never heard words so wise, Bug,” Chat Noir added with a soft and proud grin. He helped the victim stand, after making sure they were steady, before letting them head off. Lingering sorrow and pain were still clear in their tense shoulders, but hope and determination powered their steps.

Ladybug stood with a sigh and a content smile, before she pulled the Titan Tower letter opener back out and gave it a last glance before tossing it into the air.

“Miraculous Ladybug!”

Garfield watched in stunned awe as the world was momentarily filled with glittering ladybugs, and as they swept past him, all damage was turned right back to what it had been before. He even watches the sparkling trail as it brought back the city’s iconic Eiffel Tower.

When they were gone, he turned his gaze and attention back to the heroes and their enemy-turned-civilian.

But they weren't there.

In fact, as he stumbled back once more, “Oh snaps,” and popped back into his regular form, he’s pretty sure he was the one who now wasn't where the two heroes are, wherever that was. He spun around, and there was the aircraft that was nothing more than a hot mess in the distance barely over an hour before.

Surprisingly, he was right where he and it were originally supposed to be: parked in a clearing outside the city.

“Huh. Weird.” Garfield heads into the aircraft, going straight for the communications station. He finds it blown up with notifications of warnings and concerns from his team.

He read over it all, making sure to record and send a quick report of what he experienced on his end.

Turns out, that cloud of petals had expanded out at a seemingly impossible rate over the surface of the Earth and even out towards space. The petals seemed to be physically unstoppable, except for the single petals that would break from the main wall and were apparently attracted to individuals. Every individual to be precise, like there was a petal or even more assigned for every person in the universe.

One of the speedsters had even tried to outrun his own and failed at it. He had coincidentally ended up in Paris, too, though he had been rather disappointed he didn't get to see the Eiffel Tower —it just wasn't there.

Beast Boy figured he just got there some time after it had collapsed and couldn't see it from where he was.

Also it turned out that everyone experienced the same thing he had when they stuck: they were teleported somewhere they didn't know, or didn’t intend to go, or hadn't expected to get to so soon.

At least, that was the experience of those who hadn't met their soulmates yet.

Those who knew their soulmates were simply teleported to each other: either to the location one was already in, or somewhere random in between.

And when the magic ladybugs came to the rescue, everyone was put where they had been.

He thought it was over, then started one more recording to message out.

“Hey guys. So, I think I know what happened. I don’t think whatever put everyone back actually put people back, exactly. See, I mentioned how I was brought back to the aircraft, right? Well, this isn't where it crashed, it's where my landing zone was. It's where I was supposed to be, not where I had been, especially considering I was hit while still flying this thing.

“That lady hero, Ladybug? She said something about not being able to force a meeting between soulmates before its time. And the Akuma — that’s what that villain was, by the way, just now found out — turns out I can find all the stuff I need on the Internet while in Paris. I bet it's either a magic or cyber firewall that keeps it in check outside of Paris’ networks.

“I even found stuff on that shapeshifter! He was an Akuma, too, Animan, so he’s long gone. Anyway, the Akuma wanted to find their other soulmate after being hurt by the first one. Bet you five that their power was to transport soulmates closer to each other. Bet again the fact that I haven't met mine yet kept it from transporting me all the way, but the Akuma also kept me from getting too far away.”

His face lit up in a wide, dopey grin with realization. “I bet mine is here, I wasn't able to get very far away from all the fighting after all, maybe they were one of the people who got caught up in the fight.” His smile softened, and he rubbed the nape of his neck, where he knew his soulmate’s words spanned over it, starting from one shoulder and ended on the other.

“Even if I met them while the fight was still going, I bet another five that not once, through even a whole convo, they would have said the words. After all, you can't force a first meeting. It has to be a surprise.

“Besides,” he laughed, “with the adventure I was on, that would have been one big terrible circumstance for a first meet, yeah? So let's see where this goes. Beast Boy, out!”

He sent out the new update message before he stood and stretched, then dressed out of his hero uniform and into casual clothes. Beast Boy finally booked it out of the aircraft with a holler powered by a previously-suppressed excitement finally coming to the surface.

“MY SOULMATE’S IN PARIS!! But first,” he added with a sly grin to himself, “food!”

~~~

Ladybug watched as the magic ladybugs clear away the damages before turning back to Chat. “Well, this was an eventful day. Glad we didn’t get teleported halfway across the world or something,” she added as the two make their way onto a high roof.

Chat follows her up and laughs, giving a lighthearted shrug, “True, but I bet we can thank Kaalki for that — at least, on my end.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of silver sunglasses that he slid on with a wink. A Kwami followed the glasses out and hovered at his shoulder.

The Horse Kwami spoke up with a huff as she accepted a macaroon from Ladybug. “You absolutely can thank me, and should. You, M. Chat Noir, almost got transported to the Americas. I had to cancel out Split-Soul's power until your other Soulmate was struck with their own Soul-Petal, thus bringing them here. It took longer than expected; whoever they are, they must have found some way to avoid the Soul-Petals, at least temporarily.”

“And Ladybug?”

Kaalki gave him an odd look. “You are my current wielder, and I can only use my transportation ability once at a time, in this case, on you, in a non-stop reverse-teleportation. I had no time or energy afterwards to attempt the same for Mlle. Ladybug. However, it seems she had no need for my power. My guess is her Luck held and her other Soulmate is either already in Paris or was brought here, instead of her to them. Or the Soulmate Bond between you two assisted in keeping her here, any of these options are plausible.”

The two heroes looked at each other with dumbfounded expressions as the information sank in.

“Ladybug…”

“Chat… They could be here. Right now. I- I might meet my Soulmate soon.” She became overwhelmed with nerves, excited and nervous all at once.

Her partner grinned at her as he saw what was about to happen coming, and opened his arms to her. She slammed into him with a crushing hug, laughing as her overflow of emotions comes out as tears.

“I don't even know if I’ll meet them yet,” she added, hugging her best friend closer for a bit of extra support. “But that's okay, just knowing they were so close, even for a little bit, it’s… amazing. I just can't wait. I hope we meet soon.”

“I look forward to you telling me all about them, Bug. Good Luck.” They both laughed at that, knowing full well her luck was always out of whack outside the suit, and he never could avoid a fitting yet sincere pun.

She breathed deeply for a moment then stepped back and wiped away her tears; Chat made sure to catch the ones she missed.

“You good?”

“Good.” She nodded, and gave him a beaming smile that he returned. “Now, let’s head home! Maman and Papa made a huge order today and you know there's always extras left over.”

“Yes!” He cheered, pulling out his baton, “Dupain-Cheng sweets, here I come!”

Together the two headed to Marinette’s home, and dropped in through her open skylight that they had exited through and left open earlier when the first Akuma struck, then latched it shut with an added sense of finality to their day. They de-transformed and toss their respective Kwamis their treats before following each other down the multiple flights of stairs, then burst into the back of the bakery with big smiles.

“Marinette! Adrien!” Sabine Cheng smiled back at the two as they made their appearance. “You're just in time, we have some reject meringues left over for you to take upstairs for snacks if you want them. Would you mind helping us in the bakery later before closing? We expect a small rush for all the end-of-day goods.”

“Of course, Sabine!” Adrien nods enthusiastically, grabbing the tray of proffered meringues. “Did the Akuma earlier cause any troubles here? That one was a doozy, almost gave me a heart-attack.” He emphasized his private pun with a wink towards Marinette, who smirked and rolled her eyes.

Sabine laughed, though remained oblivious to the secret behind the pun. “Other than Tom appearing in front of me on top of the counter without warning? No, all was well here. Though, he did grab one of the shelves when he almost fell — turns out it's a bit loose, ‘cause it fell right off the wall with the baskets of bread. Lucky us, Ladybug’s cure cleaned it all right up, and we can fix the shelves tomorrow.”

“Oh! I can do it when we come back down. It’s safest to get it done as soon as possible, right? I’ll even do it before the rush, promise.” He saluted, emphasizing the promise like a scout.

Sabine nodded, no longer shocked by his eagerness to help out. Sometimes, she just wanted to adopt the boy, and she knew she could without a doubt. “Alright, dear, just be careful when you do.”

“Yes Ma’am! Let's go, Marinette!” He grabbed her hand, the one where his words were etched into her wrist, balanced the tray on his other, and dragged her back up the stairs.

“Slow down, you’ll make me trip!” she exclaimed, and followed him up with only a slight stumble.

They headed right back up to her room, and passed a meringue each to the three Kwami, then proceeding up the steps to her loft and out into the open air of her shaded balcony. He set the tray down on her spool table. The two settled down into matching lounge chairs on either side of it and finally took treats of their own.

“So…” Adrien started, looking at her expectantly, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

“Hm?” Marinette looks back at him as she bit her meringue, tilting her head curiously, though wary at his look.

“Your other Soulmate, huh?”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes at him once more. “Haven't met them yet, like you already know. Yeah, they might be in Paris, but we don't know for sure. And like I told the Akuma victim, we won't meet until it's time.”

“But you're still hopeful, right?”

“Yeah, like I said earlier, I hope I meet them soon, but, I’m okay if not. I know they're out there, and that still counts.”

He sighs and laid back. “Yeah, me, too. Though, knowing they were so close? It’s a little hard to not be disappointed that not even an Akuma’s desire-fulfilling powers could bring them around quicker. Just wish they would get here faster. Like come on, pick up your feet!” He threw out his arms dramatically before slumping back in a pout.

She laughed and reached across the table to pat his hair. “They're coming as fast as they can, promise.”

He looked back at her in mock skepticism before his grin returned in full force. “Speaking of picking up feet, can I see you other Soulmate’s words again? They make me crack up every time.”

“Oh come on! They're not that ironic,” she protested, but obliges anyways as she lifts her right leg and settles the ankle to rest on the edge of the table.

“Are you kidding me?” he questioned, leaning forward to look at the words, laughter in his eyes. “This is being ironic at full power. I would swear with you being, well, her, and these words, you would have met them by now.”

Words wrapped around her ankle like a decorative piece of jewelry.

“Oh wow, my hero, thanks!”

“Yeah, well, you’ve seen yours, too, right?” She reached over and tugged up his shirt, revealing the words running along the front of his left hip.

“Since when did the cat lady have a son?”

He laughed, and she added, “If your dad knew why it said that, he would faint on the spot and then lock you up permanently when he comes to.” He only laughed harder at the thought and she sat back again with an exasperated grin of her own.

As he quieted again, he looked at her with a question. “Kaalki said the Americas, right? Do you think it might have been the United States?”

“We can ask later, but yeah, maybe. Why?”

“Well, it does say ‘cat lady’, so clearly we’re bound to meet while I’m being him. Do you think this ‘cat lady’ is, maybe, another hero?” He looked nervous to ask, but open to the idea.

“Maybe? We can check.” She waved her phone at him, the search engine already open. She took a moment to search ‘cat themed american heroes’ while Adrien leaned closer, biting into a meringue as he did so.

She shook her head at the broad list of results, humming to herself in thought. “Maybe…” She tried again, changing the search to ‘black cat themed american vigilantes’. Her eyes went wide at the top results, and pulled up an image, showed it to him, and his expression followed suit to her own.

“Is that…”

“Yep. You know, with the familiarity that ‘cat lady’ sounds like, maybe you should be thinking about if your Soulmate is the one who’s also a hero.” She finished off her meringue with a pointed look, and he munched the last of his with a thoughtful look.

“What if,” he swallows before continuing, pointing at her, “both of us have hero Soulmates?”

She took a moment to process that then looked out over her balcony railing, tapping her chin. “Yeah, maybe. I mean, it would make a whole lot of sense. I don't see us stopping being heroes even after Hawkmoth is defeated. Even if someone else takes up his mantle like Timetagger suggested, there will always be other villains out there, new and old, big and small. I want to help fight them, so maybe we’ll be helping other heroes, too, and not just us on our own.”

The soft smile he gave her in response relaxed her, and she smiled back just as softly.

“You're right, Buginette. I wouldn't want to stop and give that up, not ever. I plan to go full Daredevil!” Adrien cheered — a bit too enthusiastically, because he wound up knocking the empty tray off the table with his arm, and it fell to the deck, bounced with a clang, and went right through the bars of the railing — falling to the ground below.

They both rushed over and leaned out, checking to see if it fell on anyone. The sidewalk and street was clear, and the tray was resting rather casually against the curb. Marinette raises a brow at him. “I thought Daredevil was aware of his surroundings at all times.”

Adrien chuckled sheepishly and rubbed his neck guiltily, but bumped her side in retaliation to her jibe. “I meant fighting crime both in and out of the mask, you know? Become a lawyer or something.”

Marinette nodded and gave an encouraging smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I can see it. I’ll help you out any way I can.”

He gives a sly smile, “Any way? Even show up in court as her and then reveal yourself?”

Without hesitation, she nodded once with a sense of finality. “Yes, even that. You’re my partner, my friend, and practically my brother, if my parents have say anyways. I support you, all the way.”

His grin is wide and bright as he turned to her fully and pulled down his shirt, revealing her words written over his heart. She has no time to read them as she watched them rewrite themselves before her eyes, sparkling silver before fading back to black.

“You’re my partner, my friend, and practically my brother. I support you, all the way.”

She laughed and looked him in the eyes as he grinned back, her heart feeling loved, and she loved knowing her words meant so much to him. “You missed a part.”

He laughed, too, and then they're both giggling against each other's sides as they looked back at the ground, unconcerned for the moment about the tray.

“Remember our first words to each other?” Adrien asked quietly, soft and content.

“Mhm, you said “Well, hey there, nice of you to drop in,” right after I fell on you that first day.” They both giggled again and he nodded.

“Yep, and you said, “Sorry, I didn't do it on purpose.” Who would have known what those lines would mean to us, let alone why they were said. I’m glad they happened. You're the best person out there, Marinette, thanks for dropping in on me.”

“Yeah.”She nodded back to him with a held back laugh. “You're welcome I'm such a klutz.”

They sat in comfortable silence after that, just basking in the renewed calmness of the day, and casually kept an eye on the fallen tray to make sure no one saw it and took off with it.

A slight disturbance down on the far side of the park drew Marinette's eyes and she nudged Adrien, gesturing toward it. “See that?”

He looked, and a moment later made a face like he bit something distasteful. “We’ve both seen enough fan-made crowds to know what that is, and how to avoid them. I wonder who the poor famous soul is.”

“Let’s find out,” she said, and whipped her phone out once more, opening the camera function. He raised a brow at that.

“Your camera’s that good?”

She nodded with a grin, “Yep! Lucked out with this one,” she stated with a wink.

He rolled his eyes but grinned in appreciation. “Good for you, mine stinks like cheese.”

“Get new cheeses then,” she quipped, and ignored his plaintive “I wish…” as she leaned closer to her screen as she zoomed in.

It takes a minute, but she finally got a good image and a clear view, and snapped a picture, sitting back with wide eyes as she looked it over. “No way.”

“What? Let me see, who is it?” She let him take the phone as she looked back over the balcony and down towards the relatively small and far-off gathering of people.

“Pretty sure that's a foreign superhero, Adrien.”

“No way,” he parroted as he stared between the phone and the small group. “That's definitely a hero —. one of the Titans, too; I recognize him from one of Alya’s other hero blogs. That’s so cool, we don’t actually get to see other heroes that often, do we?”

Marinette shook her head, looking back to him. “Nope. We’re way too busy all the time, even with one so close we probably shouldn't try going over, even in costume.” Adrien deflates a bit at that, but nods in understanding, knowing full well what she means. “Besides, like you said, Alya has her side blogs, and nothing hero-related ever gets past her. I bet she'll have something up on one of the blogs by tomorrow.”

Adrien brightened back up with a chuckle. “Yeah, Paris gets a lot of visiting heroes. Alya won't rest whenever one is spotted. Still, I don't think we've ever had one visit so close to an Akuma attack before, I wonder if he saw it…”

“At the very least he experienced it,” she stated “That Heart-Petal blast Split-Soul did went worldwide, if not off-world, too.”

“True. Not a lot of Akumas pull attention from outside of Paris, though. So, here’s to hoping none of it is negative.” He held up a split meringue he had previously stashed away, offering her a half.

She took it and tapped it against his as they call out in unison, “Hear hear!”

Together, they finished off their last treat and headed back down into the building once more. They joined Marinette’s parents in the bakery, and Marinette went to get the fallen tray from outside, then brought it to the back. She found Tom and asked if he needed help with the cleaning in the back, including the shutting off and clean-out of the ovens. Adrien found Sabine and asked about the shelf.

Sabine helped Adrien bring out a ladder for him to use, as well as a couple tools and screws that he set aside. Marinette joined the two up front, as her father had claimed he would get her assistance later and sent her to help with the shelf.

“We need to get all the bread off the shelves first. Here, I’ll pass them to you, okay?” He went up the ladder and grabbed the first bundle.

Unfortunately, he seemed to be rather unused to the use of ladders, and had trouble turning or stepping back down without his arms.

In what Marinette assumed was an accurate rendition of what happened earlier with Tom Dupain, Adrien stumbled on his perch and, after dropping half the bread, shot out an arm to grab the very shelf they were trying to get fixed.

Just as that was happening, Marinette saw the flash of movement at the door as it opened with a little ring from its bell. After so many years of practice predicting chain effects and their results, her movements came instinctively.

She jumped forward, grabbed an empty display tray, and held it above their heads as a makeshift shield against all the catapulted bread and the shelf itself as she dove for the newcomer to unceremoniously tackle him out of the way.

The shelf had scraped the bottom of the tray as she had gotten in its way, shoving it off course, and as the two people went down, one end of the shelf thudded hard into the ground just to the side of where it had previously been headed, the place the newcomer had been about to be, before falling to the floor with a bang.

Marinette and the other both sat up on the floor and looked over to the shelf and the surrounding mess of bread. Adrien and Sabine are both momentarily stunned into a still silence.

“Oh wow, my hero, thanks!” The other boy breaks it, and Marinette tinted with a gentle blush alongside her nervous laugh. She hadn't heard that phrase as often outside of Ladybug’s mask, and it had always felt different, a bit more embarrassing.

This time it had felt a little extra different in another way and she turned to him.

She blinked owlishly as she recognized Beast Boy beside her, already realizing the words that next tumbled from her mouth were full of both irony and coincidence, considering she really was a hero, and so too was he, but at the same time being protection from baked goods and a shelf wasn't much of a heroic feat.

“I’m not much of a hero, I just do what needs to be done, the best I can. Anyone can do it.” His expression lights up at her words, and she realizes in that moment why him having called her a hero felt so different: Her Soulmate Mark was reacting to the words he spoke, and she felt them for the first time as though they were a solid thing around her ankle, right where it belonged.

Beast Boy was quick to reply, “I’ve never heard words more true.”

His grin widened and his eyes seemed to glimmer.

“Well, I’ve certainly read such true words,” he adds. “But it’s nice to finally hear you say it. Hi, I’m Garfield, Gar for short, and, I think you’re my Soulmate. I really hope I'm not wrong.”

Adrien and Sabine, who had both broken from their stupor sometime during the floorbound conversation and had moved closer to check on the two, both froze for a second time at Garfield’s words.

They all watched as Marinette felt Garfield’s words react once more and she stuck out her right ankle for all to see as the words there shimmered a golden iridescent. It felt like she had put her ankle directly into a beam of sunlight through a window, before it faded back to black and the feeling left.

“I think you’re my soulmate. I really hope I’m not wrong.”

She flushed a darker shade as she covered it back up, embarrassed to have everyone see just how important those specific words had been to her, and so soon after meeting him, too! At least one of her fears was eased: she hadn't met her Soulmate while being Ladybug.

“Hi, I’m Marinette, and we’re definitely soulmates. It’s nice to finally meet you. Sorry about the bread.” She quickly stood up from the ground and held out her hand to her Soulmate. He grasped it lightly and they steadied each other as he pulled himself up, a bit of a dopey grin on his face.

“Nice to meet you too, Mari, and don't worry about it, I've been through far worse than almost being turned into bread pudding.” Adrien laughs at that, breaking from his second shock, and was joined by an overhearing Tom who had finally joined the group in the front to investigate the original commotion. Even though her mother turned a sympathetic yet encouraging look to her, Marinette didn't feel at all disappointed that a third jokester had added himself into her life.

“Garfield, meet my mother Sabine, my father Tom, and my Platonic Soulmate Adrien. My family. Family, welcome Garfield, my Soulmate.”

And welcome him they did, with open arms and several hugs, one of which he pointedly compared to Cyborg’s in strength with a touch of amused surprise.

Honestly, this was not how the day was supposed to go for either of them.

No, not at all, not a bit.

At least, from their expectations it wasn't.

In actuality, it went exactly as it was Destined.

And they're here now.

That’s what matters.

[End!! Thank y’all so much~!!]

Tag List: @the-navistar-carol @persephonebutkore @freshbark @ethelphantom @soulmate-game

#garmari #maribat #soulmate au #crossover au #platonic adrienette #first meeting #writing prompt #writing #willowbendt

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wandas-sunshine · 4 years

Text

The Good Side

Summary: Steve made a mistake, but at least you got the good side of things. He just never imagined that it would hurt so badly.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (sorta)

Word Count: 2222

Warnings: Angst, there’s no happy ending here, cheating

Flashbacks are in italics

You were nervous sitting there in the same little cafe that the two of you used to meet at almost daily. You were tucked into the back corner at your usual table, gazing out the window with your back to the door. Your cup was steaming in front of you. You hadn’t touched it yet. See, sitting there, and sipping your coffee, and watching people passing by on the busy streets while you waited for him to come...it felt too much like when things were okay between you. It felt too much like those days when he’d come and press sweet kisses to your lips, and apologize for being late. But he was always late, and it was always okay, because he was always sorry, and you could never stay mad at him when those big blue eyes looked so guilty.

The little bell over the door jingled in the way that used to excite you. Now it filled you with an anxious sort of dread. It had been over a year since you’d last seen Steve in person, and it hadn’t exactly been the most pleasant parting of ways.

You were shaking as you packed up your things from Steve’s apartment. Neither of you had said a word to each other since you’d walked through the door. He was just following you around the apartment, standing in the doorways. Your chest ached from the crying that you didn’t want to admit you’d been doing all night long.

He stood there with crossed arms, brooding silently as you erased every trace of yourself from the apartment the two of you had shared for the past year. You folded the flaps of the box together, and he stepped towards you so he could carry it to your car. Before he could, you’d scooped it into your own arms and brushed past him.

“(Y/N), let me help.” He pleaded. You glared at him. His voice was hoarse, you figured yours wasn’t sounding much better. You had cried yourself to sleep and hadn’t stopped crying since you woke up.

“You’ve made it perfectly clear that you don’t need me around. I don’t need you to usher me out of your life.” You snapped. The words stung you to say, but they sunk into Steve’s heart like venomous fangs. You’d been together for three year. Of course you’d had your fair share of fights. But never had he heard you sound so...over him.

The chair across from you was pulled out, and Steve sat himself down in front of you. He looked different. Less like the all-American boy-next-door you’d been in love with. His blonde hair was shaggier now, and he’d grown his beard out. You expected it to sting looking at him now, but it didn’t. Maybe you’d fallen out of love with more grace than you’d initially realized. Betrayal would do that to a person

“You look good, (Y/N).” He spoke after a moment. Hearing your name from his lips was strange after so long. It didn’t sound like music to your ears anymore. His voice was wavering, the way it used to after he’d been crying. Part of you wondered...You shook off the thought. It wasn’t fair to guilt yourself like that.

“You do too. The beard is a good look on you.” You looked down at the steam billowing from the cup tucked carefully between your hands. You just barely caught his forced smile. “So...how are things? We haven’t talked in…” You knew that he knew just how long it had been. You were the one to stop answering his 4am texts, after all.

“Nothing’s really changed. I moved in with Bucky.” He informed you. He didn’t mention that it was because he couldn’t exist in his apartment without thinking about how much colder it felt without your light in it, without remembering that you were never coming back to him. You nodded, completely unsure of what to say. Then he pointed to your hand. “You have a...that’s...that’s new.”

Your eyes drifted down to the sparkling engagement ring nestled on your finger. Your face lit up, and the knowledge that someone else’s love made it brighten that way made Steve sick. How could he have been so stupid as to let you go.

“Yeah. It’s new. His name’s Thomas. He asked me last month. It was a little fast, but I know he’s the one.” You beamed at your ex and brought your cup up to your lips, finally taking a drink. “What about your love life? You and Sharon still…” You weren’t sure how to word it. You didn’t even know what they had been before.

“No. We...It didn’t last.” He sighed and scratched at his jaw. You should have felt worse that he’d lost her, but how could you after everything?

You were curled up to his chest in absolute bliss, the thin white sheet being the only thing between your skin and the cool air of your shared room. Your chest was sticking just a little to his, both of you still heated from your celebration of your engagement. Neither of you minded one bit. His arms were still wrapped around you, one hand stroking through your hair while the other traced lazily against your back. He always got that way after sex. Soft and touchy, like you’d disappear if he wasn’t holding you. It had become your favorite thing. A reminder that he loved you and wasn’t going to let you slip through his fingers.

“I love you so much, (Y/N).” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your head.

“I love you too, Stevie. Why else would I say yes?” You teased, waggling your finger at him and showing off the ring he’d slipped onto it only hours ago. You brushed your fingertips against his jaw and leaned up to press your lips together. The kiss was slow and sweet and didn’t last nearly long enough as he pulled your hand to his lips. A soft kiss was laid against your palm, then against the ring he had chosen.

The both of you were nearing sleep as you curled up, basking in the afterglow. It was all barely-there kisses and feather-light touches until the sound of a phone buzzing against the bedside table drew you out of it. You whined and stretched to pick up the offending device from where your two phones lay together. You glanced at his screen, expecting it to be Bucky or Nat asking how the proposal went. But when you opened the message, you were greeted by something exponentially worse.

“I’m sorry, Steve.” You met his gaze again. His eyes were still clouded with the same guilt from before. You wondered if they’d ever shine as bright as they once had. But Steve knew they never would. He would never be able to wash away the weight of losing the best thing that had ever happened to him.

“So you’re engaged. What else did I miss?” He asked. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure what to say now. He’d asked to meet in your old spot for a reason. He’d hoped it would bring back something, memories or buried feelings for him. It was naive really, but he had come with every intention of begging you to come back to him. He wasn’t sure why he’d expected you to be just as miserable as he was without you at his side. You’d always been good at looking on the bright side of things.

“I moved out of Nat’s place. I got my own apartment a few blocks away from her. Tom is moving in soon. Oh, and we got a dog!” You unlocked your phone to show Steve a picture of you and your brand new puppy. “And I got that promotion I was trying so hard to get.”

In complete honesty, your break up had brought out a side of you that you’d never expected. Instead of sulking around Natasha’s apartment, you’d dove head-first into making your life better. You socialized more with newer people, worked your ass off to get where you wanted to be. You’d become a brighter version of yourself. And as much as it hurt Steve to see you happy with anyone else, he was proud more than anything else.

“Looks like you got the good side of things” He couldn’t help the heartbroken chuckle that came after he spoke. Natasha had nearly killed him after you walked the three miles to her apartment, heartbroken and completely alone in the middle of the night. Then again when she found out why you had done it.

Your eyes scanned the screen like you were misreading it. A new message from Sharon Carter. It read “missing you Captain” with a series of very flirty emojis strung behind it. If that wasn’t enough to completely shatter your heart, the picture that loaded would. It was a mirror shot of the stunning blonde in America themed lingerie that was far too reminiscent of Steve’s suit. You slowly looked away from the phone to your fiance’s face.

“”(Y/N), what’s wrong?” He asked, blue eyes scanning your eyes while his brain thought through a million awful scenarios. Not one of them came close to the terrible reality.

“What…” You blinked back tears. “What is this?” You asked, sitting up and letting the sheet fall away from your body. You handed him the phone with an unsteady hand. You didn’t sound angry, or even upset. Just a little shocked.

“Let me explain.” He stated immediately. You shook your head, shifting to climb off the bed you two shared. The weight of the tension in the room was too heavy, too hot. You needed air. It felt like your lungs were caving in. All you could think about were his hands, the hands that had just pushed you to pleasure more times than you could count, all over her.

“Nothing to explain.” You countered. You were already pulling your clothes on as he sat up. “You slept with her, didn’t you?”

He gave you a look, a silent plea. You did your best not to look at him, but a whisper of your name shattered your resolve. You met his gaze, those sparkling eyes that once gave you so much comfort, a sense of home, were now clouded with guilt.

“When?” You settled your hands on your hips and trained your eyes on a random wrinkle in the sheets. Anything to keep you from looking at him.

“Once a few months ago.” You gave a slight nod at his answer, still at a loss for words. There was a long, heavy silence before he spoke once more. “Then again...three weeks ago.”

That was all you could take. You felt like you’d be sick if you stayed any longer. You buttoned up your jeans and shoved your feet into your shoes. Neither of you spoke as you gathered the most important things. Phone, keys, the overnight bag you usually kept packed in case of emergencies. Everything else could wait.

“(Y/N), please talk to me. Where are you gonna go?” He begged as your hand gripped the doorknob with a strength you didn’t even realize you had, your knuckles fading to white under the force. You looked down, and a gling caught your eye. What had you beaming with pride five hours earlier now just made you nauseous. “Baby?”

You squeezed your eyes shut to force back your tears. Your fingers made quick work of pulling off your ring. You tossed it onto the bed in front of him.

“Have a good life, Steve.” You turned to leave before pausing. “And tell Sharon thanks for me. It’s good to know who you can trust.”

“I guess I did get the good side.” You looked down at your cup again, but it wasn’t out of guilt or anger. “You know, I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

For a moment, Steve brightened, and his heart didn’t feel so entirely full of lead.

“I don’t think I understand.” He confessed. You smiled, a genuine smile that lit up your face and made your eyes twinkle. Oh, how he missed being the cause of such radiance.

“You taught me how to be myself. You taught me how to love, Steve. You taught me how to love, and then you destroyed me.” Your words weren’t meant maliciously, they were just honest. Steve was sure death would hurt less than hearing you say things like that. “And that’s how I learned how to survive. I didn’t let myself wallow in self pity and I’m better for it. So thank you.”

Steve released a shaky breath. This had been an awful idea. Almost as bad as letting Sharon seduce him not once, but twice, all while he could have been reminding you how much he loved you. He could have been reminding you just how badly he needed you to breathe, but instead he tore apart your relationship. He hadn’t expected to lose you, but you walked away and took every good thing in his life with you.

“I’m sorry.” When Steve gave you a confused look, you elaborated. “I’m sorry that I got the good side of things.”

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers #captain America imagine #captain America fanfic #captain america #steve rogers reader insert #steve rogers x reader #captain America reader insert #captain America x reader #marvel reader insert #marvel imagine #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #tw cheating #angst

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zrtranscripts · 3 years

Text

Home Front, Mission 2: Jody’s Lock-In

Old Fashioned Lock-In

JODY MARSH: Okay, uh, I think this thing is on. Hello, everyone. This is uh, Abel Runner Four, or Jody, as some of you know me. I'm gonna be taking you through a few exercises in a bit, so while I'm babbling on, why don't you start getting yourself warmed up. Um, just swing your arms around, a little bit of jogging on the spot, whatever gets your blood flowing.

Um, so uh, as a lot of you probably know, there's some really awful stuff happening. Basically, a bunch of runners opened a warehouse full of zoms and now there's about a zillion extra undead swarming the countryside. Most of them are clustered around Abel, so advice to everyone in or near the town is to lock your doors and stay inside until the crisis passes.

It's funny. I used to love a good lock-in back in the day. There was this pub on my street, did them every weekend. It was great fun, even if you didn't drink. [laughs] We'd stay in the bar all night playing board games, chatting away.

Anyway, listeners, some of us runners were out in the field when the zoms got out. I managed to duck into a different warehouse in the same district, seal the shutters. Last I saw, the world outside was just a tidal wave of rotten flesh.

Not a bad spot to hole up, this. Used to belong to one of those big online delivery companies, so there's supplies for days. Janine come through, asked me to use the equipment here to broadcast, take some shifts off Sam. Guess it makes sense. This place has an old CD collection that'd move Phil Cheeseman to tears.

Oh, ah. I sprained my leg on the way in, listeners, so I can't really dance to this first song. Shame, cause it's a favorite, so do me a favor. If you can, dance to it for me. Just um, throw your hands up in the air and go wild like I would, or sit and wiggle your fingers if that's all you feel up to right now. It'd really cheer me up to picture people doing that. After all, just because we're stuck indoors doesn't mean we can't have fun.

JODY MARSH: Okay, well, that CD wasn't labeled right, listeners. It was supposed to be my favorite Snow Patrol album, not a mix tape, but hopefully you managed to bop along anyway. And the good news is I found a stack of painkillers the size of my body. I've been in touch with Dr. Myers. She says I'll be up and around again in no time with a little rest.

I tell you what, this warehouse, Sam is gonna go nuts when he sees it. There's about a thousand DVDs of Doctor Who, Blake's 7. Hey, and since I know you're probably listening, Sam, go to sleep. I know you want to be reassuring people 24/7, but Janine says you've got to rest while others are broadcasting.

This place must have really catered for the outdoor fitness crowd because there are loads of sports bras on the shelves. And speaking of sports, Dr. Myers gave me a list of activities to keep people healthy during lockdown. I'm supposed to give you a simple one to start with. How about, um, air punches? That sounds good.

Hold your arms out in front of you in the fighting stance, one fist protecting your face while the other is extended for an attack. Then punch the air, being careful not to fully extend or lock your elbows. You can always punch your pillow if you like, pretend it's a zom and you're getting it right in the squelchy bonce.

Just keep it up for as long as you can comfortably manage. Ready? Okay, it's time to beat the zoms to these banging beats. Oh my God, that was terrible, wasn't it? I am definitely getting more appreciation for the job that Phil and Zoe do.

JODY MARSH: Hello again, people. Hope you managed to work up a sweat there. I definitely took out my share of imaginary zoms there. It's funny, all this stuff in the warehouse just sitting here collecting dust. None of it is important. We can all get by without it. It's people that are important. That's why you've got to take care of yourselves, body and mind.

So next exercise from the list. I'm just going to pick one at random. Uh... [laughs] Right, step ups. Dr. Myers says they've been a big hit with Sam's audience. Don't worry if you've forgotten how. I'll recap. All you got to do is uh, find the bottom step of your home or a nice sturdy box that can support your weight. Be careful of using a box, though. I've tried this before and loads of them can overbalance. You want something that won't topple over easily, so make sure it's heavy and very stable.

Okay, got something? Now just uh, step onto the step, then step off of it. Simple. If you can't find yourself a good box, it says here you can raise yourself up on tiptoes slowly throughout the song. Hold it as long as you can, until your calves burn. Give it a go. Okay, so now you're going to try and keep that up for as long as you can at the briskest pace you can manage, and remember to vary which leg you step up and down with. I'll play some music to help you through it. And for anyone wondering, yeah, I picked this exercise because it mentioned boxes and I'm surrounded by them. Look, it's a long list, okay? I don't choose well under pressure. Okay, here we go. Get stepping!

JODY MARSH: [laughs] Welcome back, listeners. Hang on, give me a minute. I've just got to move this. Okay, I'll be straight with you. I'm not just wandering the shelves. Truth is, there's one window here that isn't covered, right near the ceiling. There's a shelf rack right next to it. I could climb up, peek out. If the zom horde's clustered near Abel, the coast outside might be clear. I can ride out on a delivery robot, find other trapped runners.

Yeah, I know Janine ordered me to stay put, but she's running herself ragged thinking up strategies. I've got to get out there, try to do more to help. Trouble is, I can't reach the rack's bottom shelf, not on these crutches, so I've been pushing bean bags and cushions into a big mound right under it. I should be able to pull myself up from the top of the pile. Hey, and since my arms'll be getting a workout, I think I know what should be next from Dr. Myer's list: chair dips.

Right, here's how they work. First, find a sturdy armless chair. Take your time looking. I'm busy making Mount Cushion. Got one? Don't worry if you haven't. You can go back to doing air punches instead. But if you have, sit on the front edge of the chair with your hands gripping the edge on either side of you. Your feet need to be flat on the ground a little way in front of you. Now slide your backside off the chair, raise yourself up and then down using your arms. Give one dip a try. See? Simple. If that was too easy, you can put your legs out in front of you so they don't take any of your weight. If it's too hard, you can use more force from your legs to push you up and down.

Okay, while I get ready to climb, you're gonna try those for 60 seconds if you can manage it, but don't push yourself so hard you get hurt. Ready? Then let's get chairlifting. That's 15 seconds. You're doing great. Halfway there, keep going. 45 seconds, nearly done. And stop. Bet you're feeling it now. Don't worry, I'll be feeling it myself soon.

So I can just reach the bottom shelf from here. I'm gonna pull myself up to the top of the rack one shelf at a time. It's only, uh, two or three dozen. Oh boy. Right. Just gonna queue up some more music first, and if you guys want to exercise with me, honestly, I'd really appreciate the company. Anyone who's feeling particularly buff can do more chair dips. Anyone else, how about a good old dance? Get ready, folks. On three. One, two, three, and go!

JODY MARSH: Hey there, listeners. Still with me? Just paused the music for a quick breather. Almost at the top shelf. God, my arms are aching, though. Shout-out to all of you working out at home and any of you listening, too. It's good to have people with me. Honestly, this great big storehouse is kind of spooky.

This is what being a runner's all about, you know. Supporting each other no matter what the challenge, facing adversity together even when we're apart. Speaking of which, I think it's time you did a bit more exercise. Ready for some more chair dips? Remember, sit on the edge of the chair, holding the sides, feet flat on the ground in front of you. Let's try for another 60 seconds, as long as you feel up to it.

Get set, and go! 15 seconds down. That's 30 seconds, halfway point. 45 seconds, hang in there. And you're done. Okay, the top shelf is really near. Just stick with me a little further. Why don't you try some more air punches while I'm at it, kill a few more invisible zoms for me? Let's go!

JODY MARSH: That's it, we did it. I'm at the top, listeners. Got to be at least 30 shelves beneath me. Just gonna, uh, scoot over to that window. Oh no. I thought the zoms would have all moved on by now. Janine says there are so many around Abel, but there's still dozens of shamblers roving the streets outside. I bet the noise in the main horde is attracting stragglers for miles. There's no way I'll be able to get through that. I guess Janine was right. The only thing I can do is to stay inside and broadcast.

On the bright side, well, that's about 100 beanbags right under me, so getting down ought to be easy. I'm just gonna uh, chuck you guys down before I, you know. Anyway, I'll uh, I'll meet you down there. Ready? Here I come. Wahoo! Okay, [laughs] that kind of cheered me up. Landed right in the middle of the pile. Just goes to show, folks, even in the worst times, there are ways to have fun. Though uh, don't try that one at home, eh? Stick to the Doc's approved exercises. I think this lockdown could go on for a while, people. We're gonna have to stay strong. On the plus side, Dr. Myers has plenty more activities to help with that.

Damn it, the power on this transmitter is fading. But don't worry, listeners. There's uh, there's got to be some batteries around here to charge it with. I'll be back soon, and in the meantime, I've heard a few other runners have got their hands on some broadcasting equipment, so don't go anywhere. This is Jody Marsh saying stay safe out there, people. We'll get through this, and we'll get through it together, no matter how long it takes. That's an Abel runner promise.

#zombies run #zr home front #zrhf2 #jody's lock-in #zr transcript

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aboutcaseyaffleck · 3 years

Text

BOSTON BY CASEY AFFLECK

October 25, 2020 For the record, what follows is nostalgia, false memories, and generalizations. But it’s all true. I grew up in Cambridge, Massachusetts, across the Charles River from Boston proper. Cambridge was one of the most diverse, multicultural cities in America. It was a beautiful, colorful, vibrant place. People from all over the world lived there, all mixed-up together. It is the place I was born and will return to, God willing. It is the city with the smells and sounds and tastes and people I love the most. Despite how much I loved it, when I look at old photos, I often look like this:

I’m in the front in the blue shirt. My best friend was Michael, the tall kid in the red shirt, whose family came from Barbados. Through the middle school years, anytime we weren’t in school we were roaming the streets like Dickensian urchins.

In the ‘90s, Cambridge got rid of rent control. Families who had lived there for four or five generations were squeezed out. Now the city is gentrified; but when I was growing up there, it was scrappy and beautiful. It was mostly working people, except for West Cambridge—where wealthy families lived, where professors lived. Where Cornel West, Yo-Yo Ma, and the Governor lived. East Cambridge was working-class Portuguese families, butcher shops, funeral parlors, and tow yards. Cambridgeport, where I lived, was mostly poor, Italian, Black, Greek, and Irish families. North Cambridge had some big housing projects and the school where my mom taught fifth grade—in a gigantic cement structure called The Tobin School that felt like it was far away because I would have to take a train AND a bus to get there. In reality, it’s like three miles from where we lived.

This is me hanging out in her classroom:

As people and places evolve, the past always reveals blemishes unseen at the time. However, Massachusetts manages, as time unfolds, to be a place that was so often on the right side. Not always, but often enough that I am proud to be from Cambridge, Massachusetts, no matter what.

From Massachusetts came the first national publication denouncing slavery, America’s “first feminist”, and The Cambridge Woman’s Suffrage League, which formed in 1886. My high school had the first girl to play tackle football in that division. Cambridge voted-in the first openly gay African-American mayor in our country. Right now our mayor is a very popular and forward-thinking Muslim woman who immigrated from Pakistan named Sumbul Siddiqui. We have marvels of architecture, science, and tech. It was in Cambridge that the very first email was ever sent (and received). And every year the Red Sox stand up to the wealthier bullies from the Bronx. These are all things we are immensely proud of, but nobody is resting on these laurels.

I am going to tell you about the places I remember fondly, whether they are still there or not.

Luckily, the city’s history isn’t going anywhere, and it hasn’t lost all of its charms. It is a place best seen by walking. So just walk. It’s also seasonal. Different activities for different seasons. But if you can hoof it for a few miles do this: start at the Old North Church and go by Paul Revere House, through Faneuil Hall, by The Old State House through Boston Common, through the Back Bay, go left and pass through Roxbury, another left, and go through South Boston till you hit the water and go left till you hit the Children’s Museum. Sit down and relax. If you just want a path, walk that. Map it or wander around. The city is full of little back streets with lots of character.

MY BOSTON FAVORITES

When looking for things to do and see in the area, you can ask ten people and get ten different answers. You will get a long list of historical buildings, or you will get names of some of the country’s prettiest parks, or you will get pointed toward the campuses of some of the very best schools in the world. But for every Bunker Hill, there are ten other places you haven’t heard of. So I am going to tell you about the places I remember fondly, whether they are still there or not. The thing about Boston is you can miss all the best stuff, and you will still leave thinking it is one of the best cities on Earth. Have fun.

Pinocchio Pizza, Harvard Square. I asked my son to describe it. He says, “the food is good but the vibe is fire, old school; whatever, just get a slice and sit on the ground. That’s why I like it.” I have no idea why he wants to sit on the ground, but I guess that’s part of the charm of the place. We’re both vegan so we both scrape the cheese off and eat bread and sauce. That should tell you something.

Oleana Restaurant on Hampshire Street in Cambridge. Chef Ana Sortun is a baller. The food is Turkish inspired, and it is delicious. Always. Friendly people, pretty inside, and it is in a nice residential neighborhood. My dad lived in an apartment a few blocks away behind a Store 24 until he was evicted back in 1989.

Maharaja, Harvard Square. Incredible Indian food. And it has one of the only third-story views of Harvard Square.

Veggie Galaxy is great diner food. It is vegan. It has breakfast, lunch, dinner, milkshakes and other deserts. All day and all night food that is filling and really good.

Life Alive Organic will serve you the healthiest and heartiest meal you can find anywhere. It’s across the street from City Hall, the post office, and the oldest YMCA in the country.

Cantab Lounge, where my dad was a bartender, and then a janitor when he was too drunk to be a bartender. I drank six thousand ginger ales, sitting in the corner at a sticky table while he worked. Forever it was a bar for postal workers that opened at 10 am, where alcoholics ate hard-boiled eggs from jars that had been sitting on the bar top for two weeks. A couple of days after initially writing this, I got an email from the owner. It is being sold after tens of thousands of years. I don’t know why I care because I don’t exactly have any fond memories from the place, but seeing the brick-and-mortar of your childhood torn down is a kind of mid-life, coming-of-age moment. Life is change.

Darwins Ltd coffee shop and attached mini-grocer and sandwich spot. If you get a coffee and then walk west two blocks on Mt. Auburn St. you will discover on your right a nice little park with a fountain to hang out. It is called Longfellow Park. Or you can look to your left and you will see the Charles River, and you can stroll there.

Fomu for dessert.

Zhu Pan Asian Cuisine and True Bistro for good vegan food.

Newbury Comics is famous and cool.

Million Year Picnic is for comic connoisseurs. They are both great. And they were both plagued by roving bands of middle school thieves in my day. The most notorious was named Mathew Maher. He is now a well-known theater actor on Broadway and appeared in the comic book movie Captain Marvel. But back then he stole shit.

Harvard Coop is the best place to browse for books. Especially the kids section. We spend hours there and nobody kicks us out.

After the game ended everyone would come out and buy sausages [from me] on their way home, then I would clean up and go into a bar outside the park, where my boss was drinking and I’d wait till he was done so I could get a ride home. I was 12 years old. A couple of years ago I threw out the first pitch. Life is change.

The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum is my favorite museum in town, maybe anywhere. It was once her home and it features an indoor garden that is perfect. It also has a great collection of art from around the world. Back on March 18, 1990, two famous paintings were stolen from the museum. As I remember it, a couple of guys showed up in the morning in police uniforms and the guard let them in. They tied the guard up and took a dozen paintings—Vermeer, Rembrandt, Degas—and vanished. The FBI never found them and never found the art. There are two plaques below two empty spaces on the walls to this day. On some days, classical musicians perform in random rooms while you walk around. You won’t want to leave.

Fenway Park. Greatest professional sports arena of any kind. I used to sell sausages in front of the Cask ‘N Flagon, a bar behind The Green Monster.

It is the best baseball bar in the country. When everyone was in the park watching the game, and there was nobody buying food, I would go in and find a seat and watch the game with whoever I was working with; I have seen hundreds of games from every part of the park. After the game ended everyone would come out and buy sausages on their way home, then I would clean up and go into a bar outside the park, where my boss was drinking and I’d wait till he was done so I could get a ride home. I was 12 years old. A couple of years ago I threw out the first pitch. Life is change.

Plimoth Plantation is a living museum in Plymouth, which is 40 minutes from Boston. It is amazing. The actors working there are some of the best I have seen anywhere. If you are even mildly interested in history you have to go there.

Fresh Pond is where you can go running or biking. Two and a half-mile loop.

Or you could hit The Emerald Necklace which is a great run that hits many of the best green areas, Franklin Park included. When we were young we would hop the fence and swim in the water. That isn’t done anymore ever, and everyone has grown up and leading better, more responsible lives.

John Weeks Footbridge is a very pretty, very old, brick walking bridge that spans the Charles River. Watching the Charles Regatta from here is awesome. That is in the Fall. But it’s also great any night.

The King School is a grade school not too far from there. It has maybe the best playground in the city. If you are there in the summer you can just walk on. When I was a kid, the King School is where a girl went who I was head over heels in love with. I finally got a shot at winning her heart in my early twenties and blew it.

Mount Auburn Cemetery is beautiful if you like that kind of thing. Lots of cool people are buried there, and the trees and stones are really nice. It’s a maze but just walk uphill. You will reach a monument with a great view of the city.

The American Repertory Theater puts on good plays. I grew up going there cause a friend of my mother’s directed many of the shows and could sneak us in the back. I wasn’t the adult making that decision; had I known better I would have scraped together the ticket price and supported the arts.

Boston Common is beautiful but you have to avoid all the shopping around it. If you have to shop go to:

NOMAD on Mass Ave in Cambridge is a store that you shouldn’t miss. In a world lost to chain stores and general homogenization of everything, Nomad is the real deal. Deb Colburn has been curating this place since I was ten. It is her store, and she has been trying to wake people up to folk art from around the world since Reagan was in office.

Bodega is a hidden high-end sneaker and casual wear store that must be entered through an unmarked door inside a bodega on a nearby side street. It’s cool how they have done it. Great presentation. Kids will like it.

KIDS ACTIVITIES

There are lots of things you can force your kids to do—things they won’t like the sound of at first, but will ultimately enjoy.

IMAGE CAPTIONS, LEFT TO RIGHT

On a rainy day, hop on the T and ride around town all day reading comics. Then stand outside in the warm rain (kids from LA don’t get this much).

Looking at murals. Cambridge has great murals everywhere. They are old and, incredibly, not vandalized. This one has been on this wall near the river since I was a kid. The child is mine and he is sick of walking around Cambridge.

If you feel like a pilgrim hit the gift shop at Plimoth Plantation.

Playing chess at Leavitt & Pierce Tobacco. You can inhale the scent of pipe tobacco without smoking it, and rent a chess set, clock, and table for $2 an hour in a beautiful old, wood-paneled shop with great ambiance.

Going to the oldest YMCA in the country.

Kayaking on the Charles River. You can get your kayak on Soldiers Field Rd. Take it east under all the bridges until you get to the inlet at Kendell Sq. It will all be clear. It will take about an hour.

Climbing the stairs at Harvard Football Stadium.

Reading books at the Harvard Coop.

NEARBY BOSTON

If you wanna go a little farther, go out to Gloucester for the day. Swim, eat, walk around, go back.

Whale watching sounds like a lame tourist trap but seeing whales up close will change the way you think about life on Earth.

You can take the ferry from Downtown Boston to Provincetown. It is a great place to visit or stay a few days while in town. Ptown is the eastern-most point on the continent. I might be making that up, but it’s close. It’s an arm that sticks out into the Atlantic. It’s really lovely there with a great vibe all around. You can’t have a bad time and everyone is super happy to be there. The beaches are all beautiful. Sharks mostly only eat the seals and won’t come any closer to shore than two feet—but if you want to see a great white up close, we can make that happen.

Cape Cod has some great flea markets. If you plan on spending time on vacation with your family you can find some essentials, like a medieval battle helmet, at the flea market.

SALEM, MASSACHUSETTS

30 minutes on the local train line from downtown. Made famous by the Salem witch trials; a fun place to visit and walk around for about 128 minutes. Newburyport and Rockport lines, which depart from Boston’s North Station, stop at the Salem station. You can go into the homes of people who lived during the witch hunt.

The House of the Seven Gables, made famous by American author Nathaniel Hawthorne‘s novel The House of the Seven Gables, is a 1668 colonial mansion in Salem, Massachusetts named for its gables. The house is now a non-profit museum, with an admission fee charged for tours, as well as an active settlement house with programs for children. It was built for Captain John Turner and stayed with the family for three generations.

The Jonathan Corwin House in Salem, Massachusetts, known as The Witch House, was the home of Judge Jonathan Corwin. It is the only structure still standing in Salem with direct ties to the Salem witch trials of 1692, thought to be built between 1620 and 1642. Corwin bought it in 1675 when he was 35, and he lived there for more than 40 years. The house remained in the Corwin family until the mid-19th century and is located in the McIntire Historic District.

A MECCA FOR ARTISTS

Lastly, for centuries, Cambridge has been a mecca for artists, especially writers. Here are some spots to see if you like that kind of thing:

The corner of JFK Street and 1390 Massachusetts Avenue. This is a good spot. Here is why: America’s FIRST PUBLISHED POET was a woman named Anne Bradstreet who died in 1672 and lived on this spot! It went through lots of changes, and 300 years later, by the time I was walking around, it became a great burger place called THE TASTY. In 1996 or whatever, The Tasty appears in the movie Good Will Hunting in the scene when Matt Damon kisses Minnie Driver. It might have also appeared in the film Love Story back in the 70s. I mix them up. Now it is a CVS. God help us.

The Longfellow House. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow lived at 105 Brattle Street. The great poet taught at Harvard and lived in the Georgian mansion from 1837 until his death in 1882. Before the author, George Washington used the house as his headquarters during the Siege of Boston. The house is open to the public, and it is where I had my eighth-grade graduation ceremony. The mayor attended and forgot the name of our school in his address to the kids. I heard people mutter that he was drunk. I can’t blame him. I had my first drinks hours before that ceremony.

71 Cherry Street, Cambridge. The woman considered to be American’s FIRST feminist, Margaret Fuller, was born and lived here.

Henry and Alice James lived at 20 Quincy Street. The house was knocked down in 1930 and the Harvard Faculty Club was erected there.

W.E.B. DuBois lived at 20 Flagg Street. The writer and pioneer of civil rights rented a room in this Cambridgeport home from 1890 to 1893. This is blocks from my childhood home. He was the first African American to receive a degree from Harvard.

Robert Frost lived at 35 Brewster Street. Frost, who attended high school in Lawrence, Massachusetts, lived in the West Cambridge home from 1943 to 1963.

T.S. Eliot lived at 16 Ash Street.

E.E. Cummings lived at 104 Irving Street. He was an innovator. He also wrote a poem about “Cambridge Women”. He lived at the Irving Street home from 1892 until about 1917.

Also you can find homes of the genius Nabokov and the great and beloved Julia Childs if you look around.

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#casey affleck #quote #feature #boston

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moonchildsaurora · 4 years

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The social butterfly of a Tech Genius

»»—— Crew Member #6 of Space Pirates ATEEZ ——««

all aboard The Perihelion, welcome to the co-pilot’s log system! here you’ll be able to access the crew’s profiles should you wish to read about their journeys: (no nsfw content)

[CAPTAIN] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

an underestimated intellect with huge love for the cyber world and technology

you hear him before you see him in a crowd

a Drex’un who was born and lived his life in the technology-thriving city of Vollurn up until he was invited to join Hongjoong and Seonghwa on their journey

[database file: Drex’uns are often described as demon-borne even though not all bloodlines are derived from infernal ancestry. Purely for the fact that prominent horns protude from their heads, a prehensile tail that’s used for grabbing things and will coil around their legs when upset/nervous, sharp canines and eye colours that cover the entire sclera. Depending on bloodline, some Drex’uns have elemental abilities]

Mingi isn’t sure about his bloodline as he never knew his parents, though his intelligence goes far beyond that of an average being’s. Not only does he process knowledge extremely fast, his memory is remarkable; able to recall even the tiniest details and his ability to analyse/break codes allows him to have free reign in the cyber networks

his teal-coloured horns and tail have onyx gradient tips, adorned with a few gold jewellery (his actual ears are also pierced with hoops) to complement his molten gold eyes

making heads turn, be it for his energetic presence or fashionable attire; “just because I grew up on the streets doesn’t mean I have no pride for my looks”

learnt to be resourceful and street-smart at a young age, knows all the short cuts and side alleys of the city like the back of his hand (he’s had a lot of time to wander around). Also found out that he had a knack for by-passing security systems whenever he needed shelter for the night

frequents the ‘Merripalace Arcade’ where it’s both an underground hangout for tech whizzes and the cyber battlegrounds for competitive players. The first visit gave him a taste of a different kind of freedom and an introduction to the world of hacking. It’s probably one of the few places he’s felt a part of a community; no judgement of your species nor your background but rather your digital reputation is more valued and the sort of technological talents you bring to the network

if there’s one thing Mingi is a natural at it’s socialising, he could walk into a club alone and come back out later with a new social circle if he so wishes

“ok who DON’T you know here?”

“just look at that face, how can you say no to him?” – Mingi is walking proof that Drex’uns can pull off the puppy-dog face and get away with it

he was gifted a second-hand mirage drive by Einux, a Nagzoid [database file: a reptilian humanoid being with serpent ancestry so they tend to have more snake-like features] who became a shot-term mentor figure after Mingi unintentionally helped crack a system code for a database Einux was commissioned to work on (because Mingi thought that guy was just really bad at math on first glance)

[database file: a mirage drive is pretty much a miniature tablet with a hologram touch-screen and every tech whizz would protect theirs with their lives; especially when were layers of secret activities and programs stored into it]

“you remembered to wipe clean the data trail and replace the originals with the dud files right?”

“yeah of course...does planting a virus in the system that will cause ‘Time Warp’ to play every time they try to click open a file counts?”

“Mingi, I…….”

Einux introduced Mingi to his network of contacts and helped set him up with his first commission, safe to say Mingi was at a loss for words when he got his first pay up front (and that was just the deposit)

by the time Yunho had come across Mingi at the Tech Institute, he had been in the cyber scene for 4+ years already and never once had to deal with someone catching him in the act

Mingi.exe has stopped working

he’s met a couple of Sheirzois before but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t lowkey checking out the blue-haired giant whilst panicking on the inside, he’d argue there’s always time to appreciate beauty

two options popped into his mind then and there; either he bribed his way out (as his mentor taught him) or he attempted to maybe throw some punches and then make a getaway

(expectation) looks like he’s intimidating & can fight vs. (reality) he’d probably cry if he hit someone & is just a soft boy all-round

extra trivia: ironically for an infernal being, Mingi doesn’t deal well with anything supernatural/ghosts-related. Once Woo and Yeosang pranked him, Yunho helped a little but he doesn’t need to know, and convinced him that the basement storage hanger was haunted after totems started appearing in odd places along with ominous noises. Mingi was so ready to abandon ship before Hongjoong did damage control & Jongho promised he’d fight all the ghosts for him

was already metaphorically weeping at the thought of having to empty his money pouch but turned out that Otis (his multi-coding bot) had somehow manage to win the Sheirzoi over along with an invite to drinks

“I’ve got many questions for you regarding your efficiently adorable bot”

“…and I to you as well, BUT first do you have a name? And secondly have you been to ‘Le Apollon’? Coz if not they make some really mean Northern Drops there!”

Yunho turned out to be one of the most chilled individual Mingi has met and he didn’t mind the other’s enthusiastic discussions about all technological inventions, and was even just as enthusiastic to share with Yunho about his own passion for cyber tech

one too many drinks later Mingi was accidentally spilling secrets he definitely wasn’t meant to and even ended up dancing on the table at some point, all while Yunho hyped his new friend up on the side

was forever grateful that Yunho never ratted him out to the authorities and consider him shook for the 2nd time in that day when he was offered a roof over his head, a more permanent one too

“do you want to be the big spoon, or is it my turn? We can rotate!”

thus the bromance of all bromances was born

living with Yunho not only meant Mingi would wake up to good vibes, but more than often would wake up to either the screeching of the smoke alarm or “HOLY SMOKES WHERE ARE THE WATER PODS? DID WE RUN OUT OF THEM? AGAIN?!”

putting out accidental fires became second nature to Mingi, initially he’d aggressively fret over Yunho but now he’s come to accept such is the life of a chaotic bright inventor and this is fine

in fact when Hongjoong and Seonghwa came across their humble abode (thanks to Yunho’s cleaning bot) it was an iconic first meeting over smoke. Yunho did most of the talking when Hongjoong pitched his desire to recruit a crew for space voyage, Mingi too busy sitting there staring at the two new-comers with shooting stars in his eyes and hearing about the prospects of an adventure. Within that day the crew had gain 2 more members, because Mingi and Yunho are a combo package deal

“oh has the system be glitching? If you don’t mind, would you like me to have a look at it?”

Hongjoong did a happy dance on the spot knowing that not only did he now have a talented inventor on his ship but also a gifted tech genius, he put Mingi in charge of managing the mainframe systems along with intel collecting this decision that Hongjoong would later semi-regret because (at times) the word “self-control” doesn’t seem to exist in Mingi’s vocab

Seonghwa adopted him and Yunho pretty easily and space mum’s cooking is Mingi’s fave, occasionally using his puppy-dog face he’s perfected over the years to his advantage in gaining extra midnight snacks (being everyone’s baby, no one’s really immune to this)

“Hwa you’re supposed to be the one disciplining the kids!”

Mingi and Yunho were known to be the chaotic fun duo, but with Wooyoung is just chaotic – not to mention he got his Yunhogizer confiscated by Hongjoong for almost a week after, “I thought we were all comparing assets, Wooyoung sent his to the group chat so I figured this was some kind of crew bonding”

also was one half of the reason that the ‘whatever happens at the Tav/clubs, stays at the Tav/clubs’ rule got implemented and one-night sexytimes were banned aboard The Perihelion after Jongho witnessed a random still semi-nude humanoid trying to sneak out of Mingi’s room without being noticed (Hwa went on parent-mode and panicked yell whilst covering Jongho’s eyes)

Jongho avoided Mingi (out of sheer embarrassment) for a few days and that was pretty devastating, considering how close the two became in their friendship that Mingi was one of the very few people in the crew whom Jongho was openly clingy with at times

no one can argue about Mingi’s loyalty to his crew/new family, and under his care-free flamboyant exterior he’s a genuine listener and will not hesitate to offer his shoulder for his family to lean on whenever they need it

recently he’s created new software to enhance Seonghwa’s cybernetic lenses (as a birthday gift) that’d allow him to see clearly miles ahead, in the dark and lock-on tracking function. What Mingi failed to let Hwa know was that he still hasn’t disconnected the sync link to his mirage drive and therefore if, for example, an image was sent through it’d appear in the other user’s field of vision

“wait for it, wait”

“what exactly are we waiting for Mingi? And why are you giggling over a screaming pink…starfish?” (that’s Patrick Star by the way)

seconds later there was a clamouring from the bathroom, the solid sound of someone falling before, “MINGI!”

“that my good lads, is what we were wa-oh whoops gotta go!”

(moodboard made with love, by @s1ardusk ♡)

#ateez headcanons #atzinc #atinyforatiny #aurorateeznet #ateez scenarios #pirate ateez #pirate ateez au #ateez au #ateez imagines #ateez drabbles #ateez blurbs #song mingi #ateez mingi #ateez writing #ateez fic #Perihelion Crew #pyx writes

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grell-writes-stuff · 4 years

Text

A Self-Indulgent Second Chapter

Acknowledge me! First Chapter Here

Words: 3588

Genre: Young Adult/Paranormal

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

I wake up reluctantly to Ivy poking my face at two o’clock in the morning. She’s already back in leggings and a hoodie, and contains an unwarranted amount of pep for such an early hour. I rub my eyes, grab my own sweatshirt to fight off the chill of the middle of the night, and rise.

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

“That’s what you’re wearing?” Her damning gaze judges my pajamas.

“Ivy, I need you to understand that I’m not putting in more effort than the bare minimum in order to go sit around in a graveyard with you at three a.m.”

Her eyes roll, but she ultimately drops it, and we’re out my bedroom window, walking along the roof over the back porch, and carefully scaling down the trellis at the side of the house. We cut across the unfenced yards of our neighbours. The last house at the corner before we make it to the sidewalk is Ivy’s. We walk under the big beech and shabby treehouse that we used to play in and that is most certainly a deathtrap. It’s intentionally a deathtrap. Ivy literally read the OSHA guidelines to see how many petty requirements she could ignore in one project. Her dad was building it though, so there’s not too many infractions, but I still almost broke multiple extremities on multiple occasions.

The streets of Kinross eventually lead us to Riverview Cemetery, the massive graveyard bordered by the woods near the edge of town just where the houses and other outskirts buildings begin to spread further apart. I know for a fact that the fence out front only extends about halfway around the whole place to decorate the side of the road, so it’s easy to break in, however it still takes me two full minutes to talk Ivy into taking that route and out of her idea to scale the locked, iron gate looming in the darkness. Chances are she’d scurry up it like Spiderman and I’d impale myself on one of the points at the top. We hike through the trees and sneak inside where the stone wall begins to crumble.

“All right,” Ivy huffs triumphantly. “Now we just have to find her.”

“Find her? You said you knew where she was.”

“Yes, I do. In the historical section…somewhere.”

“Ivy!”

“What?”

I’m happy it’s dark so she can’t see my exasperation because I’d get a lecture on optimism otherwise. I slip on what I think it a neutral-feeling face, and pull my phone out for a second. I blink away the blinding brightness while I check. “Okay, well, if you actually want to be at her grave at three, you’ve got, like, under ten minutes.”

That seems to be enough for her because Ivy begins to march ahead between the headstones. I shove my phone in the pocket of my hoodie and trail her with an air of reluctance and a want to get this over with and take my money from her bad bet.

Both Ivy and I come to Riverview what I would consider a normal amount and, more importantly, exclusively – until now – when it is light out. I probably come more than she does though. Ivy will stop by every few years to say hello to her Grandpa Gil who died before she was even born, but my dad and I come twice a year for my mom: once on her birthday, and once on the anniversary of her death. She passed away when I was really little, so I don’t remember her, but everyone who knew her made sure I learned what kind of person she was through stories and stuff. My dad couldn’t speak more highly of her, but his retellings always hold a tinge of hasty justification for their whole relationship because my mom was gay, and so is my dad. Growing up, they’d always been best friends, and so the other person seemed as perfect as could be for a lie that would turn out to be mutual in the end. They only both came out to each other after my mom got sick, and by then they were a few years in to a marriage that was domestically comfortable, but nothing more, and had already had me. I don’t really feel so sentimental when anyone mentions the absence of my mom because I was really young. I end up sadder that she was taken while trapped in the lie of heteronormative narrative and never had the chance to experience the kind of love she wanted to have beyond the platonic and familial feelings she shared with my dad and I.

Ivy and I walk past the sections we’re familiar with toward the back of the graveyard where the stretch of ancient headstones begins. Kinross was founded way back when America was just a group of colonies and Massachusetts was dotted with clumps of communities built by pilgrims and Puritans. They needed a place to put their dead people, and so Riverview was established a couple miles from the Hollins River which runs on the edge of town. Only groundskeepers come back this way as far as I know since the names on most of the rocks have faded into obscurity, and the only ones that are remotely recognizable belong to the people we learn about in school for a week leading up to Founder’s Day.

I slip my phone out again and check the time. “Five minutes.”

“I know, I know. Shut up. She’s around here somewhere.”

“Couldn’t you have just Googled a map of the plots? You read the most obscure documents for fun, but fact-checking this–”

“One lapse in good planning, and I get lectured.”

“Ivy.”

“Okay, okay! This way.”

I’m pretty sure she just picks a random direction. She yanks her phone from the waist of her leggings and the beam of the flashlight cuts through the darkness and starts inspecting epitaphs. I leave her to it, and she doesn’t complain because she must have guessed I wouldn’t be willing to help her when I didn’t want to be here in the first place. I periodically take my phone out to glance at it and count down her time limit in my head when, suddenly, Ivy says:

“Oh, fuck yes.”

I look up and follow her light as it points toward one of the larger monuments, a giant, grey mausoleum with cracks and crumbles and a chained, iron gate as it’s front door. It’s flanked on all sides by overgrowth and tall flowering plants that look rich and purple in the peripheral of the beam. She raises her phone so it illuminates the name carved just below the peak of the roof: Ann-Marie Kelly.

“Okay, Ivy,” I start before I have to take a pause. I feel her gaze land on me while I inhale. “I don’t mean to discredit your apparently strong belief in witches, but would they give an actual accused witch an entire, enormous mausoleum like this if anyone actually believed she was magically terrorizing Kinross?”

“Oh, Sid, she had allies. Have you really not heard this story?”

“No, Ivy. I really don’t care about what was going on in Kinross in seventeen-whatever.”

“Sixteen-whatever,” she corrects before she slides her phone back into her pocket and struts up to the tomb.

I groan loud enough for her to hear it and follow, but I barely make it onto the concrete step just outside the door before Ivy’s foot connects with the gate and makes the chains rattle.

“Oh, my God, Ivy.”

She ignores me and kicks again. “Wake up, Annie! Sid’s gonna owe me money!”

“Ivy, stop.”

“Okay, but one more.” I don’t have a chance to object because she quickly lines herself up and swings her leg, and delivers one massive blow directly to the center of the barrier and –

The chains and padlock clatter onto the stone at our feet, and we both jump at the sudden noise. Our eyes are both wide, but in very different ways. I’m shocked. As old as this building seems to be, I did not expect that.

“Holy shit. Completely rusted through,” Ivy observes with glee. From the corner of my eye I catch a particular sparkle of something that I don’t like a split second before she suggests, “Dude, we’re going in.”

“No, we are not.”

She’s already pulling open the gate, and the sound it makes reverberates through the silent night, the squeal of something dying in agony. While I’m recovering from the assault to my ears, she’s stepped inside the structure and disappeared into the blackness. I call her name, but there isn’t a response, and when I try again, there’s a pause and a begging, “Sid, come on!”

I hesitate for a moment, like I’m sure anybody standing outside of a mausoleum at three in the morning would, before I trail her in. Then something clamps around my arm, and a noise catches in my throat while I leap out of my skin.

“Jesus, Sid! It’s just me!” Ivy turns her phone’s flashlight back on and we can see each other yet again, her smug, me only slightly less terrified than I was a beat ago.

“Don’t do that!”

“Sorry.” She sounds only half-sorry as she releases my arm, and then she sits on the filthy, hard floor right in front of a big, long box, the sight of which forms a pit in my stomach. She sets her phone before her, face down so the flashlight beams up at the ceiling, and reaches to pat the spot across from her. “Sit. I’ll tell you the age-old tale of Ann Kelly, Kinross’ first and last witch.”

“Ivy, I will pay you if we can leave right now.”

“No, sit.”

I put everything inside of my lungs into my sigh before I sit and kick up dust and cough. I pull my inhaler from my sweatpants’ pocket to take a puff so I can ensure I don’t suffocate on the grime in this horrible place, while Ivy launches into her story with a shit-eating grin and exaggerated, formal diction.

“In fair Kinross of the sixteen-nineties where everyone was farming, religious, and paranoid is where we lay our scene. In the other corners of our state, pointed fingers were frantically flying to women of questionable affairs in order to defame them with accusations of witchcraft, and Ann Kelly was no exception. She was accused by some guy of blasphemy, of murder, and of bewitching her young niece who was visiting town. She was ultimately arrested and brought to trial.

“The trial lasted I-don’t-know-how-long, with a verdict of guilty-as-hell, and Ann Kelly was sentenced to be hung. Perhaps, dear Sid, perhaps, as you suggest, she was just some unfortunate woman, but on the day of Ann Kelly’s execution, when the rope was placed around her at the gallows erected in town square, when she was asked to say her final words before the platform dropped, her neck snapped, and she slowly and painfully died, Ann Kelly secured her title as ‘The Witch of Kinross.’ For, you see, Ann Kelly, in front of eye witnesses and all the divine people watching Upstairs, placed a curse upon the executioner” – she slips into a gravelly, spooky voice – “‘An eye for an eye, a claw for a claw, thou accuseth a false Devil, thou art the beast he hath saw–!’”

“Are you done?” I interrupt her theatrics.

Her voice turns to normal again with the volume cranked up. “Blah, blah, blah, they hung her. But her niece contacted her brother and nephew. They came down to Kinross and Ann Kelly’s husband and brother murdered the executioner as revenge. I mean, it wasn’t well-thought-out revenge because then they were hanged, but yeah. That’s the Ann Kelly story.”

“Awesome. Great. So worth breaking into a graveyard at three in the–”

Bang!

The tomb seems to shudder with the noise, the sound of something rock-solid slamming against the back wall, resonating through the floor beneath us and travelling up my spine as a striking chill. My mouth hangs wide open, stopped mid-thought, and Ivy’s brows abruptly rise and then knit together. For a long time, it’s completely silent in the cold darkness inside the mausoleum and we sit like statues.

When I can speak again, I only just stop myself from using one of Ivy’s favourite swears, and find a substitute. “Ivy, what the hell?!”

She looks up at me like soon-to-be roadkill.

For a moment, I can’t keep the anger and accusation out of my voice, masking the constricting grip clamping around my heart and throat. “Who’s out there?! Who’d you get to help prank me?! Someone from the soccer team? Julia? Abby?”

I cut off my demands when I really see her face angled by the shadows. Her lips are hanging parted and mouth the word “no” like she can’t get it out. Her eyes are twinkling with worry emphasized by her crumpled brows. Fear. The quiet stretches between us for a too-long pause this time. Only our tandem, careful breaths echo in the chamber as we wait for…for something.

Snap!

The small crunch of a twig, soft as it travels through the open doorway from the direction of the east wall of the mausoleum. It reverberates up my spine like it’s tangible. A branch could break beneath anything, but after the loud hammer to the side of the structure… My gut churns with an uneasy vibe. Ivy vocalizes her own unwanted feeling to herself before turning to me again.

“Run for it?” Ivy’s voice is tiny enclosed by the darkness.

“Brisk walk?” I suggest.

“You have your inhaler,” she states pointedly, getting up. “We run.”

I curse under my breath, but give in because she’s right. If we get caught after breaking into somebody’s grave, our parents find out, and we are in an unfathomable amount of trouble. Ivy pushes past me with a quickened stride that I match until we’ve both stepped off the concrete slab just outside the door and into the overgrown grass and purple flowers. Then we’re scrambling into a run toward the night, dashing ahead in a straight line to dodge the headstones sticking out of the ground like blunt fingertips ready to grab us. Two sets of footsteps violently stomp on the earth…until we break into the treeline, and the third joins the noise of our escape and my desperate pants rising in volume.

My chest has been lit on fire. I gasp, “Ivy!”

“Don’t use names!” she yells back to me. “Just keep going! Just keep going!”

I try, and I push myself like I’ve never had to before, placing one foot before the other, taking in what air I can and holding it so I have something in my screaming lungs at least for a moment. But my feet are starting to stumble and my clenched hands begin trembling because I can’t breathe. My heart is overclocking from exertion and panic. I fall behind Ivy, the silhouette of her auburn ponytail disappearing into the blackness ahead while a pain flares in my side.

I yank my inhaler from my pocket again and take a puff, but it’s impossible to hold it in long enough while running and suffocating at the same time. My steps have to slow down more and more so I can actually let my crap lungs jumpstart again. What I’m doing can just barely be defined as jogging, and even that’s pushing it. My chest wants to explode!

Slam!

Gasp!

My shoulder hits the earth hard and the air escapes from me instantly in one forced exhale. Something heavy lands on top of me, pinning me down, and I want to yell at Ivy and threaten that she’d better stop this stupid prank or else, but I can’t speak with empty lungs.

But neither can I scream with empty lungs, and yet I manage to because I am offered no other choice. The skin of my thigh breaks open. Sharp hands support themselves on my chest for just a moment, though I only barely register their weight before it leaves all together. My leg feels like it took fourteen different knives to it, and it’s wet and hot. I scream more.

I keep gasping in what I can and it just comes out as weak noises of pain – agony – shooting up my body. I feel my heartbeat pulsing in the wound. And through it all, I hear from the trees, “Sid! Sid!”

Ivy.

She catches up with her voice calling my name, and her feet trample through the brambles, but…but from the opposite direction my attacker had flown in. A light blinds me for a second while she drops down onto her knees at my side and I hear her tone quivering as she uses her favourite swears over and over again. My eyes follow her flashlight.

There are uneven tears in my pants, the fabric already soaked through in a deep red. Blood. My own blackening blood pouring out of me. Immediately, my stomach lurches, and I have just enough time to get myself up on my elbows, and turn away from Ivy before everything inside of me comes up. I can not handle blood. Any blood. But my blood is so much worse. My stomach convulses and my throat burns.

“Sid? Sid, it’s okay. It’s okay. Just…just don’t think about it. It’s okay.” Ivy’s speaking so fast, and it sounds like she’s trying to convince herself and not me. She shrugs off her hoodie. I’m just getting back my breaths after losing my dinner on the forest floor, but they’re all shaky.

Ivy attempts to bend my leg at the knee, but I yelp when the sting abruptly travels from my leg through the rest of me like a bullet train. She hums something softly, but I have a moment of seeing stars, and everything sounds garbled. Then there’s pressure on my thigh. She’s tied her sweater around it as a makeshift tourniquet.

“Come on,” she says quickly. “We have to get out of here. We need to leave.”

Before I can protest, she grabs my arm and throws it over her shoulders before managing to haul me up to my one leg. I can’t bring myself to say much because that image is burned into my brain, and my raw throat tastes bile down at the base already. I can’t look down. Ivy is seven inches shorter than me – she is down and I tower above her – and she somehow has it in herself to be my support. I wince trying to put any pressure on that limb because the result is blinding pain.

“Stay with me, Sid,” she coaxes, and I find her repeating that as she limps me out of the woods. She doesn’t stop talking, or saying those things to me. The trees all look like blurs and dancing, random lines, but Ivy is something I can grasp. When I feel like I’m about to trip and fall off of the face of the earth, Ivy is what grounds me to reality.

***

Ivy announces there’s no way I’m climbing through my bedroom window, and I don’t have to be a genius to agree with her. She hobbles me up onto the porch, we use the spare key, and we try to hop upstairs as quiet as we possibly can so we don’t wake my dad. Ivy sits me on my bed and disappears to grab something more reliable than her sweater which I am certain is absolutely ruined now – I don’t have the stomach to check, or anything left in my stomach to throw back up if I check.

When she comes back with a wet cloth, she cleans my wound while my eyes stay firmly fixed on my ceiling. I decide to screw it and liberally use Ivy’s entire dictionary of swears as whispers, grunts, and groans each time the sting intensifies.

“It looks really, really bad, Sid,” she tells me. “It’s like something big bit you. You need a doctor, like, right now.”

“No!” – a muttered curse injects itself between my thoughts – “No doctors, Ivy. Your parents and my dad will be pissed.”

“Your dad will be more pissed at me if you die.”

I catch her gaze and ignore everything in my peripheral. I think we’re giving each other the same look on our tear-streaked faces: eyes that are shiny, lips in straight lines threatening to turn down at any moment. We hold that for a few seconds, neither of us saying anything because she’s right – she is – but I tell myself the opposite. I tell myself that “It can’t be that bad.”

“Ivy–”

“Will you stop being such a man?!” she demands with some fire in her tone. There’s a pause, and then she pulls the washcloth away. “Fine, okay. We’ll give it a week, but that’s it. If it still looks… One week. I mean it.”

I relent and breathe, “Okay.”

She nods and grabs the spool of bandages she managed to dig out. She proceeds to wrap them tight around my thigh while I hiss complaints, fingernails digging into my sheets. She secures it and sniffs something away, like trying to banish this night from her memory.

“You know, if you go rabid, I’ll have to be the one to shoot you,” she jokes flatly, even though neither of us have the energy to appreciate it.

#writing #wip #untitled #my writing #my ocs #ya #young adult #writeblr

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baepsaetan · 4 years

Text

Banner by @thebannershop

Summary: In a futuristic age where a person can be coded and inserted into a new body, the rich can live forever. Born to a wealthy family, Jin expects to live life at a lofty and uncaring height. His expectations go awry when his body is murdered and a small gang steals his ‘stack’ and resleeves him in a criminal. Thrust into a gritty, neon world far below his life as an immortal, where death can be Real, Jin will discover truths that challenge his perceptions and make him wonder what - if anything - immortality is worth.

Chapters: pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt.5, pt. 6, pt. 7

Genre: Altered Carbon Fusion, Science Fiction/Futuristic, Slow Burn, Smut, Angst, Murder Mystery

Warnings: Shifting PoVs (primarily Jin), minor character death, abuse, torture, gangs, drug addiction, drug use, references to depression, body dysphoria, animal death, swearing, smut in future chapters

Length: 7.4k

The gang he’s been kidnapped by apparently doesn’t own – or at least use – a car, not even a terrain-exclusive one, and they set off on foot from the little apartment complex the men live in. He doesn’t know what time it is, and the sky’s too clouded to give much of an indication, but it’s too light to be night. Mid-afternoon, maybe? There are a fair few people out, and they wind through a series of side streets, cutting by buildings that are tall but also sagging, as if the weight of keeping themselves and their hundreds of thousands of inhabitants upright for half a century or so is becoming too much. Jin considers running, or calling for help, but Jungkook had none-too-subtly shown him the pistol he’s carrying before they’d left, and he hasn’t put it away, either. Besides, when they break through the side roads into what seems to be a main street, Seokjin has other things to think about.

He’s lived in Triptych all his life, but it might be more accurate to say he’s lived in Glass Harbour, instead. The neighbourhood – built in the ocean a short way from Triptych’s shoreline – is of course isolated from the rest of the city, but Seokjin has never realized just how removed he’s been, too. He’s been outside of Glass Harbour plenty of times – even been to the Curve, where they clearly are, given the general disrepair and the lack of multileveled streets – but never without at least several guards and a friend or two, and never really on the streets, either. His family owns several hovercars that simply coast up to whatever place he wants to go; walking the pavement is for the poor.

Triptych is a sprawling city of towering steel and glass buildings, shining pathways of cable and artificial stone arching across various levels, letting citizens walk in the sky as they move through their lives. Far younger than the Bay Area, it is a city of technological advancement and drive, of lights and steel and laws written by a Meth chequebook.

The Curve is an exception to that rule. In the early days of its inception, Triptych had been built on what was essentially two hills, with a deep cleft between the pair. That inconvenience was offset by the location – close to the shore, and, more important for the three Meth families who founded the city, perfectly situated next to a wide ocean shelf on which they could begin to build their Glass Harbour. As the city grew, all soaring heights and chrome exteriors, the gap between the two hills was overwhelmed by the buildings going up on all sides. A deep dip in the urban landscape, it received less sunlight and fresh air than neighbouring districts, and so was forgotten by the Meths who poured money into construction and maintenance.

In a city devoted to worshipping the future, the Curve is a neighbourhood left in the past. There are no networks of raised walkways to direct people through the area. Everyone too poor to move elsewhere operates on one level: the ground.

And there are apparently plenty of those people. The trek through the narrow, pitted roads, Namjoon ahead and Jungkook behind, has revealed more citizens than Jin was even aware lived in Triptych. They have to push through several crowds, hassled people in impatient groups shuffling outside a building or at a transit stop, waiting for things and headed for places he can’t conceive. Even though it’s raining, a miserable shower that sinks straight through his sweater and makes things worse, almost no one has an umbrella, or even a hood. They just accept the rain.

In the same passive way, they accept the haze smearing across neon-bright signs set up far above their heads, the pollution distorting ads for any number of cheap looking products, most of which Seokjin can’t guess the purpose of. Everyone walks quickly, eyes down or on their companions, and accepts – or ignores, it is hard to see a difference – the constant noise of the advertisements. The disembodied voices fall down from the signs and the smog like the conversations of chain-smoking angels, never quite fully understood, too distorted to catch.

“Get a… Won’t regret the…”

“…seat in the back and…”

“…like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Buy now!”

The noise and lights and people crash over Seokjin with a weight that feels more physical than mental, and he guesses these people can’t even afford neural implants or ONIs. That must be why all of the ads are out in the open instead of transmitting into the ocular displays of specific consumers, targeted based on purchasing history and tendencies. He’s only experienced op ads once – no business would dare bother a Meth without permission, and he’d just tried it for fun, at Taehyung’s suggestion – but even that hectic mess of visual heckling had been less overwhelming than the blaring sounds and sights assaulting him now.

And then there’s the sheer struggle of getting where they need to be. Jin actually finds himself grateful for Namjoon. The pink haired man seems to have no issue cutting through the crowds, and, deliberately or otherwise, usually clears enough space for Jin to get through in the process. A few times it isn’t quite enough, and, unused to the broad-shouldered sleeve, Jin jostles against a passerby or two – with irritated responses – but without Namjoon, he probably would have drowned trying to get just a few steps, let alone miles.

When they finally slow, approaching the mouth of an alley off the main street, Jin’s feet are aching. The once white sneakers they gave him have seen better days, and they’re even worse now than when he put them on more than an hour ago; it feels like the three of them walked through enough trash and mud to build a small mountain on the way here, and his shoes reflect that. Namjoon and Jungkook had been oblivious, but he’d spent most of the trip trying (and failing) to navigate puddles, wrappers, cigarette butts and things he couldn’t identify and didn’t want to.

That, coupled with Jungkook almost literally breathing down his neck the entire time, gun in hand, and snickering whenever Jin slipped or winced or hesitated, has put him in a mood that could only charitably be called bad.

There’s also the whole being kidnapped and forced to return to the spot of his death thing.

“Will you stop that?” he demands when a foot knocks painfully against his heel for the umpteenth time, whipping around to glare at the (presumably) younger man. Jungkook puffs out his cheeks and smiles, a small overbite becoming evident with the little grin, and the innocent expression is infuriating.

No Meth would ever leave a defect like an overbite alone. So far as Seokjin is concerned, it screams poverty. And this drudge had the nerve to kick him! Repeatedly! And grin about it!

If the irritation boiling under his skin is any indication, he’s probably turning an unattractive shade of red, but before Seokjin can make what might be described as a mistake and take a swing at Jungkook, Namjoon intervenes. “Leave him alone, Kookie,” he orders. “Go watch the entrance, make sure no one’s going to start anything.”

Jin is dismally certain that the chances of that are low. He’d tried making eye contact with anyone even remotely respectable in appearance on their way here, some half-baked notion of escape in his head, but very few people even looked at him. Those that did were quick to look away, and he hadn’t been able to tell if that was the fault of the intimidating sleeve he’d been stuck in, or Jungkook looming over his shoulder and scowling, or something else altogether. Regardless, the small number of passersby who happen to glance into the alley all suddenly remember important engagements elsewhere and rush off, leaving Jin stranded.

Better to just bide his time. Or something that sounds similarly calm and planned and definitely not freaking out.

“So,” he says, looking around the alley, and falls silent. It’s certainly not a glamorous spot to die in, or even breathe in. Jin literally can’t imagine why he would have been here. There’s dirt and garbage on the ground, like a carpet of very dubious design that releases an odor he suspects hints at the more disgusting uses this alley has been put to. A bunch of graffiti is scrawled on the walls, senseless black and red scribbles splattered across the bricks like blood and ichor. Someone even rigged up a holographic bit of disruption, a horrifyingly grotesque man, rail thin and warped, who flickers into being (and scares the hell out of Jin) when they get close enough to activate its sensors. The image is deteriorating, pixels missing here and there, and the whole figure wavers in and out of existence erratically. However, that doesn’t stop the holographic from going through a series of obscene gestures, the least of which is giving viewers the finger.

Namjoon is staring at the wavering vandalism. “Do you know,” he asks suddenly, “how hard those are to make?”

“Ah…” The random question takes Jin off guard, and besides, graphics have never been one of his interests.

“It’s hard. Not if you have a computer program to do it all for you, but the program would cost too much for an individual to own.” His heavy eyes flick to Jin and then back to the figure. “Most individuals. So, someone built that, piece by piece, in some kind of limited process, and they did a decent job. It looks good.”

“Good,” Seokjin repeats doubtfully as he stares at the holographic, wondering if there’s something he’s missing about the distorted piece. Or maybe Namjoon’s just a nutcase.

“Not the subject, obviously,” snorts the nutcase in question. “But the skill is there. Good rendering, skin tones… The facial expressions are on point, too. Took time, took effort, took knowledge… and it’s sitting out here, in some random alleyway, just to fuck with whatever police were here to investigate your murder. See, the mechanism is latched in place? The police didn’t even bother to get rid of it, and since they’re not around anymore, it’s not getting seen by anyone.”

This doesn’t exactly feel like small talk, but if Namjoon is trying to make a point, it’s joining the advertisements prattling above Jin’s head, lost in the haze. He rolls his shoulders, impatient, and moves away from the holographic. A few seconds later it dies away. “Look, I got killed here and I don’t care about the quality of some stupid vandalism. You dragged me to this place, now tell me what’s next.”

Taking that with a mouth that twists a little, Namjoon pivots, points to a spot on the ground. It is conspicuously less filthy than any other spot. “You were found around there. This alley is a dead end, so the guy who killed you was probably close to the entrance when he did it… unless he was supposed to meet with you or set up an ambush or something. Just… try to picture it all. See if anything comes back.”

Compliant, if not exactly confident, Jin looks around more carefully, willing himself to ignore the unpleasantness and stench and focus on the specifics instead. He trails his fingers over the cinder blocks with only a slight grimace for what his touch smears through, studies each line and scuff in the grime at his feet. There are no windows opening up onto this alley, just featureless walls rising up on either side, blank and disinterested in the little drama taking place between them.

"When did I get shot?" he asks.

"From the police files we, uh, liberated, around two in the morning."

So, it was dark when it happened. If they're close to Ringwanderung – Jin can't be sure, he hasn't seen the building so far and he doesn't remember it's exact location from the last visit he can remember – the roads probably weren't deserted. People would have heard him if he screamed. But did he scream?

The rasp of the ground is rough against his fingertips, and when he pulls them away, they're blackened with dirt. Just a bit of dirt, no blood, even though this is the spot he died in. The police apparently did a good job cleaning up; if his faulty memories are at all accurate, he bled like his heart was trying to water the dry ground. But what else is there? Night time...

He's starting to feel strange again. Disconnected, although this time it's not the sleeve that he's floating away from. No, this time the body stays with him as he detaches from the present, forcing his mind into the treacherous, bleak path of the shadowed past. There's nothing there that's solid. It's disintegrated even more than the vandalism Namjoon was so intrigued by. He has – feelings. Impressions. Maybe-might-if-could-be's that float through his head and come apart when he tries to grab them. Words lost on the tip of his tongue.

He didn't scream. Jin is suddenly certain of that. He didn't scream for help, because the man – threatened something. Threatened someone? Someone – Jin loses it. But the man – in his mind, the man is the holographic, twisted and broken and ominous as he looms up in the darkness, with no solid features to nail in place. He veers in and out of focus, and his words are as intangible as his features. Something about – about wanting, about plans collapsing, about frustration and fear, about defiance, about no no no no you can't–

With a gasp, Seokjin shoves himself up from his crouch, staggers into the wall and stays there, needing the uncaring surface to keep him upright. His chest is aching, fear closing ghostly fingers around his throat, the sensation a faded pressure. This time Namjoon doesn't try to help, but neither does he rush Jin or demand an update. That makes it – easier – to get his breathing under control, but it does nothing to help the simmering pressure bubbling under his skin. He's clenching his jaw, he realizes numbly after a moment, and can't seem to get himself to relax as dissatisfaction upbraids his self-assurance.

All of that, and he still has – nothing. Absolutely nothing. A bunch of gibberish, even less useful than a holographic placed in the middle of nowhere.

He hits his fist against the wall he’s leaning against, more of a tap than a punch, but Namjoon’s eyebrows lift at the aggravated display. “I’m guessing that means you can’t remember anything important?”

“I’m trying,” he pants. “But this is just – garbage and more garbage. I can’t put anything together.”

“Tell me a bit about it.”

“What’s there to tell? I – I got threatened by the guy, I think, and he wanted something. I don’t know if I gave it to him.” Jin coughs, trying to clear a throat that’s gone dry. “Just to be clear, that’s all maybes. I don’t – I can’t tell if it’s real or not.”

“What did he want?”

It’s not purposeful – or at least, Jin’s pretty sure it’s not – but there’s something extremely aggravating about the other man’s persistence. “Yah! Are you deaf? I told you, I don’t know!”

Namjoon is silent for a moment, a muscle ticking in his jaw, before he turns away. "So, we're at more than one dead end," he comments, and though Jin catches an attempt at a smile at the corner of his mouth, he sounds dispirited. Not angry. Just… tired. Jin is surprised and relieved that his outburst hadn’t elicited a violent retaliation, but there’s something dimly reproachful keeping his throat tight as he follows the other man to the end of the alley. When Jungkook looks over inquiringly, Namjoon shakes his head.

"Let's go inside the Ring and see if there's anything we can pick up there." Passing a hand over his face, for a moment the pink-haired man doesn't follow his own command, just stands unmoving on the sidewalk. It lasts for all of two seconds, but it still makes discomfort sink seething hooks into Jin, somewhere low in his stomach. Obviously Namjoon is struggling to hold himself together, and that doesn't seem to speak well for Jin's immediate future. Or for any of their futures, actually. When he glances at Jungkook, the boy is biting at his lip and watching his leader from the corner of his eye, presumably just as concerned, albeit for entirely different reasons.

Dropping his hand, Namjoon gives himself a little shake. As though they were the ones dawdling, his voice sharpens as he snaps, "Let's go."

True to his capturers' words, the Ring is just a few buildings down, though the street curves sharply upward and had made it difficult to spot the sign from further down the way. The sign isn’t garish, which is surprising given how many eyesores Jin has seen on this street. Three neon rings surrounded by a fourth, all of them differing shades of blue, with Ringwanderung shot through them in a dark blue approaching black. The sign probably looks quite beautiful at night. The Ring itself is a squat building of modern black and grey angles, shorter by two or three floors than the ones on either side of it, but it's also wider than either of them. If Jin remembers correctly, it has several underground floors, too, where most of the drug dens and prostitute rooms are. Above ground, funny enough, was for above ground deals, like dancing, hanging out and eating, drinking alcohol and using some of the milder intoxicants available. Very PG 13.

There aren't all that many people frequenting the club when they enter the Ring, including security. That's not entirely a surprise, given the time, and Jin pauses just inside the entrance, letting his eyes adjust to the slightly dimmer setting while they scour the red and black couches scattered across the room. He's half-hoping he'll see a familiar face, someone to run to and beg for help – several of his friends, particularly Taehyung, like to come here, enjoying the establishment’s slight edges. Jin’s come to realize those are pretty laughable. What’s edgy about a building complete with a complement of security guards?

Although, now that he thinks about it... his friends might be wearing familiar faces, but he isn't. What would they do if some random stranger came up to them and started ranting about needing help?

Not react quickly enough to save him from being shot by Jungkook or Namjoon, Jin's pretty sure of that. Even Taehyung, with his special empathy implants, would probably take too long.

Both of his escorts are tenser in this closed setting, anyways. Somehow Jungkook manages to inch even closer to him than when they were walking, and Namjoon doesn't let the same amount of space grow between them as he leads the way through the lounge, deeper into the club. "Keep your head down," he mutters to Jin. "I don't want someone recognizing the sleeve."

Jin stops dead and hisses, “What do you mean, someone recognizing the sleeve?” Seconds later, as Namjoon regards him tight-lipped and silent, a horrified revelation stumbles into his mind. “You – I’m in – You put me in someone’s body illegally? Someone who lives here?”

“Now’s not the time to get into the details, Seokjin,” Namjoon says from between clenched teeth.

“Not the time!” His voice leaps like it’s trying to high-five the ceiling. “Where is – who is – how –” It hadn’t even remotely occurred to him that they might have put him in a sleeve with an owner who wasn’t either dead or locked away or had moved on from this sleeve. He’d just – Meths took their sleeves from others if they took a fancy to one, sure, but that was an exception, not the rule. Most of them were lab-created, or, if biologically based and from parents, at least genetically enhanced. The point being that they were new, and not… He’d known this was a used sleeve, the impulses proved that, but he hadn’t thought that the previous user might still be around! Or their friends!

Namjoon must see the alarm taking over Jin and tilting precariously towards a full-blown meltdown, because he steps closers, grabs Jin’s arm. “Relax, okay? I promise, we’ll fill you in on everything, but not right now.”

He stares wildly into Namjoon’s dark eyes, and they feel like locked doors with bright OPEN signs above them. A lie and a disappointment. “Just tell me. Are they dead? The person who had this sleeve… Did you kill them?”

The fingers wrapped around Seokjin’s arm tighten to the point of pain, but the other man doesn’t look away. Doesn’t hesitate when he says, “No. They’re not dead. Even if they deserve to be. We’ll talk about the rest later.”

Seokjin is released and his captor turns away, leaving a throbbing ache in Jin’s arm and a colder hurt in his chest. He doesn’t know if Namjoon is lying to get him to go along with this. Is that why this body is so bruised and battered? Because whoever had worn it before ‘deserved’ it?

“Like I said,” Namjoon tacks on, voice cool, “just keep your head down. Don’t look at anyone for too long. I don’t even think he went here that often, only a few times.” He starts to move away.

"A few times is a few times too many! Maybe you should have thought of that before?" Jin gripes, unmoving, sweat pouring down his back and making his shirt stick to his skin uncomfortably. The wary looks he darts at the club inhabitants don’t reveal anyone particularly interested, even despite his outburst, but he feels like a target’s been put on his back. "This face isn't exactly indiscrete. It practically begs for attention. You should have grabbed me a hat or something."

Jungkook shoves him in the back, the gun's barrel pressing a painful indent into his body, but that doesn't stop Jin from seeing the way Namjoon grimaces, his head falling, accepting the blame as yet another heavy burden.

The dance area is even emptier than the lounge, with only a few groups of people standing here and there, drinks in hand. The small cluster of booths off to the side are completely empty. A trio of girls are swaying slowly in the middle of the floor. They can't be dancing to the music – there's a quiet but fast electro-pop song playing in the background – and he can only assume by the relaxed way they move that they've been sampling some of the wares that the Ring offers. There's a bar at the back of the room that might sell such wares, a long counter with a bunch of stools manned by a sole crewman. He's not exactly the friendliest looking person Jin's ever seen, with a bristling black beard and eyebrows so thick they could have crawled down his chin and formed another beard. He’s also giving them a once over.

Apparently failing to notice those alarming traits, Namjoon heads straight for the counter. "Arven," he says warmly.

“Namjoon!” the bartender calls back, just as warmly. “If it isn’t the bulletproof boy. I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.” When Jin moves to get closer, interested in spite of himself, Jungkook grabs his sweater, pulls him back with a warning look.

“They’re not talking about shit that concerns you, Meth,” Jungkook says. “Just some business deals. How ‘bout you just stand there and look good until they’re done? I bet you’re good at that.” The acerbic words sound a bit awkward, like the kid is trying them out for the first time, and after Jin stares at him for a few seconds, Jungkook flushes and looks away.

Jin mumbles, “I am good at looking good,” and yanks his sweater out of the other's grasp. Still uncomfortable, he scans the room, observation skipping over several people before he freezes. One of the girls on the dance floor, a red head in a floral green summer dress, is watching him, her gaze glassy, and he smiles nervously before looking away.

“Uh, Jungkook?” he whispers. “I think that girl recognizes me.”

“No, she doesn’t know…” The strangled way his guard’s words die might have been funny, if the girl wasn’t making her way over.

“What do I do!?”

“Get her to go away!”

“How?”

Jungkook doesn’t come up with anything before the girl is in hearing range, and a quick look at his wide, panicked eyes makes Jin suspect it would have taken awhile, anyways.

"Hey, Siwoo," the pale girl breathes in an uncomfortably familiar way when she halts in front of them. Her eyes trail across his face, noting the cuts and bruises, but she makes no comment. Is it the norm for this sleeve, or just not something you talk about in public? "It’s so weird to run into you now."

Jin casts a pleading look at Jungkook, but the young man just edges closer, hand under his coat and definitely cradling his gun. Seokjin doesn’t dare turn around enough to see if Namjoon has noticed their interaction, but surely he won’t be shot? If he can just fumble around and pretend to be who he’s not? And if he can’t? Is he – or the girl – going to be killed just because he can’t act like a thug? The unbidden thought sets his teeth on edge, and Jin tries to pull his face into something tough and removed.

"Uh, hey," he says, wondering if she's high enough to miss any discrepancies in his mannerisms. Her expression is spacey enough to give him hope. "I had something to pick up nearby, and I, uh, figured this place had a nice ring to it, you know? Hahaha." Her delicate brows furrow, button nose scrunching, and he thinks that maybe Siwoo doesn't use puns too often. Or maybe it was the way his laugh had spiked seventy octaves, nerves punting it up like a pro-kicker over a goalpost.

Before Jin can devolve into panic too much more, the perplexed expression dissolves, replaced by a knowing smile. "You picked up some of the new stuff from Kali, huh? Bet it's got you going." She steps closer, looking back at her friends suggestively. "If you shared some with us, I bet we could really keep you going, Siwoo."

"Ahaha..." His cheeks flaming red, Jin wonders if spontaneously combusting would destroy his stack, or just this sleeve. He also wonders what kind of guy Siwoo is, that girls are willing to make that kind of suggestion, and so boldly, too. The thought does nothing for his embarrassment. "I, uh, can't. Not this time. I’m meeting with, uh…"

A stroke of genius hits, sweeping away most of the mortification. Namjoon said that whoever this body belonged too, he deserved to be dead. Who else could that be, than one of the gang members targeting Namjoon’s group? If that were true… If this girl knows Siwoo, then maybe she knows something about that, too. And if he can find it out…

Jin slaps his forehead, thickens his voice further like he’s seriously intoxicated. “Damn… You know the one. He’s the guy who…” Jin leans closer, pitches his voice lower. “Well, you heard about that Meth that got murdered the other night? It’s the guy who offed him.”

She jerks back, alarmed even in her haze, and gives Jungkook a wary once over. Her voice lowers to a hiss. “Keep your voice down, Siwoo. Fuck, you’ve had too much if you’re talking about David. ‘Sides, that’s your guys’ business, not mine.”

“Yeah, yeah, David, sorry.” He tries to wave an airy hand, but it’s shaking too hard, so he runs it through his hair instead. The motion doesn’t do much to soothe his racing thoughts. “This shit I’m trying is just, uh, really heavy.” She nods slowly, but Jin doesn’t think she’s quite convinced. He tries a different tactic. “Actually, honestly, I’m just kind of pissed off. I heard David got a bunch of creds or something from getting that guy, and he isn’t sharing it with me. But I still gotta grab shit for him?”

As he hoped, the promise of gossip eases her a little, even as a confused frown slopes her mouth. “I heard it was a lot, too. Something big or something, everyone up top was freaking out. Someone said Rafa smiled when he heard. It’s weird he wouldn’t share, when I heard you’re the one who helped him out.” Jungkook moves, a sudden twitch, and she eyes him again. Jin could have kicked him in the shin. Abruptly losing interest, the girl shrugs. “Like I said, it’s not my business. Besides, you never introduced me to your… friend?” Jin stiffly nods. “Who is he? Have I seen you before?” That to Jungkook directly, and with her attention diverted, Jin is free to look at his guard, too.

He hadn’t realized it before, too engrossed in the pretence, but Jungkook might very well be having a heart attack. The kid is shaking and sweating, pink staining every visible patch of skin, and his head is ducked so low his chin might as well be fused to his throat. Jungkook stutters something that’s completely incomprehensible, before clearing his throat. In a very small voice, he says, “Probably. You probably saw me. I – I’ve been here before.”

Such a novel experience as his captor floundering should really be enjoyed, and Jin is spitefully ready to sit back and let Jungkook continue to struggle. It seems no more than justice.

Unfortunately, impatient or too drugged to hold on to a train of thought, the girl shrugs again, not even interested enough to get a name. “Alright. Anyways, Siwoo, are you going to the Meth party? I’ve never been to one and I hear it's going to be wild! Some of the other girls were invited last week, but since that Meth got messed up, not many of you guys are coming here to throw around party invitations. So far none of you assholes have asked me to go. Plus I doubt any Meths are gonna be sending out invites, either."

The girl is definitely working another angle, and Jin blinks rapidly, trying to keep up with the information. "The party? Uh, I haven't decided yet. It's... when is it again?"

"Christ, Siwoo, maybe you should lay off the stuff for awhile. I heard everyone from your group is invited. It's, what, a few months from now? Remember? If you feel like going, you should hit me up; I want a pass."

"A pass?"

"Duh. Not like the Meths are gonna let just anyone stroll into Glass Harbour, especially not at a party like that." The redhead rolls her eyes. “Can’t have people like us dragging in mud, right? I want to –” One of the girls still on the dancefloor calls out a name, Natasha, and she glances back. Her friends make beckoning gestures. Natasha waves at them and looks ruefully at Jin. “My friends are calling. I’ll see you later, okay? Anytime. Hope stuff works out with you and David… And seriously, let me know if you’re going? Or if you just want to hang out…” She trails away without another look at either of them.

Beside him, Jungkook inhales violently. Within a few seconds Namjoon arrives at their side, face calm but eyes demanding as they turn to Jungkook. The brown-haired man hurriedly says, “I think it’s fine. She’s a friend or something, not someone that knows this asshole is missing.”

“And Seokjin didn’t…” Try to clue her in, Jin assumes Namjoon is asking. He lifts his chin, outraged by the question.

“No,” Jungkook replies, “nothing like that. Actually, he – I think he pretty much fooled her.” His tone could not have been more grudging if he’d made a concerted effort, though before Jin can smile at the faint praise, Jungkook cuts that pretty short. “She was so high I think a pole with a face stuck on it might have fooled her, though.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that while Jungkook was imitating the pole he just mentioned, I was finding out things! A lot of help you were, by the way,” Jin adds with a sour look at Jungkook. Yeah, he definitely prefers the kid flushing in embarrassment instead of wearing a smug grin. At least the former is cute instead of insufferable.

Namjoon forestalls anything either of them might have added. “You can tell me about it when we leave. I talked to Arven, mostly business, but I asked him about the murder, too.” As Jin begins to frown at that information, he continues. “Not about you specifically, just in an indirect way. He didn’t know much about it. Said something about an unusual amount of Meths coming here, and not just thirteenth sons and daughters, either, but even a few heads of houses.”

He looks so excited by the news that Jin feels a little bad to let him down. “That’s not that weird. There are trends, right? Ringwanderung has been gathering popularity for awhile now; it’s not odd that some of the heavy weights would eventually stop by. It’ll be a thing for a bit – maybe a while longer than usual, since I got, uh, since I died – and they’ll move on to other things.”

The way Namjoon’s shoulders slump is distracting enough for Jin to ignore Jungkook’s comment about flighty bastards. Hands hovering and waving awkwardly, Seokjin says, “Well, it might be important. Maybe it’s not a coincidence that I got hurt just when they started coming here.” It’s definitely a coincidence, so far as he’s concerned, but it’s nice to see the gang leader take a deep breath and straighten a little.

“Okay. Well – we’ll figure it out. I’m guessing being here hasn’t struck anything in your memory?”

Jin looks around the Ring. He remembers it well enough, but just from night and weekend sprees, hazy and splotched with drugs and alcohol. There’s nothing immediate about the memories, nothing that says he’s about to stumble onto a massive revelation. Hesitantly, wanting to give it his best try, he spends a few minutes wandering around, his two captors tailing him, but by the time they circle back to the dancefloor, he hasn’t found anything. He doesn’t really want to go downstairs, either, not with this company. After a few more silent seconds of observation, he shakes his head.

His companion sighs, but less heavily than the last time. “It’s time for us to go, then. This was a long shot, anyways, and the less time you’re in the open, the better.” When he gestures, Jin precedes him out of the dance area, leaving the pop music behind, with Jungkook trailing them both.

They enter into the lounge again, soft lights a distinct change from the darker illumination of the dancefloor, the private conversations a pleasant background noise. Jin tunes them out; he’s attempting to calculate what else he has to offer, since this trip has been essentially a bust. Was the Meth party significant? Who was hosting it? He can’t remember being invited to one recently, but that could be his amnesia in general, or maybe he just wasn’t friends or acquaintances with the host. The latter was admittedly much less likely – there weren’t all that many Meths, especially ones influential enough to host parties that normies could be invited to – but if the whole gang was invited, that had to be important, right? Only, what could it mean? What…

“Ah, we’re gonna find something tonight! I can feel it!”

“Sir, it’s barely the evening and we just got here. Besides, we’ve been here so many times in the last few days. What makes today different?”

“It’s a feeling! I’m absolutely positive someone here knows something.”

“…sir, you’ve tried already… Why don’t we just go home…?”

Jin’s concentrating so hard that it takes him a moment to realize that he knows both of the voices coming from a cluster of couches not far from them. When he gawks in that direction, he definitely recognizes the tousled head of dark brown hair just visible above the chair’s back.

A surge of relief hits him, thunderous comfort resonating through his nerves, so powerful that he stops dead and feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Without conscious decision, the name bursts from him, as natural as his own. “Taehyung!”

The gun that’s suddenly jammed against his spine, hard enough to make his mouth tighten in pain, is expected. After all, even as the word had left his lips, he’d regretted it, had wanted to pull it back and give himself time to think instead of showing his hand so early. He’d expected the consequences.

But he doesn’t expect the glacier cold voice that issues from behind him to belong to Namjoon.

“Put your head down, now,” demands the voice he hardly recognizes, and even as Taehyung stands up from the couch and turns their way, Seokjin complies, sets his stinging eyes on the red carpet at their feet. Namjoon snatches his arm, bodily forces him to sidestep away, and Jungkook casually paces in front of them, blocking Tae’s line of sight. “You say anything, you even breathe wrong, and you die. So does your friend,” Namjoon says quietly, his perfect enunciation of each word somehow more frightening than if he’d been shouting.

“What is it, sir?” asks Taehyung’s companion, and Jin knows it’s Drayton, the Kim family’s personal driver. Probably here to drag the man home on his father’s orders, but roped into whatever TaeTae is doing.

When Taehyung replies, he sounds miffed. “I thought I heard my name.”

“Really? I don’t think I…”

You did, Seokjin wants to scream, and he wants to cry too, because God, he’s been so alone, and Taehyung is right there. But a new terror is puncturing his lungs, making it hard to breathe, and this jagged fear has nothing to do with the pistol pressing into his back. It has to do with Taehyung’s curious, clever eyes, and the way he sees things that sometimes he shouldn’t, and the way he wants to help when he shouldn’t, too.

If Namjoon had been just a little slower – if Jin had been just a little louder – his friend would have seen him, maybe even recognized him. And Jin would have had just enough time to see something like bewildered joy bloom across Taehyung’s face before Taehyung, one of the best people he knows, was shot to death, and who cared if it was just a sleeve death? Jin is walking proof that the experience is a horrible one. And the possibility hadn’t even occurred to him until after the fact.

The thought makes him nauseous, literally nauseous, and Namjoon practically has to drag him through the lounge and outside. The air’s still stifling despite being outdoors, and when Seokjin looks up all he can see is buildings and grey haze. No sky to speak of. Yet somehow the rush of people is still present, going through their day as if they don’t have an ashen weight over their heads. It’s smothering and does nothing for the frenetic pounding in his chest or the queasiness in Jin’s stomach.

A harsh shove by Namjoon sets him into a stumbling walk, the gun falling away with his captors hemming him in on either side. After a few blocks, the pink-haired man asks tersely, “Do you think we’re being followed?”

Jungkook says, “I haven’t seen anyone. No… I don’t think so.” There’s a beat of silence between the three of them that’s so profound it almost blocks out the sounds of street traffic, the noisy chatter of the people they’re flowing through. Jungkook breaks it. “We shouldn’t have brought him. Or we should have made sure we had control of him. We shouldn’t –”

“I know, Jungkook. I know.”

Silence again, deep and miserable and difficult to walk in. Jin doesn’t know what to do, what to say. The constant fear that’s been lapping at his feet or swamping over his head is proving too much; his lips and fingertips are tingling, but Seokjin is numb to everything else. His feet slog through a sticky puddle of someone’s discarded drink without pause, and the clang of his foot hitting the mostly empty can doesn’t even make him glance down. It’s hard enough to just keep his legs moving.

They cover several more streets before Jungkook says, small and unhappy, “Sorry, hyung. I should have kept a closer watch, anyways. I got… distracted.”

“…Nah. S’not your fault. Just bad luck or something. Maybe we’re cursed.” It’s a joke that falls so flat it’s almost 2D, and when Jin’s eyes drift over to Namjoon’s tight face, the man doesn’t really look like he’s joking, anyways.

They’re off the main road now, passing through an industrial zone with cars lining both sides of the street, but few people are in sight among the clusters of squat, stained buildings. Jungkook kicks at the chain link fence they’re walking next to, making it rattle. “It’s not bad luck. It’s him. Why’d you have to go do something stupid like that, huh?” he abruptly demands of Jin.

Jin, grateful to be more or less ignored until now, hesitates to answer. Jungkook’s question isn’t even that mean, more frustrated than anything, but Seokjin can’t tear his gaze from the cracked pavement they’re walking over. Truth is, he’s been wondering the same thing himself. Had he really almost gotten Taehyung killed? All for – what? A second of relief that he wasn’t the only one in this horrible situation? He’d already concluded that no one could help, at least not quickly enough, but he’d called for his friend despite that.

What does that make him?

Once again, Namjoon intercedes on his behalf. Sort of. “It doesn’t matter now, Kookie. We got out without anyone important catching on. All’s well that ends well. A fairy-tale finish.” The bitterness is absolutely impossible to miss by the end, but when Jin risks a look, Namjoon isn’t directing the vitriol towards him. He’s wearing an indrawn expression, fine brows caving together, and Jin doesn’t think it’s the encounter with Taehyung that has him so upset. Or at least, that’s not the only thing.

Namjoon catches him watching, however, and his brows draw down even more. “Jungkook’s right, though. It was stupid. What did you think would happen?”

He waits to feel the sharp prick of defensiveness, but it doesn’t come. “I… I didn’t really think, it just… came out.”

The ice that was in Namjoon’s tone before has crept into his eyes when he says, “Next time – if there’s a next time – you have to think. Because I know this situation sucks, but I’m not risking my crew for a Meth who puts his mouth before his head again. Next time…”

“I get shot. I die. Yeah, I get it.” And he does. He really kind of does. So much so that it does nothing to the leaden mass sunk into every atom of his body.

The tight hollowness in his throat is only growing, a gaping emptiness that’s threatening to climb into his head and plummet into his chest. There’s regret, sure, regret for saying anything, regret for not saying enough, regret that he’s here at all, but the fear is a wrung-out towel, strangled and nearly dry. All Jin wants is to be somewhere else. It’s hard to look away from both Jungkook and Namjoon, since they’re on either side, so once again his gaze finds the ground.

Which is why Jin completely misses the woman, dressed in dark clothes with a black face mask, who suddenly steps out from behind one of the cars ahead of them. There’s a gun clutched in her hand. He misses the way she lifts up the weapon and aims – right at Jin.

He doesn’t miss the crack of the gun going off, though.

#namjin #namjin fanfic #my fanfic #namjoon x seokjin #member x member #seokjin #namjoon

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fortheloveoffanfic · 5 years

Text

Hurt.

John Wick x Reader (A/n- I know, the assassin/ hitwoman reader type is getting old over here, but forgive me and let me have this one, I promise I’ll try to change the model at some point.)

An inch deep bleeding stab wound right under his ribs, a couple bullets lodged in his shoulder, and an uncountable amount of tiny cuts on every visible surface of skin. None of it was fatal, but he was bleeding so fast that he was beginning to think otherwise. His cheek was warm and wet with dripping blood, John couldn’t even remember how he had gotten that one. It had all happened so quickly, a couple burly henchmen had somehow turned into a dozen. And that wasn’t counting his very able bodied target. Of course, he was John Wick, he had gotten the job done, but had walked out of the seemingly inconspicuous warehouse feeling worse than he’d like to admit.

Every thing hurt, down to the joints in his fingers. He was seeing red and couldn’t really tell if it was because he was growing closer to unconsciousness or if it was because there was blood in his eyes. Maybe it was both.

As John dragged himself to his car, parked at the corner, he found himself wondering if he’d make it home to call a doctor. It was at least thee miles away without traffic. Wincing as he ducked into the drivers seat, he chuckled humorlessly, after everything he just did, what might be described as several counts of capital murder, his problem was traffic. So mundane, yet it might determine whether he woke up tomorrow or if he just bled out in his car, in the busy streets of New York.

The engine rumbled to life, more life than John felt like he had and, he slowly peeled away from the shadows of the curb. As he drove, his red stained vison seemed to double and eventually, he realized that it would be suicide to try to make it home. The Continental was much closer.

Taking a sharp turn, John headed towards his new destination, hoping he’d actually get there.

She usually preferred to park her car herself, she paid to much for it, killed to much for it, to trust some random kid with her very shiny, extremely expensive car. So, Y/n drove slowly through the underground park of the Continental, searching for a spot. The car barely hummed in the silence, it was much like her, stylish, quiet, and in the right circumstances, deadly.

Eventually, she found one, next to a familiar Mustang. Cutting off the engine, Y/n gathered her bags, ready to head up and check in, though as she walked past the car, she noticed that it was still running. And that the driver was still inside. At an uneventfully and unhurried pace, Y/n shrugged her bag higher up, onto her shoulder, moving the window, confirming that the barely conscious occupant was in fact John. “Fuck,” she mumbled quietly.

Worry swelled in her chest, causing her to roll her eyes to in annoyance. Leave it to John Wick, to make her feel this way. Hell, leave it to John to make her feel anything at all. Trying the handle, Y/n quietly sighed in relief when the door opened. “Y/n...” he mumbled, so he could see her, “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing. What the hell happened to you?” Her words came out breathlessly as Y/n tugged on his arms, tying to pull him out of the car. “Please tell me you can still walk.”

“If I can drive, I can walk,” John quipped, Y/n was the last person that John wanted to show weakness in front of, she had always been this force of strength and quiet, calculated determination. He’d always thought that it was impossible for someone like her to exist, never, ever showing weakness or pain, at least not in front of him. It was indescribable really, like she couldn’t be phased. Emotionless, ruthless, incapable of caring for anyone outside of herself, all wrapped up in ethereal beauty. John shouldn’t have, but he had fallen for her anyway. That was why he hated that she was seeing him like this. It made him seem weak, surely a woman like her was anything but weak. Little did John know, he was her weakness.

“Good,” as John leaned against the car, clutching his side to slow the bleeding, Y/n turned of his car, closing and locking the doors. Afterwards, she slung his arm over her shoulders, urging him forward, “Come on.”

For some reason, one that confused her above everything else, Y/n had brought John up to her room instead of ensuring that he had gotten his own. She had also ensured Charon that she’d tend to his injuries and that the doctor wasn’t necessary. Y/n had convinced herself that it was because calling the doctor would be a waste of a coin, his injuries weren’t fatal and she knew her way around a needle. But really, what she hated to admit, was that it was because, she couldn’t trust someone else with his life. She didn’t want too.

Huffing, Y/n helped John to the bed, “Take off your shirt,” she ordered, walking off into the bathroom. Thankfully, the rooms were always stocked with a capable first aid kit for those who preferred to patch themselves up. Returning with the kit and a small basin of warm water and a white hand towel, Y/n bit back a frown when she saw the bruises dominating his chest and the bleeding wound at his side.

John straightened up, turning to her as Y/n took a seat next to him, “You don’t have to do this,” he objected as she got to work on cleaning around the stab wound, expert fingers working efficiently and almost painlessly.

Her tone was flat, but John could swear that there was concern beneath it. Maybe he was more delirious that he originally figured, “I don’t have to do a lot of things. But you’re hurt and I’m here, I don’t suppose you wanted me to let you bleed out down there.”

John sighed, shaking his head. She was always so hard to converse with, it was like she was constantly playing defense. She was. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, staring her, wishing that she would just stop for a second and meet his eyes.

Y/n continued, seemingly unaffected by his words, though inside, she was in turmoil, wondering why John made her feel the way she did, wishing she could just make his troubles stop, fix it all for him. Maybe that was what everyone meant when they said the people who show the least felt the most. “It doesn’t matter what you meant, or what I mean.”

“Then what does matter?”

Y/n’s jaw clenched and for a split second, she thought about just saying exactly what she felt, but caught it before it left and instead she said; “Would you just stop talking and let me finish this?” After Y/n finished closing the stab wound, she got to work on removing the bullets still lodged in his right shoulder, thankfully, they weren’t anywhere that would cause complications. Her mother used to be a doctor at the Continental, so Y/n liked to think that she had picked up a few helpful lessons. John winced and hissed very quietly as she continued, but he didn’t speak.

When her work was complete, John was already half asleep, and she helped him lay back onto the bed. Y/n left to clear away the things she had used and when she was completely sure that she was sound asleep, she carefully removed his shoes and used a clean towel and some warm water to gently wipe dried blood and dirt from his face and bare chest.

It didn’t take long enough and for a while after she was through, Y/n sat at the bedside. She’d have hated for anyone to see it, but occasionally, she let herself go, caressing the side of his face or running her hand through the end of John’s hair. She had no idea of how long she spent there, doting on John with the lightest of touches, mesmerized by his soft, steady breaths and the rise and fall of his chest but eventually, the sky was changing, the sun rising. Almost entranced by his sleeping form, Y/n felt calmer than she had before. She had spent her entire life, learning and thinking that pain and love were weaknesses that she couldn’t be afforded. It wasn’t easy coming from a family that made crime a profession, she was learning to fight from the minute she knew what the word meant and being trained to patch herself up instead of relying on someone else. “You can trust me,” John had told her once, but she had laughed half heartedly instead of telling him he could do the same. He could though, Y/n hoped he knew that.

Her eyes were heavy with tire, but she wouldn’t sleep, if this was they only time that Y/n could admire him, love him without prying, judging eyes, she’d take it. The morning light casted the faintest glow on his face and Y/’n’s eyes settled on John’s lips. In a fleeting moment, Y/n leaned down, her face hovering over John’s, and without thinking, she pressed a soft kiss to his slightly parted lips.

Ever since they had met, John had dreamt of her. In his dreams, she had the most beautiful smile- that was usually how he knew it was a dream, the Y/n he knew in the waking world never smiled. But he was sure if she did, it would have been better than anything he could have ever envisioned. Sometimes, in his dreams, he’d be chasing her, his finger’s barely brushing the edges of her blouse. Y/n would glance back, throwing her head back in contagious laughter and if he stayed asleep long enough, John would catch her. “You’re mine now,” he’d say, smiling down at her.

“I’ve always been yours,” she’ return, and reach up to kiss him. The kiss always felt like the wings of butterflies fluttering against his lips. So light and short that it was easy for John to remember that the moment was merely a creation of his subconscious. That time though, the kiss felt different, new, real. Before he knew it, the dream was fading. “Wait!” He wanted to call, but his eyes shot open.

To his surprise, the kiss didn’t go away with his slumber, it was actually happening and as fast as he had opened his eyes, he shut them again, responding to Y/n’s lips on his.

At first, she melted against him, but when John’s hand found her hair, Y/n pulled away, mouth agape and eyes wide. Quietly, she gasped, her fingers brushing against pink lips which had had just started to grow plumper from kissing, “I’m so sorry,” she stood abruptly, trying to put more space between herself and John who now laid propped on his elbows.

“Y/n,” he began, wincing slightly as he pushed himself off the bed, easing himself into a standing position. The pills she had slipped into his mouth just before he had dosed off had helped significantly, so he didn’t really feel like he had been shot, but more like someone had punched him really, really hard, with a literal iron fist. “You don’t have to apologize,” John reasoned, though Y/n didn't seem to hear it, backing away towards the window, turning her face away. “I feel the same way,” he finished with a sigh.

Turning back to him Y/n clenched her jaw, her eyes not meeting his, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t feel anything but mild annoyance for you,” she shook her head in defiance, though her façade was cracking. “That kiss.....it was just a moment of......” Y/n stammered, not really knowing how to hide her feelings. She hated feeling so exposed, so vulnerable. “It was just....”

“Stop,” John was in front of her in a couple long steps, his tone firm but in no way harsh, John just wanted Y/n to listen, understand that feeling didn’t equate weakness, “Just stop for five seconds, please.”

“John, don’t, don’t try to convince me to accept my feelings or-” faster than she could register, John cut her off, crashing his lips to his, holding Y/n at her forearms. At first, she resisted, but eventually she surrendered to John and the part of herself that had been begging for her to tell him how she felt for months now.

Sighing against him, Y/n submitted, melting against John, her hands sliding up his shoulders, wrapping around his neck. “John,” she whispered when they broke, leaving less than an inch of space between their lips.

“Don’t,” he shushed her quietly, “Can we talk about it later?” His hand crept up to gently cradle the back of her neck and instead of resisting she nodded, the slightest hint of a smile playing on her lips. It was nothing like the broad one she had worn in his dreams, but she looked even more beautiful than anything he could have ever dreamt up. “Come here,” he mumbled, pulling her into another kiss, slowly walking them backwards towards the bed.

#Keanu Reeves #John Wick #john wick x you #john wick x reader #Keanu Reeves x Reader #Keanu reeves oneshot #john wick oneshot #Keanu reeves imagine #keanu reeves fanfic #oneshot #fanfiction #keanu #Keanu reeves x you

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hidden-not-isolated · 4 years

Text

Hidden, Not Isolated [C1]

He was shaking.

But he was relieved.

He had gotten to his desired location.

After everything.

He’ll throw a party as he checks that off the list.

Done, taken care of.

All wrapped up and good to go.

…Now what?

Sure, the idea of taking his complicated, daunting mission one-step-at-a-time certainly worked, however...for starters, he definitely couldn’t handle the idea of being anywhere near any other people; not to mention the strangers. The strangers. The strangers strolling around the proximity, doing whatever they want, you unbeknownst to their shenanigans that they do in the shadows. For all you know, one could be plotting to kill you next Sunday afternoon. One could be a kidnapper in plain sight, lacerating its victims. One could be scheming to expose your biggest secret to the entire world, directly or otherwise. Or to put it more simply,

A town.

Filled with murderers.

Which was where he was.

Thoughts haphazardly crammed and rushed to his head as he forced the water threatening to raise behind his eyes to back off as his breathing firmly hastened and he glanced the area over, left and right, still contemplating of what may happen upon someone spotting him even if it was random...even if it was agonizing...even if it was the worst... even if it was the best...

The best.

As he pinched an eye shut, he grazed away the nearly cast tear with his palm whilst refocusing, and maybe distracting, himself boiled to the front of his mind instead of physically hiding from the insult-ready folk trapping him,

Find him.

But if he was honest with himself and his Anthropophobia, his existence was still useless. How was he supposed get back on his feet if he had been unknowingly stapled to the ground in the first place? Guess he just didn’t know that until now. After all, he had no traces, no courage, no nothing. Essentially, instead of being something of millions of miles away from his objective, he was lost in his own, personal mind and apprehension. Literally no one could help him with this absurd disorder. He would have to deal with his pattern of heavy thought by himself. That’s just honestly cruel, isn’t it? After all, he didn’t even know who he was supposed to be anymore, would anything go his way? Couldn’t the universe just, you know, be considerate? Could it really not spare him even the smallest shred of luck? Surely it owes him, right? Out of everything he had gone through, wouldn’t it only be fair? Emerging from the whole “god doesn’t play the dice” stuff, guess not. In fact, with no sighting of his goal even now, perhaps he should’ve looked somewhere else, less filled with people. Perhaps he should've never come in the first place. Perhaps this was all an elaborate mistake. But there he was. About to die. He did that to himself. Hooray. Such advanced thinking. Clever. Really clever. See, it didn’t matter where he consciously made his way to, physically. After all, he had literally been hunting for this town for...a while...? So it wasn’t a matter of that. What else could it be? I mean, he could be anywhere in the world and it wouldn’t change the fact that he was having something of a panic attack.

His existence was fucking useless.

His frantic, terrified heaves of hyperventilation beginning to rapidly stutter once again, his neck instinctively tucks inwards, right hand tightly squeezing his left with a painfully tight grip uncontrollably in a nervous habit as his eyes remained wide and hysterically bouncing to the left and right, anticipating someone to maniacally sprint up to him with a melee weapon of sorts. The positions of his hands were over his mouth alongside the cloth that he automatically buried his lips with, trying to make sure the soft fabric didn’t slip--it made him feel a bit more safe. To be specific, it made him feel as if he was at his home...if he had a home, that is. He could only guess. That said, he still could barely muffle even the thinnest of heaves into the atmosphere. He couldn’t even ask somebody to call an ambience if he needed one, that’s how useless he was. Amazing. He had just gotten there and of course, he was continuously choking on his own worthless breath matching his personality over and over again. The sinister reality encircling him, he couldn’t imagine anything bad not happening to him and as if he could simply shut out the actuality ambushing him this easily, he locked his eyes shut as his hands and weave slipped to his chest whist the universe itself whirled in broad circles around him. He couldn’t focus. He needed to focus. He couldn’t relax. He needed to relax. He couldn’t breathe. He needed to breathe.

B r e a t h e.

Taking several, large, expansive breaths, he thoroughly aired out his lungs as he forcefully commanded his throat. His lungs despairingly exhausted themselves panting all of the microscopic particles of dust elsewhere before he ultimately exhaled one final time, the desire to keep his eyes clasped amplifying by far the most that he had craved yet as exactly two total tears slipped from his eyes, one each, while he tucked his chin to the right side of his chest, shying his face away, effectively pinching the skin of his left hand.

. . .

Swiftly, his hands sank into a posture near to his lower chest whilst he vigorously trembled uncontrollably, head slightly, unenthusiastically shifting towards the front of him and eyes tearing towards the town. His timid manner as he slipped his attention was visibly noticeable. He looked as if he just wanted to hide behind his hair and shun from any sorts of murderer-likely people who were exchanging discussions about how stupid he looked with one another as they sauntered beyond the proximities, snickering about how randomly sensitive and crybaby-like a grown man was acting for no apparent reason.

That said, though he was completely aware that peeping was daring, he was nearly swooped into a calmed status for a few moments, for exactly three parrots sang their chirps as they flew past his line of sight, the birds honestly startling him as they shuttled, him to instinctively adjust his attention and eyes to keep a tab on the flyings.

As he traced the flutterings after they resting-ly perched onto a beam, he slowly twisted his neck left and right, not rushing to cautiously take in all of the scene that dauntingly made him feel oh-so-small in its surrounding-like style. That is, until he rabidly blinked a few times in wonderment as he took most notice to the vertical, coloured beams that fiercely shone directly into the atmosphere. They weren’t exactly bright enough to make one go blind even if they were to gaze for a prolonged amount of time but definitely enough to be seen from a mile away. And clearly striking. He found himself dumbfoundedly staring at the beams of colour, even after he instinctively roamed towards the lights in his glaze. Definitely something he hadn’t seen in years. The monument supporting the streaks of hue also persisted so causally, as well. Everything did. Everyone did.

The streets of this town square were far from being bustling or swarming with people this sunny day. They weren’t many folks out and about. So that was very good. Not a lot of people out and striving to kidnap him, throwing him into the basement that would also be the worst day of his day...which was a possibility to happen. So this was much better than any kind of crowd. Much better than any kind of crowd. Much better than any kind of crowd. He was very lucky. But then again, if he was very lucky...forget it. Why don’t we try to be grateful? Not much else has worked for this man, anyways.

“I’ve always loved these beacons!” He violently flinched in his recently pacified status as a bloke abruptly ran around the structure, arms out immaturely. That’s what urged his self-preservation to immediately shoot his head towards the ground and began actively vibrating once again, cradling himself, praying that the individual would just go elsewhere if they didn’t pay much attention to them.

“Yeah, that’s why they call it ‘Beacontown,” He heard a woman return followed by barks of a canine, he believed. He also believed that a hastening shiver quickly jetted down his spine upon overhearing that another person was too close to him and, to top it all off, a dog that probably had razor-sharp teeth, ready to impound blood-cut stitches into his arm with a single snack out of his sensitive skin.

No.

Get away from me.

The fact that someone was in the proximity of him was all it took for him to frantically speed-walk to a distance, away from the characters, visibly quivering at the thought of being that girl’s or man’s next victim. Or, in fact, anyone who saw him. Just stay at least fifty-five-feet away from him and you should be fine. Just go away. But I guess there’s always a bright side. At least he knew what the town was called now.

“Beacontown.”

That made sense.

The beacons definitely seemed to be important.

By second-nature, he allowed his legs to go on autopilot as his mind was occupied with properly, thoroughly brushing his eyes around the area, scanning the neighbourhood with the scent of sweet spraying the diversified structures ever since he had shakingly taken a look around the proximity accompanied by his uncontrollable rabid breathing, seeking to discover and identify any potential ambush spots, yearning to keep himself guarded of the possible threats.

As he glimpsed left and right of the town, he just couldn’t disregard all of the monuments standing so plainly. Friendly. Ranging from what appeared to be a heartfelt memorial to someone to some sort of tiki-like-statue, this town’s square was unmistakably an interesting area. In as much of a good way as in was bad. Unsure of how else to describe it, he gawked wide-eyed at the structures scattered about the vicinities, various textures and materials utilized to build them, evident to the gentle stroke. It obviously took quite a while to create, but it seemed to be worth it, it contributing to the nonviolent atmosphere.

His eyes finally separating from the right-line of buildings, his focus ultimately took a notice and attached to a thin piece of paper taped crudely to the side of a building upcoming, of which he could roughly make out the title of the paper to be from afar, however, he wasn’t entirely sure. Him being curious to thoroughly investigate and explore every portion of this town without running into any person, he promptly began to pick up the pace with his stride to the paper.

. . .

Oh...

What have I done?

Yes, of course. Why didn’t he see that coming? It made sense...mostly. There were a few plot holes but knowing his luck, they’re probably be covered up later. If he got to later. Regardless, he couldn’t ask questions. He did this to himself. He had no excuses. It was a matter of time anyways.

He barely even noticed himself instinctively unsticking the sheet from the tac and off of the building before he stood firmly, still holding the newly-discovered filer that had caught his eye once again for a briefer moment. As he sat himself onto the damp floor of the alleyway, he noticed that his puffs of breath had become foggily visible a second prior to him holding the sheet upwards to thoroughly examine the paper as he reflected on his actions. He couldn’t complain, of course; he just couldn’t believe it.

It was him, Soren.

On a wanted poster.

#mcsm #mcsm soren #mcsm fanfic #mcsm fanfiction #c1 #hni #hni c1 #mcsm au #hidden not isolated #hidden not isolated c1

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forgottenpasta · 5 years

Text

Wednesday

Summary: Each day of the week was reserved for one member: Jimin on Mondays, Namjoon on Tuesdays, Hoseok on Wednesdays, Seokjin on Thursdays, Taehyung on Fridays, Jeongguk on Saturdays and Yoongi on Sundays. Juggling a relationship with seven boys was difficult on its own. Add to that your insecurities, your mother’s disapproval and Hoseok forgetting your anniversary and you had the makings of the worst Wednesday ever. (...Or the best Wednesday ever?)

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader, Ot7 x Reader

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff

Warnings: Unprotected Sex, Oral (female receiving), Rimming, Creampie Rough Sex, Public Sex, Fingering, Orgasm Denial

Word Count: 12.2k

A/N: Enjoy! :)

“Where is it?”, you muttered, throwing open your closet to scan the contents of your scarf drawer. After a short second you slammed it close with a curse.

Your favourite green scarf with pretty red lace tulips sewn in on the edges was nowhere to be found. You’d checked the laundry and every inch of your living space with no luck. Pouting at the thought of losing the precious gift Jimin had given you after returning from the European leg of their tour, you slumped on your bed. Snatching your phone from where it had been charging on the bedside table, you dialled Hoseok’s number, not giving a mind to the loud clack as the charger’s adapter pulled free of the socket and fell on the floor, the wire still connected to the phone at your ear.

There were two reasons for your foul mood this lovely Wednesday morning. One was the scarf, and the other…

Hoseok hadn’t called like he did every Wednesday morning to confirm he wasn’t busy and that he’d be spending the night with you. But that wasn’t all. Today was special for the two of you. Just the two of you. And despite your myriad hints leading up to this day, Hoseok hadn’t shown even the slightest proof that he remembered.

He hadn’t called you and now he wasn’t picking up his phone.

With a frustrated sigh, you dialled Jin instead. He answered on the third ring.

“Babygirl.”

A content smile flitted on your face at the eldest’s soft endearment of a greeting, temporarily easing the unknown frustration you’d been feeling the last few days.

“Good morning Jin.” His name was a sigh on your lips, and you knew he’d be able to pick up on your current temperament from just that. Out of all of them, Jin was the most attuned to your emotions, often the one you sought out when you were feeling down or moody or if you just needed someone to cuddle away all your worries. No wonder he was the one you’d automatically called.

Sure enough, he sounded more alert when he asked, “What’s wrong, __?”

“I can’t find my favourite green scarf.”, you whined. You sounded like a petulant three year old complaining to her mother, but you knew Jin would never make fun of you.

An amused snicker sounded down the line. “Aww, did babygirl lose her blankie?”

You scowled at your iPhone, then slapped it back against your ear. “Seokjin, you traitor. You’ve been hanging out with Taehyung too much.”

“What can I say,” You heard the sound of a door closing, likely Jin coming out of his room. “He’s been unusually generous lately. Been paying for all our food, insists on it even.”

“He’s upto something.”, you said without a second thought.

“Oh I’m sure. Likely wants in on the rap line now that he’s secured a spot on the dance one. That boy won’t rest till he’s had a cypher of his own.” Jin yawned and you heard the distinct sound of the fridge opening. “Just last week I saw him disappear into Yoongi’s studio for hours. Just to come out with an intense look of determination on his face. Like he was about to go to war. I was scared.”

You chuckled, a sudden urge came over you to kiss Taehyung breathless, till he could no longer conjure up all kinds of schemes in that adorable head of his. More and more often, similar surges of emotion regarding the guys would pop up in your brain when you were away from them.

If a sweet love song played at the cafe you worked at, you started craving Jeongguk’s soft, whispered singing in your ear. If you read a particularly interesting book, you immediately wanted to discuss it with Namjoon. You shivered every time you passed a sex shop on the streets, remembering Jimin’s expert hands binding you with his silken ropes till you quivered with anticipation. Jin’s affectionate gestures were always at the back of your mind when you saw a couple on the streets or a lifetime movie with too much romance and not enough plot. And even the most random things reminded you of Yoongi. A cat cuddled into a ball outside your window, an oversized black hoodie on someone, the smell of brewed chocolate (his favourite drink ever since you’d rendered all his recording equipment unusable by pouring a cup of it over them).

And Hoseok. He was the start of it all, the member you had met even before you knew seven boys were going to crash into your boring, monotonous life and turn it upside down. The first person you had fell in love with. The one who had introduced you to the rest of them.

The one who was supposed to be your one and only boyfriend.

Till you’d come to the horrifying realisation that you felt more than just platonic affection for the six other boys who’d come attached with him like a buy one get six free package deal.

Jin’s voice snipped that train of thought in the bud. “I can tell you’re not listening to me, babygirl. I’d feel offended but thankfully the size of my ego is directly proportionate to my handsomeness.”

You rolled your eyes, too used to his boasting. “Can you ask Namjoon if he saw the scarf? He was here last night when I was wearing it.”

Jin huffed and you heard him moving through the dorm again. “You only call me when you need something, __. I’m sure I don’t like it.”

You grinned. “What happened to your invincible ego? Besides, I distinctly recall you getting off to my moans when I called you last Thursday, just for you to turn it into phone sex—”

“I was 587 miles away from you, woman! We had a show the next day, I couldn’t just book a flight from Narita to Incheon just to spend a few hours with you like last time.” Jin groaned. “I needed you so bad and my hand was a piss poor replacement.”

Your heart was melting into a sympathetic puddle. But before you could reply to his impassioned declaration Jin started laughing.

“Yo, what the fuck!”, he managed in between guffaws.

Perking up , you asked, “What is it?”

“What did you do to poor Namjoon last night?” You heard a little shuffling, then a groggy voice groaned in the background. “He’s out cold on the couch, muttering in his sleep. Here listen.”

“…mmhfh y/n-ah, juft one mor paghe n weh cann fuk…hmf…”

“Oh my god!” You giggled, not being able to understand the sounds coming out of his mouth anymore. Jin must have brought the phone close to his mouth.

“What did you do to him?!”

In between suppressed laughter, you managed to explain, “He wanted to have sex so bad last night but I had a ton of classwork, so he helped me complete it, hoping it would get done faster and he’ll get some. But he fell asleep on my desk writing an essay on Turko-Mongol war strategy and weaponry.”

“You and your essays on dead people.”, Jin teased, still chuckling. The boys were well aware of your love for history and literature, even indulged your interests by buying you all kinds of first editions of rare books and published articles. During your Medieval era European poets phase, Yoongi had bought you some early 16th century illustrations of Dante’s Divine Comedy. They were so priceless that you’d cried at the sight of them. When you’d haltingly asked where and how he got them when even reputed museums had difficulty finding early Dante illustrations, Yoongi had evaded your question like the plague. To this day you suspected he had some very high connections in the black market.

“Oh and by the way”, Jin said offhandedly. “I think he’s drooling on your scarf.”

Mirth disappeared and your eyes went round. “What?!” Then you remembered you’d wrapped it around his neck early this morning while you were still half asleep, hoping he wouldn’t catch a cold on his way to the dorm. “Aagh, get it away from him!”

The doorbell went off just then, surprising you. You weren’t expecting anyone.

“Umm Jin, I’ll call you later,” you told him, getting up from your bed. “Save my scarf please. That’s the only gift I have from Jimin that isn’t a sex toy. And also, ask Hoseok to call me please.”

“Sure.”, he reassured. “Are you coming to our photoshoot today? I know you don’t have any classes scheduled.”

“Miss a chance of seeing you guys all dolled up and posing sexily? Hell no.”

Jin laughed. “I love you, you pervert. Bye.”

“Mmhm, I love me too.” You hung up, knowing full well that Jin would be rolling his eyes at your antics.

“I’m coming!”, you shouted as the bell went off again, striding out of your bedroom and towards the front door. The smiling face of your mother was the last thing you were expecting to see when you opened it.

“Mom!” You hugged her automatically. “What are you doing here?”

She patted your back, dropping a kiss on the side of your head. Her ever youthful face coming into your view as she pulled back. “I was in Seoul to attend a soiree some of my friends were hosting. I couldn’t leave without meeting you.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”, you said cheerfully, ushering her in and closing the door. “Let’s talk in the kitchen. I’ll make some tea for you.”

She followed you into the kitchen, seating herself on one of the breakfast barstools as you set about making her a hot cup of her preferred beverage. “Thank you, dear. I really appreciate that you keep tea in your kitchen for when I visit, even though you don’t drink it.”

“Oh, umm, it’s nothing mom.” You stared at the water filling the kettle intently, not having the heart to tell her that you also kept it for when Taehyung stayed over. He didn’t like the taste of coffee.

Your mother knew about your relationship with the seven boys. Your father didn’t. After those first few weeks of being with them, you’d taken the risk of telling her because you had no one to talk about such a big change happening in your life. You couldn’t tell any of your college friends because technically Bangtan were not supposed to be dating anyone, let alone all seven of them dating one, lest their fangirls (and boys) get mad. You couldn’t risk outing them. The only one you hundred percent trusted to keep a secret was your mom. So you had told her. And as expected she’d kept your secret even from your father.

But that did not mean she approved or supported seven men being with her one daughter.

“Hows college going, sweetheart?”, she asked, watching you put in a tablespoon of sugar in her tea, just as she liked.

“It’s going good.” You paused. That was a lie. “Actually I barely get time to complete my class projects. It’s kinda hectic.”

“__, please tell me you finally broke it off with those boys.”, she blurted out as soon as you poured her a cup.

There it was. Of course she would assume you didn’t get time because your boyfriends took up all of it.

Rubbing sluggishly at your eyes, you sighed. Your mother was never one to beat around the bush.

“Mom, I love them.” You looked up into her eyes so she could see how sincere you were. “I’m not going to end it with them.”

She took a cautious sip from her cup, a contemplative expression coming over her face. You braced yourself. When your mother got thoughtful, it meant she was about to drop some serious truth bombs and painful facts that you were likely not going to like or want to hear.

“So, are you waiting for them to end it with you?” She raised a brow, phrasing her question like she was genuinely curious. You knew better.

“ You’re a very intelligent girl, dear. Do you seriously see such an arrangement lasting?” Her mouth twisted at the word “arrangement”, like it tasted foul.

Gazing at the ceiling, you prayed for her understanding, even though a part of you understood her reservations and that she was only looking after you.

“You don’t know them like I do, mom. They love me too. Very much so.” Your voice came out strained, ruining the conviction you’d wanted to infuse it with.

“I don’t doubt that. Look at me, __.”, she ordered softly.

You did and she offered you a tentative smile. “I don’t doubt that at all. You deserve all the love in the world and more. But a little pragmatism goes a long way, __. How is it possible that seven men keep themselves limited to one girl only?”

She took your hand that was fisted on top of the counter, slowly prying the tensed muscles open till you gave her your palm and she kissed the middle of it. “I don’t want you to get hurt, y/n. And you’re only setting yourself up for a seven times bigger fallout if you keep this thing up. Men are notoriously possessive creatures, if they don’t seek out other women, they’ll likely fight amongst themselves for you.”

Shaking your head, you took your hand out of her grasp. “No, mom. They’re very close, like brothers. They do get jealous when other men hit on me but never each other.”

Your mother sighed, frustration creeping up on her face. Her tone hardened as she said, “Then they would not hesitate to kick you to the curb if you threaten their unity even the slightest bit. I did not want to do this but you have to stop being so naïve, __. Haven’t you thought about why they agreed to this thing with you so easily?”

You almost said because they liked you so much, but you knew that wasn’t the answer your mother had in mind. “I’m sure you’re going to enlighten me.”

She leaned forward with a scowl. “Because it’s convenient. They’re insanely popular right now. Everywhere they go they’ve got eyes on them. Even your recluse of a father, who only concerns himself with politics and sports knows their songs. It’s easier for them to keep and share one woman then deal with seven.”

The kitchen was deathly silent save for the blood rushing in your ears. You did not want to hear this. You did not want some half baked ideas your mom had raise doubts in your mind about the boys.

Forcing back the tears that threatened, you softly murmured, “Mom, please.”

But she wasn’t done. “You drop everything to go to them. You keep yourself available 24/7. At their beck and call seven days a week.”

“It’s not like that.”, you exclaimed. “They support me just as much, if not more. They never ask for more than I’m comfortable giving.”

“That’s the problem, y/n.”, your mother snapped. “You’re willing to give too much of yourself. Better reel yourself in before you find yourself utterly vulnerable and exposed, with no one to lean on.”

“What does that mean?”, you asked, just as harshly.

“It means…”, she paused, as if debating wether to continue or not, before shaking her head. “I’m telling you to be ready for the time when they find partners of their own.”

Aggravated at her continued belabouring, you threw up your hands. “I’ve told you they aren’t interested in other girls—”

“Yet.” She cut you off. “Or maybe who knows, they might just be keeping company of others behind your back. Though you’re smart you’ve never been very observant.”

“Mom!”, you almost shouted, horrified at what she was insinuating. Even the thought of them going behind your back like that was unbearably painful. But you trusted them, so this whole conversation was unnecessary. “You’re just saying that because you haven’t met them. Once you’ll get to know what kind of people they really are, you wouldn’t say such things.”

She sneered, clearly put off by even the idea of meeting them. Then she delivered the final blow. “That’s not gonna happen, Y/n. The day you bring home seven men at once, your father will have a heart attack. And I’m not ever going to be interested in meeting the men who treat my daughter like a communal shower.”

“Mom.”, you breathed, pinching the bridge of your nose for patience and to quell the tears that were waiting to burst free. You couldn’t believe she actually said that. “I think you should leave.”

“I think so too.” You heard her get up from the barstool, opening your eyes to gaze unseeingly at her half empty cup on the counter.

The sound of her retreating footsteps stopped at the entryway. “I’m your mother, __. I’ve only ever wanted what’s best for you. Remember that.”

And with that parting reminder, she left. As soon as the door closed behind her, your tears fell like a dam burst free, crumbling all your emotional defences along with it. Slowly, and not-so-gracefully you crumbled to the kitchen floor yourself, your butt hitting the cool tiles as you buried your face in your knees, wrapping your arms around them to make a rolled up, human ball of woe.

When initially you’d told your mother about the boys almost half an year ago she’d been disbelieving at first. Later, when she’d finally accepted you were not joking, she’d told you that you would get tired of “this new polyamory fad” soon, not being able to handle dealing with so many people in your love life at once. You guessed that after almost a year of you dating Bangtan, she’d finally come around to the fact that this wasn’t just a phase in her daughter’s life. Today was the first time she’d gotten so vocal about her disapproval though. Usually it was just snide remarks, invasive questions or straight up ignoring that you were even dating someone. You knew that keeping such a big thing from your dad because of the promise you’d extracted from her also weighed on her conscience.

The chill seeped from the cold tiles to your whole body and you shivered as you wiped your tears, frowning when more rushed to replace them. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t asked all those questions your mother had raised yourself. Trepidation had racked you when you’d first ventured into such a daring commitment with them. Will you alone be able to satisfy them? How would you divide your time amongst seven men? What if they got bored with you, or worse, jealous of each other? Would they seek out someone else?

But slowly and surely, the boys had shown you that trust and loyalty, though hard earned, were bonds that survived the treacherous potholes of navigating a polyamorous relationship. You trusted them, you were loyal to them. They trusted you, they were loyal to you.

Or were they?

Shaking your head, you got up off the floor with a huff, stalking to your bedroom with an irritated gait. This is why you did not want to talk to your mother. You were only human. The seeds of doubt once sown, germinated into assumptions and suspicion you absolutely loathed. Mainly, because you were self aware enough to realise that they had no real substance to them, they only reflected your own secret fears back at you. But again, you were only human and no matter how much you tried to shake off the encounter with your mom, your mood soured further when your overactive imagination supplied images of the boys with other women.

And your age old enemy, insecurity, reared its ugly head. Taehyung was an ass man, maybe he’d like to be with someone with a bigger butt. Were you even intelligent enough for Namjoon? Jin would suit a more wholesome woman who knew how to cook something other than ramen. Yoongi liked breasts, maybe someone with a perkier pair. You could not sing to save your life, so why did Jeongguk like you when all his female celebrity crushes had killer pipes? Jimin used to train submissives before you came into his life, did he think about those happier times?

Did Hoseok resent having to share you with his members when you’d pledged to love him and only him?

You were angrily yanking open your closet to look for something to wear to their photoshoot when your phone flashed from where you’d thrown it on the bed before your mom had officially ruined your day.

Peeking a look at it, you wondered if you should have read your horoscope. Because the day was far from over.

Hobi: Few high school friends invited me for drinks tonight. Rain check?

~.~.~

Exactly one year ago ~

The bookstore became eerily quite after 10 pm. Only a few last minute stragglers sometimes showed up to look for some obscure book they obviously couldn’t find anywhere else.

You loved being with your lonesome self behind the cash register. Usually with a book in your hands, reading up on all kinds of historical fiction, medieval fantasies, long forgotten poems of equally unknown poets and of course the occasional bodice ripper.

Which was what you were doing when the bell above the entrance chimed, indicating someone was indeed, on the prowl for some late night book hunting. You didn’t look up from the raunchy text in your lap as a dark figure passed by, clearly no more interested in exchanging pleasantries than you were. With a shrug you went back to focus on the guilty pleasure of a novel you’d picked for yourself tonight. A courtesan heroine during renaissance Italy who entertained patrons from not only the newly emerging Humanist circles but also the corrupt members of the clergy? Oh yes please.

But when, out of the corner of your eye, you saw the newcomer heading for the comic book section you grew intrigued. Late night hunting for…comic books?

Close proximity to the Seoul National University meant that the bookstore you worked at housed mostly academic readings. And as such the people who came here were also mostly students who wished to buy a copy of the expensive publishings they could otherwise also find in a library. That alone meant that the bookstore was never buzzing with customers. Let alone ones who were looking for some flashy illustrations and superhero escapism. The comic books you had on offer usually just collected dust.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you abandoned your heroine in midst of a wanton tryst with a nobleman to observe the anomaly currently browsing the comics on display.

He had on a long black trench coat, leather pants encasing the muscular legs below and Dr. Martens on his feet. His hair was covered with a black cap and from what you could see, a mask of the same colour stretched across his face. It wasn’t unusual to see people with their face fully covered, so you didn’t think much of his all black ensemble. Though he would blend in perfectly outside at night, under the store’s bright lights he stuck out like a bat during the day.

Maybe he’s a fan of batman.

When he’d chosen his pick he turned around, making you duck your head down quickly. The light chuckle that reached your ears meant that you weren’t fast enough and he’d caught you checking him out. You flushed red.

“Can I get these gift wrapped please?”

Two comic books landed on the counter in front of you, the sound accompanying the husky lilt of the man’s voice.

Left with no choice but to interact with him, you softly replied, “Of course.” Strangely, your heart beat spiked as you reached forward to pick the thin, glossy books up. He’d placed his hands on the wood counter, palms down, his sleeves pushed up a little. For a second you stared at his long fingers, a ridged vein stretching from the knuckles to the back of his right hand, forking out on his bare forearm before disappearing under his clothing like a purplish blue tattoo.

As if on cue, he started drumming his fingers, snapping you into action as you quickly scanned his purchase.

“That’ll be 15,430 won.” Opening a cabinet to pull out a selection of wrapping papers, you deliberately took your time to avoid meeting his eyes. What was going on with you? You couldn’t even see his face properly but you were acting like a teenager with her first crush. You decided it was time to stop reading romantic fantasies.

Clearing your throat you presented the options to him with a flourish, this time looking him straight in the eyes. “Which one would you like?”

He gave a cursory glance to the colourful sheets before glancing back at you with a quirked brow. Was he laughing at your flustered form? You couldn’t tell what with the mask, but there was definitely mirth dancing in his eyes.

A shrug. “Whichever. I really don’t care.”

“Fine”, you huffed, really not appreciating being the source of his amusement. You chose a blue paper with green stripes, placing the comics in the middle.

“I like that one.”, he commented graciously. And you were just about to reply when he continued cheekily, “I also like your choice in books.”

Your hands froze, eyes darting to the unfinished

novel you’d placed face up on the table. The salacious cover showed a woman in medieval garb, her mouth half open in a silent moan as a blonde man wearing a billowy white shirt kissed her bare shoulder, the open neck of her gown threatening to expose her breasts.

In a flash you flipped the book, cover side down, opening a drawer to hastily throw it inside. Slamming it closed, you glared at the man who was now outright laughing at you.

“Don’t be embarrassed.”, he cajoled in a tone that suggested you should, in fact, be embarrassed. “Everyone’s gotta live vicariously somehow.”

Was he suggesting you read erotic books because you didn’t get laid in real life?

You narrowed your eyes. “Is that why you’re reading children’s books?” You indicated the My Little Pony picture book and the Superman comic he’d picked up. “I must say you’ve got varied tastes.”

“Hey now.” He held up his hands. “Those are for my niece and nephew. They’re twins and it’s their birthday today.”

“Maybe that’s what you say whenever you’ve got to stock up on the latest My Little Pony issue. Have them gift wrapped so no one suspects.” Now you were just pushing it, but the burn of embarrassment still irked.

He was grinning behind his mask. “No that one’s for my nephew. He likes ponies.”

You gaped at him. “You’re not serious.”

“I am.”

You held up the Superman issue. “And I’m guessing your niece likes superheroes?”

“Only the ones who can fly.” He shrugged. “According to her Batman is an imposter with no real powers.”

“Radical.”, you said in amazement.

“Look I didn’t mean to upset you.” His hand on the counter moved to cover yours. A shock of awareness jolted through your spine, making you sit up straighter. By the way he swallowed, he wasn’t unaffected either. But he didn’t let go of your hand, clutched it tighter actually. “I’m sorry if I was rude.”

“I, umm.”, you stuttered, not being able to look away from his sincere gaze. What were you upset about again? Yeah, the living vicariously comment. “It’s alright. Though I’ll have you know, I get plenty of action.”

No you didn’t get plenty of action. And you did not just say that.

At least you’d managed to shock him out of his sauve demeanour. “I’m…sure you do.” He cleared his throat, squeezing your hand. “I wasn’t insinuating anything. I read smut too, you know.”

Now it was your turn to be shocked. “You don’t.”

“I don’t.” He grinned again. “Just trying to make you feel better.”

“Hey!” You snatched back your hand, scowling at him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”, he breathed in between laughter. “You’re just too easy to rile up.”

“Ha ha.”, you mocked. “Are you living vicariously through me then? Not enough comedy in your life, huh?”

He straightened then, his amusement disappearing. “Maybe.”

Reaching for the hand you’d pulled out of his grip, he brought it closer to him. Wrapping both his hands around yours, he made sure you were looking into his eyes when he said, “Maybe you’re exactly what I need in my life.”

Your breath hitched at that. “I don’t even know your name.”

His eyes crinkled at that. He was smiling behind his mask again. At that moment, you wanted to see his face more than anything in the world.

One hand let go of yours to point at the large S on Superman’s chest on the comic’s cover.

You frowned in confusion. “Your name is…S?”

“No silly. That’s not an S, that’s the Kryptonian symbol for hope.”

~.~.~

Present Day~

Your tears had dried by the time you left your house to head for the Bighit building. The occasional sniffle still persisted though, and you hoped you looked put together enough for the boys to not suspect anything.

The talk with your mother was not entirely responsible for your persisting melancholy. You’d been reminiscing your first meeting with Hoseok ever since his text came in. Something about it being the first anniversary of when he’d come into your quaint little bookshop, all masked up in disguise and asked you out, after thoroughly embarrassing you that is. You hadn’t gotten to see his face on the first date either, or the second or the third. When he’d asked you why you still went on multiple dates with him when he didn’t allow you to see his face (which also meant he didn’t kiss you), you’d joked about having a taste for wanted fugitives.

But the truth was that you’d fallen in love with him even before you really knew who he was. He made you laugh, made your heart flutter when he’d wrap you up in his arms, he wasn’t afraid to push your boundaries when it came to getting to know you. By the time the fifth date had rolled around he knew everything about you and you still knew nothing about him, except for the fact that he had some sinful moves, which you’d gotten to know when he’d gave you a fully clothed lap dance on your birthday. You’d fallen for his mannerisms. He’d pull out your chair, open doors for you, give you his jacket. He was different than all the guys you’d previously dated, he never once tried to get into your pants, the most you’d gotten was a quick brush of his lips across your forehead before he’d quickly slide his mask back in place.

You were the one who’d grown frustrated at him taking it so slow. He’d only chuckle lightly and divert your hand to safety whenever you tried to grope him, all your amateur attempts at seduction thwarted when he’d cage you in his arms instead or pull your attention elsewhere.

The day you’d gotten to see his face was also the day he introduced you to the rest of the boys. When he’d invited you over to his place for the first time you were ecstatic. Finally having his trust was a big deal to you. By now you’d realised he must be someone important (or dangerous) for him to hide his identity for so long, but you’d never pushed him to reveal himself. You’d thought he’d finally realised how serious you were about him.

Oh, he’d realised it alright. When he’d opened the dorm door for you, the first thing he’d done was kiss your mouth senseless, even before you’d registered who it was you were looking at. When he’d pulled back after ravishing your mouth, you’d gaped at him in shock, both at his hungry mauling and the fact that you were looking at, well, him. A world famous artist. Who’d just kissed you like his life depended on it.

His words then were still etched into your brain. He’d smiled wide and you remember thinking it was the most beautiful sight ever. “You have no idea how long I’ve been dying to kiss you, __.”

You clutched your coat around you tighter as you took the familiar route to your boyfriends’ workplace. A wistful smile graced your lips when you remembered how the rest of the boys had embraced you into their group seamlessly, like you were always meant to be right by their side. Your friendship with them had started out innocent enough, but they had always been very handsy when it came to you. You hadn’t minded and neither did Hoseok, when one of them asked you for a massage or laid their head in your lap or if the competitive younger ones tickled you ceaselessly when you’d beat them at a game. You’d developed a rapport with Namjoon and Yoongi, you enjoyed listening to them whenever they had something to say and you were flattered when they took your opinions and suggestions seriously.

Slowly and surely they’d trusted you with all their secrets, allowing you into their private life as you and Hoseok’s relationship had deepened. So it really came as shock to you when one day you’d snapped at Namjoon when he’d come to you asking advice regarding the girl he’d been dating. It hadn’t been your finest moment and for a while it had mired your bond with the boys in confusion and uncertainty. Especially when Namjoon had broken up with the girl the very next day.

The real shocker came when Jeongguk kissed you full on the mouth in the presence of Hoseok. And your boyfriend did not seem to mind at all! Gradually the boys’ handsiness had grown into full-blown PDA. They kissed you, pulled you into their lap during movie nights, back hugs became commonplace. Taehyung even loved to warm his hands against your bare waist, sneaking them inside your shirts whenever he could. Before your moral compass went haywire with guilt you had sat all of them down and talked about the nature of your relationship.

Communication was always key. Hoseok had initially been unsure of the mere idea of sharing you but you’d assured him that you would never go ahead with it if he wasn’t onboard. But the fact was, you’d fallen in love with the rest of the boys too. And he could see that as well.

You still wonder sometimes, if he’d said yes only because he risked losing you otherwise. You wouldn’t have been able to handle secretly pining for the other boys if he’d said no.

As you displayed your id to the guard at front, you wondered if he’d really forgotten that today was your anniversary. It seemed like it. Why would he accept an invitation to go out tonight of all nights if he didn’t? Should you remind him? Or maybe it just wasn’t as big of a deal as you were making it out to be.

You didn’t know what to do, all you knew was that today was a shit day. And with that thought, you entered the spacious conference room converted into a studio for the photoshoot. Namjoon had told you that it was for this years season’s greetings.

From the soft mood lightings against the panel of wall to wall windows spanning one side of the room and the light coloured casual clothing that hung from the racks pushed to the corners, you deduced that they were going for a soft, boyfriend look this time.

You snorted. How ironic they’d sell such a concept to their fans when all seven of them were taken at the same time. By the same person.

The familiar faces of the co-ordis greeted you as you moved in, and you murmured a soft good morning to them. “Where are they?”, you asked, looking around.

Solji, one of the older stylists, answered you with a smile. “You’re a little early. They’ll be here soon.”

“Great. I’ll set up somewhere out of your way then.” You returned her smile, she was your favourite out of all the staff, always friendly and understanding.

Speaking of the staff, your eyes caught a new face flitting among the familiar ones when you scanned the room for a place to sit. You nudged Solji. “Is she new?”, you asked, flicking your chin towards the blonde girl assisting the hairstylist in pulling out all kinds of products from a bag.

Solji nodded. “Miso. She’s a temp. We fell short on hands when Hyoyeon took her maternity leave. Most likely will become permanent if she’s good.”

You frowned. “Does she know about me?”

The staff were well informed about your relationship with Bangtan, the Non Disclosure Agreement they signed when they were hired prevented them from going to the media with any kind of private details about the boys, lest they be sued for their weight in gold. But it always caused you anxiety when a new staff member got to know about you. More so when they got to know you were dating all of them.

“Yes. I informed her myself. She was surprised, to say the least.”

“Everyone is.” Your mom’s sneer came to mind suddenly, but you pushed it away. Patting Solji’s arm, you said, “Time for me to catch up on my studies I guess.”

Spying a small love seat in one corner of the big room you headed towards it. Picking up the empty make up containers strewn over it, you placed them carefully on the carpeted floor instead. Perching yourself on the seat, you pulled open your handbag, pulling out your laptop and the textbook you and Namjoon had been pouring over last night.

This is what you did when they asked you over on a photoshoot, or vocal practice or dress fittings. Watching them from a corner while trying to get some work done. But mostly just gazing at them go about their way from your front row perch, hearts in your eyes.

You’d only just begun reading when the sound of their laughter reached your ears. Looking up eagerly, you promptly forgot your work. Yoongi was already headed towards you, looking downright sinful in a white Supreme hoodie, jeans and converse. Did he even need to change? This was boyfriend look right here.

“My little bird’s already hard at work I see.” He bent to give you a heart stopping kiss, his hand cupping your nape in a proprietary gesture. “How am I gonna focus on the shoot with you looking so gorgeous today, hmm? Maybe we can convince the photographer to take your pictures instead.”

Oh, flirty Yoongi was in the house today.

“I don’t think your fans would like that.” You bit his lip, not even trying to resist the temptation right before your eyes.

Another deep kiss. “Their loss.”

“Hyung, Solji noona is calling you.”, a cheerful Taehyung said from behind Yoongi.

The elder straightened up with a scowl. “Really? You’ll get a knuckle sandwich if you’re lying.”

“I’m not.”, he exclaimed, jerking a thumb behind him. “Go ask her yourself.”

As Yoongi left while muttering something under his breath, Taehyung sprawled himself on the love seat beside you. “I lied.”

You nodded. “Of course you did.”

The shout of “Tae you motherfucker!” could be heard as the subject of the loud curse brushed some stray hair behind your ears, an unbothered boxy smile directed at you as he asked, “So __, I heard Hobi hyung won’t be spending the night with you. This must come as a shock because I’m a busy man,” he polished his nails on the lapels of the Gucci coat he had on, before inspecting them like they were the singular most interesting thing, “but did you know I’m completely free tonight?”

You smiled at his attempt at nonchalance but your heart ached at the reminder. Looking towards Hoseok, you found him and the boys surrounded by the styling team. When Hoseok caught you looking, he grinned wide, moving to make his way to you.

A small hand on his shoulder stopped him in his path. The new temp Miso held up a shirt to his torso, looking up at him with a smile as she said something you couldn’t quite hear. You saw Hoseok nod and reply to her, all plans of coming to you forgotten.

“Is there trouble in paradise?”, Taehyung guessed, looking at his hyung then at you then back to his hyung like a ping pong ball.

Halting his swivelling head by placing a palm on his cheek, you pouted, “Tae, do you know what today is?”

A scared look came over his face. “Oh shit, did I forget your birthday or something?”

You scowled. “No. It’s me and Hoseok’s one year anniversary. It’s the day I first met him. And he doesn’t remember.”

“Oh.” Then a strange look came over his face, somewhere between constipation and indigestion. He was hiding something. “Oh.”

“What are you ohing about?”, you asked curtly, your curiosity growing. “And why are you making that face?”

“What face?”, he squeaked, getting up from the chair in a flash. “Oh looky there, Solji noona is calling me.”

“Wait!” But he was already hightailing it out of there. “Tae you motherf—ugh!”

For the next hour you watched them from your corner seat as they went through multiple outfit changes and all different kinds of poses against the strategically placed props near the windows. The soft sunlight filtering in provided a natural lighting and their beautiful features seemed to glow from within because of the luminescent makeup they wore. All in all it was a mesmerising affair, they looked like angels.

And throughout it all instead of focusing on getting some work done your gaze slipped to Hoseok again and again. All of the boys had come to sit beside you at one point or the other, except him. But it wasn’t for lack of trying.

The pencil in your grip almost snapped to half when you saw the new hire, Miso, bend down to whisper something in his ear as she messed with his already perfect hair. One of her hands landed on his shoulder and you could swear she was caressing him.

For his part, he rested his head on the back of the chair, eyes closed and barely giving her one word answers. But that did nothing to quell the embers of jealousy burning inside you. Solji had said that the new girl knew about you. You did not want to interfere in their work but if she continued feeling up your boyfriend...

You almost catapulted out of your chair when you saw her brush her ample chest against his arm whilst pretending to pick something up from the floor.

But luckily Namjoon made his way to you at the same time, saving you from smacking a bitch into next week.

“I’m sorry about your scarf, doll. I put it in the laundry for you.” He smiled, cheeks dimpling deeply, as if he expected a pat on the back for managing such a feat.

Reluctantly you looked away from Hoseok and the snake coiling herself around him, giving Joon a half hearted smile. “Thank you, baby.”

The dimples disappeared. “Is something wrong?”

The sincere worry in his eyes was all it took for your composure to shatter. The past few days, your mother’s visit, Hoseok’s forgetfulness, your own insecurities and now the bitch a few feet away from you.

With a pathetic whine you launched yourself into the leader’s lap, situating yourself between his thighs and wrapping your arms around him. Your face fit perfectly in the space between his shoulder and neck. You didn’t care if you were ruining his carefully put together outfit or the fact that you were in a room full of people.

Thankfully Namjoon didn’t care either, he immediately pulled you close, bending down to kiss your nose affectionately.

“Doll?”, was all he said in his soft, deep, ever understanding voice and everything you’d been bottling up came hurtling out in a hiccupy word vomit. By the time you were finished tears were running down your face and you turned to hide into his chest so nobody else could see you breaking down.

“Aah your mother is wrong, so so wrong. You’re our centre, the best thing that ever happened to us.” Sighing, he rubbed your back. “But I understand where she’s coming from. If it were my daughter I’d be sceptical too. We’ll just have to convince her that we love you more than anything in the world.”

“She doesn’t want to meet you guys.”, you murmured against his chest, wiping your nose on his expensive designer shirt.

He didn’t seem to mind, brushing away your tears with his shirt sleeve himself. Solji was going to kill you both.

“I’m sure we can change her mind.” Namjoon nudged your chin up till he was gazing into your eyes. “As for Hoseok, don’t you dare doubt his love for you. He worships the ground you walk on.”

“Is that why he forgot our anniversary?”

Namjoon evaded your eyes. “Doll...”

“And why isn’t he pushing away that new temp?”

“Huh?” Confused, he looked up in the direction of the man in question.

“Forget it. Do I even have any right to be jealous when it comes to you guys?”, you questioned softly to yourself. Something you’d been wondering about for a while. “I mean there’s one of me and seven of you. You don’t get jealous when I’m with Jimin or Yoongi. Why should I be jealous if you guys show interest in other girls, right?”

That snapped his attention back to you, and what you saw in his eyes made you shrink in on yourself. He was angry, furious even. He grabbed your jaw, made sure your eyes didn’t stray from him.

“Of the most ridiculous nonsense you could come up with, I never imagined you’d be questioning our loyalty to you.”, he said through his teeth. “Firstly, we have no fucking interest in dating another girl, get that through your thick head. Second, we don’t get jealous of each other but you very well know we can’t stand anyone else putting their hands on you. Thirdly,” he paused, taking a deep breath. “I can’t say for other guys but I love it when you get jealous.”

“What?”, you breathed.

Sheepishly, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you remember when I came to you asking for dating advice before you’d agreed to be with all of us? When you were only Hoseok’s girlfriend.”

“I do.” You were just reminiscing about your early days with the boys a few hours ago.

“I didn’t really want your advice, I suspected you liked me too and I just wanted to get a rise out of you.”

You stared at him. “Is that why you broke up with the girl the next day?”

“Hehe.”, he laughed nervously. “I wasn’t dating anybody in the first place. I only wanted to be with you.”

Your jaw dropped.

Solji’s voice cut through your intimate bubble then. “Namjoon, you’re up.”

“Time to get scolded for ruining my shirt.” He picked you up and set you on the cushions like you weighed nothing.

“I’m sorry about that.” Glancing at the wetness that covered his front from your tears and snot, you winced.

“I drooled on your scarf, you cried on my shirt. We’re a match made in heaven, babe.”, he said, a shit eating grin on his face.

“You’re so cheesy.” You threw a cushion at his face.

He flicked it away with a swat. “You’ve been sitting here for hours, you should stretch your legs. I have that SourPunk string candy you like so much in the drawer beneath my computer. Go get some.”

“Really?!” You jumped up at once. “It’s my favourite.”

“I know.” He left after giving you an indulgent smile, though you heard him mutter under his breath “it tastes like satan’s ass” before he was out of earshot.

Ignoring him, you happily made your way out of the huge room, heading straight for Namjoon’s studio on the third floor. There was a spring in your step. Not surprisingly talking to the leader had put some sense back into you, he’d Expecto Petronumed your insecurities like they were dementors. For now at least, you were sure they’d rear their ugly head again in the future like a chronic disease.

Striding down the hallway cheerfully, you did not expect a hand to shoot out of a door. You shrieked like a banshee when the hand clutched your arm, hauling you inside before slamming the door close.

“What the—“, your shout was cut off by Hoseok’s hand over your mouth.

“It’s me, __. Don’t scream.”

Narrowing your eyes, you licked his palm.

“Aah!” He snatched it back, face scrunching. “What was that for?”

“For ignoring me all day. And scaring me just now.”

“Ignoring you?” He scoffed. “Fuck no. I don’t do childish stuff like that. I’m not Yoongi hyung.”

“I’m going to tell him you said that.”

Hoseok’s glare turned into a confused frown when he saw your face clearly, the dim lighting not helping his vision. “Were you crying?”

Flinching, you spoke sharply, “No.”

The frown didn’t abate. “__, I swear I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“That’s not why I was crying.”

“So you were crying.” He raised his brows, daring you to deny it. His eyes softened when you looked away instead.

“Hey baby, I’m sorry.”, he murmured in your ear, his hands finding purchase on your waist. He nudged your face toward his, nuzzling you softly. “Whatever I did I’m so sorry.”

Melting in his arms, you allowed him to pull you close. “You don’t even know what you’re apologising for.”

Placing a hand on the side of your neck, a thumb at your chin pulled your mouth open. “It doesn’t matter. I hate seeing you upset.”

He kissed your open mouth, his tongue immediately finding yours. The taste of him made you moan, coffee and the sugar coated lemon drops he loved so much. It was a strange but delectable combination.

As you sucked on his tongue, his hands dropped to work on the buttons of your blouse. You pulled away for a second to ask, “We’re really doing this here? Right now?”

“Not we.” Pushing your blouse and bra out of the way, he freed one breast for his hungry mouth.

“I just want to make you feel good.”, he breathed against your nipple before taking the cold, hardened bud between his warm lips.

Head thumping back against the door, you clutched him to your chest. “Hobi, oh my god!”

Taking your sensitive nipple between his teeth, he pulled, making a jolt of arousal go straight to your core. He chuckled as a moan tore from you. “I haven’t even started and you’re already invoking god. You won’t be able to keep quiet, would you? Do you want everyone to know your boyfriend’s worshipping you?”

Pulling him up for another messy kiss, you confessed against his lips. “Yes. I want everyone to know that you belong to me.”

Something primal and unrestrained entered his eyes, and you almost regretted your words for a second. With a swiftness that defied gravity, he picked you up and strode to a nearby table. After clearing the surface with a sweep of his hand, he placed you gingerly on top. The clink and clatter of jewellery and other accessories hitting the floor echoed in the room, but you only had eyes and ears for Hoseok.

“Be careful what you ask for, __.”

What had you unleashed?

He made swift work of your jeans till you were clad only in your blouse and soaking wet panties.

“Look at that, you’ve already made a mess.” Cupping your crotch, he stroked your clothed labia slowly, smirking when you swivelled your hips for more. “How badly do you want me to eat you out, __? Tell me and I might let you have my tongue.”

You wanted him too much to care about how desperate you sounded. “So bad. Please! I want your tongue on my pussy.”

“What my baby wants, she gets.” He dropped to his knees between your spread legs, pushing at the back of your thighs to expose your genitals in the most lewd way possible. Pushing aside your soaked panties, he dove in with fervour like he was about to devour the most scrumptious meal ever.

The first flick of his tongue on your clit had you gnashing your teeth and fisting his thick, soft hair. From previous experience you knew that receiving oral sex from him meant that he was going to put all your vibrators to shame.

And sure enough, the speed of his tongue on your clit blew your mind, as did the currents of pleasure coursing through you. How he was able to move his tongue so fast, you had no fucking clue. Pausing in his expert assault, he took the already quivering bundle in his mouth to suck, simultaneously thrusting two fingers deep in your slick channel.

“Hobi! Fuck! Umfh..” That was all you could manage till he found the soft spongy spot on your inner walls, pressing on it in tandem with his licks on your clit. Most of the sounds that came out of your mouth were incoherent shouts and half pleas.

Hoseok’s eyes met yours over the expanse of your tummy and you could tell he was internally laughing as you dissolved into a mindless being intent on reaching your climax. “Hobi please make me cum!”

The bastard pulled his sinful mouth away from your cunt instead. “What was that?”

“Aagh!”, you yelled in frustration. “Put that tongue back on my fucking clit!”

He pouted, his cheeks glistening from your juices. “Is that any way to speak to your boyfriend?”

“Hobi.”, you cried, about to burst into frustrated tears literally. “Please!”

Grinning, he dove back down. “Now was that so hard?”

This time he pulled his fingers out of your entrance to rub slick circles on your nub instead. His mouth tasted a path down your inner labia before tonguing your clenching, empty hole.

“Hoseok, don’t tease me.”, you begged.

Taking mercy on you, he thrust his tongue deep inside. The fingers playing your clit like a fiddle doubled their strokes.

“Fuck yes!”, you screamed.

His tongue inside your pussy mimicked his dick thrusting in and out, your pussy trying to grip the muscle everytime he pulled it back out. You could come just from him tongue fucking you.

“Hoseok don’t stop! Please don’t stop!”

He stopped. Pulling away once again.

“What?!”, you shrieaked, your orgasm slipping away from your grasp. Frustrated tears did, in fact, make their way down your cheeks this time.

“Your pussy tastes like fucking ambrosia, __.”, he groaned, licking his lips. “But I wanna have a taste of something else too.”

Frowning, you half sobbed, half moaned, “What?”

He smirked. “Let’s see if you can come from having your ass eaten.”

The shudder that went through you at his words was overshadowed by pleasure when he licked down your pussy, giving a fluttering peck to your neglected entrance before venturing further south. Your perineum received a wet, open mouthed kiss and a nuzzle.

“Hold your legs for me, baby.”, he commanded softly, his breath tingling both your holes.

Snaking your arms around the back of your thighs, you pulled your legs up and away. You were nervous but excited, none of the other boys had rimmed you before. “Hobi, please hurry.”

A nip on your buttcheek made you yelp. “Don’t rush me. I’m going to enjoy this.”

Kneading your buttocks in his palms, he pulled them apart, a butterfly kiss to your asshole followed. Then he laved the puckered hole, making you gasp at the unfamiliar sensation.

“Oh.”, you breathed. “That feels so good.”

You felt him smile. Another light kiss on your rim, then his tongue explored. Circling your asshole and probing at your forbidden entrance till you clenched at the foreign feeling with a groan.

He tsked, clearly disapproving. “Don’t tense up, baby. Open up to me. I love this cute little hole.”

At his urging you relaxed and he began eating your hole with the same enthusiasm as he had your pussy. When his hand slid up to tease your clit once again, your arms gave from beneath you and you thumped on the table, arching your back from the insurmountable pleasure he was giving you.

He was right. You could cum from having your asshole stimulated. The release that had slipped away earlier came hurtling back like a train wreck, with double the force.

Stiffening his tongue, he pushed it up your anus as far as it would go.

“Fuck!”, you cursed at the intrusion.

In your endorphin hazed brain, you registered a noise outside the door that sounded like Hoseok’s name. You ignored it at first, the dancer between your legs making you feel too good to care about anyone barging in.

But then the hesitant voice grew louder. “Hoseok-ssi. It’s Miso, are you in there?”

At first sheer fury coursed through you. And then you smirked.

“Hobi!” Your voice was so loud the man in question paused in his ministrations for a second. “Don’t stop! You eat my ass so good!”

With a shrug, he happily continued, circling your clit with his fingers just the way you liked it.

“Oh fuck yes!” Though your volume was exaggerated, you could feel yourself get closer and closer to the precipice.

This time you didn’t hear the squeak and the rush of footsteps disappearing outside, the blood rushing in your ears drowning out everything else.

“Baby I’m so close.”

“Cum then. Let me see your pretty pussy cum.”, he growled, increasing the torture on the bundle of nerves he was assaulting with his fingers.

When you came, everything went white for a second. The scream of his name was so loud, you were sure the whole building heard you climaxing. The seizure like shudders that racked you had you closing your legs and pulling away his hands because of oversensitivity.

Panting on the table, you flopped on your side to calm down. Hoseok bent over you to caress your hair.

“Are you alright, baby? Did I overdo it?”

Shaking your head, you got up to wrap your arms around his shoulders. “No. You are amazing. Your mouth is amazing.”

You tried to pull him down for a kiss but he turned his face away at the last second. “I just had my tongue up your ass, babe. Do you really wanna kiss me?”

“Shut up.” You gave him a deep, sloppy kiss.

~.~.~

The crew and staff were packing up when you got back to the room after cleaning yourself up in the bathroom. So you headed straight to get your things as well.

You found Jimin seated at the love seat, idly going through your textbook.

You smiled at the adorable furrow of concentration between his brows. “You into history now, Chim?”

Jimin hummed, flipping the book shut before looking up at you. “No, but I heard you’re into rimming.”

Cheeks going tomato red, you stuttered, “D-did you—”

“Yeah. You were very loud.”

Groaning you buried your face in your hands. What felt like a good idea at the time, made you shrivel up in mortification now.

Jimin got up to pull your hands away, giving you an eye smile of reassurance. “Don’t. I loved that you were so loud. I got to know that assplay is not a hard limit for you.”

You gulped. “Jimin.”

He gave you that predatory look, the one he used only in the bedroom, making you shiver. In fear or anticipation, you didn’t know. “Make sure you’re free next Monday.”

Before you could reply, he picked up your bag, placing your book and laptop inside. “Now. Let’s get you home.”

Glancing around, you found the room almost empty. “Where’s everybody?”

Jimin took your hand, interlacing your fingers. “They’re already in the car. Let’s go.”

The driver held open the door of the Escalade when you two arrived outside. You slid in first, immediately snuggling up against Jeongguk who was seated near the other window. Jimin got in behind you.

Yoongi was up front, with Namjoon, Jin and Taehyung making up the back.

“Where’s Hoseok?”, you asked as the car pulled away from the curb.

Jin answered you. “He was invited over for drinks remember.”

“Oh.” You remembered. But you’d forgotten to remind him of the anniversary, too preoccupied with his tempting mouth.

“What’s the matter, __?” Came Taehyung’s sly voice. You glanced at the rearview mirror to see him grinning. When his eyes met yours, the grin vanished in a flash.

You narrowed your eyes, Taehyung’s earlier werid behaviour coming to mind. “Nothing.”

The rest of the ride passed by in relative quiet. Only Jeongguk’s voice telling you about his recent trip back to Busan filled the car. You listened with your head on his shoulder, though your mind was adrift.

You did not fancy the idea of sleeping alone in a cold bed, one of the boys’ constant warmth against you throughout your nights had spoiled you. You were just about to take Taehyung up on his earlier offer to spend the night with him when the car stopped suddenly.

Confused, you sat up straight. It usually took twenty minutes to get to the boys’ dorm, thirty minutes to get to your apartment. It had barely been ten. “What is it? Why did we stop?”

Yoongi turned from his seat to look at you with a fond smile. “Your stop’s here, __.”

“What?” You frowned when Jimin got out of the car, holding out his hand for you to take.

“Just trust us.”, Jeongguk whispered next to you.

With a deep breath you took Jimin’s proffered hand, getting out of the car in the middle of the street.

“What if someone sees us?”, you asked, scared someone might click pictures of you two together. “Where are we?”

Jimin shook his head, turning you toward the footpath on the side of the road. “You know where we are.”

When your eyes left his to glance around, your breath caught. Because you did know where you were.

The lights inside the old bookstore you worked at illuminated your surroundings. Taking a step forward in amazement, you peered up at the two story building, the grey stucco walls of the exterior filling you with nostalgia. After you’d moved into your new apartment almost a year ago, the bookstore became too far out of your way for you commute to daily. You’d also gotten a better paying job working at a cafe. But you’d always missed the quiet of this store, the hundreds of books at your disposal that you had loved to explore. The cafe was too loud, boisterous and hectic in comparison.

A throat cleared behind you and you turned to find Hoseok gazing at you from above the mask he had donned. The car and the rest of the boys were gone.

“Did you really think I’d forget, baby?”

Elation surged through you and you barely restrained the sappy tears that threatened to overflow. He held out his arms and you launched yourself at him, making him laugh.

“So that text was a lie?”

“Hmm.”, he hummed against your hair, pecking your forehead. “They did invite me to hang out but I had to politely reject.”

Hoseok wrapped an arm around your waist. “We should go in. Someone might recognise me out here even with the mask.”

Frowning, you let him lead you towards the front entrance. “Umm, are you sure? Do you wanna pick up a book or something? The lady who owns this building won’t like us having a date in her bookstore.”

Hoseok opened the door, ushering you in. The store was unsurprisingly empty, but you frowned when you saw nobody manning the cash register.

“The lady who owns this store loves me. So I think we’re good.”

Your head snapped back to him. “Who?”

He pursed his lips, clearly suppressing his amusement. Fishing for something in his pocket, he held your hand out, palm side up.

“You.” Two keys on a Superman keyring dropped on your palm.

For a minute you stared at it dumbfounded, not comprehending him. But he spoke before you could bombard him with questions.

“I bought this whole building in your name. It’s yours.” He closed your fingers around the keys.

Blinking up at him, you swallowed at the resurgence of emotion within you. “I-umm”, you looked away. “Hoseok I don’t know what to say. It must have cost a fortune. I can’t accept this.”

“Of course you can.”, he replied breezily, pulling your chin to make you look at him again. “I know you don’t like working at the cafe. They pay you peanuts there anyway. Now you don’t have to. The earnings from this store will be more than enough for your rent, tuition, bills and everything else.”

“I-I don’t know.” The part of you that wanted to earn everything you received rebelled at taking such an expensive gift.

“I knew you would be stubborn.”, Hoseok sighed as if pained he was having to say this. “If you want, you can pay me back on your own time, okay.”

Cracking a smile, you gave him a knowing look. “You and I both know you’re not gonna accept a penny from me.”

He gave you a “duh” look. “ See, you’re smart. Now be a good girl and just tell me you love me.”

You laughed. “Fine. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Cupping your cheeks, he kissed you like he meant it. “Now shall we christen this place?”

“Hobi!”

“What?”, he whined. “The first time we met I wanted to bend you over that table and fuck all the sass out of you.”

Glancing behind you at the old desk and chair you used to spend most of your shift at, you smirked.

Sliding out of his arms, you made your way to the table, swinging your hips just right. When you reached it you placed your elbows on the surface, bending at the waist to wiggle your butt.

“Come get me, Superman.”

Hoseok groaned, stalking toward you like a tiger on the hunt.

A “whooo” escaped you when he gripped your jeans and panties to slide them down in one fell swoop, the garments tangled at your knees.

“I’ve been hard ever since I got the first taste of your pussy. I need it rough and fast this time baby.”, he growled, stroking your pussy before sliding two fingers inside. They slid in without any resistance. “Shit you’re so fucking wet.”

“You ate me out so good, I’m still dripping.”, you moaned as he wedged another finger inside your slick entrance. “Use me, Hobi.”

“Fuck.” You heard the clank of his belt and his zipper going down. He gripped his rock hard length to rub the engorged cock head up and down your slit, spreading his pre-cum and your juices everywhere.

“Put it in.”, you moaned, still oversensitive from earlier. Your battered clit pulsed like a mini heartbeat and from the way Hoseok’s grip tightened on your buttocks, his nails digging in, you knew you were going to be sore after he was done with you.

Positioning his cock at your hole, he buried himself to the hilt inside you with one hard thrust of his dancer hips. The force jerked you up the table, your hands flailing for purchase.

“Oh.” You felt full, so deliciously and utterly stuffed. “Fuck, you’re so big.”

Hoseok paused, letting you adjust and bringing his instincts under control. He did not want to hurt you. “You always take me so well. So fucking tight and warm.”

“Move, Hobi.”, you moaned after a second. “I’m ready.”

He set a punishing pace from the start. Clutching your hips in his hands he slammed you down on his dick as his hips surged upward in thrust after thrust. The slapping sound of skin against skin resounded throughout the store. You still had a hard time believing you were fucking in your old bookstore.

Oh, how far you’d come. From reading smut on this very table to fucking your boyfriend over it.

“I want to hear you, __. Don’t hold back.”, he hissed through his teeth, his hand snaking down to abuse your already sensitive clit some more.

“Shit shit! Oh my god.” Too much sensation assaulted you.

“Fuck, your pussy is squeezing my dick so good.” Hoseok adjusted his position, his length penetrating even deeper inside you. The speed of his pistoning hips doubled, if that was even possible. The table beneath you inched forward against the floor with his every harsh thrust.

Your eyes rolled back in your head. This was the definition of a quick, rough fuck. The semi public nature of it shooting a thrill down your spine. The sign at the front said open, anybody could walk in any moment. Moreover though the desk of the cashier was placed sideways, if one wanted to peer inside the windows, they would definitely get an eyeful.

The idea that someone could be watching you get your brains fucked out, made you even more wanton. Meeting Hoseok thrust for thrust, you reached back to pull his head down to your mouth, the difficult position and the hard slams of his dick inside you meant that you kissed not just his mouth but also his chin, nose and cheeks.

Hoseok laughed. “You’re so cute when you’re desperate, baby.”

“Don’t call me desperate.”, you whined, biting his chin. “Also please make me cum.”

“Whatever you say.”

He looked entirely too pleased with himself, so you clenched your pelvic muscles till your pussy gripped his cock so tight.

His thrusts faltered. “Shit baby.”, he groaned. “Of course you’re not desperate. I’m the one who’s desperate.”

“Better.”

At that Hoseok hauled you up by your arms, circling his hands around your torso to hold you up. The upright position against the table forced him even deeper. He angled his hips just right, the tip of his cock hitting your g-spot every time he drove inside you, coiling that impeding pressure in your belly more and more.

“Are you close?”, he panted against your ear, his finger returning to circle your clit.

“So close.” Gasping, you tilted your head when he bit the crook of your neck. “Just keep fucking me like that.”

The lewd noises of your love making echoed throughout the room, the rough slaps of skin, the incoherent moans, the table shaking beneath you. His thrusts didn’t relent one bit, battering your pussy till you felt that tingle in your spine building and building.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He cursed a storm, his nails digging crescents into your hips. Your walls clenched around his thick length desperately, the friction of him moving in and out too much for you.

“I’m cumming, Hobi! Shit, I’m cumming!”, you screamed, just as he circled your clit roughly one last time, pushing you over the edge.

“Oh my god!” Your second orgasm of the day was just as powerful as the first one, leaving you a barely conscious mess as tsunami waves of pleasure spread like currents through your every nerve ending.

With you reaching your end, Hoseok fucked you like you were a blowup doll, with the sole purpose of reaching his own climax. He used your poor pussy, thrusting inside with supersonic speed. You clenched around him to help him along.

“Shit __!” With a shout of your name he buried himself deep inside you, thick jets of his warm cum painting your inner walls white. After you’d milked him of everything he had to give, he dropped down over you like a sack of potatoes.

“That was amazing.”, you breathed beneath him.

“Yeah.”, he panted. Apparently that was all he was capable of enunciating. Both of you caught your breathing, your thundering hearts slowing to a gallop. Hoseok nuzzled your neck like he wanted to burrow himself within you. You chuckled at his neediness.

Once you’d both calmed down, he got up, taking you with him. After turning you around, he knelt before you. For a second he just watched his cum dribbling down the inside of your thigh, before placing a feather light kiss on your mound, as if apologising to your sore vagina. He pulled up your panties and jeans, fastening the fly.

Eyes softening, you stroked his hair back from his face, gazing down at him with a smitten look on your face. “I love you.”

He was whipped for you as well. Taking your hand he placed a kiss on the inside of your palm. “I love you too.”

Frowning, you looked out the window. “What if someone saw us having sex?”

Chuckling, he got up off the floor. “Then I hope they enjoyed the show.”

#bts fic #bts smut #bts scenarios #bts fluff #Hoseok smut #bts angst #wednesday #7 days a week series #part 2

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spine-buster · 5 years

Text

Alone, Together | Chapter 24 | Morgan Rielly

Everybody was in an awful mood. The Leafs had played like shit against Tampa Bay, and it left everybody with a bad taste in their mouth. It was almost like they hadn’t even tried; nobody had shown up to play that night. Despite Auston and Connor scoring, nobody even entertained the possibility of a comeback. The boys were getting shown why Tampa was in first place by a mile and they knew that.

Briony watched Morgan give a post-game interview from the warmth of his apartment, after having gone to work that day. He had called her and said he’d liked if she came over. She didn’t protest. She was staying the night more and more lately, unable to deny him – she even had outfits for work and casual clothes hanging in his closet just in case. Angie said, “That probably means he wants you to move in with him,” and Ashley said, “The only way you’re ever moving out of our apartment is if you’re moving in with Morgan instead,” and Bee didn’t know what to think. She’d stopped her apartment search momentarily because Ashley found out and told her that, and they had a talk about it, and Bee said “What if I even just start paying you $500 a month” and Ashley absolutely refused and Bee gave up. She had a personal rule, if you will, that she wouldn’t even consider moving in with a guy until at least a year into the relationship. But she and Morgan had been through a lot together. He was there for her during the break-in. He was there for her when her mom died. She had already met his family.

And, well…Morgan was Morgan. He made her re-think a lot of things about herself.

At the beginning of the relationship, she’d wanted to take things slow and not put a label on it. Now, she couldn’t imagine why she’d been so dumb. There was no reason for her – for them – to take it slow, because they were in a spot now she could only dream of being in at this point in her life. Comfortable. Loving. Supportive. Loyal. Encouraging. Ready to take on the world together. She never defined herself based on another person. With Bee, it was always me, myself, and I, because that’s how it had been most of her life. But now, her outlook changed. Her priorities changed. Her life changed. With another person by her side, completely by her side, encouraging her to do all these amazing things and go for anything and everything she wanted, she couldn’t help but feel less like her life was about herself and more that her life was about them. Together. Two people, not one person, growing together and experiencing life.

She wanted that. Oh lord, did she want that. And she didn’t want that with anybody else besides Morgan.

From the kitchen counter, her phone began to ring. She got off the couch slowly, tired from the long workday, and saw that Angie was calling her. Knowing how much Angie liked to be in bed by 9:30 on a work night, Bee thought it was weird she was calling. “Shouldn’t you be asleep already, you old hag?” Bee used the words Angie called herself.

“Are you on Twitter right now?” her voice was frantic.

“What? No. Why would I be?”

“Bee – I – there’s this video --”

“-- what video?”

“-- of the game tonight. Someone’s accusing Morgan of yelling something homophobic to a referee.”

“What?!” Bee couldn’t believe what she just heard.

“It’s all over Twitter, Bee,” Angie said. Bee looked back towards the TV, only to see Morgan’s interview had ended and the panel back on. Did they mention it in the interview? Did they ask about it? “They’re saying he called the referee the f-word.”

“WHAT?!” Bee exclaimed, her heart dropping into the pit of her stomach. “Morgan would never --”

“I know, Bee, but they caught something being said on a TV microphone. I don’t even – I don’t even know if it’s him, but a TV mic caught something and --”

“Angie, he would never – he would never --”

“Bee?” she heard Mason’s voice call her name, making her realize she was on speakerphone. “Bee, NHL public relations sent out a tweet saying they’re investigating.”

She ran towards her laptop and opened Twitter in a new tab, finding the tweet almost immediately. The NHL is aware of reports that a homophobic slur was used during the Maple Leafs-Lightning game. The League is investigating the incident and will have no further comment until this investigation is completed. Bee felt sick to her stomach. “There was no way it was Morgan. None. He c-c-couldn’t – he w-wouldn’t –”

“The Leafs PR sent out a tweet too,” Mason continued. “Is Morgan home yet?”

“No. I’m gonna call him right--” she said, only to hear the door unlocking and see Morgan walk through the door. She immediately hung up the phone on Angie and Mason and saw the dejected look on his face.

He barely looked up at her, feeling like complete shit because of how the game turned out. “Can we just go to bed, please? I want this day to end, like, immediately.”

“Morgan --” Bee tried to say, but she was cut off harshly by the sound of his ringtone.

Morgan rolled his eyes as he looked down at his phone. She saw his eyebrows furrow at the name running across the screen. He swiped to answer. “Kyle?”

Bee stood stoic as she tried to study the look on Morgan’s face, even though he kept his head down. She obviously couldn’t hear what Kyle Dubas was saying on the other end but the longer Morgan was on the phone, the more his eyebrows furrowed. Then, suddenly, his head shot up, and Bee could see a look of shock mixed with fear on his face. “They’re saying I said what?” he said out loud, and her stomach twisted into knots. “Kyle – I didn’t – I would never – okay, okay. Yeah. I’ll be right over,” he said, hanging up. He looked towards Bee, fear taking over the shock. She saw his chest starting to heave from breathing heavily. “Briony, I didn’t – I didn’t do it.”

“I know Morgan,” she said, running over to him.

“I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it,” he kept repeating.

“I know baby. I know you didn’t.”

“Why are they saying – what – why are they? Why are they saying I did?” he stuttered out, unable to form a coherent thought. “I didn’t say that word at all.”

“I know you didn’t, Morgan. And I know you wouldn’t. What did Kyle say?”

“I have – I have to go back to the arena,” he looked around him like he didn’t know where the door was.

“Okay. Let me grab my stuff and we’ll go,” she assured him, grabbing her coat from the closet near the door.

“Briony – I – you have to work tomorrow,” he said.

“So?”

“You can’t miss – I don’t want you to--”

“Shut it Morgan,” she said, slipping on a pair of boots. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly. “Let’s go.”

The drive over was eerily quiet. Morgan tried to focus on the streets and the drive but his mind kept wandering to the accusations. The video. What everybody thought he said. What he didn’t say. God, he hadn’t even checked his phone since he got in the car to come home – God knows how many DMs he’d gotten. God knows how many people were tagging him in tweets. He felt sick to his stomach that anybody would think he’d said a word like that.

They took the usual route into Scotiabank Arena, except Morgan pushed a different elevator button to take them to the offices rather than the clubs and family floor. Bee hadn’t let go of his hand since they got out of the car. She squeezed it to get his attention and he looked down at her. “It’s all going to be okay,” she said softly.

His eyes were already red. He shook his head in disbelief that this was even happening in the first place. “I didn’t say it.”

“I know. And that’s why it’s going to be okay,” she assured him. “If they’re investigating they’re going to find out you didn’t say it and it’s going to be okay.”

“Briony…” he shook his head. “I can’t…I can’t deal with this. I would never say something like that,” he kept repeating the sentiment, because it was all he could think.

As the elevator doors opened, Bee saw Brendan Shanahan, Kyle Dubas, and another man standing together. Brendan had his suit jacket off, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and Kyle looked pretty much the same. When they looked over to the elevator, they stopped discussing whatever they were talking about. “Hi Morgan,” Brendan said.

“Mr. Shanahan, I didn’t say it,” he said, his voice desperate as he stepped out of the elevator. “I would never use that language sir. There’s no way – Steve, I approached you asking to be able to march in the Pride Parade in June --”

“It’s alright Morgan, it’s alright,” Brendan assured him, extending his arm as he smiled briefly at the two of them. “Let’s go into Kyle’s office, okay? Have you seen the video?”

“No. I had just walked in the door – and then Kyle called…and Briony --” he gestured to her, “I think she might have seen it on Twi--”

“Morgan, it’s going to be okay. Don’t worry,” Kyle assured him as he pat his shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go into my office.”

As they sat down on the plush chairs in Kyle’s office, he opened his laptop screen and put his phone down on his desk. Bee assumed he was waiting for a phone call from someone – whether that was going to come through to the office phone or his cell phone she had no idea. She shifted her chair so she was closer to Morgan, rubbing his back gently to calm him down. The third man that Bee didn’t recognize was tapping away on his phone. “Have you checked your social media portals yet?” he asked Morgan. Morgan shook his head. He looked at Briony. “Have you, Ms. McTavish?”

Brendan must have picked up on the shocked look on her face – this random man knowing who she was but her not knowing who he was – and interjected briefly. “Briony, this is Steve Keogh. He’s the head of public relations for the Maple Leafs.”

“Oh. Um, no, I haven’t,” she said, setting her phone on the table. “I mean…I – I’ve been contacted before on Instagram and Twitter. Mostly Instagram though.”

“What do you mean contacted?”

“Like, people have sent me DMs – or they’ve tried to now that my profile is private – and, um, that’s where a lot of them try to contact me…you know, once people started to find out Morgan and I were together.” She was totally word-vomiting and she knew it, but she didn’t understand why her social media portals would matter in all of this.

“Do you mind if I check your Instagram?” he asked.

She couldn’t exactly say no, so she unlocked her phone and went to her DM requests so Steve could see them. “You stupid fat bitch,” he read out the message. Kyle’s and Brendan’s eyes immediately went wide; Brendan even started to shake his head. “You and your homophobe boyfriend are the fucking worst I hope you both fucking burn in hell,” he swiped out of the message screen and onto the next one. “You and your boyfriend are both disgusting pieces of shit. I bet you caused this. You’re so disgusting and the way you are creating drama in Morgan’s life is gross and you should be ashamed of yourself,” he continued.

“Please stop reading,” Morgan snarled, visibly upset.

“You’re a fat ass c…oh no, I’m not saying that word out loud,” Steve’s eyes went wide now.

“It’s nothing I haven’t heard before, don’t worry,” Bee quipped.

Brendan looked at her flabbergasted. He turned to Steve. “Is it what I think it is?”

“You’re a fat ass…see you next Tuesday,” Steve cringed. Brendan shook his head. “I’m not reading any more of these,” Steve put down her phone. “If hers sound like this you can imagine his.”

“Okay, we’re going to talk about this calmly and rationally,” Kyle said, taking charge and looking directly at Morgan. He swivelled his laptop so Morgan could watch the video in question. He let it loop a few times – at least three – shaking his head the entire time. Kyle eventually stopped the video and turned his laptop back to face him. “Tell me what happened. Everything.”

Bee listened as Morgan recounted the play in question. He talked about the hooking call he thought the referee should have called, but didn’t, which was clearly visible in the video because of his hand motions. When the referee didn’t call it, he obviously got upset. He probably swore, yeah. Dropped an F-bomb. Anybody would when it could have been a five-on-three near the end of the period. But he never said that word. Never. The referee was close to him. He would have heard it. He would have called something on him if he did, or thrown Morgan out of the game, but he didn’t. Then Tampa had scored shorthanded, making it 5-1. And he was angry. He was fucking livid. But he never used the word in question. Never. Kyle kept asking questions. So did Brendan and Steve. “But what was said, Morgan?” “Are you absolutely sure you didn’t say it?” “Could you have said it in the heat of the moment?” “You’re positive, Morgan?” He was positive. Positive. Unequivocal. He didn’t say it. Not when he was angry, not in the heat of the moment. Never. He never said it.

Then the office phone rang loudly, interrupting their conversation. “That’s Colin calling,” Kyle said, lifting the receiver and pressing a button. Bee could only imagine that was someone important. “Hello Mr. Campbell. Kyle here. I have Brendan and Steve and Morgan here. You’re on speaker.”

Colin asked for the audio recordings from the various microphones that were around the ice for TV purposes. Kyle mentioned they already sent them. Colin thanked them, apparently not realizing they were already sent. Then he asked to speak to Brendan. Bee took the opportunity to grab Morgan’s hand under the desk, to try to get him to look at her so she could tell him everything was going to be okay, but he was too preoccupied with the phone conversation to even notice. She kept her hand there, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb, but he didn’t notice. Steve was back on his phone. Kyle stayed quiet while Brendan spoke to Colin Campbell.

By the time the phone call had ended, Steve had been waiting to show everyone something on his phone for a while. Bee noticed that it was 11pm. Morgan was stiff as Brendan hung up the phone. “Somebody’s got a slowed down recording,” he said. “These Twitter people. They’re trying to analyze it. This guy who uploaded the slowed down video said ‘After giving it a long listen, I am convinced that Rielly did not say "Fucking F-word on the ice, and what was heard was two separate voices: One that says “Fuck” and another that says “Rag it”. I believe the first to be Rielly’s and the second from someone from the TB bench.’”

Brendan whipped his head towards Morgan. “Is that true?”

“It could be true,” he said. “I mean, I swore. And judging by the play somebody from the bench could have definitely been telling him to rag the puck to kill the penalty.”

Steve played the video loudly for everyone to hear. For Bee, it was clear as day. There were two different voices. The second one didn’t even sound like Morgan at all. It didn’t have his slightly nasally Canadian twang, none of it. “It’s two people,” Brendan mumbled to himself as they listened to the video over and over again. “It’s two people. It’s two voices.”

“The microphones will pick up on that, hopefully,” Steve added.

“I didn’t say it,” Morgan whispered, voice full of dejection and desolation at the events unfolding. He brought his hand up to rub at his lips, and Bee swore she could see his eyes well with tears. “I didn’t fucking say it.”

“Morgan, it’s okay. The microphone recording will show it was two different people,” Brendan assured him.

The phone rang again. Kyle wasted no time in answering it. “We’re still here Colin,” he said.

“Okay, this is what’s going to happen,” this Colin Campbell said on the other end. “I’ve got Brad Meier here. We’re going to interview him, and after we’re done interviewing him we’re going to interview Morgan. So once we’re done with Brad, we’re going to call you back and you can come next door and we’ll interview Morgan.”

They were next-fucking-door?! Bee looked at everyone, and they were nodding their heads. “Alright Colin, sounds good. We’ll be in my office waiting so just call back when you’re ready for Morgan.” Colin hung up without another word, and Kyle looked at Morgan. “I’m going to get a recording of your statement. Just in case.”

And so he recorded a statement for Kyle, recounting practically every second of the play. And then, like clockwork, Colin called back and asked Morgan to go over. So he did, and Bee was left with Kyle and Brendan and Steve, and they asked her what she did, and where she went to school, and how she was liking Scotiabank, and joked that maybe one of them should send their investment portfolio her way so they could make more money, and she tried to laugh, but all she could think about was Morgan being interrogated and adamantly denying every saying that word. Then Steve gave her some tips for social media – the gist being to ignore it, which she was already doing – and she thanked him, and Kyle and Brendan assured her everything would be okay, and she thanked them. She knew they were trying to get her mind off things. She appreciated it. But she just wanted to see Morgan. She wanted to hold his hand. She wanted to tell him everything was going to be okay.

It was 12:30 in the morning when Morgan finally appeared back in Kyle’s office, and again, like clockwork, Colin called and said they had everything they needed and that they’d be in contact. When? Who knew. But they’d be in contact. Tomorrow morning? Tomorrow afternoon? Were they going to review the material now? Tomorrow? They’d be in contact.

Kyle patted Morgan on the back. “Go get some sleep, alright? We’ll talk about it in the morning. You need to rest.”

That was going to be impossible. All Morgan did was nod his head and they said their goodbyes and by the time he and Bee got back to his place, it was almost 1am, and she knew he wasn’t going to sleep. There was no way. He plopped himself down on the couch and put his head in his hands, and Bee wrapped her arms around him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Everything is going to be okay, Morgan.”

That’s when it happened. He finally broke down. After holding it together for so long at the arena and through the interview, his emotions and fatigue got the best of him as tears streamed down his face. His body even began to shake from the stress of it all and Bee tried to squeeze him tighter to make it stop, but it was no use. “I didn’t say it,” he managed to get out. “Why does everyone think I did? I swore, that’s it. I didn’t say that word.”

“I know baby, I know,” she cooed, running her fingers through his hair in an attempt to calm him. “You can’t look at what everybody is saying. You know what you said and you know what you didn’t.”

“But why? Why does everybody think I said it?”

“Shhhhhh,” she cooed as she brought a hand up to caress his cheek. “They’re going to find that you didn’t. Don’t worry. All the evidence is there for them.”

Before he could say anything else, her phone rang. When she pulled it out of her pocket, she saw Shirley’s name flash across the screen. “Baby, your mom is calling.”

Morgan’s eyes went wide. “Fuck, I haven’t even checked my phone,” he said, wiping his eyes quickly. He grabbed Bee’s phone from her and picked up. “Mum…mum I didn’t say it. I didn’t say it.”

Bee listened to the conversation, Morgan unwilling to let her go anywhere and Bee unwilling to leave. He spoke to his parents for a while, crying on the phone to them and explaining the entire situation – what happened on the ice, the phone call he got from Kyle, what they did at the arena, and the interview with the NHL. Then came the texts from the teammates that were sent earlier in the night – from Jake, John, Tyler, Auston, Naz, Fred, everybody – and he responded to all of them, and then Jake called, and they spoke about it, and Tyler called Bee, because Morgan’s line was busy, and she explained to him the situation, and he told her to tell Morgan to call him in the morning, and then Aryne called saying she couldn’t sleep, wondering if everything was okay, and it was just a lot. Everybody wanted to know what was happening, and she understood why, but she could only relive it so many times. So she stopped responding and calling to everybody, and when she finally focused back on Morgan, she saw his body shaking and him scrolling through Twitter.

“NO!” she screamed, running towards him and yanking his phone out of his grip. “Don’t – Morgan – NO,” she stressed, wanting to throw his phone – both their phones – out the window and onto the street so a car could run over them. “Why would you – why would you --”

“-- They hate me and they think I did it --”

“Stop it – no – listen to me,” she grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her. “Those people can go fuck themselves. The people that matter – the people that matter – know you would never say that shit. Me. Your teammates. Your bosses. They all know you’d never say that word. Fuck those people. They’re the same people that send me DMs on Instagram. Are you really going to listen to them?”

“They keep retweeting the video. They keep – they keep --”

“They’re wrong,” she said definitively. “They’re all fucking wrong, and you know it. Don’t listen to them.”

“Bee…Bee…” he hiccupped out, tears still streaming down his face, unable to say anything else.

She wrapped her arms around his body again, another attempt to calm him down, and with each shake of his body from the stress and fatigue and everything else, the more her heart broke for him. This was the worst kind of psychological torture he could go through and she knew it was tearing him apart. And no matter how long she held him; no matter how long she played with his hair or cooed in his ear to calm him; no matter how long they lay on the couch together and she told him everything was going to be okay – nothing worked. His body kept shaking. He kept intermittently crying. His eyes became redder and the bags became deeper and she wanted so desperately to make everything okay.

And before she knew it, it was 7am. They hadn’t slept. Bee called her boss, Mark Travers, and asked for the day off, promising she’d come in on Saturday and get his coffee for an entire week. Being a hockey fan, he understood. She was lucky. Morgan decided to try and call Kyle and Brendan again, to see if they had any new information, but they didn’t. Bee tried to make him toast, but he wouldn’t eat. His teammates began waking up, and the phone calls and texts commenced again. No eating. Another phone call from Shirley and Andy. Angie and Mason offering to come over and cook breakfast.

And then the tweet from the NHL Public Relations department. 12:41pm. Following a thorough investigation, the National Hockey League has determined that Toronto Maple Leafs defenseman Morgan Rielly did not direct a homophobic slur at referee Brad Meier during last night’s game with the Tampa Bay Lightning at Scotiabank Arena.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, Bee could see Morgan physically decompress. She saw his shoulders unstiffen, his jaw unclench, his hands stop wringing, and his brows stop furrowing. Morgan Rielly did not direct a homophobic slur. Did not.

Did not.

A phone call from Brendan and Kyle. “We’re going to have a press conference. Can you get to the arena?” A shower. A grey suit, no tie. A casual black dress. Another trip to Scotiabank Arena. An espresso to wake up. A chat with Kyle, Brendan, and Steve. “Can I please sit in on the press conference?” A seat directly at the front, near the door, so Morgan would see her first when he emerged. Reporters. Cameras. News outlets. Microphones. Lights. A press conference. Kyle being honest about the events of last night. Morgan reiterating he was confident that he didn’t say that word. Morgan saying it was hard not to make a statement because of how strongly he felt about it. Kyle reiterating how there was no place for homophobia in hockey. Morgan reiterating how there was no place for homophobia in hockey.

She could tell how tired he was by the way he repeated himself and stumbled through some of his answers. If the reporters couldn’t tell, they could definitely see by the size of the bags under his eyes and the physical fatigue his body looked like it endured for the last eighteen hours. But like any reporter dealing with the Leafs, they asked question after question until Steve finally put an end to it. He helped usher Bee to the back with Morgan, where they retreated back into Kyle’s office. “It’s all over now,” Kyle said, amongst other things. “Go grab some food. Get some sleep. You need to rest for the game tomorrow.”

It was 4pm by the time they returned to Morgan’s apartment. He was exhausted. So was Bee. The mental toll was much greater than the physical one, but his body still ached from shaking practically all night and being so tense. They ordered food. Jake, John, and Tyler called to ask about the press conference. Andy and Shirley called to speak to them as well and make sure everything was okay. Morgan ate some of the food they ordered, but not enough as he should have. He just wanted to go to bed. So by 6pm, Bee drew together the curtains, closed the bedroom door, and climbed into bed with him.

“I never want to have to go through that again,” he said as she snuggled into him.

“Shhhh, it’s okay. It’s all over now,” she cooed, cradling his face in her hands and giving him a quick kiss. “It’s all over. You don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

“This sort of stuff lasts for a long time. I don’t know…” he mumbled.

“Shhh,” she cooed again, giving him another kiss. “You didn’t say it, and now everyone knows. That’s it. It’s over. You can’t let it stress you out, baby.”

“Briony?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you…” he hesitated. “Can you just like…lay on top of me? Like a blanket? You know like how I do with you sometimes?”

He didn’t need to ask twice. She lifted herself on top of him and he wrapped his arms around her tightly. She buried her face under his chin and he nestled his own face against hers. They lay on the bed silent for a while until Morgan piped up again. “Briony?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry I put you through this.”

She lifted her head so she could get a good look at him. “Why are you apologizing?” she ran her thumb along his lips tenderly. “You did nothing wrong.”

“Not just today. Everything,” he admitted. “Today, the messages you get…everything. It’s all because of me. And I’m sorry.”

“What are you even talking about?” she asked. “It’s not because of you at all. Morgan…I would take them ten times over if meant I could be with you.”

“Really?”

“You know how you told me on your birthday that you’re in this?” she asked. He nodded his head. “Well I’m in this too. I don’t care about the messages. And I know your character…where you came from, who you are, who you want to be. I’m going to be here for you, always, whether you like it or not.”

He wrapped his arms around her tighter. A small tear rolled down his cheek and Bee padded it away with her thumb before giving him a kiss. He quickly settled into what Bee thought was sleep – his heartbeat steadied, his eyes closed. It wasn’t until he mumbled a few words that she realized he was still awake. “I want you to be here all the time Briony.”

She wasn’t sure if it was him or the sleep talking. “What?” she whispered, even though she had a pretty good idea of what he meant.

“I want you here all the time. At my place. Will you at least think about it?”

Lying there on top of him, sheltered away and closed off from the rest of the city, from the cameras and the microphones and hockey; lying there with Morgan, not Morgan Rielly, so defeated and so vulnerable yet so stoic and so honourable; lying there as Briony McTavish, with five year plans and life rules not meant to be broken but never having experienced a love like this before; lying in bed together, in each other’s arms, each other’s bodies, Briony said the only thing she could say – the only thing she wanted to say – despite her rules and her five year plans and anything else she used as an excuse or a way to plan out her life.

“Yes.”

#morgan rielly #morgan rielly imagine #morgan rielly imagines #morgan rielly fic #toronto maple leafs #toronto maple leafs imagine #toronto maple leafs imagines #toronto maple leafs fic #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl fic #hockey #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #hockey fic #alone together series

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txladyj-blog · 4 years

Text

This Time Around - Chapter 28

A Daryl Dixon x OFC collaboration written by @xmistressmistrustx by request of @txladyj-blog

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character

Tags: Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Awkwardness, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Crush, Fluff and Humor, Angst and Humor, Mild Smut, Strong Language, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Some Canon Scenes and Dialogue

Chapters 30/?

Through the winding country roads that soon turned into city streets, some blocked by crowds of Walkers and some clear enough for Jess to race through like a bat out of hell, her anticipation only grew stronger. Daryl was silently monitoring their progress on the map and keeping tabs on the intermittent tire tracks and oily drips on the road’s surface. Carl clung to the window in the back seat like a frightened child. But Jess knew it wasn’t the world outside the vehicle that was alarming him, it was the prospect of losing the girl he cared for if they failed to find her or they were too late. His boot tapped nervously on the frame of the drivers chair and Jess could feel a constant, droning vibration rise up through the seat. It irritated her, but she kept quiet, her patience now thinner than she was comfortable with.

The sun was low in the sky and with that came a simmering sense of dread for Daryl, who was more than aware that if they lost the light, they also lost their opportunity to extract Enid from her demise before any harm could come to her. He couldn’t have anyone else die, no one else could be lost. He’d already shouldered every single one and blamed himself for the group’s numbers diminishing. Should have done more, acted with more haste, thought quicker or just done something, anything to save the people they’d lost. It was an unavoidable side effect of being more sensitive than he cared to admit – or so Carol told him. She’d advised him after the death of Maggie’s younger sister that he had to allow himself to feel it. He didn’t know how she’d noticed that his very soul was starting to crumble, but he needed to hear those words, more than he’d realized and since then, he’d allowed a small semblance of feeling through, just enough to continue on. But Jess was changing that by charging through his barriers and forcing him to face feelings he didn’t know how to handle.

He stole a glimpse of her, hunched over the steering wheel and squinting at a passing road sign that was broken in half. They were heading out of the city, having worked their way around the outskirts and with each passing mile, Daryl’s mind began to wander to the conversation they’d had in the fairground before Carl arrived and dumped one hell of a problem in the middle of it all. He’d said what he wanted to say, but something told him it still wouldn’t suffice in Jess’s mind and all that was left to do was hope that he’d bought himself enough time to figure things out properly. Their dynamic had shifted, evolved and flourished, even, into something terrifying yet strangely addictive and although his attention was resolute when it came to finding Enid, being able to kiss Jess was never far from his thoughts.

“Stop!” Carl yelled from behind them. His voice shot through the silence like a knife through butter and Jess found herself having to take a deep breath due to being so startled. She hit the breaks and the car skidded to an abrupt halt, sending all three of them surging forwards momentarily. “Look. Through there. High walls and lights.” He pointed out while twisting his torso to fit through the gap between the seats. Jess pushed Carl back through to the back by shoving at his shoulder and punched at the clip on the glove box. It sprang open and she clawed at its contents, sending litter and dust scattering across Daryl’s lap. He blinked slowly and turned his head to her but she ignored the cross look he was presenting her with. Finally, she found what she was looking for and pulled out the heavy binoculars. Bringing them to her eyes, she waited for her vision to adjust and surveyed the scene before them. At the end of the tree-lined street, a high wall loomed up with floodlights positioned every few yards along it. She could detect no sign of any people, but she knew well enough that it was not wise to assume anything.

“That’s a college.” Daryl mused to himself as he peered through the dusty windscreen.

“Mm” Jess hummed in agreement. “Lights are on but it looks like nobody is home.”

“Somebody’s home alright.” Daryl confirmed with a quiet confidence. He knew better than most that even the most abandoned places could surprise a weary traveler with their guard down and they were not looking at an abandoned college, the beaming lights in the evening glow were a sure sign that they may have reached their destination.

“Do you think she’s in there?” Carl asked.

A memory abruptly caught Jess’s attention; The city. The group she’d seen having been the reason she left. The same group from the woods, the same group that attacked Alexandria and shot Daryl. It could well have been where they came from.

“I think she is” She admitted with a quick look at Daryl who caught her eye and offered her a short nod to signal that he was in agreement. He clicked open the car door and grabbed his crossbow from the foot-well. Jess shot a hand out and grabbed his wrist.

“Wait.” She ordered. Her eyes met his and in them, he observed a complex mixture of worry, fear and a need for some clarification. “How are we doing this?”

It was quite simple to Daryl. Carl was staying out of harm’s way, locked in the car where no one, living or dead, could get at him. As for Jess – putting her in the firing line wasn’t an option. He would keep her with him and protect her with his life, using her only to cover him if he needed it.

“He’s stayin’ right here” he said with a nudge of his head at Carl “And you’re followin’ my lead.”

Her forehead wrinkled and she released a sigh through her nose. Daryl had known Jess long enough by that point to be able to predict what she was about to say and if he was a betting man, he would have put money on her need to protest.

“Why are you leading? I can lead.” She stated.

“You really gonna argue with me about everythin’?! Get outta the car n’ let’s go find the girl.” He instructed firmly and with a wave of his hand. A loud scoff and a mumble followed Jess’s exit from the car. Before she closed the door, she crawled hallway back inside, far enough to come face-to face with Carl. Saying nothing, she presented him with a stern look and a finger pointed right at him. She didn’t need words to relay how important it was that he stayed where he was and Carl was under no illusions that if he was to disobey her again, she was likely to cut him into little pieces with the machete hanging from her belt.

She’d seen it a million times before in movies, the silent hand gestures made by the military and some characters with no such background that somehow appeared to just know them by heart. But Jess was an Army brat and knew her stuff when it came to deciphering instructions told with the use of one hand. Daryl, having apparently picked up a thing or two, was pleased to find that she understood his every order and scuttled across the street close behind him. The two of them hovered behind a burned-out car, fingers curling over the edge of the holes where the windows once were and Jess tried to blink away the slight blur in her vision after so long spent driving and focusing on the roads. She was thankful that her now natural requisite for planning, gained while living alone in the city, meant she’d had the forethought to keep a packed backpack by the door of the diner that contained her gloves, mask, arm guard holsters and hooded jacket. Carl’s random appearance in the backseat of the car also meant that she had time to suit up before they progressed even further. Her gear not only acted as protection but also as a confidence booster. If she felt equipped enough for whatever she may encounter, she would be more inclined to panic less and think more.

Up ahead, Daryl detected movement. Only slight but enough for him to be even more sure that the compound behind the walls was occupied with the living and that they’d more than likely found where Enid was being held. He carefully observed the view, counting two figures by a gate that, judging by its mismatched wooden panels, had been erected long since the turn.

“Two guards on the gate” He whispered to Jess who had one hand on the rusty shell of the car and the other clutched around the handle of her machete.

“Yup. You distract them. I’ll sneak in.” She told him.

“No. No way. Ya ain’t goin’ in there.” He countered without hesitation. “If they catch ya, it’s over.”

Apparently unbothered by his dismissal of her proposal, she moved her hand up to her bow and unhooked it from across her torso. She then slid an arrow from the quiver and gripped it tightly in her gloved fist. Risking a small peep through the car to her target, she shifted backwards and finally caught Daryl’s waiting eye.

“If they catch me, they’ll keep me alive. If they catch you, they’ll kill you on the spot.” She pointed out.

He couldn’t argue with her reasoning, she was correct, after all. They wouldn’t dither about putting him down if they found him, much like they didn’t when they walked into Alexandria and slaughtered almost a third of the population for sport. They would most certainly keep Jess alive too and that thought was enough to make him want to bundle her back into the car and lock the doors.

“Look at me.” He growled as she fumbled with her mask, tugging it up and over her mouth and nose. “You are not goin’ in there.”

“I’ll be fi-“

“-Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Jess.” He hissed “Now, you listen to me and you listen real good; we ain't got time for your stubborn shit right now. I am not arguin’ with you about this. If you really wanna be involved then you’re gonna shut the fuck up n’ do as I say or so help me god, I will lock you in that car with the kid n’ do this myself.”

Sure that his rant had hit home, he waited for her reaction, only to find that her eyes brightened and she tilted her head back slightly. Under her mask, she was smiling.

“Are you scolding me, Stinky?” She challenged.

“Uh, yes… I am.” He replied meekly, unable to mask the fact that her refusal to bow to his demands had left him feeling rather sheepish.

“Okay, fine” She sang with a roll of her eyes “I’ll make a ruckus out here, try and keep things going as long as I can.”

“No.” He refused blankly “We do this together.”

“Daryl, there is no way we are getting in there without a distraction. You know that.” She argued.

His shoulders slumped and he dropped one knee onto the ground to stabilize himself from his crouching position. His vision lowered and he shook his head slowly. Jess heard him sigh and for a moment, began to worry that she was annoying him with the confidence she had in her plan. She quickly checked the scene beyond the car and found it to be much the same, no one had detected them yet.

“I ain’t leavin’ ya alone. I can’t” she heard him utter from her side.

He cut quite the somber figure, kneeling with his head bowed at first before gradually lifting it to find her looking at him with a slightly bemused expression. It was dawning on her that he was disagreeing so vehemently because he cared. He cared about her and wanted her to stay by his side. Far from wanting to push him away or send him back into his shell, she mirrored him and leaned her weight on one knee.

“I promise I’ll be carefu-”

His hand covering hers on her knee silenced her and her mouth hung open as she glanced down at his fingers brushing the back of her hand. The arrow she held was pinned down against her knee and grew hot when her palm flushed with warmth.

“Please.” He urged upon an exhalation. “I can’t lose you”

Not even a full day had passed and Jess had been gifted with not one almost confession, but two. It was the closest thing she’d had to some clarity about what was happening between them and so far, she was knocked for six by his unexpected and moderately forthright change of tact. She now understood that he was interested enough not only to continue kissing her, but also to unashamedly present his anxiety about leaving her alone during a rescue mission. To Jess, it was hard to imagine that she had provoked feelings in Daryl that surpassed friendship and while she still remained skeptical and slightly guarded, a part of her hoped that given time, she would be blessed with the kind of confession she only dared to dream about.

“Carl can see us” She mentioned after hearing a shuffle from the direction of the car they’d arrived in. She could near enough feel Carl staring at them through the window without even having to look for herself.

“I don’t care.” He breathed with his lips barely moving and his body statue still, his eyes pinned on hers.

She swallowed hard and dreaded having to make her point once more. But she believed with everything she had that a distraction was their best chance and if she stated her case logically, Daryl would be forced to admit that she was right. She leaned towards him and looked right at him.

“They’re not going to catch me. I survived alone for so long because I am good at blending into the shadows. You know this makes sense. I can do this. I can fight. You know I can because you helped train me.” She explained.

His hand instantly lifted from hers and her skin flashed with the coldness of his absence. He pawed at his face, rubbing his eyes and growling to himself.

“Fine” He grumbled. “But you be careful, use ya smarts n’ if shit goes down, you run to the car and get yourself and Carl the hell outta here. Do you hear me? You do not go inside those walls and you do not come lookin’ for me.”

“Alright. I won’t.” She replied as she started to stand on both feet, keeping her body low behind the car.

Yeah, right. Like I’d ever leave without you, Stinky.

“Go” He ordered with a nudge of his head in the direction of the gate. She readied her bow, pushing her shoulders back and shaking her head as if to shake off the fear that was bubbling in the pit of her stomach.

“I need you to live. You hear me?” Daryl added out of nowhere. Jess’s body stilled and she fought the urge to lunge at him and kiss him but with Carl watching on, she refrained from putting them in a situation that would later be difficult to explain.

“If I don’t, you can have my T-shirts and the fairground.” She joked instead. But his stony expression didn’t waiver for even a second and her heart ached.

“I’m serious.” He pointed out needlessly. She knew he was serious; it was written all over his face and in the depths of his worried eyes. Time was ticking away and as much as she wanted to stay with him and debate the ramifications of losing her and exactly how much he would miss her if she was gone, she had to get moving and leaving things on such a heavy and emotionally draining note was far from appealing to her.

“You started an important conversation earlier. It’d be rude of me to die half way through” she reminded him. It was sneaky, she was willing to admit that much, but no matter what happened since their conversation at the fairground, Jess wanted to make sure that the topic wasn’t just forgotten about. She still wanted a definitive answer and although she couldn’t even begin to figure out how, she had a backlog of things she wanted to say stored up in her mind.

“You’re so fuckin’ weird.” He huffed with a small smile.

“Ahh, you like me that way.” She brought her hand up, the arrow pinched between her palm and thumb and waved him off as she backed up to the sidewalk.

“I do. Be careful” He replied.

“You too, don’t get shot again. Or Nurse Jess will make another appearance” She quipped while sliding the arrow into the compound bows arrow rest. Her concentration on her weapon meant that she missed the point when Daryl’s face broke into a rare and wide smile.

“Don’t tempt me” He grinned.

Her eyes shot up to him and a rush of air left her lungs in a bashful laugh.

“Huh. Shut up.” She chuckled before standing up straight, walking out into the middle of the road and striding boldly towards the gate with her bow held up and ready, the bowstrings and arrow drawn back, taut and threatening.

A new bow and some mediocre practice didn’t necessarily mean accurate aim for Jess, who was used to her ancient relic of a weapon that she’d collected from the Renaissance Faire and lovingly restored and modified to her advantage. Her newer, more modern replacement was not without its issues, it felt completely different but the one saving grace of such a weapon swap was that she was now able to eject arrows that were notably faster than before and that meant that they were even more lethal.

Daryl didn’t even realize his hands were shaking as he watched Jess strutting along the middle of the road and nearing the lion’s den. When he lifted his crossbow from his shoulder, he found himself having to pause as he looked down at his fingers trembling against the handle. It was bizarre to him, even in the most perilous of situations, he hadn’t felt such trepidation. But his concern was not for himself, it was for the woman that was bravely facing the enemy head-on and putting herself at risk of death. The woman that had changed him. The only woman he’d ever flirted with. The woman he kissed. The first and only woman he’d ever cared about.

C’mon. Focus. She needs you to focus. She’s gonna be fine. She’s got this. She’s got balls bigger than mine.

Yelling in the distance meant he rapidly crawled across the floor, peeked around the back end of the car and held his breath.

The arrow narrowly missed the left gate guards head and Jess grunted in disapproval as she equipped another arrow and took aim for the second time.

“Fuck a duck” She hissed to herself “Thought I had that in the bag.”

The man’s shout of surprise alerted more people beyond the barrier and the structure exploded with movement like rabbits running at the sound of a shotgun.

Hah. Look at them all run. She thought with a smirk.

The second arrow embedded in the wood behind the gate guard on the right. He ducked and dramatically covered his head as if the sky were about to implode on top of him. While the other one screamed at the top of his lungs that they were under attack. Despite being in the center of the street, in plain view and not far enough away for them to have missed her, Jess could only assume that the two guards were not the brightest bulbs in the box and so, she raised a hand in a wave.

“Hey, Dumbasses!” She cried.

At the sound of her voice, both men at the gate and two more that had appeared at the top of the wall on ladders all froze and stared at her. The scene was so comical and surprisingly scatter-brained to Jess that she couldn’t help but laugh.

“Y’all are a few fries short of a happy meal in there, huh? I’m right here!” She announced at the top of her voice, throwing her arms up with her bow in the air. One of the men at the gate readied a rifle and lowered his head to the scope and someone, though Jess couldn’t tell who, ordered for the gate to be opened. “Now we’re talkin’. C’mon out, kittie, kittie, kitties.” She urged under her breath.

When the gate clunked and began to open, she took it as her cue to turn and run. Her boots hit the asphalt so hard that the soles of her feet stung and from the corner of her eye, she noted Daryl crossing in front of the houses, moving stealthily from car to car, using the bushes for cover. Her heart started to thud in her chest when she veered off to the opposite side of the road to Daryl, vanishing along the side of a house as the sound of boots on the ground and men throwing instructions at one another closed in.

One…Two…Three… Daryl counted

“Four…five. Shit. There’s five on her tail.” He whispered to himself while he edged closer to the gate behind the cover of a truck with smashed windows. He craned his neck when he reached the rear of the vehicle and spotted a single guard atop of the wall, perfectly distracted by trying to follow his comrades in pursuit of Jess through a pair of binoculars. Inside, the coast seemed to be clear and Daryl, with his crossbow ready, managed to cross the threshold of the gate and scoped out his surroundings after ducking behind a heavily reinforced truck. Bit by bit, he took in the strange sight of the vehicle, thinking that it was like something from Mad Max. He’d watched the movie with Merle when he was high and the real deal was even more vivid than the technicolor images he’d seen back then. The windows were covered with metal, holes and gaps harshly punched through the surface to provide vision. The tires were over-sized, heavy duty and quite obviously not the originals. On the sides of the truck, spikes protruded from the bodywork and Daryl had to carefully maneuver in-between them to prevent himself from being impaled by the rusty, blood covered points. He positioned himself behind one of the huge wheels and waited. Footsteps scuffed past and orders were being barked from one man to another. He counted at least five different voices as he eased forwards, peering under the truck and spotting a building opposite with low windows. He jumped and his stomach knotted at the sounds of distant gunshots.

Jess.

Climbing wasn’t exactly on the top of Jess’s skills list, especially when it came to scaling the fences of back yards with a group of dangerous men chasing her. Having tripped twice and ripping the arm of her jacket, her patience was struggling not to crack. But through sheer pig-headedness she pressed on, the massive inconvenience of it all and the need for it to be over was enough for her to summon the energy to toss herself over yet another wooden paneled fence. Grateful for her leather-palmed gloves and her thick jacket, her skin was sore but well protected when she scaled what felt like the hundredth, ten-foot wall. Reaching the top, time seemed to kick into slow-motion and she blinked in surprise. Her hands had let go of the structure and the dusty, cracked ground was suddenly a lot nearer than she’d anticipated. Her heart lurched and her muscles constricted. Before she could even register that she was falling, she landed with a thump. Her shoulder screamed in pain from the landing and her bow was sent clattering across the dust. She rolled onto her back and clutched the top of her arm in attempt to check if her joint had been knocked out of place again. Pain hummed through her nerves as she threw her head back and puffed out a muffled cry of agony. The faint patter of boots on the ground was the thing that got her to her feet and she rotated her shoulder, relieved to discover that it was still in its rightful place. She retrieved her bow, brushed the dust from her jacket and shook her head briefly.

“Son of a gun.” She uttered “Ouch.”

That was about as graceful as an elephant on a slide. Parkour is definitely on the list for training session ideas.

A plan. She could hear a plan being formed. Two men in the next yard. She had been lucky they didn’t hear her messy, undignified collision with the floor. She linked her arm under the bows upper limb and hooked it up onto her good shoulder while slowly and stealthily sliding the knife Daryl had gifted her so long ago from its sheath on her belt. Her steps could barely be detected as she tiptoed along the fence to the gate at the side of the house, pleased and annoyed that the path turned to grass half way along. If only she’d known that when she was on the other side. Finding the gate unlocked, she inched it open and spun around, pressing her back to the wall and keeping her blade up as she waited for the movement on the other side of the fence to approach. To her delight, she found that her target succeeded her own lack of grace and trundled noisily towards the gate, swearing to himself and coughing.

Rolling her eyes at the shocking level of stupidity being displayed, she felt a rush of confidence when the door eased open and the man stepped into view. Holding his gun out in front of him proved to be fruitless when Jess knocked it clean from his hand with one swipe and threw her entire body weight at him, sending them both crashing into the door. Before she even had time to think, she had managed to work her blade into the space between his neck and the wood and was dragging it across the stubbled flesh with a sickening ease. She yanked the blade out and stepped back, watching as the man dropped to the floor and held onto the dark crimson, pulsing gash under his graying beard. He gurgled and spluttered and she winced when blood sprayed out of the wound between his fingers and peppered across her face and clothing. Adrenaline coursed through her veins but she had seen enough death to last a lifetime and took a moment to close her eyes and look away as the life drained out of the human being before her.

She pressed on, shoving the man’s pistol into her waistband and having to consciously hold back a cry of pure delight when she discovered a door in the fence to the next yard.

At last. Folks that actually liked one another enough to have an adjoining door in their yard.

She pulled back the rusty bolt and creaked the door open, finding another man wandering around with his back to her and peering into the windows of the house. She unhooked her bow and nocked an arrow, drawing in a steady breath as her feet took her closer and closer, still undetected and being provided with a perfect opportunity. This time, she wanted more than just a quick death for her potential assailant. She wanted information. At the bottom of the patio steps, she steadily lifted a boot and pulled her body weight up while keeping her aim steady. The man turned and her heart skipped a beat when he attempted to raise his gun.

“Uh-uh. Not advisable” She told him.

Her voice was surprisingly authoritative considering how unsteady her mind was when she saw the face of the man in front of her. In a split second, she was transported back to Aaron’s kitchen table and her wrists and thighs stung with the memory of the rough, strong hands that pinned her to the surface. In the throes of terror, while she fought with every fiber of her being to escape the clutches of the cruel men that intended to hurt her, she caught a glimpse of a face that she’d refused to remember until that point. While she knew that face belonged to a man that was no more, the individual she was pointing her weapon at looked remarkably like him. Her chest flooded with nerves and her breathing began to falter but on the surface she managed to hold it together. His mouth opened and she could tell he was going to yell for help.

“Shh” She hissed at him.

He jolted towards her, flinging an arm at her bow and knocking it to the floor. Having no time to gather her thoughts and consider he next move, her instincts took over and she snatched her machete from her belt with one hand as she took the final step and jammed her straightened fingers into the man’s Adam’s apple. The movement was so rapid, the man barely registered it until he buckled over and gagged at her feet. She heard him wheeze when the breath he so needed to inhale was snatched away. His gun fell from his hand and just when she thought she had the situation under control, he staggered to his feet and lashed out, managing to backhand her across the face, snapping her head to the side. Her vision blurred and pain seared through her cheekbone at the same time as pure rage began to simmer in her very soul. She stumbled back but instead of giving up, she forced her bad shoulder into action and bit down on her lower lip as she slashed across his stomach. His hands frantically sought to hold the deep cut in his abdomen closed but blood was soon seeping through his fingers and staining his clothes in a rapidly growing map of his demise. Taking the chance to re-equip her bow, she swooped down to it and plucked another arrow from her quiver just as she saw his lips part and panic fill his eyes.

“HEL-”

“-Keep yelling and I will drag your fucking guts out onto the grass.” She warned steadily and with an assured and certain edge to her voice. Her threat was not empty and she could see that despite his dire situation, the man was in no position to argue. “The girl your people kidnapped today. Is she alive?”

“I ain’t telling you shit, bitch.” He spat.

His voice was not unlike the man that Daryl had bludgeoned to death in Aaron and Eric’s kitchen. Similar face, similar voice, part of the same group. She was beginning to put the pieces together and could only conclude that she was now face-to face with the brother of one of the men that had tried to rape her. Her cheek was aching with discomfort and she knew that under her mask, a hefty bruise was forming and so, she opened her mouth, trying to rotate her jaw and stretch the compromised flesh for some relief. Blood was pooling on the ground beneath him and his hands were now almost completely red. Undoubtedly unsettled and enraged by his likeness to her attacker, she found a sinister satisfaction in bringing the tip of her arrow close to his right eye.

“You wanna rethink that, buddy?” She smirked.

Tears filled the mans terrified eyes and his shoulders were visibly shaking. Jess was sure that if anyone had told her she was capable of frightening a grown man to such an extent she would have thought them to be crazy, but there she was, holding a scared man hostage for information and refusing, point blank to back down.

“S-she’s alive” He croaked; his voice hoarse from her earlier jab at his throat. Initially, she’d been dismayed to find that she’d not hit him hard enough to make him vomit, just like Abraham had told her would happen if enough force was applied. But if she’d been graced with such an occurrence, she would end up talking to herself due to the high likelihood of her having killed him.

“How many of you are there?” she demanded as she watched the tip of her arrow wave around in front of his pupil.

“A hun-hundred or, or so. Not- not all here.” He admitted. His skin was starting to grey from the blood loss and voices could be heard nearing them from the street. Jess knew her time was running out.

“You all know each other? How can you tell who’s from your group and who’s not?” She pressed, jutting the arrow closer still. He closed his eyes briefly and she witnessed his chest spring up and down as he panted in fear.

“Too many of us to know everybody. We’re-we’re branded. My hand. But you-you don’t stand a chance alone.” He managed to say as he pulled back his leather jacket sleeve.

Jess wasn’t about to be that easily distracted and so, her eyes darted down to where he held his hand out and she noted the circular symbol seared into his flesh. Angry and new, even bordering on infection.

“Where would they be keeping the girl?” She asked.

“You’ll never get out alive.” He warned her.

“Where are they keeping her?!” She hissed, leaning further over him and making a show of pulling the bows strings back further. The weapon creaked and the man startled.

“The d-dorm rooms.”

“See? Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” She snipped sarcastically with a tilt of her head. Anger rose in the man’s eyes and his brow furrowed.

“Fuck you, bitch.” He spat. Saliva sprayed from his mouth, attaching to the scruff of his short beard. “You’re dead. You hear me. Fucking dead!”

Half of Jess wanted to just shut him up, but the other half had one more, key thing that she needed to know and she wasn’t about to let it drop. With mere seconds to spare before she was found by the others, she placed a boot on the man’s chest and kicked him backwards until his back hit the ground. He yelped in discomfort and the wound across his stomach oozed with yet more blood. It hit her that if she didn’t kill him and fast, he would die anyway and she would have to relinquish the gratification of putting him down herself.

“Did you have a brother?” She questioned as she towered over him with her bow still aimed at his eye.

“W-what?”

“You deaf as well as stupid? I said, did you have a brother?”

“Yeah… he’s dead…why?”

There it was, all the confirmation she needed that this violent but uniquely justified act would not only benefit their cause of freeing Enid, but it would also serve as revenge and closure for a trauma that was bestowed upon Jess and had festered around her, eating away at her sanity ever since. Now, she was finally able to move on.

“No reason.” She shrugged.

Releasing the arrow wasn’t the difficult part. It was having to stomach the nauseating process of carving the branded skin from the back of his hand so quickly that she ended up dragging tendons and nerves with her in a disgusting trail of red. As soon as her prize detached from his body, she turned and dunked it in an empty plant pot of stagnant water before running as fast as her legs would carry her. Gunshots from behind shocked her into moving even faster and she all but ran through the back fence and into the yard of a house in the next street. Wood and debris flew everywhere as she began to hack at the barrier with her machete, creating a hole big enough to crawl through.

From his vantage point behind the huge truck, Daryl had managed to put down two men that had noticed his whereabouts with bolts to the brain before they could even speak. But the sudden arrival of crossbow bolts out of the blue meant that the enemy was now scurrying around the compound like a group of frightened mice, all yelling at one another and trying to figure out where the offending shots had originated from. He’d missed a couple of attempts, much to his annoyance. Unable to retrieve them as he usually did, he was running out and fast.

His mind was not far from Jess. The gunshots he’d heard replayed over and over in his head. The thought of her getting hurt or killed literally made his legs feel weak and his chest throb with despair. But he had to believe that she would be fine, she would have it no other way and if she knew how much he’d fretted, she would not hesitate to tell him off in the strange, quirky way she always did. In fact, he couldn’t wait until the next time she did.

He waited for a chance to run, a gap in the pandemonium that would enable him to run to the building with the low windows and duck behind the bushes and wooden boxes stacked outside. From where he was, it looked like the fire exit to the dormitory building. With so many rooms to search inside, Daryl knew he had his work cut out. But it also meant that once inside, he had plenty of places to hide and use for cover.

Boots crossed the space in front of the truck and he dipped his head, monitoring their progress as they moved swiftly towards the gate. The light was fading fast and unless he moved in the next few minutes, they would be battling against the night as well as the enemy. He backed up and rounded the back of the truck, peering around the trunk and finding the coast as clear as it was going to be. He sprinted but as soundlessly as possible across the pathways and grass until he finally managed to reach the boxes. Noting the short distance that he would have to cross to get to the fire exit door, he crouched down and immediately noticed the sound of glass smashing in the far distance.

By some miracle and with an aching shoulder, Jess was meters away from the gate but stuck for ideas as to how to get inside and find Daryl. She pushed away the notion that he would be mad at her and figured she would deal with his wrath once they were home and dry. She cast her mind back to their original plan. Distract then sneak. The garage she was hiding behind was the closest unit to the gate that would provide her with enough cover. So, leaving it was not an option, she would have to think up a plan from where she was. Her eyes flitted around the area, at the bushes, the discarded garden tools, the rusty barbeque and the metal ladder.

She froze. The metal ladder. Distract then sneak. Wasting no time, she grabbed the ladder and positioned it against the garage, testing it by applying some weight on one of the rungs with her foot. It held up with enough stability and she climbed up a few steps, just enough to reach the top of the garage and still be hidden behind it. She shuffled on the rung and turned her body while she scanned the scene. Eventually, she did a double take at the roof of a greenhouse in a yard just far enough away to buy her some time. She carefully unhooked her bow and selected an arrow, aiming with less precision than she would have liked. But when the arrow shattered the greenhouses roof and sent a smashing sound echoing from the houses, the crash bouncing from walls and rising into the air, she smiled and quickly descended the ladder.

She strained to hear but there was no doubt that the tell tale sounds of her pursuers were all running to the distraction instead of following her. She had to move or she would lose her chance. She stood up straight, loaded her bow again and stepped out into the street. The first thing she saw was a short, stubby man standing in the middle of the open gate, unarmed and sweating. His hands shakily went up in surrender when he saw her and her bow released. If she thought about too much, she knew she would have talked herself out of it. The arrow flew past him and he flinched and squeezed his eyes closed. She couldn’t help it; she was embarrassed at yet another missed shot.

“Oh, C’mon now!” She growled to herself

He’s a goddamn sitting duck, you got this. You’re not missing three in one day.

His eyes bulged as she took aim again and for the second time, everything slowed and she bared her teeth in anticipation as the arrow flew towards the man. She sighed with relief when it hit him straight in the chest and knocked him backwards. Seizing the precious seconds that she’d earned, she ran at the gate and slowed to a creep as she slipped inside and followed Daryl’s path along the wall in the darkness.

Daryl was racing between the fire exit and the windows of the buildings, trying each one and finding them locked. He cursed under his breath and moved back to the boxes to re-evaluate his method. He’d hoped to gain access to the building and gradually work his way around the college due to having no idea where they would keep Enid and anyone else that they had captured.

“Psst!”

His head snapped up to find Jess laying on the gravel under the armored truck. She waved enthusiastically at him like a kid in a playground and he lifted an eyebrow in disbelief.

Told her to stay outside the fuckin’ walls.

After a brief double take at her, he angrily waved her off, mouthing to her to get back on the outside. She held up a finger to signal that he should wait and wriggled, clunking her bow on the underside of the truck and freezing for a couple of seconds until she was sure no one had noticed. Daryl held his breath and released it in frustration as he witnessed her pull something flesh colored from her jacket pocket and push herself backwards. She got to her feet behind the truck and glanced down at the item in her hand, then over at a perplexed Daryl. Just how was she going to get it over there without attracting the attention of the remaining men, who were now discovering the body of Jess’s latest victim at the gate?

Her arrows rattled at her back as she thought and the noise gave her an idea, albeit a risky one. She pulled an arrow from the quiver and impaled her gift to him onto the point. Then, she raised it up, gripped the feathered end tightly and flung it in Daryl’s direction. Closing her eyes as it left the point in mid-air probably wasn’t her best choice, but the anticipation was killing her and although her aim was a little off, the piece of branded flesh splatted onto the window above Daryl’s head with a thunk.

He startled when he saw it, his face twisting into a grimace as he snatched it from the glass and looked back at Jess with disgust. She held up her hands, slapping one over the back of the other and then pointing to the floppy, cold piece of skin in his grasp. He instantly understood although he was both shocked and impressed at her idea. Placing the wet burn mark over his own hand, he nodded at her and received an excitable thumbs up. Now, he just had to gain entry to the building. He lifted an arm and pushed at the glass of the window above him but it didn’t budge. Jess’s brain was working on overtime and she glanced around the compound, needing something to create another distraction with. Her eyes landed on the dark puddle on the ground a couple of metres away from the small gathering of what looked like six men by the entrance to the main building. Its slick, technicolor, rainbow effect shone in the beam from the floodlights.

That’s Gasoline.

It was a considerable distance away but she was faced with no choice, it was either try or Daryl would have to find another way in and risk getting caught. From her jacket pocket, she fished out a flare, popped the cap off and used the striking surface of the cap to light it. Then, she stepped out from behind the truck and chucked the flare along the floor as hard as she could, as if she was throwing a bowling ball. It skittered across the bumpy surface of the college's path and stopped just at the edge of the puddle. Tantalizingly close but not quite close enough. It was a matter of millimetres and Jess curled her hands into fists and growled through her teeth. Her luck seemed to be running out.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

She slumped back against the back of the truck and noticed Daryl watching the puddle with great interest. He slowly turned his head to her and held up a hand as he mouthed the words ‘just wait’.

Above the humming, murmuring of the conversation going on by the gate, all Jess could hear was her own labored breathing. She was out of ideas, having exhausted her one, last shot at getting Daryl safely into the building undetected. Or so she thought, until a hiss and a pop followed by a rush of air pulled her from her negativity. She spun around and peeked around the truck. The puddle had caught fire and the flames were rapidly growing. It worked.

She ripped the pistol from her waistband and quickly checked it over. Fully loaded. Safety off. Keeping her body flat to the back of the vehicle, she pointed the gun at the group, who were now all staring at the flames in bafflement and asking each other where the hell the flare had come from. She started firing, sending them all into a frenzy as bullets whizzed past their heads and they ran for cover. Deliberately, she aimed at windows of nearby buildings with the intention of causing as much noise as possible. With the puddle of gasoline raging and the men all panicked and seeking cover, with glass shattering all around them and no idea where the gunfire was originating from, Jess quickly put a few bullets in the window above Daryl, enough to smash most of the pane. He sprang to his feet and managed to climb inside but Jess was in no doubt that his hands would be cut to ribbons. With her work done, she sighed with relief and backed into the shadows and bushes behind the gate. Now, it was down to him.

Then, she felt like a spare part. She counted four remaining men altogether when the three that had been following her outside finally arrived back inside the walls. She was too far away to hear their discussion, but they were still on high alert with two skulking back and forth around the inside of the wall. She ducked under the bushes to avoid the flashlights of their rifles and tried to figure out how she would handle it if one of them was to find her. But she quickly realized that her only chance and it was a slim one, was to fight with her machete and knife. Face to face. She was under no illusions that their foe was as wise as the world was flat, but she still wasn’t going to risk hand to hand combat with four, armed men. Not willing to partake in such a suicide mission, she kept still and quiet and willed Daryl to re-emerge with Enid in tow so they could work their way out of there together.

It felt like forever. Like hours and days had passed with her boots sinking into the mud between the bushes. The distinct lack of Daryl during the uncomfortable wait gave her a tiny sense of what it might be like if he wasn’t in her life anymore. She’d be waiting. All the time. Waiting for him to return but he never would. She shivered at the thought and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her limbs beginning to numb from having to stay in the same place for so long.

In reality, it was around ten minutes when Daryl finally reappeared with Enid and was soon shoving her through the smashed window. Pleased to see that she was still dressed in her usual attire and seemed to be relatively untouched save for a black eye, Jess gestured wildly for her to cross the short distance from the bushes to the truck. With a quick check in each direction, Enid shot out from the leaves and was grabbed by Jess on the other side who quickly wrapped her arms around her and squeezed her tight. At her back, she could sense her jacket being gripped in the young girls’ hands, so tightly that she thought she might tear a hole in the leather. Her relief at seeing her rescuers had prompted tears to fill her eyes and Jess’s were threatening to do the same until she clocked Daryl climbing from the window with what looked like a rocket strapped to his back. She gradually eased Enid apart from her torso and gawped at the sight.

“Enid?” She whispered but in a high-pitched chirp.

“Yeah?”

“Is that a…a Rocket Launcher on Daryl’s back?”

“Yeah. He found the weapons room.”

“Huh. Sweet.” Jess huffed in amusement. “Nothing like an RPG to add some more Drama.”

Equipping his crossbow, Daryl began firing bolts at anyone he could see and Jess stepped in to help without question. She coaxed Enid behind her and told her to stay there with Daryl also adding that she should move when they do as they closed in on the gate, using more boxes and vehicles for cover. Catching his eye as he reloaded his crossbow with his foot in the stirrup, he hauled the strings back and clicked them into place.

“Go, I’ll cover you. Get her to the car.” He panted.

She didn’t want to leave him and everything in her told her to stay by his side but she had a duty to Enid and if anything was to happen to her, the whole thing would have been in vain. Too many people had died at the hands of the brainless but still dangerous group and she couldn’t let Enid become another number on their kill list. Daryl could handle himself, she was certain of that, but it still didn’t stop the churning worry in her heart that if she left him, something bad could happen. She looked over the boxes shielding her and started to count more assailants filtering out from the buildings.

They’re like ants. They’re everywhere.

He could see her pause and think and flicked an arm out in the direction of the gate, only metres away from where they hid.

“Go, Jess!” He raged at her, snapping her from her overthinking and spurring her on to take hold on Enid’s arm and drag her towards the gate. Bullets narrowly missed them and they kept on, running as fast as possible and trying to keep low until they reached houses and Jess guided Enid to the garage she’d hidden behind before.

“Are you okay? Are you hit?” She gasped.

“N-no.” Enid stuttered.

Then, it was Daryl’s turn. He stood up, shot a bolt through the eye of a man standing dangerously close to him and dropped him in seconds. It was his last bolt. Adrenaline surged in his veins as he made for the gate, sweat dripping into his eyes and soaking his hair. His heart pounded and a short, puff of air grazed his ear. A bullet a hair's breadth away. He pulled a handgun from his belt and could see Jess and Enid emerge from the side of a house; they began hurrying along in front of him with wide eyes glimpsing back at him.

He stopped and turned back, fearlessly eliminating two more men who came rushing at him. Despite the chaos, his shots were steady and accurate, his aim impeccable. He silently thanked his lucky stars that he had a brother like Merle, who insisted on shooting everything in sight with whatever weapons they could get their hands on. He switched the gun for the RPG across his body and yelled at the top of his lungs for Jess and Enid to keep running. He sucked in a deep breath and hauled the weapon onto his shoulder, noticing four more men intent on killing him. Upon realizing the grave danger that they were about to be put in, they immediately stopped and started running in the other direction, screaming a horrified chorus of ‘fall back!’ and ‘RPG!’. Daryl slowly released his breath and pulled the trigger. The weapon popped and whooshed and fire exploded in front of him. He staggered but remained upright enough to find that he’d hit the main building and the propane canisters stacked at the entrance, sending a booming cloud of dust, flames and debris spiraling into the sky. A shockwave rumbled across the ground, meaning Jess and Enid plummeted onto the road's surface and skidded harshly along the gritty floor.

Daryl also hit the deck but was soon on his feet and whirling around, his eyes wide and searching for her.

“Jess?!”

From the gutter, Jess stuck a hand in the air and Enid groaned next to her, rolling over onto her back and holding her head.

“I’m here. I think” Jess moaned.

Hands took hold of her jacket and heaved her upright, her legs buckled and she clung to him, her eyes blinking the grit away and making out his blurry figure.

“Y’alright?” He rasped.

“Well…my eyebrows don’t hurt.” She croaked.

Enid got to her feet and brushed her clothing down. She swapped a worried look with Daryl and slid her hand under Jess’s forearm. She flinched when the crack of gunfire interrupted her attempt to bring Jess back to her senses.

“Go! Run!” Daryl ordered.

One more man stepped out from the gate amongst the smoke and falling cloud of grey and let rip with a high-powered rifle. The sound cracked through Jess’s already timid ears and prodded the now increasingly growing ball of fury that was sitting tight in her chest. Daryl returned fire as best he could but Jess was reaching the end of her tether. Her arm was being yanked in one direction by Enid who was imploring her to follow while she used cars and trash cans as cover. A brief halt in the shooting slowed everything down for Jess and she let her impulsivity take over, no longer able to fight it.

He’s reloading.

She grasped at her bow and stepped out from behind a car, swiftly nocking an arrow and drawing the strings back. Daryl’s heart all but stopped when he lay eyes on her. The woman he cared about, standing in the middle of the street and open to attack.

“No! Jess! What are ya doin?!” He cried. He ran at her with every intention of bundling her back behind the empty car, but she released the arrow and he stopped, his boots skidding slightly. He slowly turned his head to find the man in the gateway falling backwards with Jess’s arrow firmly embedded right between his Eyes. Suddenly snapping out of her determined trace, her mouth fell open and she stared in astonishment at what was an incredibly accurate shot.

“C’mon. We gotta get outta here.” Daryl urged from her side. His fingertips grazed the arm of her jacket.

“Did you see that shot?!” She asked in amazement “Did you see that amazing shot?!”

“Really, Jess?! You want me to throw ya a damn party?!” he exclaimed in frustration “We gotta get outta here. Walkers will be comin’ in for miles around ‘cause of the racket we made.” He wandered off, mumbling to a scared and confused Enid to follow him.

“But that was some Hawkeye shit right there” Jess mumbled blankly to herself while following on, disappointed at the lack of credit she’d received for such a movie-worthy shot.

At the end of the street, they took a left and Daryl was happy to see that the car they’d borrowed from Alexandria was still parked at the sidewalk and didn’t appear to have any smashed windows. Carl would still be in one piece. He wondered how he was going to explain it all away to Rick when he returned and figured that his best bet was honesty, although it would get the kid into trouble, it was his own responsibility to deal with his dishonesty. It was something Daryl had to do as far back as he could remember. He had no one to bail him out of anything if Merle was in prison or away with the military. It was how he’d grown and evolved into the kind of person that looked out for himself and relied on no one.

A yelp from Jess’s left saw her spinning around to find Enid being held by a skinny, dirty, long haired man with hardly any teeth. He had his arm around her throat and a gun pointed to the side of her head. She didn’t struggle or move, but Jess could see the terror in her eyes when a tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. The man was grinning maniacally from ear to ear, flashing his gappy smile and striking a sinister fear into Jess’s heart. She’d seen this kind of smile before, in horror movies and on Halloween masks. The reality of it being ten times worse. A shiver ran down her spine.

“Daryl” She whispered, seeing him stop and turn in her peripheral vision.

“You’re not taking her. She belongs to us. Finders, Keepers.” The man told them. Spittle sprayed from his mouth and Enid grimaced when he pushed his face to the side of her head and smelt her hair.

“I’ma wipe that shit-eatin’ grin off ya face” Daryl warned, raising his gun.

The man began to laugh. A throaty, mucus-filled laugh that seemed to boom through the trees and surrounding area. It made Jess nauseous to think of how bad he must smell, right next to Enid’s face.

“It’s alriiight!” He chuckled. “I’ll just kill her, then. Take this one instead.” He nudged his head up at Jess. Her stomach bubbled with bile and she could literally see Daryl’s body tense with rage.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you” He growled.

“You and your little town. Over there with your precious women and your food and medicine. Y’all think you got it made. But y’all are gonna die. We’re all infected. Every last one of us. So why not have a little fun bef-”

The red mist descended and Jess’s vision blurred with crimson tones. It was almost dark but it wasn’t the lack of light that was hindering her. Her ears rang and she thought her eardrum had burst. Everything was muffled. Daryl’s voice, Enid’s voice. Her eyes lowered to the ground and she blinked the red away to find the man’s headless body slumped over her shoes. She swallowed and regained her hearing, shakily stepping back away from the body.

“Carl?!” She heard Daryl gasp.

She looked up and sure enough, Carl was standing there with a shotgun in his hands, his chest heaving and his mouth open. Enid threw herself at him, knocking the gun to one side and wrapping her arms around him. He dropped the gun and slowly raised his hands, placing them on her back and blinking in shock.

I’ll be damned. Kid blew the guys fucking brains out. Jess thought.

Daryl swooped over to Jess, his hands brushing her hood back and her mask down and picking leaves and twigs from her hair. Her face was covered with the spray of blood from Carl’s unexpected head shot.

“Close ya eyes.” He told her. She complied, now too exhausted to complain and totally done with the day altogether. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into her bed and once the adrenaline worse off, she was sure she would sleep for a week. He gently smoothed his thumbs and forefingers over her eyelids, ridding her of the wet, coppery substance. His eyes stopped on the swelling under her eye and across her cheekbone where she’d been backhanded and he was surprised to find that emotion knotted in every part of him.

Somebody hit her. Somebody hit Jess. My Jess.

“Open ya eyes.” He rasped.

There he was, the man that wiped her tears, held her at night and protected her from nightmares, cleaned mud from her body, checked her for wounds and rubbed blood from her face. His eyes were filled with concern and his bottom lip was shaking ever so slightly.

“You good?”

She was tired and shocked and had seen enough death and violence for one day. She was sure that the events of the last hour would stay with her forever but the last thing she wanted at that point, was to fill him with more concern.

“Mm...I’m…dandy.” She mumbled.

Through their whole exchange, Enid had refused to let go of Carl, who was now enveloping her in a bear hug and gently swaying from side to side, whispering in her ear and stroking her long ponytail. Daryl’s shoulders relaxed and he sighed, holding back a smile at such a sweet sight. It was what Carl had wanted all along, the chance to save her, to protect her and comfort her. Daryl understood, mainly because he wanted the same for Jess. He briefly looked at her, finally letting himself smile when he noticed her beaming at the two hugging teenagers like a proud parent.

Eventually, Jess managed to prize Enid away and took her to the car, sitting her in the back seat and signalling to Daryl that she needed a minute alone with her. He didn’t need to ask why, figuring that Enid had been in the clutches of a violent and dangerous group of men and as a female, there were certain questions that needed to be asked as soon as possible. He wandered over to Carl, receiving a sheepish look.

“What did I tell you, Carl?” He asked while scanning the street around them.

“Stay in the Car.” Carl replied sadly.

“That’s right. And what did you not do?”

“Stay in the car.”

“Yup.”

“I’m sorry” Carl offered sincerely. Daryl lit a smoke after delighting in the fact that the packet hadn’t been completely squashed in his pocket from all the action. He exhaled heavily and Carl watched the bluish smoke rise into the air above him.

“Good job, kid.” Daryl said. The look on the Grime’s boy’s face was an absolute picture, pure confusion laced with a little trepidation. He didn’t dare smile just yet, unsure of weather or not Daryl was luring him into a false sense of security. Instead, he stayed still and stared at him.

“What?” he squeaked.

“Saved her life.” Daryl pointed out.

The realization hit him and he exhaled, rubbing at his forehead under his sheriffs’ hat. His hair was scraggly and wet from his profuse sweating. Psychologically, it was no easy feat to blow someone’s head clean off with a shotgun at close range.

“Thanks,” he said with a small laugh.

“You tell her ya like her yet?” Daryl inquired with a step closer to him.

“No,” Carl admitted.

“Hmm”. Daryl hummed thoughtfully. “Alright. Well, just so ya know; if you pull this shit again, I’ma rat you out to the girl.”

His face dropped and worry crossed his features. He slowly shook his head and prepared to beg Daryl to keep his mouth shut, stopping only when he saw a smirk form on his lips.

“I’m just playin’, man.” He sniggered. “I’m serious though, you do this again n’ I will make ya life pretty difficult. You gotta be safe. You don’t know how much it’d mess ya ol’ man up if he lost ya. And um…and me. It’d mess me up too.”

Carl, having grown up way faster than he should have done and being wise beyond his years, was not without his faults. But Daryl respected the courage he possessed and his willingness to help others. He was most definitely his father’s son and the traits that shone in Carl were everything that Daryl admired in Rick. He could only hope to one day be the kind of man that could lead a group, now a community, like Rick did. Carl stuck his hand out, offering to solidify his promise and Daryl accepted, shaking his hand and nodding towards the car.

Jess stood with her arms crossed and her mask and hood down at the trunk of the car when Daryl placed the rocket launcher inside along with his crossbow. He kept his gun in his waistband and slammed the trunk shut. Unable to avoid her piercing gaze, he finished his smoke, flicked it away and raised his eyebrows at her.

“What’cha lookin’ at?”

“As if things weren’t exciting enough for you, you show up with that big, spicy weapon.”

“Like the guy said; finders, keepers.” He shrugged.

She leaned forwards with her gloved hands on the trunk and grinned at him, ignoring the Walkers that were starting to filter out between the houses towards the fire at the college. He could tell that she was working up to tease him or provoke him into an exchange of jest and after the day they’d had, he welcomed the change in conversation. She inspected his scratched and cut arms, remembering that he must have cut his hands and making a mental note to check them when they had a chance to breathe.

“You’re just a redneck glitter bomb of glory, aintcha?” she chuckled, suddenly remembering a phrase that Abraham had said to her in the armory one afternoon. “Ain't nothin’ like a man with a great, big…gun, Daryl.”

He scoffed and shyly nibbled on his lower lip, rocking back slightly on his heels. He searched his mind for an appropriate flirtatious comment to throw back at her but everything that presented itself was either too ‘Merle-like’ and graphic or not witty enough and so, he endured his reddened cheeks and burning ears and simply laughed bashfully at her.

“Get in the car, girl.”

The night was black. A velvet canopy across the sky with twinkling diamonds. The lack of street lighting meant the world, or what was left of it, was now able to appreciate the stars and planets on show unlike ever before. It was unfortunate that it took a global catastrophe for those still alive to take the time to look up and contemplate how small and insignificant the earth is in such a vast and complex universe.

It was Enid that asked to stop and camp somewhere for the night. She admitted she hadn’t eaten for almost twelve hours and the trembling of her hands corroborated her claim. Jess pulled the car into a gap in the trees on a country road, bumping it over the terrain as far into the woods as she could go, until the dense trees stopped her from being able to conceal the car from the road anymore. They set up camp, using the tree trunks to lean against and lighting a fire with which they used to heat up tins of pasta and beans that were stashed in every car and truck in Alexandria, just in case. Daryl fashioned a Walker alert system from string and metal trash items from the side of the road. Tins, parts of alloys, plastic bottles and bags would make enough noise to alert them if anything undead, or alive for that matter decided to walk through their camp. He’d picked off a couple of Walkers from the surrounding area while scouting for any danger but saw no other signs of disturbance. They were safe for the time being, but they would have to keep their wits about them and take it in turns to sleep.

Jess was leaning against the car, watching Carl and Enid talk in hushed tones when Daryl returned from scouting their surroundings.

“Should be safe enough.” He announced.

“Good. I’ll take first watch” She suggested. “Can I…Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Her request seemed to catch him off guard and his mind raced at the possible subjects she may want to discuss. He nodded and gestured to the dark clearing behind the car where they’d driven in. They walked a few feet away, out of earshot to Carl and Enid and Daryl told himself that going forward, such private conversations were likely to be taxing and emotional when he thought of how far their relationship had progressed.

She awkwardly tapped her thigh in front of him. He said nothing, allowing her to work up to whatever she wanted to say. Multiple times, she opened her mouth to speak only to find that nothing happened and she recoiled back into herself, huffing and screwing her face up. She knew what she wanted to say, but there was just no easy way of saying it.

I love you. I could have lost you today. I need you to know that I love you.

Suddenly, words didn’t seem enough to convey the depths of her true feelings for him. Not knowing what else to do, she closed the gap between them and slid her arms around his middle, turning her head and pushing the side of her face against his chest. He smelled of sweat and leather and nicotine, but it was just the way she liked him. Loved him. Just the way he was. His body tensed initially but she soon heard him swallow hard and position his arms around her shoulders. She closed her eyes when he rested his chin against the side of her head. It could have all been over in a second, all it would have taken was a shot. One shot in the wrong place and one of them could have been dead. The other forced to go on without the one person they truly cared for more than anyone else.

“Sorry.” She said against his leather vest. He dropped his arms and she broke away from him but he held onto her hand, lightly clutching her fingertips.

“No” He whispered “I needed that as much as you.”

She offered him a feeble smile. It was all she could do to stop herself from planting a risky and dangerous kiss on him with Carl and Enid in such close proximity. She couldn’t even be sure if they’d been rumbled by Carl earlier that day, the last thing they needed was for Enid to catch them as well.

Daryl dropped her hand but she refused to move back anymore. She traced the edge of his vest with her fingertips, slowly moving them up, then down again.

“That was some pretty cool shit back there, Rambo.” She told him.

“Thanks. You too. The skin thing, the branding. Got me in and past four guys before they realized it wasn’t mine. Good thinkin’. And that shot ya took…was badass.” He confessed. Her heart leapt. He did appreciate it. After all, he’d taught her how to use her bow and how to fight, the reason she’d fared so well in what was a chaotic and dangerous situation was because Daryl had taught her. If she really wanted to ponder the scale of things, she would have been dead many times over if he hadn’t told her how to kill Walkers, hunt and skin animals and fight with a knife.

“I know” She shrugged ”it was nothing.” He chuckled under his breath at her and stopped instantly when the corners of her mouth dropped and she hesitantly peered up at him.

“Do I, uh…do I really piss you off?” She wanted to know.

Guilt swept over him. She’d remembered something that he’d long forgotten. He always took pride in his code, part of which was only saying the things he meant, but Jess had changed him and he found her both captivating and able to irritate him easier than anybody else ever had. He’d heard Rick talk about how Lori used to be the only person that could rouse such rage in him, but he’d explained that it stemmed from the ones we’re closest to being the ones that can truly press our buttons. Jess got under his skin without him even realizing it but he would have it no other way. For the most part, she was a ray of sunshine in his dark and dreary existence, a sign of hope and her sense of humor was uniquely able to penetrate his hardened exterior. He hadn’t meant what he’d carelessly thrown at her in the car and he promised himself to make more of a marked effort to stick by his own code.

“Sometimes.” He confessed.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nah, you’re like math.”

“Math?” She questioned skeptically.

“Yeah. Difficult at times, but worth gettin’ to know.” He explained.

Jess laughed and playfully nudged him in the arm, being careful not to aggravate any of the many cuts and bruises he’d acquired.

“That is a backhanded compliment if ever I heard one but I will take it.” She grinned.

Enid slept as soundly as possible using Jess’s backpack as a pillow and the casual clothes from inside it as a blanket. Daryl set about finding wood and carving arrows across from Jess, with the fire in-between them with the odd, tension laden glance swapped between them. She got butterflies in her stomach every time he looked over the flames at her with his steely blue eyes and his serious expression and when Carl plonked himself down cross-legged beside her, she was happy for the distraction. Getting caught drooling over Daryl was not in her plan for the evening.

The space either side of the fire was not wide enough for conversations now to be overheard by accident, but Jess kept her voice to a whisper nonetheless and leaned towards Carl.

“Why’d you go all Steve Rogers on me?” She demanded.

“Huh?”

“You told Daryl what I said about him when I asked you not to. That was supposed to be a covert operation, smart-ass.” She scolded with a slight push of his knee. His face dropped when he remembered his lapse and the breaking of her trust. He hadn’t intended to disclose anything secret, rather Daryl had dragged it out of him and he found himself talking and regretting every word.

“I didn’t mean to. It just came out. Sorry.” He pleaded.

“It’s fine. It’s done now. He knows.” She informed him with a quick peep at Daryl, who was busy holding up an arrow in the light of the fire and painstakingly carving it to perfection. “It was horribly embarrassing and yes, I hope you feel guilty.”

“Hey, even Steve Rodgers makes mistakes.” He pointed out.

Much to her disgust, he did have a point. Captain America did indeed, make mistakes. But not many and he made up for it by saving the world.

“Alright, alright, just forget it.” She said, rolling her eyes.

“Did it work?” He hushed at her.

“Hmm? Did what work?”

“Daryl. He knows that you think he’s a good person. Are you guys-”

“-No. No. we are not. That is none of your business anyway.” She confirmed with an awkward clearing of her throat and fidgeting in her spot. “Change the subject.”

“Okay…um…Who’s your favorite Superhero? Don’t say Vision, we already discussed him.” He instructed smugly.

Jess thought for a moment, and found herself observing Daryl across the glow of the fire. She liked the way he furrowed his brow when he concentrated and applied such focus and intensity to his task. It was the same way he’d given her his undivided attention when he helped her to wash the mud from her skin after dislocating her shoulder. In turn, this prompted her to remember all of the things he’d done for her, from fetching her a pack of pens on a run to staying by her side and allowing her to sleep in his arms to quieten her dreams. In the real world, Daryl Dixon was her favorite superhero.

“Bucky Barnes.” She said confidently.

“The Winter Soldier? Interesting” Carl mused. “More of an anti-hero, though.”

“Nah-uh” Jess disagreed with a shake of her head. She picked up a twig and began drawing in the dust as she spoke, starting with a circle, followed by a star in the middle “Bucky was a victim of Hydra. He was a good man but through no fault of his own was turned into someone he didn’t want to be. Yeah, he did bad things but he was brainwashed and didn’t know any better.” Through the circle in the dust she began to draw lines, horizontally across and stepped in the middle. Carl listened intently. “Once he was out of the control of the bag guys, he was able to choose and he chose to be good. He was hard on himself for his past, sure. But the people that loved him knew who he really was and what he was forced to do. He didn’t have the best childhood either, and that can have a big effect on a person’s morals…their code. Come out the other side of that a decent person and you only have yourself to thank. Nobody else.”

Without Jess’s knowledge, Daryl could hear everything and he glanced up from his task, seeing Carl leaning towards her, enthralled by her interpretation of a misunderstood character and his eyes transfixed on the symbol she was drawing on the ground. Under the guise of carving arrows, Daryl continued to lend an ear to the revealing explanation she had to offer. For some reason, he felt exposed and uncomfortable listening to her talk about what made a person good, despite their past.

“I feel like he spent a lot of time running from his past and that’s something a lot of us can relate to. Especially now.” She finished up her dust drawing and Carl titled his head, giving the image of The Winter Soldier’s symbol an affirming nod. “Also, he’s very nice to look at” She chuckled. “Those blue eyes just drew me right in.”

“More of a Black Widow fan myself.” Carl chimed in with a smile.

“Gotcha” She winked.

Carl occupied himself for the next minute by drawing more Marvel character symbols in the dust and scuffing them out with his boot. When he dropped the twig and looked over at Enid, his gaze lingered there as he observed the sleeping girls face and the way her pain seemed to dissipate when she was lulled into a slumber.

“You think she’ll be okay?” He asked Jess.

“Yeah, with us watching over her. Sure.” She assured him. “They didn’t touch her. Aside from the black eye to knock her out. We were just in time. She’s still working through some stuff though. I heard she watched her parents die. Some things never get easier to live with”

She heard a faint hum of agreement from him and dragged her bow across the ground towards her, resting it across both of their legs and taking out a piece of rag from her inside pocket. She grit her teeth as she put all her effort into ripping it into two halves, successfully managing to separate it and handing him one half. Wordlessly, she began dusting and buffing the frame of the bow at one end, with Carl soon following her actions at the other.

“I watched my mom die too.” Carl mumbled.

Once again, Daryl slowly lifted his head, this time staring at Carl through his hair. He’d never heard him talk about his mother before, even when Daryl had offered up his experience of his own mother's death to convey that no matter how painful it was, it is possible to live with it and that Carl wouldn’t be alone. Even then, he hadn’t witnessed Carl actively surrender such information, not to Rick, not to him. Not to anyone. Apparently, Jess had the knack for encouraging people to talk to her.

“You did?” She gently asked.

“When she was giving birth to Judith… I had to shoot her”

Jess closed her eyes for a second and tried to fathom the amount of strength it must have taken for a kid to come to terms with having to go through with such a horrendous act. She didn’t think anyone should have to endure the terrors that the apocalypse brought, least of all children. She placed her hand over his.

“Y’know, your mom, wherever she is, is super proud of you. Everybody always says the same thing; ‘we’ve all lost people’…but it’s okay to miss her.” She soothed.

“You miss your family?” He asked.

“Everyday.” She smiled, remembering their faces and their quirks. The places they’d lived, their individual laughs and personalities. She missed them terribly but they were always there, carried in her heart and sharing a piece of her soul and as long as she lived, so would they.

“I wish Judith didn’t have to grow up without a mom. She would have loved her, a lot.” He sighed sadly.

“You should talk to her about your mom.” She proposed “As she gets older, you could tell her things. What she liked, what made her laugh and smile, the trips you went on, the memories you made.” She gently pat his hand and resumed her dusting of the bows frame.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” He contemplated. “Then, they’ll be like her memories too. I like that. What do you remember about your mom?”

Jess chuckled to herself and looked up at the trees, casting her mind back to before the turn. In the days when everyone was safer and happier than they realized.

“Well, she was five foot nothing and I remember my brother was getting on her nerves one day. She tried to yell at him, but even as a teenager he was so tall in comparison that it was like watching her yell at a bird in the sky. My dad lifted her right up and put her on a chair so that she could scold him face to face.”

Carl giggled animatedly and Jess’s vision swung over to Daryl, who was looking intently at her with the faintest curve of his lips.

“Hey, Carl?” Daryl called out. “Should sit right here, next to her.” He got up from the ground and gathered his knife and I carved pieces of wood. Rounding the fire he looked down at Carl. “Should be there for her when she wakes up”

With that, Carl said nothing but quickly switched places with Daryl, who settled down next to Jess.

“Somebody hit you” he mentioned, much to Jess’s surprise. Her hand instinctively went to the tender patch of skin along her cheekbone and she thought she may well have a matching shiner with Enid.

“Yeah. It’s nothing though. It’ll fade.” She brushed off.

”You kill him?” He wanted to know.

“Yeah.” She replied solemnly. Killing wasn’t something that would ever sit well with her, even if it was a case of them or her. It was a part of survival, but that didn’t make it any easier.

“Don’t feel bad,” he said “I know you. You feel bad. If you hadn't killed him, I would have. I’ll kill any motherfucker that touches you.”

She didn’t respond. Partly due to having no idea how to. Was he saying this because he had genuine, romantic feelings for her? Or, was it just Daryl being protective of someone he saw as his one, close friend? The close friend that he kissed. Jess contemplated the fact that even though a conversation had been instigated and awkwardly discussed, she still was no closer to finding out exactly how he saw her and until then, she was still treading a kind of of tightrope that meant the difference between plummeting into disappointment or balancing on a wire of uncertainty. She knew that she loved him and that was not going to change, but would she ever be able to love him the way she wanted to, the way she needed to? Out in the open with no shame and no secrets. Only time and even more patience would tell.

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Masterlist

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