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sopejinsunflower · 1 year

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a/n: I keep writing from dreams! This was a dream that was so vivid it woke me up crying. Although I didn’t dream of Yoongi specifically, I changed the main actor of my dream to him as I think he fits the bill the most. Hope you like this short one :)

Title definition: insurrection of peasants against the nobility in northeastern France in 1358—so named from the nobles' habit of referring contemptuously to any peasant as Jacques, or Jacques Bonhomme.

Warning: 18+, minors DNI

Summary: The world is in ruins. The new government, The Order, is corrupted and it’s a constant battle for people to even have access to basic needs. But a vigilante is fighting for the people, leading The Jackals against the government. You were forced to join The Patrol, working under The Order to curb the rebellion. What happens when you run into an old familiar face on an impromptu assignment? What happens when you learn that the dead can come back and the truth has been under your nose all this time?

Pairing: Min Yoongi x you

Tags: Childhood lovers AU! Reunited lovers, dystopian world, vigilantes and revolutions, corrupted government, violence mentioned, coarse language, penetrative sex, unprotected sex.

Word count: 13.4k

Another bomb goes off in the distance, the ground rumbling with the aftershock, sending you slightly unsteady on your feet.

All this for one man.

You let out a sigh as your in-ear crackle and the Commander’s voice echoes through, gruff and urgent, like always. “All units move to Precinct 1, now! I want every warm body there right now. We’re going to box this motherfucker and bring him in.”

Again, you sigh, dread filling your chest and weighing your feet down. To be honest, you don’t want to join the fight. You rather hang back, patrolling the usually empty alleyways for renegades that are never dwindling now even after the heavy push back from The Order lately, thanks to him. Most vigilantes work in the cloak of night but this one, this one doesn’t seem to care for cover much. He does as he pleases, appearing and disappearing like some kind of wizard from one place to the next, wreaking havoc.

He came out of nowhere, rising out of the shadows the moment The Order established themselves as the new government twenty-five years ago; a backdoor government that no one voted for, mind you, sneaking in the same way pesky cockroaches infest a house. It was a betrayal to the people’s rights, taken away from them in plain daylight and enforced so blatantly it was just rubbing salt on wounds. People were angry, they rioted until it was all snuffed out with police force and smoke bombs and threats of emprisonment. It wasn’t pretty.

Many ended behind bars. Many lives were lost but were unaccounted for. Anyone who raises their voice against The Order ends up missing. Families are torn apart. And when they still couldn’t completely silence the people, the lockdown came, heavy and callous. Food and water were rationed, resources were cut, companies burnt down, jobs were lost, curfews were imposed. No one is allowed to be out after 6PM. It was punishment, they say, until the people learn to behave.

But humans are resilient beings, learning to adapt to survive. Within the hushed whispers of the residents, there were talks of a revolt, a group of people called The Jackals who are slowly planning, scheming for The Order’s downfall and he is leading them. They were quiet and careful, sneaking out past curfew hours for secret meetups. To curb this, the Peace Patrol was formed, tasked to help tame and whittle them out, with the guarantee of extra water and food and even access to special items like liquor and soap and even hot water directed to your household if you give up any information and more if you join the ranks. It was the promise of comfort-living, of ease.

As an orphan, you lived with an uncle who is a heavy supporter of The Order. He ranted about putting a bullet through The Jackals as if he personally knew who they were. He made random, wild assumptions about the neighbours being one of them based on anything that he didn’t agree on, like looking at him funny or not taking out the trash on time or even for watering their own plants with a watering can instead of the garden hose like ‘normal people do’. He didn’t even have plants to take care of so how would he know what was normal?

So when you were old enough, he insisted you serve his beloved government, joining the ranks of the Peace Patrol. “I have a bad knee so you will have to. Get me some of those beer kegs they promised,” he had said. “Or you can go ahead and live in the streets. Time to repay all the money I spent raising you.”

So here you are, jogging only lightly heading towards Precinct 1 with your lead feet, your face growing pale and a stomach that is threatening to upend all your measly breakfast. Here’s another honest truth: you are fucking scared. Everytime there are sightings of him, it’s a warzone. It’s like no one cares what happens to the area that gets under heavy fire, the people caught in the crossfire. And he doesn’t seem to care, either. They call him Robin Hood but no one knows his real name. Hell, no one knows who he is, they’ve never even seen his face.

To the people, he’s a hero. To the government, he’s a menace that needs to be eliminated. To you, honestly, he’s just a troublemaker, an annoyance. You don’t agree with The Order but he wasn’t making things any better. His small good deeds of stealing from the government to give to the people is only causing problems to the same people he’s helping. It’s a loss, loss. What is the point even?

You finally join your platoon, crowding a desolate grey building riddled with bullet holes all across the bottom wall. Someone squeezes your hand and you look around to find Daiki smiling down at you. He pulls you in for a quick kiss on the top of your head.

“You there,” the Commander calls out from the front, pointing your way. You jump slightly, gulping hard as you look at him. The information was that he’s holding up in the yard at the side of the building and they are sending in ten people to scout the place. “You’re the tenth. You’re going down to the yard, give a look around. If you find him, immobilise him. If he’s not there, join the others on the first floor.”

You don’t respond. There’s a ringing in your ear and you stand there, rooted to the spot, unmoving. Daiki nudges you and you blink rapidly, trying to get your bearings. The other nine are already making their way forward. You move, joining the Commander at the front.

“We got him blocked in,” The Commander says smugly. “All you need to do is find him. Now go!”

Why not send the whole team, you wanted to ask but your voice is lodged in your throat. The plan doesn’t seem foolproof, something is off. As you approach the building, unshouldering your AR-15 and holding it in both hands, one of the others huffs, “They don’t know if he’s alone or not. That’s why they’re sending us in first, the bastards.”

Right. Baits. Lure him and his people out. They can afford to lose ten patrol officers, no big deal. There’s always more waiting in line to enjoy the limited privileges. Did Daiki know this before he had pushed you forward?

Your palms are sweating inside your gloves and the lightweight rifle feels too heavy to hold up properly. An older officer looks at you almost sympathetically. “The yard’s not that big. You can cover it in a couple of minutes, a quick sweep. If nothing then join us upstairs.”

“And if he’s there?”

He seems to think about it. Most of the other officers will just say shoot him dead or alert the others or anything along those lines. But all he says is, “Pray he goes easy on you, kid.”

They disperse, going up the stairs to take on different levels of the buildings in pairs. The officer’s words rang in my ears, his words echoing in my brains. Robin Hood is a ruthless killer, they say. He once wiped out ten patrol officers to break through one of The Order’s resource warehouses to steal supplies. All on his own. Anyone with the Patrol uniform on, anyone who wields The Order’s emblems and idealistics is his target.

There’s a small flight of stairs to head down to the yard on the west side of the building and you’ve never gone down a longer set of stairs in your life. From the top of the stairs, you can literally see the whole yard below and contemplated calling it all clear without having to look. But the yard follows a bend that rounds to the back of the building. Your heart is hammering in your chest like a wild bird wanting to be free and each step further down feels like an eternity. You’re at the bottom of the steps now, praying that you will find nothing when suddenly there is chaos up above upstairs.

Gunshots and yelling. You freeze, craning your neck to look upward. Did they find him upstairs? A window glass shatters and you dove to the bottom of the stairs, covering your head, crouching down low as glass pieces rain down over you. Fear grips you like a vice and you remain there with your hands over your ears, dry-heaving. Your blood has run cold. Somewhere along the Patrol line upstairs, you can hear heavy machinery moving. Tanks. They got tanks.

You press yourself against the wall as the commotion upstairs escalates. The smell of gun smoke is heavy in the air and you think you can even detect the hint of copper as bullets bury or zip through flesh. That’s what you imagine is happening upstairs. You can’t tell apart the shoutings of your comrades and those of the enemies. Is he among them?

Something in your periphery moves and you turn to look. There in the corner of the building, you can see a pair of boots peeking out. They’re scruffed and look nothing like the Patrol’s issued pair. Your stomach twists and your heart is in your throat, ready to jump out if you even open your mouth.

Please just walk the other way, please just walk the other way.

But the person steps forward into your line of vision and walks cooly over to the middle of the yard, looking up as if he can see towards the Patrol line. Then slowly, almost deliberately, he turns his head to look directly at you and your breath hitches.

It’s him.

This is your first time seeing the infamous Robin Hood but something in your gut tells you that it’s him, no doubt. He stands there in black cargo pants and a tight black t-shirt that you can see the silhouette of his toned chest. A dark maroon jacket completes the look. As your eyes travel upwards, you first notice the long hair tied up in a half-knot before you see his eyes; dark and angry like that of a dragon, glaring at you from above the black cloth hiding the bottom half of his face.

Realisation dawns on you like a cold bucket of water; you know him. Even with the mask, you know him. And judging from the way he softens his eyes, tilting his chin to the side, he remembers you, too. Emotions flood into your chest as if someone had broken a long-standing dam inside you, filling you with confusion and sadness and nostalgia all at once. You want to rise to your feet but you can’t, your body not listening to any feeble commands. You want to call out to him but it feels like your lips are sewn together.

A loud crashing noise jerks both of your attention upwards and you see the tank crashing through the iron fence that circles the building. It moves slowly, an impending doom that is about to put this whole place on fire. You turn back to him, panic bubbling. He’s staring at you again, his eyes conveying nothing, not even the urgency to flee the area. They are just calm, taking you in.

“What are you doing?!”

The Commander’s voice bursts through your in-ear, loud and angry. “What are you doing?! Get him! Shoot him!”

That’s when you notice your Commanding Officer standing at the top of the hill, safely out of the way of the tanks, pointing at him. But it’s too late. You watch the man called Robin Hood run to the edge of the yard and scale the fence. At the top, he takes one last look back at you and his name comes back to mind. Before you can call out to him, he disappears on the other side.

BOOM!

The tank takes a shot at the fence, tearing a hole through it, the shell landing somewhere on the residential area below; whether it’s the noise or the artillery shaking the ground, you’re not sure. Your ears ring so loud you feel disoriented, stumbling to stand up but tripping on your feet. You lean against the wall, breathing hard while the world around you sway under your feet before you finally crash to the floor, your vision going dark.

***

You wake up to Daiki leaning over you, his forehead creasing with worry. He has a tight grip on your right hand in both of his.

“Hi, there,” he greets softly, helping you to sit up. “Slowly, slowly. There we go.”

The infirmary is the last place you want to be in. The place is dark and dingy for a hospital and smells of death and vomit and strong disinfectant. You would think that a dystopian world would be much better but when the government is battling a single man with a group of unarmed people, scrambling to remain in power, money is being poured into weapons and armoury. Whatever’s left can’t even help maintain the society they want so desperately controlled. It’s a joke. Maybe he wasn’t wrong after all.

“How you’re feeling?”

You rub at your temples. “Like my head is full of cement.”

Daiki chuckles. “That’s not too bad, I guess.”

“How long have I been out?”

“Just a few hours,” he replies. “The team’s worried about you. They think he did something to you. Some kind of poison or something.”

You stare at him, not comprehending.

“The Commander said he was just standing there while you sat, frozen, unmoving,” he explains, shaking his head. “And then you just passed out. They did some blood tests but found nothing. Must be advanced work. The Jackals are growing more dangerous.”

“You’re saying that a group of people who meet at night in sewers or abandoned places,” you say carefully, gauging his reaction, “are making advanced bioweapons to attack us?”

He shrugs but doesn’t answer.

“Are you hearing yourself?” you push, incredulous. “That doesn’t make any sense at all. How would they ev-”

“Who the hell knows how they’re doing what they’re doing, babe,” he retorts heatedly. “Hell, I don’t even understand what they’re trying to do. They’re a nuisance to society.”

“They’re not the ones with tanks bombing every little place,” you mutter almost cautiously, looking down as you fiddle with the edge of the worn blanket.

Daiki is looking at you funny, like he can’t quite understand you. Maybe he doesn’t. He shrugs again, patting your arm. “Look, you probably still have whatever it was he gave you in your system. You’ll feel more like yourself once that’s flushed out.” He stands up.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to the frontline,” he says, putting on his gloves. “They found a new hideout.” The way he’s grinning at you makes you sick but you bite your tongue and don’t say anything. He leans down and places a kiss on your cheek. “I’ll be back soon. Rest well.”

The door closes behind him and you subconsciously wipe at your cheek, the same spot he kissed you. You’re not sure why and only realise it when it’s done. A few minutes later, you decide to leave, not to join Daiki at the front line but somewhere away from it to unwind. You have one place in mind, the only place unmarred by all the fighting and the chaos and the chase of a man no one knows who. Maybe except for you now that you’ve seen him.

– – –

The park is situated at the edge of the city, a place no one really goes to anymore lest you want to be accused of being a Jackal exploring new hideouts.

But you’re here in your Patrol uniform of black pants, black long sleeves shirt with the Patrol emblem on the chest as well as a red band around the upper arm. Black fingerless gloves for gripping the weapons issued to each officer and a pair of heavy combat boots that you find hard to run in, ironically. You left your bulletproof vest and rifle back at the barracks. You didn’t think you’d need them here nor do you like having them with you.

The park is a stark contrast to its surroundings, its lush green grass like a beacon on a map. The trees swayed gently in the wind, making this soft, comforting sound that can lull you to sleep if you let yourself. The park isn’t big, with a huge water fountain in the middle. It’s not working anymore, the pool is so dry there’s cracks and dust. Back in its glory days, people used to come here to watch the water light up in different colours as music fills the air. You only remember seeing it as a child. Now, it’s like people have even forgotten the place exists, but nature seems to thrive in the absence of humans.

You choose a tree and sit down under the shade, your back against the bark, your legs stretched out in front of you, crossed at the ankles. The wind blows through your hair and you take a deep breath and close your eyes. When was the last time you felt at peace like this? You can’t remember, probably since you joined the Patrol two years ago. It was also the last time you saw your uncle, opting to live in the barracks instead. But even away from him, it wasn’t easy to quit the force. Those who did, no matter on what grounds or for what reason, were all hunted later down the line, marked as traitors or enemies’ spies, anything to have them killed unquestioned. It’s like they couldn’t handle people leaving.

You let out a heavy sigh. You just want some peace and quiet, to relax without having to think about this fucked up world you’re living in. Just as you’re in between falling asleep but awake enough to notice sounds around you, you hear the quiet rustling of footsteps. Your eyes shoot open, looking around the park to locate the source of the noise. The silence almost sounds dubious, narrowing your eyes as you peer at certain bushes and dark spots that may hide something within it.

“You’re away from home.”

Your skin could have literally jumped off your back as you scramble to your feet. The voice had come from behind you and as you turned around, there he was, leaning against the tree with his arms crossed, his face half hidden this time behind a red handkerchief covering from his nose down.

“You,” you breathe out. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

He looks around the place as if looking for something. “As far as I remember, I don’t need a reason to be at a public park. The question is, what are you doing here? Your platoon is busy firing at an empty building right now. Shouldn’t you be with them?”

You gawk at him, unsure of what to even say. A wanted man is telling you he has every right to be here but asking you why you’re not helping the same people who put a bounty on his head? “I came from the infirmary,” you offer lamely. “I’m not on duty.”

He nods as if it all makes sense. “So why are you here?”

You don’t answer, literally lost for words. He’s so blase about everything. Is he for real? You end up shrugging your shoulders. “It’s a public park, you said.”

Again, he nods. “I guess murderers need to unwind, too, huh.”

Anger flashes red hot for you. “Murderers?! I’ve never killed anyone in my life! You’re the one that’s going around killing people and stealing stuff that’s not yours. Stuff that could’ve helped others who need them!”

He raises his eyebrows. “I’m not the one with tanks bombing houses full of people. I’m not the one with the automatic rifles opening fire in public. And I’m not the one stocking up on bare essentials that should have been offered to the public freely without restrictions.”

“If it’s offered freely then there won’t be enough for all,” you snap back, your hands balled into fists. “It’s rationed so everyone can have a portion.”

He lets out a soft laugh, the kind where adults do when little kids say something they don’t know about. Not once did he move from his spot against the tree, eyeing you curiously instead of warily, probably because you stupidly don’t have your weapon with you. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

When you don’t answer, he pushes off from the tree and walks slowly towards you, step by step. You move in the opposite way, reversing with every step he takes. He speaks again. “What if I tell you that those resources don't need to be rationed? What if I told you that even without the government allocation, people can get more than just a portion? What if I told you that the rationing helps no one except the higher ups, that they’re living lavishly enough they don’t have to worry about those who are affected by the rations? What if I told you that The Order has more blood on their hands than on ours? That they are the reason people are dying? That people, families are going missing?”

He moves closer and closer.

“All those warehouses they have all over the city, have you seen them?”

You nod. “Of course I have.”

“But have you seen the inside?”

You remain quiet.

“They’re chock full of food and barrels of water and medication and everything the city would need to not just survive, but to live. Each and every one of them. Not to mention the underground ones. Do you know about those?” You’re backed against the fountain now, the edge of the pool digging into the back of your thighs yet he’s still advancing. “Either you’re all being fooled or you choose to remain ignorant.”

He takes one final step and now he’s toe to toe with you, looming over you tall and menacing, no, confident. He emits this aura that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing, whether in his vigilante shit or here with you. He bends down and whispers into your ears. “You’ve thought about it, haven’t you? You’re not like them. So why do you choose to remain in the dark? Is being a sheep easier?”

You can feel yourself shaking, can feel your lips trembling, lowering your gaze to look at the ground, at how the tip of his boots are flushed against yours. Your heart is pounding so loud you’re sure he can hear it beating against your chest in this close proximity. The only thing is, you’re not sure if you’re trembling in fear or anticipation of what he might do to you. On the one hand, he’s known to be the most dangerous man, his fighting skills unrivalled by any on the force. On the other, there’s something in his words that made you listen.

A slender finger reaches out and tips your chin up so you have no choice but to look him in the eye. “You believe me, don’t you?” he whispers. “I know you do. I can see it in your eyes.”

You try to pull away but he holds your chin in place. Something in his eyes tells you that he’s thinking, calculating something in his mind. His forehead has a slight crease and you wish you know what he’s thinking. “Who are you?” you ask in a hush tone, the only thing that comes out of your mouth.

“You know who I am,” he answers in the same low voice.

Something about the moment, probably the fact that you’re this close and there’s not an ounce of animosity from him, made you reach out, gingerly, with a shaky hand. You hold the end of the handkerchief around his face between two fingers and he doesn’t move, doesn’t put up a fight. Slowly and almost like you are scared to face the truth, you pull the cloth down, revealing his face. He’s right; you do know him. You just had to be sure.

“Min Yoongi,” you say breathlessly. “It’s really you.”

He nods once and his grip on your chin relaxes as he cups your cheek. “It’s really me.”

“But…how?” your throat feels tight and your vision is blurring with tears. “I saw you…in the fire. I saw you- how? After all these years and you never- I don’t understand.” You pull away from him, wrenching your face from his hold. The tears flow freely. “I thought you were dead,” you gasp. “I believed you were dead.”

“I know,” he says. “To be honest, I was. For a while.”

A radio buzz and a voice, garbled and hardly comprehensive, comes through. He reaches to the band of his pants and pulls it out. He remains looking at you as if you might suddenly run away or disappear in front of his eyes. “If you believe in anything that I say today, meet me back here tomorrow after dark. Make sure no one follows you. And wear normal clothes.”

You open your mouth to protest but he cuts you off. “I’ll explain everything then. I promise. I have to go now.”

He pulls back, regarding you with a serious look, like he’s reluctant to leave you. Then, taking you by surprise, he leans in and presses a long, hard kiss on the middle of your forehead, the kind of kiss that makes you squeeze your eyes shut because it invokes such strong emotions, both turmoil and relief. When he pulls away, his thumb brushes against your cheek, wiping away the tears. And then he’s stepping back, jogging lightly before he finally turns around, talking to the radio in his hand. He disappears the moment he enters the tree line back towards the city.

– – –

The next day, it all seems quiet in the city. There was less activity and barely any gunshot sounds echoing into the sky. It almost seems peaceful. Was it coincidence or planned by the mastermind himself?

Sneaking out of the barracks is not that hard.

The hard part was to convince Daiki that you prefer to sleep alone tonight with the others in your own bunk bed rather than in his private quarter, a privilege given to those of higher ranks. But after much coaxing, one that involves a quick fuck against his metal desk as it rattles against the wall for his neighbour to hear, he finally relents. But instead of going back to your dorm room, you head out.

Now, the gate patrol is a whole different thing but everyone knows you’re the ‘Lieutenant’s girl’ so a quick lie was easy to make up. A solo stakeout to make up for the hours you lost today for being in the infirmary, you said and it was accepted pretty easily. No one wants to deal with the lieutenant should they accuse you of lying. Once you’re confident you’re out of sight, you take off the red band from your upper arm and stuff it into your back pocket. You readjust the rifle on your back and make a run for the park.

You arrive breathless with worn out legs just after 7PM, well after the sun had set. The park looks different at night than it does during the daytime, the trees looking more terrifying and every little noise startling you. None of the streetlights work and you think that it’s for the best. You’re not sure where to wait so you opt to remain under the same tree as yesterday, sitting down so as to not be seen.

“Good, you’re here.”

You jump to your feet, surprised. “You need to quit doing that.”

“Doing what?”

But one look at his face, this time unmasked and the maroon jacket nowhere to be seen, you shake your head dismissively. “Never mind,” you mutter. It’s still new to you, to see him again after all these years. Everything feels familiar and foreign at the same time, like you know him but don’t. He looks the same, talks the same, walks the same, even fucking smells the same, yet he’s not the same man you thought you lost. You have so many questions.

“Not here,” he says as if reading your mind. “Come.”

You follow him heading the opposite side of the park. “Where are we going?”

“No talking,” he orders. “Stay quiet and stay close.”

In your confusion, you barely register that he has taken your hand and led you towards a place beyond the city limit that no one has ever ventured to, not since decades ago after the fall of the monarchy and right before The Order came about. You were not more than babies then, blissful in your ignorance of the world collapsing only to be left smack in the middle to fight the battles started by your ancestors. It’s twisted and unfair.

If the city itself is run down, this area is even more bare. Buildings that long crumbled stand like rotten teeth jutting from the earth, barred up windows of abandoned shops and houses, cars left behind like whoever had driven them had just stopped and jumped out. The one thing that flourished is the wilderness, the ground plush with long grass and snaking vines.

As you walk alongside Yoongi, you can see shadows flitting just beyond your periphery and birds cawing eerily up above but not once did his steps falter. He seems awfully familiar with the place. Again, you wanted to ask but you keep your mouth shut and walk on for more than an hour it seems, the city getting smaller and smaller behind you until it completely disappears from view.

Just as you’re about to break the silence, a familiar building looms ahead and your jaw drops. It’s the old government building, the Blue House. Most of its structures remain but creeping plants cover most of the front part and trees grow wildly, surrounding it in a sort of natural enclosure. As you get closer, you notice that one of the rooms upstairs is lit, not brightly but with what looks like a single candle. The front doors are still intact and as you cross the threshold and Yoongi closes the door behind you, you turn to see The Jackal’s flag erected on the side of the once lavish cascading stairs; the silhouetted head of the namesake animal on a white background.

You know exactly what this place is: the base camp that The Order had spent years searching for. You turn to look at him, wide-eyed. Why would he bring you here? Only then do you notice your hand in his and you pull away under the guise of removing your weapon to prop it against the bannister.

You follow him up the stairs to the left and down a long hallway until he stops at a room. He enters and you follow suit. A single candle is left lit on a desk in the middle of the room but the place is almost bare. There are books stacked on the floor and what looks like a few sleeping bags in a corner but that is it.

Yoongi takes you through a connecting door and this one has a single mattress in the middle of the room. No pillows, no blankets. On one wall, a large map of the country is stuck to it with multiple stickers and Xs and circles. Random articles are pinned up next to it, mostly in regards to The Order from years back, some on the Jackals and a single, small and worn newspaper clipping of an article pertaining to a fire at the big school in the middle of the city exactly nine years ago. The title reads, ‘SOPA up in flames, 139 dead’.

“It wasn’t an accident,” he says from right behind you. “But you knew that, didn't you?”

You don’t answer, the memories of that day coming back in blurry crashing waves. No one really knew how the fire started, only that students and staff had been bending over coughing and hacking by the time anybody knew what was even happening. The smoke had been thick and suffocating and crawling on the floor had not done much good. The first two floors were already engulfed. There was a smell of burnt meat in the air, acidic in your throat.

You remember the fear of dying a gruesome death, the panic of being trapped with no way out. But most of all, you remember the sickening twist of your stomach as you had this clear knowledge that Yoongi’s class had been on the second floor. Music, the subject he loved most. When the firefighters came, most of those who survived, a total of twenty-five including two teachers, waited in dread. When it was clear that no rescue mission could be done, that no more victims could be pulled out, you had fallen to your knees, not crying but just sitting there in complete silence.

It took the whole day for the fire to be put out and another day to recover pretty much everybody. It wasn’t hard; since it was a sudden fire, most of the school had been trapped where they were. You didn’t see the body, only the aftermath picture of the music room: only charred remains left, soot and ash. On the memorial day was only when you finally broke down, inconsolable, shattered into pieces no matter how many hands held you together that night. The love of your life was gone, his name a number on a list, not even a body to bury.

Days later, rumours flew. They said that the fire was started because there had been some information that the Jackals had been using the school storage basement as a base and the fire had been started by them to cover their tracks. One person said he knew the friend of a friend who knew someone who admitted that the fire was actually started by hired goons, hired by The Order, actually. But rumours were rumours, nothing much of it could be made heads or tails of but the first version spread far and wide, intentionally so.

“Where were you all these years?” you manage to say through the lump in your throat, your voice heavy and raw. You turn to look at him, really look at him. His hair is long, stray pieces falling over his face and instead of the young boy you remember, the face is that of a man who has seen and done things he wished he didn’t have to. There’s a hardness in his expression that restricts him from showing his true feelings, a subtle wariness in his eyes from not being able to trust everything he sees. He is a boy that grew up too fast in a hard place.

Yoongi returns my gaze. “Here and there,” he answers. “Everywhere. Places you don’t even know existed.”

Tears prick your eyes, threatening to fall but you press your palms against them, drying them immediately. “Tell me everything.”

He regards you for a moment and it stings to think that he’s thinking if he can trust you. But then you realise it’s not trust he’s having problems with. There’s worry in his eyes, a sort of hesitance that comes from not wanting to burden you with things unnecessary. It’s not like it would change anything. The past is the past, talking about it would only be painful for him, but mostly for you.

But Yoongi can’t ignore the pleading look in your eyes. All this time he wonders how it would be like if he meets you again, if he would feel the same after almost a decade. He was sure that everything of that time had been flushed out of his system. The only times you crossed his mind was when he closed his eyes at night, alone in the dark, that’s when he misses you. He had a war to fight, he told himself, and if push comes to shove, he would need to be able to do what has to be done without his heart getting in the way. His Saem had drilled it into his head, didn’t he? To forget everything, leave behind the life he led and dedicate every fibre of his being to the Jackals in order to fight for the people.

Yoongi convinced himself that if he found you on the enemy's side, he wouldn’t hesitate to do what he must. He spent years telling himself that he was prepared. The more active he became, the more job he took over from his Saem, the more of a fortress he had built around himself and his heart. But looking at you now, your eyes glassy, your cheeks pink, and the lips that you’re chewing on to keep steady, all the emotions that he’s been suppressing surges back up to the forefront. It’s like he’s seventeen again standing in front of you, just a boy looking at the girl he thought he would someday marry, a dream long-time dead.

He takes your face in his hands. His palms are calloused, hardened skin from the life of an avenger, but his touch is gentle like a whispering feather. You place your hand over his, feeling the warmth of his skin, the pulse beating beneath his wrist. He’s alive, living and breathing. And he’s here, right in front of you. All this time he lives with you in haunted memories, a ghost of the love you’ve lost so young. Yet here he is now, a grown man yet you can still see that same boy, slowly resurfacing.

You step closer to him, placing your hands over his chest, feeling the strong heart beating underneath your fingers. You grab fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him closer. There’s a lot of feelings at once and anger is one of them, growing stronger with each eb and flow of your emotions. He was alive all this time and not once did he try to contact you. He was alive all these years and not once did he try to let you know. He was alive and breathing while you spent years mourning his death. He was alive and running around the city right under your nose when you were convinced your heart died with you the day of the fire.

So you start punching him and punching him, pounding his chest with your fists, your teeth gritted together. “You left me,” you mumble. “You left me.” Your voice grows stronger as the tears flow heavy. “You left me, you left me, you left me! You left me alone, Yoongi! How could you?! I thought you died! I mourned you! A part of me died with you! You left me!” By the end of it, you’re wailing, both in action and in your words, screaming through the pain, wanting nothing but to make him hurt the same way you’re hurting.

Yoongi stands there almost motionless, letting you hit him over and over again. Your fists barely cause him any pain but seeing you so vulnerable hurts him more. He captures your wrists in one hand but you struggle, twisting and turning this way and that, trying to release yourself. You’re screaming at him. “Let go of me! Let go! I want to go home! Let go of me!”

Using his other arm, he wraps it around your shoulders, encircling you easily enough and pulling you in with one rough tug. All the fight left you, burying your face into his shirt, your tears wetting it down to his skin. You both crash to the floor in a heap, and he repositions his legs so you sit in between them, halfway on his lap as he cradles you. It’s not until your crying is reduced to hiccuping did you realise that he’s gasping for air, too. You look up just in time as his tears fall on your face, wetting your forehead and cheeks.

He looks down at you, his cheeks and nose red, his eyes puffy. After a moment, he finally croaks out the one thing you’ve been waiting to hear. “I’m sorry.”

You sit up, kneeling in front of him, your cheeks wet from your own tears starting up again. It’s your turn to offer comfort, gently tucking his loose hair behind his ears and brushing away his tears with your fingers that are already wet with your own. He cries as you cup his cheeks with both hands, leaning into your touch, and like steel to a magnet, your lips are drawn to his.

Yoongi falls quiet, eyes squeezed shut. It’s like the breath had been knocked out of him and all his brain activity shuts down for a second. His shoulders feel a thousand times lighter and he can’t remember the last time he felt this way. Something in him releases, like a rubber band that finally snaps apart and his hand reaches to caress your face. The kiss deepens, both your lips moulding against each other like the perfect jigsaw puzzles falling into place and he leans more into you.

You feel his hand squeeze your waist, hard enough to make you gasp. His tongue prods in between your teeth, licking, finding yours in a duel of which of you will dominate the other. You climb into his lap, your legs on either side of him, your hands in his hair. His hands slip under your shirt, his palms hot and searing on your skin, his fingers splayed out on your back. Yoongi sucks on your tongue and you moan into his mouth, your brain going stupid. All you can think about is, it’s him, he’s here, he’s back, he’s home.

When you finally break apart, both of your lips are swollen and bruised. You can still taste him on your tongue as you rest your forehead against his. Yoongi closes his eyes, breathing in deep to calm himself. When he opens them again, they are clearer than before, almost brighter, like a cloud had finally moved out of the way of the sun.

Once your fluttering heart is still again, you lean back to look at him. He raises his eyes and you can see his guard is down. The hardness on his face is gone. “Tell me everything,” you say again and this time he nods.

“It’s a long story,” he says as you move off him to sit next to him instead, your hand firmly in his. “I’ll start from the beginning.”

Nine years ago

Happy. He’s feeling happy.

With every movement of his skilled fingers over the black and white keys, with every note he produced as he closely followed the spread sheets in front of him, he felt happier and happier, his mood growing lighter, his fingers moving faster, almost automatically without having to refer to the music sheet wrinkled with overuse. The choir across from him started up and he led them through the piece with ease and a flourish that only Min Yoongi could. In these moments, the choirs were like surfers and him the waves beneath their board.

The music teacher, who was also the conductor, beamed happily his way but the boy was too lost in the music to even notice. When the song finished and Yoongi had ended the last note with a satisfying nod of his head, the music teacher broke into a tearful clap. Shy Yoongi couldn’t take compliments well so he excused himself to the restroom, walking out of the class with his head down.

There in the boys toilet of the second floor, he leaned over the sink to wash his face. The silver chain around his neck slipped out of shirt and he took a moment to look at it, a fond smile playing on his lips. The obsidian stone warmed in his hand before he placed it back safely into his shirt. That was when he smelled the smoke, coming in from the small vent on the wall near the floor. He crouched down low, sniffing to confirm his own senses.

A fire? From where?

The vents snaked throughout the whole school building, connecting each and every floor. Smoke rose upwards so it could be coming from downstairs. He rushed out and stood in the stairwell, listening for any movements, any noise or urgency but none came. Odd. He took the stairs three at a time and the heavy door that led to the basement was ajar. A voice in his head screamed for him to pull the emergency bell but curiosity took the better of him as he tiptoed down the stairs beyond the door.

The basement was hardly used, storing all the broken school facilities as well as extra ones; from broken chairs and desks and rolling whiteboards and old TV sets to broken music instruments and sports equipment and festivals ornaments and decorations. Most of these things were collecting dust, home to insects and spiders. Even the lights weren’t working. Yoongi was close to going back upstairs when a noise in the distance caught his attention. He walked in further to investigate.

He should have walked away then. He should’ve gone back up and informed a teacher, another student, anybody. He should have listened to his gut screaming at him to run, go back upstairs and pull on the fire alarm. Things might have been different if he had done either of those things. His fate was sealed from here onward.

The smell of smoke is thicker but he had yet to see it. It could have been the semi-darkness, it could have been his stubborn interest blinding everything else. It didn’t take him long to finally see the flicker of light somewhere in the middle of the pile of random items. A fire is starting and only growing stronger and wilder, now visibly jumping from desk to desk, licking everything from wall to wall. Something, no, someone, rushed past him in the dark, barrelling into his shoulder, knocking him backwards. Before he could find his feet again, the fire was big enough to make his eyes sting as he struggled to his feet and bolted for the door.

Unfortunately for him, the person had closed it behind him, locking it from the outside. He bangs on it but the heavy, wooden door made only a muffled sound and the first floor was mostly administrative offices, usually empty during classes. He started to scream, kicking and punching the door to no avail and bloody knuckles. Behind him, the fire raged strong and big enough for him to feel the heat on his back.

He pressed his back to the door, looking around in panic. There was no way out. He was trapped. Two things would happen, he thought. One, he will die first, in here, all alone. Two, the fire will spread throughout the whole school and bring everything down on top of him. Where were you? Maths class, third floor. You should have enough time to escape, right? Fuck. He laughed darkly to himself, wiping the tears away from the corner of his eyes. He wouldn’t even get to say goodbye.

Then someone is standing in front of him, a cloth wrapped around the bottom half of his face. “What the hell are you doing, boy? We need to go!”

Yoongi stared at the stranger. The man rushed forward and grabbed his arm roughly, pulling him up. “Do you want to die?!”

Yoongi shook his head.

“Then let’s go.”

The man led him around the fire, sticking close to the walls. The heat was so strong Yoongi was sure some parts of him were melting off. His eyes stung so bad and his chest hurt from breathing in all the smoke no matter how hard he buried his nose in the crook of his elbow. Panic rose once again because where the hell was the stranger taking him? Going to the back of the storage is suicidal, there was only one way out!

He wanted to resist but the man had a hard grip on his wrist and everytime he twisted, it only pained him even more. He couldn’t ask, couldn’t speak unless he wanted to eat smoke. The man stopped in front of a wall covered with a huge school festival banner from twelve years ago. With one tug with both hands, he ripped the banner down to reveal a hole in the wall big enough for a man to crawl through. He pointed to it. “Get in.”

Yoongi hesitated but the man pulled at his arm and shoved him towards the hole. “Get moving or stay here and die.”

Yoongi took one last look behind him, at the fire that roared so loud his ears could barely hear anything else. The ends of his hair were singed but he wouldn’t notice it until later. Desperate and confused, Yoongi knelt on his knees and entered the crawlspace, crying the whole way through the very long tunnel with the man right behind him. When he finally emerged through the other side, a group of people were already waiting. One of them stepped forward, salt and pepper hair peeking from under the worn out beanie he had on his head.

Yoongi staggered to his feet and looked around, his breath wheezing. The man with the beanie and a black cloth around his nose and mouth clapped him on the shoulder. “Welcome to The Jackals, son.”

Present time

“...and I’ve been with them ever since.”

You’re lost for words, looking at the side of his face as he’s turned away. Everything that you knew of the fire unravelled. There’s relief in knowing that he didn’t suffer as you had thought but then there’s a sense of betrayal that you were made to think so all this time. He walked away unscathed from the incident that robbed you of every chance of happiness and traumatised you so badly from survivor’s guilt.

Yoongi, unaware of your internal struggle, continues to talk. “They took me under their wings. I was homeschooled and,” he scoffs, “my education wasn’t what you will learn in school. I learned how to fight, how to strategize, how to lead. I learned a lot. Saem, the leader and my teacher, took particular interest in me. Maybe he saw potential, maybe he saw himself, I’m not sure. But I was modelled and shaped to take his place. You see, he was sick. Cancer and he didn’t have long. He died three years ago and…well, I’m in charge now.”

Three years ago was when The Jackals seemed to ramp up even more, fighting back at every chance. The number of government warehouses that were raided tripled in number and that was when they started recruiting more patrol officers, luring with the same privileges that The Jackals was fighting for. It was the same reason why your uncle made you join.

Your conflicting thoughts and emotions are hindering you from making any sound judgement of how you should move forward. Do you accept him into his arms like you had always wished you could? Or do you turn away from him for causing the chain reaction of everything that happened in your life?

“What was his name? Your Saem?” you ask the one question that didn’t feel too complicated to talk about.

“Jack,” Yoongi answers with a scoff. “That’s why it’s named The Jackals.”

Yoongi finally turns around to face you, eyes shrouded in so much uncertainty it’s hard to think that he’s the Robin Hood everyone seems to always count on and the one the government wants gone. You return his gaze, unsure of what else to do because, honestly, you’re so confused.

“Do you hate me?” he asks in a voice not of a vigilante. He sounds like Min Yoongi from nine years ago, small and shy but would spend hours alone at the piano writing songs only you’ve had the pleasure to listen to, songs he secretly wrote for you but never voiced out. But you knew, you always knew because you would catch him watching you in the corner of your eyes, silently enjoying your every reaction.

And just like you knew then, you know now, too. No, you don’t hate him, not even close. Angry, yes. Disappointed, yes. Hurt, yes. But never hate. You spent too long on your knees begging for him to be returned and then the same amount of time begging for the pain to hurt less, so why would you turn away from him now? You might have been young then, but he has always been it; the one, the light of your life, the calm to your storm, the missing piece coming home.

Without a word, you lean over and place a kiss on the side of his head, caressing his cheek. You shake your head. “I’ve missed you.” You choke on a sob and Yoongi pulls you tight, burying his face into your neck.

A single tear creeps down Yoongi’s cheek as he holds on to you. “I’m home now.”

***

Yoongi returns from scouring the whole building for what could be used as pillows and blankets. He carries back in a couple of sofa cushions and one sofa throw big enough for two people, looking sheepishly as you look at the items in his hands.

“Where do you usually sleep?” you ask, taking the cushions and inspecting it for weird stains. Yoongi had taken care to shake them off of any dust collecting but you still eye it warily.

He looks confused, looking around the room. “Here?”

You look at him in surprise. “Here? On this mattress?”

He nods, scratching the back of his neck.

“But…” you look at the lumpy thin mattress, “there’s literally nothing here. How do you even sleep?”

Yoongi looks away as he mumbles, “I don’t.” He situates himself next to you, fidgeting with the throw blanket and spreading it over both of you. He’s doing his hardest to not look at you, pretending not to notice your staring.

He honestly can’t remember the last time he slept. Closing his eyes and resting for a couple of hours a night is all he’s been doing. It was the price he paid for living life as a wanted man but up until now, it never really bothered him much. It had been enough. Any extra time he had had been put into planning and strategising with his men, sleep was irrelevant, just something his body needed to recharge. Besides, sleep is when his brain is at leisure to think about things he wants to forget because remembering is painful; things like you.

“Sleep,” he says, lying down directly on the mattress. “You have a few hours before we have to go back.”

“Go back?” you sit up on your elbow.

He looks at you. “If you don’t go back ,they’ll be looking for you.”

“No,” you object. “If you think I’ll go back there after tonight you’re dead wrong.”

After his recount of his version of the school fire, Yoongi had talked at length about everything else; what The Order was actually hiding, the amount of supplies there actually are, the depth of corruption, the crimes done in the dark, the number of missing people who are actually dead, what The Order is up to and their end game. He talked about what The Jackals is all about, that they don’t actually have any inconsequential weapons, that they don’t in fact have that many secret hideouts and meeting spots, and definitely not producing any bioweapons of any sorts. The Jackals had only one goal: to bring the truth to light. In order to do that, the government must fall.

Yoongi gives you a hard stare, eyebrows furrowing. “What about friends? Families?”

You laugh sarcastically. “I don’t have any.”

He nods slowly. Then, looking up at you through hooded eyes, he asks, “Boyfriend? Partner?”

Ridiculously, your heart does a tiny flutter and you stifle the smile on your lips. You shake your head. “No one that mattered.” Then, on a serious note, you add, “I’m staying here. With you.”

His eyes light up but his face is still wrought with worry. “But it’s dangerous. Tomorrow is never a guarantee and there’ll be days I won’t be here as I’ll be out there. I don’t want you to wait for me wor-”

“Who says about staying here waiting for you?” you ask, furrowing your eyebrows and crossing your arms. “I’m not going to sit on my ass and wait around for you.”

Yoongi looks confused.

“I’m going with you,” you say, determined. “I want to fight, too. And don’t you dare tell me I can’t or it’s too dangerous or any other bullshit. I’m sticking with you even if it means I have to stitch us together.”

Yoongi chuckles. “But you said you had always been scared of being on the frontline, that being with the Patrol wasn’t something you wanted?”

“I was,” you nod. “But I’m not with the Patrol anymore.” You link your fingers with his. “I’m with you.”

There’s a shadow of a smile on his face and he scoots closer. “But it’ll be dangerous.”

“I know.”

He leans closer. “It’ll be life-threatening.”

“I know.”

He rests a hand on your thigh, big and heavy. “People will be shooting at you. Tanks bombing at you.”

“I know,” you breathe out, your breath hitching as you feel his hand creep under your shirt to rest on your waist.

Yoongi tilts his head, lips inches from yours. “You might end up wanted by the government, a bounty on your head.”

“As long as it’s as high as yours,” you whisper, leaning in, wanting nothing than to connect your lips but he’s pulling back.

He snorts. “Doubt it.”

He brushes his lips against yours, not a kiss but just enough to make you let out a whine. He laughs quietly. “I don’t remember you being this needy, baby girl.”

“You left me waiting long enough, Yoongi,” you grumble, pulling him close by the shirt. “It’s just cruel to make me wait any longer.”

He tucks your hair behind your ear, rubbing your earlobe absentmindedly. “You’re right. I’m not a cruel person.”

“Prove it then.” You glance up at him through your lashes, a cocky smirk on your lips. Yoongi doesn’t need to be told twice, eyes flashing as he tilts you down by the back of the neck, making you gasp involuntarily as he covers your mouth with his. The first kiss you shared earlier was intimate, passionate; it was a love rekindled. This is different. This feels like someone started a bonfire in the pit of your stomach, the hotness travelling to every inch of you and down to your core. This is hunger, a desperate, ravenous need to have him, consume him.

Your hands are everywhere, in his hair, on his neck, on his face, on his chest and then on his back. As he lays you down, one arm remains under your neck while the other holds your face as if to make sure you never break the kiss. You wouldn’t anyway, can’t, so hungry for him your tongue probes his mouth, teeth gnashing, lips moulding together in a way that keeps you wanting more. And the fire in your stomach burns hotter.

You tug at his shirt and he only takes a second to break away and pull it off over his head before reconnecting again. “I want you,” he grunts out in between kisses. “Please.”

“I want you, too,” you moan as he trails wet, hot kisses down your chin to your neck, sucking on sensitive spots that makes your heart race and the place between your legs wet. “Yoongi, please,” you plead, guiding his hand to your chest.

He feels blindly for the bra clasp and undo it with careless fingers. When the bra comes off, he leans back for a moment, eyes wide in pleasant surprise as he takes in your figure. The last time you had been together, you were only teens. Now, both of you are well into your adulthood and for a moment, he is hit with the realisation that you are no longer an innocent girl. He looks up, cheeks burning from staring but is more stunned when he sees your swollen lips and pretty eyes looking back at him.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he exhales.

You let out a shy giggle. “Took you long enough to realise.”

“Fuck,” he says again. “I’m so fucking stupid.” He dives, burying his face back in your neck, kissing, licking, biting on every inch he can get. He continues down, ignoring how your t-shirt is still on before pressing his face in between your breasts, licking a strip up your sternum. You call out his name, one hand in his hair. He takes that as cue and attaches his lips around your nipple. You moan out through closed lips and all he wants right now is to hear you, really hear you without any hindrance.

Using his tongue, he flicks at your nipple while drawing circles with the pad of his finger on the other one, feeling it growing erect. The tent in his pants is growing uncomfortable to the point of pain but he’s savouring every moment, making up for lost time. He wants to worship you as a form of asking forgiveness, focusing on your breasts as if this is on the list of important things he needs to do. He kneads and squeezes them with his hands, all the time his mouth and tongue work your other nipple, making you writhe and moan under him.

He leaves saliva trails from one nipple to the other, alternating between both. He squeezes both boobs together, taking both nipples in his mouth and suckling. It stings but it only excites you more, feeling his hardness pressing against your thigh. Like you, he, too, has grown from boyhood to man. Judging from the rock hard rod hiding in his pants, it’s nothing like what it was nine years ago. Then again, Yoongi is no longer the thin, scrawny kid he was nine years ago either. He’s a fighter, a warrior now.

“Yoongi,” you mewled as he peppers kisses down your stomach. He comes to the button of your dark jeans and rips it open with one tug, glancing up at you. To show consent, you lift your butt up as he shimmies the jeans down your legs and pass your ankles, chucking it aside. His dragon eyes zone in on the wet patch on your cotton underwear. He hooks his fingers around the band. “Can I?”

You nod fervently, annoyed that he had to even ask. But that question was just out of courtesy; the underwear is off before you even blink. You hear him let out a curse under his breath and for a moment, you’re feeling shy again, the same way you felt the first time you lay with him. Your unclothed pussy glistens with your want and Yoongi lowers himself, hooking one arm under one of your knees and pushing that leg up, spreading you wide open. “You’re so beautiful, baby,” he mumbles, hot breath falling on your core. “So beautiful.”

He sticks his tongue out and places it at your entrance and licks upward all the way to your clit, letting the flat of his tongue explore your folds. You let out a moan. “Oh, Yoongi. Oh, that feels so good.”

Yoongi hums in response, placing a kiss on your pubic bone, working his way up with kisses on your belly-button, on your diaphragm, your sternum, your collarbone. He kisses his way up your chin and back to your mouth, open-mouthed and sloppy, making sure you taste yourself. You’re almost panting, the places where his lips landed hot and cool at the same time. You run your hands down his chest, feeling the muscles there and then his hard abs, fingers fiddling with the buttons of his pants.

He pulls away to look at you, eyebrows lightly knitting together. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve waited long enough,” you reply, your voice just above a whisper. “I’ve spent the past nine years only having you in dreams and fantasies, wondering what my life would have been like if you were still around. I’ve spent long nights nursing an aching heart, wishing you’d appear so it wouldn’t hurt anymore. I spent every morning ashamed that I’m awake, getting older when the love of my life is forever frozen in time. So, don’t ask if I’m sure that this is what I want when it feels like every wish and prayer in the past nine years are collected into this moment. I’ve been waiting so long. Don’t make me wait any more, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi’s eyes are a revolving door of emotions, flitting from sadness to anger to regret and then want. His eyes burn with the lust growing in the pit of his stomach, growing dark as his pupils dilate. There’s something wild about it, a feral animal just straining against its chains, wanting to break free and you tug the button of his pants off, provoking the beast. Yoongi leans back as he shimmies his pants off just below his ass, resting his hands on your thighs, massaging them lightly.

You reach out your hands, wanting to hold on to him and he leans back over you with one hand next to your head while the other guides himself to your entrance. You feel his tip nudge your hole, sliding up and down your warmth, collecting moisture before he pushes in, slow and steady. You wince against the strain, your walls stretching open to accommodate his size, his shape, his length, inch by inch, welcoming him home. You bite down your lips to not make a sound and Yoongi runs his hand through your hair, doing his best to make it hurt less. He’s hurt you enough.

When Yoongi bottoms out, you let out the breath you’ve been holding. You both stay like that for what seems like minutes, staring into each other’s eyes. Yoongi caresses your cheek and you bury your hands on the back of his head, the bun in his hair unravelling. His long hair frames his face, dark and unruly, matching the look in his eyes. Yoongi breathes in deep, steadying breaths, trying to distract himself from the tightness wrapping around his cock because, fuck, he doesn’t think he can last long like this.

You smooth the lines on his forehead with a finger, giving him a small nod, telling him that you’re ready. He moves, pulling out just as slow and stopping halfway before sinking back in. You hum at the sensation, loosening your legs from around him to give him more space. Yoongi goes to work, leaning on both his elbows as he rocks into you in a slow, consistent rhythm, watching as your eyelids flutter close and your mouth falls open. You’re breathing hard, your pussy so wet Yoongi has to focus extra hard to not let this reunion be short-lived. He can hear the loud, squelching sound in between your legs and the faster Yoongi moves, the more moans are spilling out of your lips.

“Oh, Yoongi. Yoongi,” you call out, nails digging into his back. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much, Yoongi. I’ve missed you so much.”

There’s tears in the corners of your scrunched up eyes and Yoongi picks up his pace. He can feel your walls flutter around him every time his tip kisses your cervix. He goes in deep, expelling any hints of any man you’ve been with since he ‘died’, training your cunt to mould into his shape and only his. If you had a man back home, he no longer belongs. If you had a lover back at the barracks where you ran away from, Yoongi wants to make sure that they know you belong to him, the vigilante they’ve been hunting down. It’s time to take back his place. Mine, he thinks. Always have been.

The vast room is filled with sounds from the two of you; your moans and calls of his name, his grunts and panting, skin slapping against skin. The others won’t be back until a few hours later and Yoongi intends to use that time well.

“Please, Yoongi,” you beg through your moans. “Please, I want to come. I want you to fill me up.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened at your request, looking up at you but his movements didn't cease. A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips at the look on his face. “Check my arm,” you tell him and against his better judgements, he does, feeling with his fingers and finding the birth control implant easily enough. You giggle and Yoongi blushes. You tighten your legs around him. “I want you, Min Yoongi. I want your mark all over me, deep inside me. Please.”

Yoongi doesn’t need to be told twice. His new goal in life is to give you everything that you want, even if it kills him. He repositions himself in a way that his cock hits that sensitive spot of yours, that place that makes you arch your back involuntarily, that place that makes your brain go to jelly and your voice echoes off the walls in a mix of his name and incomprehensible words. Hit hits the spot with practised accuracy, watching you unravel underneath him, feeling the burn of your nails carving down his arms, gritting his teeth at how wet and tight you are around him. He can’t hold back any longer.

You sense it from the way his pace quickens, almost losing any rhythm but oh, did it still feel good. You realise it’s not just the act itself that’s bringing you to this high; it’s the knowing that it’s him, that it’s your beloved Min Yoongi, back from the dead, rowing into you like his life depended on it, his face scrunching up, little grunts and moans escaping his tight lips. Sweat drips from his hairline and his jaws are clenched, eyes half-closed.

You cup his cheeks. “Yoongi, my love,” you call out, making him look at you. And then he’s taking you there, ascending with you by his side. He crashes his lips into yours and you clench around him, moans spilling into his mouth, legs locking around his hips. Feeling your walls milking him, he releases. “Baby, I’m coming,” he groans out just as hot, milky liquid spills into you, making you gasp one more time. You can feel yourself squeezing him, feel every curve and ridge of his cock buried in you and you cling onto him as his face is in your neck.

You both lay there panting, him on top of you, his weight like a comforting blanket, skin sticky with sweat sticking to each other. He raises up on one hand to look at your flushed face, tucking your hair back. “I’m home,” he says for the second time that night.

You smile, pulling him in for a kiss, hands tangling back up into his hair. It’s going to take more than once for the both of you to get reacquainted, bodies and souls, and you have all night long.

***

Through the window, the sun is breaking over the horizon.

Yoongi is awake, not that he was ever asleep to begin with. He had spent the last few hours in the dark watching your face as you slept soundly in his arms. In your slumber, he spies the chain around your neck and curiously fishes it out. During the lovemaking earlier, you never fully undressed and he hadn’t noticed the necklace until now. He rolls the little moonstone in between two fingers, bittersweet memories flooding in his mind. It hits him how long it really had been since he left and the tears that creep down his cheek are silent.

You stir, pressing yourself against his chest, searching for warmth now that the early morning cold is coming in from the broken windows. With a small click, your moonstone connects with his obsidian, completing the heart-shaped locket. Your eyes slowly open.

“Good morning,” you rasp and Yoongi leans down to capture your lips with his. “Good morning,” he replies in an equally throaty voice.

You look down to see your connected necklaces and your mouth falls open. You gingerly touch the black and white heart in between your chest and his. “You still have it.”

Yoongi nods. “It never left my neck. It was the only thing I have of you. Of us.” But then, he gets up, disconnecting the lockets. “We should get dressed. The others will be back soon.”

“Others?” you sit up, pulling the blanket to cover your chest as Yoongi stands up to pull on his pants. He can’t help but sneak glances at your collarbones, at the mark he had left last night.

“Yes,” he says with a smirk. “The others.”

You hurry to put on your clothes, hopping on one foot as you ask, “And what are you going to tell them about me?”

Yoongi pauses with his shirt halfway over his arms. “We get new recruits all the time. It’s not rare.”

You laugh. “Is sleeping with them part of their initiation?”

Yoongi flashes you a look. “No,” he says, almost defensively. He takes your arm and twirls you around into his embrace. “This is a special occasion,” he adds, his voice low.

You can hear movements from outside and Yoongi releases you to peek out the window. “They’re here.”

You join him, looking down at the small group of men and women, the white bands around their arms stark in the semi-darkness as they walk through the shade. One person looks up and waves and Yoongi nods.

“Come on,” he says, pulling you by the hand.

The group barely bats an eye your way. They take one look at your hand in his and understanding seems to dawn on them. The man from earlier steps forward, eyes on you. “Never thought I’d see another Patrol officer in our ranks.”

“Another?”

You turn to Yoongi but the man answers. “You probably don’t know me.” He extends a hand. “Lieutenant Kim. No more a lieutenant but they insisted.” He nods towards the group behind him.

Your eyes widen. Lieutenant Kim Taepyung, the infamous lieutenant that left the force but not before trying to rectify it. He was announced dead a day before he was supposed to leave for good. Suicide, the higher ups reported, blew his own brains out so badly they refused to release his body to his family. It was fishy but no one was going to question it. Now it makes sense why; he was never dead. Are the Jackals full of undead people? Your head is starting to ache.

“Yoongi, I need to speak with you,” he says seriously.

The two retreat into the other room while the others disperse to rest or talk amongst themselves. You linger around the door until it becomes too awkward to stay, walking down the hallway, exploring the Blue House room by room. Nothing much of the old world is left, nothing of value at least. Sofas and carpets that used to be expensive and luxurious hold no worth anymore. Elegant decors and wallpapers touched by time and mould are left to decay and rot.

You make it back to the others and Yoongi and the ex-lieutenant are back outside, talking to the others in low whispers. You stand by the doorway long enough for one of the people to look up, alerting Yoongi to your presence. He turns around and beckons you over the desk they are standing around. There’s a hand-drawn map in the middle that you can’t quite make out.

“We’re moving our base here,” explains Yoongi, pointing at a rectangle on the paper.

You tilt your head this way and that, trying to figure out the location. The layout looks somewhat familiar and it takes you another second to realise it, looking up at Yoongi. “Isn’t this the building I met you at yesterday?”

Yoongi smirks. “The same one.”

“Why are you going back there?”

“Because,” the ex-lieutenant answers, “the best place to hide is in plain sight. They won’t look there twice.”

“The basement down there is connected to multiple underground tunnels,” says Yoongi, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’ll be the best place for us to hole up, move around the city undetected.”

“But they got all those tunnels down there blocked,” you say. “You won’t be able to use them much. Most of the patrols are down there, too, at certain points.” You notice that both Yoongi and the ex-lieutenant are looking pointedly at you. You look from Yoongi to the other man and then back. “What?”

“You think you can map out all the sentry points?” Yoongi asks.

You smile, almost smugly. “I can. But on one condition.”

The ex Patrol lieutenant doesn’t look happy but Yoongi is amused. A small smile tugs on his lips. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

You step forward, toe to toe with Yoongi, your chin jutting out, a serious look on your face. “You won’t ever leave my side ever again. I’m with you through everything; every fight, every mission, every stupid, risky move you plan to make.”

Ex-Lieutenant Kim stifles a laugh, looking away. Yoongi glances at him and shoots him a dirty look before looking back at you, sighing. “Fine,” he says in a mock-resigned tone. “Whatever you wish for.”

“Seems like our captain isn’t much of our captain anymore,” one of the women teases and Yoongi pouts. The group laughs and the ex-lieutenant pats you on the shoulder. “Welcome to the Jackals.”

Under the table, unbeknownst to any of the others, Yoongi reaches out for your hand, gripping it tightly as everyone leans over the crudely-made map, listening intently as you mark out all sentry spots in the city, above and underground, and tells them the usual Patrol schedules. All those long months being ‘Lieutenant Daiki’s girl’ is coming to fruition because sleeping in his private quarters let you have information no one else does. That man is also a talker; he shared everything with you, unfiltered.

Yoongi watches you talk but not really listening. He’s looking at the way your eyelashes flutter above your cheeks, at how animated you are. He listens to the sound of your voice the same way he used to listen to every note of the piano he was playing all those years ago, noting things that no one else can hear. Your eyes shine every time you glance up at him and all he wants is to whisk you away into a private room so he can bury his face in your hair and in your neck.

He had always known why he fights for the people, why he dedicated his life to the cause. But now, looking at you, it’s clear to him that he has much more to fight for. Strength flows into him through your connected hands and he’s never felt so invincible.

“Are you listening?” you ask, pausing and frowning up at him.

Yoongi nods, flustered. “Yes. Please continue.”

In that moment, a feeling that is foreign to you, something you haven’t felt in a long time, spreads over you like warmth from a fireplace. You continue to talk but all the while your brain tries to process. It takes a while for you to place that feeling, unknown to you at first, but remembering the name when Yoongi gives your hand a light squeeze.

It’s home, the feeling of belonging. And for the first time in a long, long time, the future of the world doesn’t feel so bleak, not when Min Yoongi’s strong capable hands are in yours. The Jackals just grew twice as strong and the war has only just begun.

a/n2: I honestly wanted this to be more bad ass-ish but...lmk what you think of this one shot in the comment or ask. Like and reblog will be much appreciated :)

Check out my other works → :MASTERLIST:

#bts suga #bts yoongi #min suga #min yoongi #yoongi x you #bts suga x you #bts dystopian #bts one shot #yoongi one shot #yoongi fic #yoongi smut #bts smut #bts vigilante #fiction #fanfic #yoongi fanfic #suga fanfic #bts myg

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aeonghaseyo · 1 year

Text

Note: I haven't watched Derision yet but I got spoiled by the Bible, but I'll tag this as a spoiler nonetheless. You're welcome.

Ah yes. More unwarranted Marinette salt. I would also like to manifest here that Pee Girl is in no way, shape, or form equipped to interpret Marinette's dialogue with an impartial and compassionate lens, as what victims of ANY traumatic experiences need the most.

Pee Girl is so quick to conclude that Marinette's resolution to dig up details about people she's interested in is a big red flag. I mean, I do agree, but she missed SOME CRUCIAL POINTS:

Marinette didn't have anyone to process her trauma with and heal. To even think that she should've had the capacity to heal on her own when she must have not told her parents about the incident or when she was unable to run to Socqueline after that is crazy. That includes realizing in a split-second that "stalking someone" is not the best way to cope with having a crush the next time she does have one. Of course, this shouldn't excuse her impulse to know every single detail about her crush even as a safeguard because it still counts as an invasion of privacy on the other person's part. But to come to that conclusion that Marinette is evil incarnate because she lacked time and resources to process and heal properly from that traumatic event is lunacy, and like it or not, Pee Girl, you are not innocent either and you're a fucking jackass.

NONE of what happened between her and Luka, or even her and Kagami, were a direct effect of that humiliation she suffered under Chloe (and partly Kim). Marinette may have hurt Kagami in the process of keeping her from Adrien, but THERE WAS NO INSTANCE OF MARINETTE HAVING TO FIGHT ANOTHER GIRL JUST TO GET KIM TO LIKE HER. It makes absolutely no sense to flame Marinette for hurting Kagami unintentionally (I don't even know why you're still not over it when they're best friends as of season 5) in the pursuit of Adrien when this sort of thing never happened with her pursuit of Kim from like, a few years ago. Also, Marinette wasn't even seeing anyone back then, so it also makes no sense to flame her for "not being loyal to Luka" when she had no history of cheating on anyone when Socqueline was still around as her bestie. So basically, Pee Girl blames Marinette for being an asshole to Luka and Kagami for... whatever happened between her and Kim? What the fuck is this logic.

To Pee Girl: You hate Marinette. WE GET IT. But your post is just basically scolding her for being a stalker, invalidating her trauma instead of just wishing for better days for her to heal, be a better person too and grow out of the habit of stalking her crush. I have to admit that there were some points in this rant that were valid, but it all boiled down to wishing for a witchhunt for Marinette even while she hasn't even processed her trauma with an expert. She's not a real person, but I for one believe that how you see fictional characters can be correlated with how you treat people around you. If you're this unforgiving, this uncompassionate and this unempathetic towards a 14-year old girl who had to endure a lot of psychological trauma from bullying, then maybe you're also a shithead who thinks victims of bullying deserve to be in pain, and whatever hurt they caused makes them spawns of Satan, even while their trauma has not been processed yet, even when they haven't even sought professional help.

BONUS: I don't care if you're a Marinette hate blog. But you're an asshole, and that's not supposed to be the rest of the fandom's problem. But I am one of those people who have a problem with this shitty ass take of yours that deserves to be incinerated in a landfill, because I have been bullied before and had to go through a time where my trauma was unprocessed and I had hurt people too. My crap wasn't excused, and I had a lot of backlash as a teen, so I devoted the rest of my time and energy to healing, processing my trauma, and turning to my support systems for genuine help. I had gone through therapy to be less sucky and to hurt people less, because NO ONE DESERVES TO GET UNJUSTLY HURT.

It's my turn to use your words against you, you ugly trick-ass bitch: I'll be lucky if I find a day to finally forgive you for your bullshit, but at this point, I don't wish to be THAT lucky.

#ml derision spoilers #ml s5 spoilers #miraculous ladybug #pee girl salt #marinette sugar #anti bullying #ml derision

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mikelogan · 7 months

Note

What is the best way to get noticed when I post my own posts? I use hashtags but it still doesn't work?

anon, i'm genuinely so sorry for how long this ended up. i just wanted to try and cover all my bases and share things that i wish i knew when i first started giffing!! as always, take my advice with a grain of salt because i can only speak for myself! 💙

so the fun thing about tumblr and gifmaking (or any kind of editing) specifically is that engagement is shit garbage. for real, take a peek at the like-to-reblog ratio on any decently popular gifset and 90% of the time it skews heavily toward likes, which, on tumblr, do absolutely nothing. this is why you'll see me periodically rant a little about how people have to reblog things they enjoy! no one's going to see the hard work someone spent on a gifset if all the average user does is give it a like and keep scrolling. quite honestly, i've had to work a lot to manage my own expectations when it comes to notes. i now consider anything with over 300-400 notes to have done well when Back In The Day, it used to be a lot closer to 1k. but you also have to know your audience. when i post a law & order set, i expect less than 30 notes. the good wife? less than 10. it really just depends on how active the fandom is.

secondly, it definitely depends on which hashtags you're using. your post will only show up in the tag of the first 20 hashtags you use, so those are the ones that count. i never go over 20 unless i'm just adding my own commentary about the set i'm posting. i can only speak for how i use tumblr myself, but i don't track "regular" tags. let's take Friends as an example (bc i'm still heartbroken over matthew perry). i don't track #friends -- it's virtually useless to me. i track edit tags instead: #friendsedit. check out those tags for whatever media you're posting and see who those blogs tag! i would recommend sorting by recent rather than top posts for that as well so you can see what's relevant now, not whenever the most popular sets were posted. what you'll most likely see are the following:

edit tags (#friendsedit, #ofmdedit, #rwrbedit, etc.)

source blogs, whether they're general source blogs for film or tv, specific forms of media (animation, period dramas), or specifically for that media (heartstoppercentral, ofmdaily, etc.)

other tumblr users: i'm not entirely sure when this started bc back when i regularly giffed (8-10 years ago), everyone just tracked their url tag and that was it. i started giffing again this past may and was very confused at first about all the tags on gifsets that were #user____ and similar. and a lot of the time, it's next to impossible to figure out who that person is, what their url is, unless you check the notes and see who's reblogged the post, tagged it as "tagged" or something similar, and go to their blog to check their description and see what their tracked tag is. that's why i highly recommend starting a directory and/or taglist if you're going to be posting a lot of your own creations. i wish i would have started doing so sooner, but i now have a massive google doc sorted by who wants to be tagged in what and what user tag is associated with which url. i have a terrible memory as well, so that definitely didn't help matters.

a note on tagging etiquette:

you should be following the blogs you're tagging. this is my personal opinion as well as what i believe to be a general "rule." i'm sure not every person cares whether or not the people tagging them are following them, but i think it's polite to do so. when someone tags you, they're both saying "hey, look at this cool thing i made!" and "would you maybe consider reblogging and boosting this?"

i don't know that it's exactly a mistake per se, but when i first started hopping on the train of tagging users as well as sourceblogs, i kind of just tagged whomever in whatever. now that i've established taglists of who wants to be tagged in what, i don't really worry about this much anymore. but i would say it's again good etiquette to check out what the person you're tagging posts themselves and reblogs. if i see someone posting a bunch in #thohhedit and i follow them, i'll probably start tagging them in my own hill house edits because i know they enjoy that media! again, this will vary from person to person as to how discerning they are about what they reblog. i have some of my hard no reblogs listed on my about page, but not everyone will do this.

tagging someone doesn't necessarily mean they'll reblog your post! i can almost 100% guarantee you that it's not personal as well. i don't reblog everything in my tag, either bc it's someone/something i don't know, don't like, or is listed in my "won't reblog" section. at the end of the day, tagging someone is a kind way to ask them to reblog your post. it's not a guarantee and you're not entitled to anything. it's their blog! also, some blogs queue their tagged posts rather than reblogging them right away, so you might not see them do it for a while, especially if they're tagged in a lot or have an extensive queue!

lastly, and in no way do i intend this to be mean or rude or condescending -- or at all negative -- but a lot of blogs prefer to reblog creations of a certain quality. if you've just started out, there might be a chance that your gifs or edits just. aren't the greatest right now. and that's okay!! everyone starts somewhere, and i mean that in the sincerest way possible. for reference, this is one of my first gifs ever:

i'm showing you this bc not only am i proud of how far i've come with gifmaking, but because literally you have to start at this level to go anywhere!! there are multiple ways i've gotten better (both over months and years), but i think the two most valuable have been resource/tutorial blogs and gifmaking networks. i joined LGBTQ Creators in early September and it was hands down the best decision i could have made for myself. not only do i now have a network of likeminded, extraordinarily talented individuals i can go to for inspiration, advice, etc., but i also have a ton of motivation to make new sets and continue improving my skills and try new techniques! so yeah, maybe there are some users you'll tag who might not want to reblog your gifs because the frame rate is too slow or the coloring is off, but please don't take it personally. is it the nicest feeling in the world? of course not. but compare that stelena gif to one of my more recent gifs:

anyway, i hope that at least some of my ridiculous rambling is helpful to you! if you have further questions, i'm so happy to help in any way i can whenever i can. obligatory thesis statement: notes don't determine your worth or the quality of what you've created. gif or edit because you enjoy it! (this is quite literally the only reason i've made and posted hundreds of gifsets of law & order and the good wife lmao) 💙

#answered #Anonymous #please pardon my fucking essay lmao

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azure-clockwork · 22 days

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Way to tell us your groundbreaking original opinion shared by only more than half the fandom in a "better than everyone" tone despite being an extremely surface level analysis.

Like damn, I'm not arguing with you and I'm sorry for the rude sarcasm, but you gotta understand that post like yours keep popping once in a while in the characters tag ( despite having all discourse tag and discourse-prone blog blocked ) when they don't add anything to the discussion. Three Houses is such an interesting game to analyze so if you're going to do discourse, at least get a bit in depth!

Because yes, you're complaining about the discourse but your post is just... participating in the discourse, just in the average "centrist" fe3h fandom way for a lack of a better word. If you hate it so much why add your grain of salt in it? You're the same as the annoying Edelgard/Dimitri/Claude you're speaking about! I mean at least some of them at least provide interesting analysis about the game within rant.

At least tag your post the next time, because even some of the worst lord stan have the decency to do that.

Sorry you got my rant, but your post was the drop that makes the ocean of badly tagged similar takes overflow my discourse limit. Three Houses discourse sucks hard in every form it takes. Still, have a good day at least.

Okok I did say I was asking for this so, fair

First, sincerely, how would you like me to have tagged this? This is an honest question to which I don't actually know the answer, and I'll go back and edit the tags cuz I don't want to bug more people (and kinda the only reason I'm replying because otherwise I feel like engaging is kinda not what I wanna be doing with my life nor yours, but sadly my brain doesn't shut its trap once I start thinking so I feel compelled to share with the class). Actually, you can skip the rest of this if you don't wanna bother lol

Secondly, I just wanted to be funny because I think that accusing fire emblem characters of war crimes is amusing. I recognize that the Geneva Convention sorta breaks apart the moment magic or crests or dark beasts or gambits come into play, and it's also not what people mean when they say 'Dimitri did war crimes' or 'Edelgard is a war criminal', but I think its hilarious to do anyways. When I see people making arguments about characters and using the term 'war criminal', roughly half of my brain starts laughing about how teeeeechnically using that one gambit with the poison barrels counts as criminal, regardless of if I agree or disagree with the argument made. And I'm memeing on myself here too (or at least trying to): "Jay is gay for Edelgard" is a truly terrible justification to base decisions of morality on . I'd argue that picking a house/the church based on attraction to the lord/Rhea is a sillier motive than a numerical tally of official violations of the Geneva Convention.

I really didn't want this to come across as Discourse tm because I don't want it to be; I just wanted turn my own desire to make a list of every single 'technically a war crime' into something semi amusing, because nobody actually wants to sit and read far too many words about how technically if you recruit and deploy Cyril to rescue Flayn (which is before his 15th birthday by like a month) that makes you a war criminal.

If you want my actual opinion (because making you scroll back thru my blog to read the unhinged rants I came up with while deciding between crimson flower and silver snow would be kinda a dick move), fe3h is a messy, morally grey game regardless of your chosen route. You have to make rough choices, kill your friends and former students, and stand by while everyone, including your allies, does terrible things. For me, I bonded really hard with most of the cast fairly quickly because white clouds let me feel like I was doing the worlds best job teaching my kids. And then you have to kill them. You cannot save them all. It broke me a little. The first student I killed, perma-killed, with the music dropping out and all, was Hilda during the Deirdru fight against her and Claude. It was an accident; she died on enemy phase, and I was out of Divine Pulse charges. She wasn't even a requirement for victory. That was the cost of taking Deirdru; that was the cost of waging war. I lay awake that night thinking about how if I had a different sword equipped I couldn't have counterattacked her from 2 tiles away, or if I had done less damage, or tanked a hit, or--

I'm not arguing that every route is equally morally reprehensible, but I think it matters quite a bit that every route makes you complicit in some terrible things. For several reasons, I'm a big fan of crimson flower (I Do Not Like The Church and I also agree with all of the characters who would like to do away with the nobility and crest systems), but that's tempered by the weight of the actions of Those Who Slither. I am continually unsure of just how much I feel the weight of TWSitD's actions falls on Edelgard herself, and I vacillate between "she didn't really have any other options to cause any kind of change from her position, so an uneasy alliance with TWSitD was the lesser of two evils" and "she bears a significant chunk of responsibility for all of their actions, including Jeralt's death". And I have similar, albeit often less strong thoughts about the rest of the characters. Nobody is operating with the full picture, the characters are all massively blinded by their emotions, and everyone makes choices between what they think is the lesser of a few evils. While the exact number of war crimes is irrelevant because whoops, the Geneva Convention doesn't exist in Fodlan and war crimes aren't the only immoral things you can do, thinking about what means are justified by which ends and who bears the responsibility for what acts is actually a really important part of the game for me.

I guess at the end of the day, I walk away from this game believing the war should not have had to happen. But the world doesn't run on shoulds and should nots (in Fodlan or irl), so the best we can do is make choices based on what we do know, and to do our best to help people with the tools we have. I personally land on crimson flower in the end, but I think the real beauty of Three Houses is just how hard it makes that choice.

Ok, I'm done blabbing; just tell me how I ought to tag this to avoid bugging people and I'll be on my way. I mean this sincerely: have a nice day yourself, and sorry to have annoyed you!

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bill-y · 3 years

Text

𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐑𝐄

Peeta mellark x male reader

We all know who Katniss Everdeen is, but what if Primrose hadn’t been chosen but another boy from another unfortunate family? YOUR family.

Info: This is basically a reader insert and I’ve changed a few rules, not ground breaking though. The reader is a bit bland for now but I plan for his actions to be different. Because he has different moral grounds from Katniss and such. Would appreciate feedback! FEEL FREE TO POINT OUT TYPOS. GRAMMARLY SOMETIMES DOESN’T DO MY DYSLEXIC ASS JUSTICE

Part one: Over there, buddy

Part two:You’re here right now. :)

Part three: Click here, pepperoni salami.

Wattpad account: L0calxDumbass

I separated with Gale and Katniss for a while, telling them I needed air. I sighed, leaping from branch to branch in the thicket of trees. Bread, not just bread, baker's bread. If I'm lucky I could get just enough squirrels for the baker, he had a taste for it but his wife was much of a witch, so he only buys it when she's not around.

I remembered how she found me stealing some burnt bread from the trashcan. I looked at her with wide eyes, frozen, I thought I was going to die, stealing was punishable for death, after all. But she just let me go, screaming about her frustration of Seams picking through her trash.

I got bread that day either way.

I landed on a sturdy branch, spotting a squirrel on the tree adjacent to me; it was quite huge, I'm sure he'd love this. Let's just hope the witch isn't home by the time I give this to him.

I crouched down, still as a statue as I watched the squirrel run up and down the tree. I pulled out the thin, glistening dagger, unwrapping its course, leather bindings, which became a makeshift thin rope. I felt my eyes unconsciously widen, watching the squirrel's movements.

My arm aimed, then with a simple flick, the dagger whistled through the air. The small creature was then pinned to the bark of the tree through its eyes. The dagger's blade was thin enough to not damage anything when aimed right.

I pulled on the rope, the blade coming back, dragging the animal carcass with it. A small smile tugged on my face, I can get bread.

Kunal was surely panicking, he was the type to worry about the smallest of things. He once stepped on a cat's tail, Buttercup, Primrose's cat and he bawled, nobody could calm him down. Until he was offered food, that is.

I chuckled at the memory, slowly pulling the blade off the head of the squirrel. I held it in my hands victoriously, a grin on my face. I whistled a small 3 tone song, the chirping mocking birds falling silent before they imitated the tone.

After meeting up, we went back home, passing by the Hob. It was sort of a black market, where coals are transported directly to trains. I disliked it here, the amount of coal dust always bothered me, so when I come here I tend to cover my nose.

We managed to trade six of the fish for good bread, the other two for some salt. The lady who sells soup, the one that always glares at me because I've insulted her soup on multiple occasions, Greasy Sae: took half the greens we gathered, along with the dead dog meat that she calls "beef".

That's why I hate her soups, though it's not like I have much of an option, we can't afford luxury here. Unlike those obnoxious, entitled, privileged people in the Capitol. My jaw clenched at the mere thought of those scums.

We finish our business on the market, so we went to the mayor's house, who was particularly fond of strawberries. We knocked on the back door, his daughter, Madge opening it for us.

She's in Katniss and I's year sits beside us at almost every event because we don't really have groups of friends. For being the mayor's daughter you'd expect her to be an entitled brat or maybe a snob, but she was alright, she kept to herself.

I like that, I hate noisy people, They'll scare away the game, that and I've never really liked loud noises. I still remember the explosions in the mines, it was traumatizing, even though my father didn't meet death there. I really wished he had.

Madge didn't wear her usual attire, instead, she wore an expensive white dress, her blonde hair up with a pink ribbon. Reaping clothes. I felt my face scrunch up, that day was supposed to be a form of celebration. It's more of a way for the capitol to show who's in control.

We were being punished for the crimes of the people who failed, disguised as some form of celebration. It's disgusting.

"Pretty dress," Gale complimented. Madge shoots him a look, trying to see if it's genuine or if he was just being ironic. It was a pretty dress, but it was a waste.

She smiled, "Well, if I'm going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don't I?"

I clenched my jaw, "But you won't be going to the Capitol," I said coolly, my voice monotone. My eyes landed on a small, circular pin on her dress. Real gold. The testament to the fact that she probably won't be chosen. "You probably have five entries, compared to us, that's a blessing."

"That's not her fault," Katniss said. Madge looked slightly hurt, probably because I've never really spoken my thoughts to her, I try my best to be polite when she engages a conversation with me.

"I know," I responded plainly. Madge smiled towards me, though it was clear it wasn't exactly genuine. She then handed the money for the berries. She looked towards Katniss "Good luck, Katniss"

"You too," She responded.

We walked toward the Seam, I can't help but feel angry. Her? Going to the Capitol? What a joke. When you're twelve your name gets put in the pile once, thirteen twice then so on. Up until your eighteen, where your name is entered seven times.

But the thing is, the rich have an advantage. You can enter your name willingly in the pile when you're starving in exchange for some tesserae. I had been doing this since I was twelve, having entered my name 3 times, for my mother, brother and myself. Every year following suite, it has always been like this.

Now at the age of 16, I've entered my name twenty times, same with Katniss. Gale was in even greater danger, with a number of forty-two.

And she'll be the tribute this year? It can happen but it's deadly slim. I knew Gale felt the same way, listening to him rant about tesserae in the woods with Katniss was enough confirmation, along with the fact that I join in on the rants. Always end it with a promise to destroy the Capitol, somehow.

But what good does that do us?

Gale, Katniss and I divide our spoils, though it wasn't really the evenest distribution. Gale got more, understandably since he has more mouths to feed.

"See you guys in the square," Katniss said, Gale nodded, "Wear something pretty," he joked.

I decided to stop by the bakery, by then the witch should be home but I took my chances. There was Mr Mellark, sitting outside, watching the pigs. He saw me from the corner of his eye, he grinned. "Greyback!' he called.

"Mr Mellark, still up for some squirrel?" I ask, holding the fat one up. He nodded, "You're lucky my wife isn't here, yet. Hold on, I'll get the bread for Kunal," he said, rushing inside.

I walked to the backdoor of the bakery so that he wouldn't trouble himself that much. I waited awkwardly outside, looking at a small bird fluttering about. I whistled, holding my finger out.

The bird landed on my finger, making me smile. From the corner of my eye, I saw a boy, blonde, stocky. Could probably kill me, if I'm being honest. Even though I was fast, I wasn't strong.

Soon enough, the bird flew away with the arrival of the baker, with a loaf of sweet, savoury bread, hot from the oven. "Here you go, Greyback."

I nodded, handing him the squirrel. "Oh!" he hummed, "Have you met my son, Peeta?" he asked, a smile on his face, "You're in the same year, yes?"

I didn't know what to say. Sure, I know him but I don't know that well him that well. My eyes travelled to the boy, who simply waved and briskly walked away. "I don't think so," I answered.

"I better be going, Mr Mellark. Nal needs his favourite bread after all," I said, flashing a small smile before I left. A small pit of dread boiled in my stomach, something bad is going to happen.

But then again, it's Reaping day, nothing good ever happens.

Word count: 1.3k

Tags:

@nin3s

:)))

#peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark x male reader #peetamellark #hunger games x reader #hunger games x male reader #hunger games #male x male reader #male reader #x male reader #katniss everdeen #gale #male reader insert #gale hawthorne #Katiniss #Hunger games x reader #what the fuck is tumblr's layout i am so fucking confused.

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blu-eh · 4 years

Text

after school summons

[AO3]

or: Danny gets summoned. He doesn’t like it.

It starts with a tugging feeling in his very core.

Danny Fenton pauses. If there’s one thing he’s learned in the last year, it is not to ignore random things that are definitely ghostly in origin. He has just enough time to place his pencil on the desk from where he had dutifully been doing his homework—for the first time in two weeks, mind you—before his vision goes white, he hears a snap, and suddenly he’s not in his room anymore.

For a moment he’s weightless, lost in the feeling of falling. Then, his body jerks and he has just enough time to think, oh fuck—before he’s slammed to the ground hard. His knees buckle under the unexpected weight and he goes down, clumsily, and trying not to throw up what little he’d managed to eat between homework packets.

“Ow,” Danny says.

He lies there, just for a moment, taking in the cool concrete underneath him. He tries to steady his breathing just enough so his mind can process what the hell just happened in the last thirty seconds. He’s still blinking stars from his eyes when he hears the hushed whispers echo around him and a heavy pair of footsteps approaching him. All in all, very bad signs when mysterious (and somewhat painful) things happen to you suddenly.

A gruff, questioning voice asks, “A child?”

“Oh, man,” Danny says, because that definitely does not sound good. Then he forces himself to his knees and looks up.

The first and foremost thing Danny notices is that he’s not alone. He’s on some sort of altar or platform, elevated a foot or so above the ground. A couple feet away, a group of no more than a dozen people surround him in a semi-circle, faces all covered by tattered cloaks. Another cloaked figure, dressed in much more formal robes with gold trimming, stands on the platform a mere couple feet from where Danny is. They all seem to be staring at him, waiting.

Danny hastily gets to his feet. He shifts a little into a sloppy fighting stance, just in case things were to get messy.

The dimly-lit warehouse room and the head covers don’t give him much to work with in the facial feature department, but he’s pretty confident that none of them are ghosts. Mostly from the fact that none of them are glowing and/or ranting about how much of a pain in the ass he is, but it still pays to be wary. Especially when Danny’s situations tend to quickly dissolve from bad to oh my god there are ghosts lose in Amity Park and also he maybe-sort of-possibly died in the process.

Which brings him back to his next brilliant deduction; he’s definitely in ghost form. He definitely was not in ghost form before this. His ghost form is rather obvious considering he sticks out like a glow stick in darkness of the warehouse. He doesn’t even feel the need to check his hair color, this time, but that’s more due to the fact that he doesn’t want to take his eyes off the weird people who managed to summon him from his bedroom and forced him to change into his ghost form.

(He desperately hopes that they hadn’t seen him change—weird warehouse people are not people that Danny generally associates with secret keeping.)

“Is this a cult thing?” Danny asks before any of them can speak. He takes in white line that surrounds him, and the red liquid (which he very much hopes is not blood) used to paint runes and symbols that circle him, and their weird cloak-like robes, and says, “This is definitely a cult thing. Oh my god, did you summon me? Seriously—”

Before this, he hadn't even known he could be summoned. It's just the little ghostly things learned via accident, sometimes, that truly take the icing on the cake.

There’s a tiny spark of anxiety in his gut, but honestly there’s a large difference between humans threatening him and ghosts threatening him. On one hand, he’d take weird cultist over Skulker’s lair any day. On the other hand, pure white walls and experimentation tables aren’t super high on his to visit list either. Worst comes to worst—before they sacrifice him to some ancient gods, more likely—he puts on his scary face (and maybe adds a couple of explosions) and slips out before they even notice he’s missing.

“Silence, creature,” the robed man snaps. Danny zeros in on him and immediately deduces him to be leader from vibes alone. Also the gold trimming on his robe, which very much screams leader of weird cult that summons ghost kids.

“I—okay, you know what? That was just rude,” Danny says. He points to the white line that surrounds him, “Is that cocaine?”

Danny has a feeling he doesn’t want to know the answer to the mysterious red liquid and painted symbols, so he doesn’t ask.

“It’s salt,” one of the other cloaked figures answers, like it should be obvious.

(It’s not actually obvious, and actually leaves Danny with more questions than he started with. Mostly in the realm of how did a group of cultists summon him with salt. He knows salt is supposedly an anti-ghost measure, but Danny is pretty convinced it has little to no effect on him considering the amount of Nasty Burger fries he’s consumed haven’t taken him out yet.)

“Salt,” Danny repeats. He pauses, then awkwardly tags on, “That’s good, I guess, because drugs are bad. Uh, don’t do drugs.”

A cultist quietly, and a little slowly, answers back, “We, uh, don’t.”

“Right,” Danny says. His eyes catch another section of weird in this already weird, cultist warehouse. At the base of the platform sits a variety of bones, so fresh that some of the muscle still clings to them. “Are those bones? Oh my god, did you sacrifice someone? That’s not cool! Murder isn’t cool!”

“Those are goat bones,” another follower says.

“Oh,” Danny says. “Well, I mean, that’s still fucked up on a variety of levels, but I guess that’s better than murder. Unless it's considered goat murder? Uh.”

For a second, there’s silence. The nature of the interaction is so awkward and oppressing that he almost goes invisible just to save himself the scrutiny of these random people and get the hell out of dodge. His curiosity is the only thing that holds him back—that, and the fact that he’s not quite sure if any of these people are secretly hiding ecto-weapons.

Danny very much does not want to be shot tonight.

He looks around the room, eyes taking in every inch of the sparsely decorated warehouse. There’s nothing that immediately grabs his attention, nor anything that really screams danger but it pays to be suspicious of his surroundings in his line of work. A few of the cultists notice this, and start shifting awkwardly as Danny looks over them as well.

Then, Danny’s eyes flicks back to the lead cultist and he says, “I’m going to be real honest here and say that I have no idea what the heck is going on.”

The leader makes no inclination that he acknowledges any word that comes from Danny’s mouth. Instead, he brings an old, wrinkled hand up to his face, like he’s thinking about some complex problem. The leader circles Danny once, then again, and Danny feels something inside him defensively coil like a spring.

He tries not to be bothered when people treat him as something lesser—it’s not, exactly, uncommon for him to encounter. He dealt with being shoved into lockers long before he died, anyways. It doesn’t stop his shoulders from tensing just the barest amount.

Instead of showing this, he brings his feet up to his chest and crosses them mid-air, and fakes a yawn for good measure. A few of the other cultists gasp in wonder and fear. The leader simply stops his prowling and turns to face Danny.

“So this is the fabled Ghost King,” the man says, like he expected better.

Danny feels he should almost be offended if it isn’t for the tiny detail that these cultists—who summoned him by using salt and goat bones—assume he is the ghost king. “…Did you seriously confuse me with Pariah Dark?”

The man pauses, and asks, “Pariah Dark?”

“Yes! He’s like fifteen feet tall, has a huge sword, is a pain in the ass, and has, like, an entire ghost army. I have, I dunno, pre-calc homework in my bag. We are not the same.”

Some of the followers in the background shift uneasily. Danny bares his teeth in their direction, just to see them squirm. A couple take worried steps back and Danny fights off a satisfied grin.

Hey, poke a bull and get the horns. In this case, summon a ghost-teenager and get the ecto-powers.

(He’s slowly becoming more and more aware that these people have no idea what they’re doing.)

“I see,” the leader says. From his tone, he definitely does not see. “It doesn’t matter. Our book summoned the King of Ghosts and that is you, so you will do as we tell you and your pain will be lessened.”

“I am still not the Ghost King,” Danny tells him. “And no thanks. I’ve already used my yearly cult sign up and I can’t say I’m thrilled to join another. If you’re going to hold an initiation ceremony, at least decorate a bit first. Uh, not counting the goat bones and salt, of course.”

“You have no choice,” the leader snaps and steps a bit closer to him. Danny merely raises an eyebrow. “We are the Followers of Infernal. We have summoned you to serve us. You are bound to our will and bound to our grace, as the book foretold. Now bow, demon, for we are your new masters.”

There’s a very large portion of Danny Fenton that is convinced any good karma he held in life did not pass with him during his death a mere year ago. An even larger portion of him is convinced that these guys are no more serious than the GIW is. Danny does not tell the cultists this.

Instead, he squints and says, “Alright. I definitely failed US Government, but I’m pretty sure that’s not legal. Don’t you guys need like, a permit to summon undead beings of mass power?”

“It thinks it’s funny.” The leader’s face is mostly hidden by his robe, but Danny can imagine the sneer there from his tone alone.

“Trust me, I’m not the one who’s a joke right now,” Danny says. He looks back over at the dozen or so followers and grins at them. They don’t seem too keen that he’s not following their master’s orders and bending to their will. He turns back to the leader. “What’s in it for me?”

“What?”

“If I follow you and stuff, what’s in it for me?”

The leader pauses, then says, “You will be spared of punishment.”

“Hmm, that’s not good enough,” Danny says. He angles his body so he's once again looking at the followers and points at one in the middle. “Hey, you! With the cloak. No, not you, the other dude. To the left. Yeah! You. What do you have to offer me?”

The follower looks so startled that he cowers for a second. Then, seeing as he hadn’t been reduced to a pile of ashes from Danny’s gaze alone, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small and silver. “Uh, I have a paper clip, your ghostliness.”

“A paper clip,” Danny repeats. “Yeah, sure, fine. Whatever. That sounds neat.”

“You’ll submit to us?” the man sounds so hopeful that Danny almost feels bad for being a jerk. Then, he remembers that they summoned him out of his nice, warm bedroom at ass-o’clock in the night and feels significantly less amounts of pity.

“No, dude, I’m not being your sack of potatoes for a paper clip. Man, you guys are stupid.” Danny rolls his eyes and floats just a bit higher. The other followers shuffle around again, uncomfortable. In front of him, the leader remains impassive as ever. “Where even am I?”

“The lair which you will spend the rest of your afterlife,” the leader says.

“Okay, this is definitely a warehouse, firstly. And secondly, dude, I meant what state.”

“…Wisconsin,” the man allows because of course everything terrible happens in Wisconsin.

“You chose the worst state to have your crappy lair,” Danny tells them. Now he has to fly a couple hundred miles home and hope he gets there by morning, all the while avoiding his creepy, obsessed arch-nemesis. He wonders if Vlad is even aware there’s a ghost-obsessed cult in his home state. Probably not. “Nothing good ever comes from Wisconsin. You can take that as, like, ghostly wisdom or something.”

“Hey,” one of the cultists says, offended. “The Packers are in Wisconsin.”

“Nothing good,” Danny repeats, firmly.

“Enough of this nonsense,” the leader says. “It’s trying to distract you because it fears control. Briar, bring me the orb.”

“Yes, sir,” one of them says.

The followers mutter to themselves and teeter around in their positions. The woman who spoke, on the end, bows and scurries off. Danny watches as she runs through the darkness of the warehouse, footsteps echoing around them, until he can no longer see her among the darkness.

“Hey, if they already listen to you then why do you need me?” Danny asks. The leader doesn’t answer, so Danny floats a bit on his side and puts his arms behind his head. “What kind of orb are we talking about, anyways? Like one of those Spirit Halloween ones? Or is it more like orbeeze? I can’t saw I’m super excited from your ominous it fears control statement, but—"

“Silence, beast,” the leader says.

Danny huffs. “I’m just asking. No need to be so snippy.”

The man ignores him which, rude. Danny’s just about to see how far he can test this guy’s patience when Briar comes back, just as quickly as she had disappeared. She jogs through the warehouse and up the steps of the platform. Danny can’t see her face, but from the way her hood moves to glace at him every so often, he figures that she’s probably nervous. Specifically about him lounging around in a circle full of salt.

“Father Johnathan,” Briar says and bows. In her hands is a glowing, silver orb. It really did look like a generic orb one would find in a Spirit Halloween. “The orb.”

“Your name is Father Johnathan?” Danny asks. He eyes the orb for a second, but doesn’t feel the tingle of ghostly energy from it, so he ignores it. He turns right back to the leader, not able to keep the grin off his face. “Your name is really Father Johnathan?”

Father Johnathan gently takes the orb in his hands as Briar scurries off towards the rest of the followers. Then, he sighs and says, “Yes, creature, my name is Father Johnathan and I shall be your new master.”

“Oh my god,” Danny says, positively gleeful. “I meet real life Papa John and he summons me with salt and threatens me with a Spirit Halloween orb.”

“Laugh all you want,” Papa John says. The nervous air shifts into something a bit more predatory. “You will not be laughing much longer.”

The cultists break into applause and talk amongst themselves loudly. They shift forward, eagerly, as if they want to watch the spectacle up close. They’re only a foot or so away from the platform when Papa John waves at them to halt.

Papa John holds up the orb. It swirls, the silver fog inside consolidating and then dissipating. Something inside it starts to glow the barest amount.

Danny pauses, just for a second, and watches it. There's still no tingle of ghostly energy coming from it. If he hadn’t already thought these guys are a joke, he definitely would’ve been a tad more nervous. As it stands, he thinks nothing of it—no ghostly energy means no control over ghosts.

(Unfortunately, he knows the feeling of ghost-controlling objects quite well. It’s not an experience he’s eager to repeat.)

The orb glows brighter, and brighter, swirling more furiously. The chatter of the cultists picks up to the point where they’re almost shouting, jeering at him. Papa John draws closer and closer, orb outstretched. He holds it through the salt line and touches it to Danny’s chest. The shouting from his followers almost becomes unbearable.

And then….nothing. The orb stops glowing. The fog inside stops swirling. It simply dies in Papa John’s hand.

“Was that supposed to do something?” Danny asks.

Papa John touches him with the orb again, a tad more forceful, so Danny assumes it was supposed to do something. From the panicked whispers around him, it definitely was supposed to do something to him. Danny’s honestly not sure if the outcome is due to him being a halfa or these guys being a joke.

(He’s willing to bet it’s the latter.)

“I think your LED batteries died,” Danny tells him. “Or maybe you mixed up your Spirit Halloween orbs. Better luck next time.”

Papa John stops furiously pressing the orb to his chest and if Danny could see his face, he has no doubts that Papa John’s expression would be livid.

“You will obey us,” Papa John says.

“No,” Danny says. “I won’t.”

“You will—”

Danny swings his feet down so hard that he cracks the very ground he now stands on. Dust kicks up around him as he stands tall, even though Danny’s at least two feet shorter than the leader in front of him. His eyes burn a brilliant green and he crosses his hands over his chest in an effort to look intimidating. The cult thing is interesting and all, but it's late, he still has homework to do, and Jazz has definitely noticed him missing by now so it's probably better to end this before they can get another object from a Spirit Halloween and try that instead.

It works, if the half-step back from Papa John is anything to go by.

“Listen,” Danny says, flatly. “Get a hobby and leave me alone or else you won’t like what I’m going to do.”

He makes his form flicker and the temperature drop in the room, just for dramatic effect.

Some of the followers in the background shift uneasily. A couple take panicked steps back. More than a few look ready to bolt for the door and leave this cult business behind forever.

Danny takes notice and stares at them, smiling wide enough that they could see his slightly-toothy grin. He makes sure his eyes flare, just a touch, and says loudly, “Boo.”

To say the cultists are startled would be an understatement. More than a few stumble back, a couple falling onto their asses. One trips on their robe and is sent tumbling. Another one yells and cowers. Papa John has no time to reign in the situation before two scatter completely.

“Peace!” Papa John shouts over the chaos of a dozen panicking followers. Those that remain do settle down enough to hear his words. “Stand down, there is nothing to fear. It is only trying to scare you into letting it free. It is trapped whilst it remains in the circle.”

Danny snorts. “I can leave any time I want.”

“You cannot leave here, demon—”

Danny raises one single eyebrow and dutifully steps out of the summoning circle.

The warehouse erupts into chaos.

The cultists are yelling now, but this time there’s only because of fear. They scatter over each other, running and tripping over their obnoxiously long cloaks. A couple trample the goat bones to the point where several loud snaps are heard over the pandemonium. It only adds more fuel to the fire as less than a dozen people scramble to get as far away from the platform—and subsequently the ghost-kid—as possible.

“Do better than a paperclip, next time!” Danny calls out to them. They only seem to run faster at the sound of his voice.

Papa John is the only one who doesn’t run. He had stumbled off the platform and away from Danny the second that Danny made it over the salt line. However, in the disarray, he had been knocked to the ground, his orb lay broken at his feet, and his robe’s hood had been yanked off and left on the ground beside him. He sits, frozen, but Danny doesn’t know if it’s from shock or from fear.

Danny takes a step closer to him.

“How…?” Papa John whispers. He’s not looking at Danny—only his old, wrinkled hands. He’s bald, with brown eyes. He looks like nothing more than any generic old man that Danny would see at a grocery store on Sunday afternoon. “We followed the book. We…we took every precaution the book said. We were supposed to have the perfect slave, bound to our every word. We…”

“That didn’t work out too well for you, huh?” Danny says and crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s ‘cause you forgot the dunce cap when you decided to be the class clown.”

“Please,” Papa John says. “Spare me.”

There’s something wrong about this—seeing a human beg for his life at Danny’s feet. Danny doesn’t want to be feared. He never has wanted to be feared.

He presses his lips together and takes a single step back. Some part of him, though, knows that he desperately needs to make his point clear to avoid another situation like this (likely with more weapons, next time).

“I warned you,” Danny says softly. His voice echoes around the warehouse. The man below him shivers in terror. “Do not summon me again, or I won’t be so nice next time.” He pauses, just for a second and can't help but tag on, "Papa John."

He lets his threat linger and hopes the man takes it seriously enough that he won’t get summoned again. Then, the cool strings of invisibility wrap around his body and he disappears from sight. Danny takes one look at the man left on the floor before he shakes his head and shoots up into the Wisconsin night sky. He doesn't hear the shouted response of it's Father Johnathan from several hundred feet below him on the warehouse floor.

Danny waits about all of thirty seconds before he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone.

"Jazz? Hey, yeah, I'm fine. Yes, seriously, I'm fine but you are not going to believe what I just went through—"

#me mentioning my love for spirit halloween no less than five separate occasions #anyways #my fics #danny phantom #i Attempted to mention every single ectober week 2020 in this fic so like. lmao #ectober #ectober 2020 #ectober week #ectober week 2020 #phan phic #phic #tw drug mention #there are no actual drugs but i do reference a drug by name so this warning applies

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the-average-procrastinator · 2 years

Text

Create the illusion of hanging out with your mutuals tag game

Thank you for tagging me, @thoughathousandmayfall!

Are you a morning person?

Does getting up after 8 am count as a morning person? If not, then no. (I have to wake up at 5:45 for work every morning and I hate it.)

Ideal breakfast?

I’ll always accept a good cup of coffee and a sausage breakfast burrito. With hot sauce. (But thanks to this parosmia, not a lot tastes good right now.)

Favorite warm drink and how do you take it?

My favorite is a white mocha from a local coffee stand, with oat milk because my body doesn’t always love dairy.

Sit in the sunshine or in the shade?

How hot is it? I don’t do heat well, so please let me sit in the shade.

Favorite baked good?

Oh, dang. All of them? I’ve made a salted caramel apple pie a few times that I really like. I also like a Costco lemon poppy seed muffin.

A song or album that makes you feel at peace?

I’m not sure I have a particular song/album I always run to but I do like

Ain’t No Grave - Johnny Cash, Be Thou My Vision, most of Kris Allen

Take a walk with your friends or read a book next to a friend on the sofa?

I don’t mind a nice walk/chat around the neighborhood/park, but I’d probably side with reading with someone. There’s nothing more enjoyable than doing projects/reading quietly in the same room with someone.

What tasks do you gravitate to when making a meal with others?

Chopping vegetables, usually.

A chore that if someone else completed for you you’d love them forever?

Cleaning the bathroom. I don’t *hate* it, but I’m always the one that does it -_-

Favorite board/card game to play with friends?

I’m not a huge game person, but I like card games in the vein of “Apples to Apples”. It’s a bittersweet relationship, though, because the groups I play with never seem to have the right sense of humor (mine).

What kind of snacks/candy do you want at a movie theater?

Either frozen cookie dough bites or a Toll House ice cream cookie sandwich

Bar with live music or bar with a pool table?

I don’t go to bars. :/

Go-to wine/cider/beer/cocktail?

I don’t drink 🤷

Go-to bar food?

Nachos? I don’t go to bars so I don’t know. Bar food is just appetizers/snacks, right? Oh, mozzarella sticks with marinara sauce! That’s the one.

Are you tending the fire, looking at the stars, or singing campfire/folk songs?

I like staring at the stars :) I’d love to go somewhere that I can see the Milky Way someday. If I could sing worth a lick, maybe I’d try the last one.

Favorite scripture verse or prayer?

Psalm 91 | Luke 24:30-31

Are you the person begging to go to just one more bar/sing one more song, the person who stayed up late talking about love & the universe, or the person who fell asleep hours before anyone else?

The one who stayed up late talking about love and the universe. But those “topics” can vary wildly. I’ve stayed up way too late ranting with my brother over terrible movies or with my friend wheezing over ridiculous books. Things get sillier the later you stay up.

EDIT: I forgot to tag. -_- Please join in if you like!

#tagged #tag games #inbox games #about me?#sorry im boring

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honeytae · 4 years

Text

I really like you.

this is just a very fluffy first kiss with jungkook (a literal dream). there’s a lot of buildup (sorry) but i’m just in love with this man so *shrugs*

tags: @mochiloverbts

genre: fluff

word count: 1.8k

You hadn’t known Jungkook long, but he had surely made an impact on you.

You were still getting to know each other, the two of you in a learning curve as you began your relationship. Not that you were labeling what it was; right now, the two of you were just getting familiar with each other and taking it slow.

Your first two dates had gone so well with Jungkook, he’d invited you to the dance studio to spend his lunch break with him. You of course accepted, and Jungkook had sent you the address to the building.

He’d let you know that he would be meeting you outside, not wanting to deal with the other members asking him questions about you when he really wanted to wait to mutually agree about what you were and what you were telling people.

As you stepped out of the car, Jungkook smiled and cutely waved at you, his arm stretched above his head to dramatize his actions.

“Hm, I wonder where he is.” You turned from him, teasingly looking around the opposite end of the parking lot before shrugging. Jungkook giggled, walking toward you and wrapping his arms around you to pull your side into him.

“Ah, I think I found him.” You laughed, turning in his arms and wrapping yours around his slender frame before pulling away, lifting the container of noodles you’d brought for him up to his face. Jungkook’s eyes widened, eyebrows raising in surprise.

“I didn’t know if you had something already, but,” You internally kicked yourself at your shyness, Jungkook eyes softening at your demeanor.

“Namjoon-hyung made some kimchi for us, but to be honest with you, it was disgusting.” You giggled at his grimace, Jungkook dramatically shuddering at the mere thought of the overly salted dish he’d taken a few bites of.

You offered the dish out to him with a small smile, Jungkook tenderly grabbing it from you and inhaling the scent, moaning at the delicious smell.

“Oh my god, it smells amazing. Thank you so much.”

You nodded in response, Jungkook turning from you and letting you know to follow him with a gesture of his head.

He led you over to the picnic tables behind the building, setting the dish down and sitting on the bench across from you.

He quickly shoveled the noodles down, making you smile at his full cheeks as he hummed at the good taste of the food.

“So, Namjoon’s dish..was it that bad?” you asked, laughing when his previously happy and content face fell at the mention of it.

“Fucking terrible. Didn’t have the heart to tell him though, Yoongi had to speak up.”

He smiled as your laugh met his ears again, shaking his head to try to clear the thought of the terrible dish from his head. It fell silent again as Jungkook finished his lunch, pushing the container away as he sighed in content.

“I have an important question.” His voice suddenly said, a serious tone yet as you studied his face, a playful smirk on his lips.

“Go for it.” You replied, eyebrow quirking in curiosity of his thoughts.

“Do you like mint chocolate?”

You breathed out a light laugh, before composing yourself and nodding.

“Of course I do.”

He nodded in approval, a feigned serious expression on his face as he held back his smile.

“I have an important question for you, too.” You said, smiling as you sat up straighter on the bench. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for you to continue.

“Do you like dark chocolate?”

He threw his head back as loud laughs spilled out of his mouth, scrunching his nose cutely as he tried to compose himself.

The thing Jungkook enjoyed about being with you the most was that you were so carefree. He’d mainly been surrounded by uptight musicians and executives since his career began, so to say that your new found presence in his life was refreshing to him would be an understatement.

“Obviously, babe. No doubt.” He says, smirking knowingly as your cheeks tint pink at the nickname. Desperately trying to keep your cool, you gasped, Jungkook raising his eyebrows in amusement at your sudden shock.

“And here I thought you were the perfect man.” You teased, tutting at him as you shook your head in disappointment. Jungkook giggled before shifting his gaze to his hands, suddenly becoming shy as he played with his own fingers.

“Is it a dealbreaker?” he teased, although there was a bit of nervousness displayed in his tone.

You reached your hands over to his, gently prying his fingers from each other and interlacing your own with them. Jungkook blushed at the action, his eyes going to your face as you shook your head.

“Nope. You’re still stuck with me.” You smiled at him, a warm reassurance that you weren’t going anywhere.

Jungkook smiled, nodding his head in understanding. His hair bounced with his nod, making you internally coo.

“Good.” he said, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles as he lightly squeezed your palms in his.

“I really like you.” You said, voice just above a whisper as the moment became increasingly serious. Jungkook’s heart fluttered, big doe eyes sparkling back at you as he took in your words.

“I really like you, too. And I really want to see you again. Soon.” He added, his eyebrows raising in question before you nodded in response, his precious bunny smile on his face as a relieved sigh escaped his mouth.

“I’d like that.” You said, just as Jungkook’s phone buzzed on the table. He reluctantly pulled his eyes from your face to the screen, groaning before mumbling an “I’m sorry,” as he picked it up.

A muffled voice came from the speaker, your eyes glued to the one tattooed hand that held yours still. You smiled as his thumb began drawing circles into the back of your hand, not looking up at his face yet knowing his gaze was on you.

The low voice said few words before Jungkook was ushering them off the phone with a “I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Placing the phone down, he shot you a guilty closed mouthed smile, shoulders heaving as he sighed deeply.

“Time’s up?” you asked, Jungkook nodding with an unhappy pout.

You retreated your hand from his, Jungkook immediately hating the empty feeling he got. You stood from the table, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

Jungkook stood as well, clearing his throat before saying a soft, “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Are you sure you have enough time for that?” You asked, eyebrows pulling up in concern that he’d be yelled at for being late.

He nodded firmly, reaching his hand out to you in hopes that you’d place your hand in his empty palm again.

“There’s always enough time for you, baby.” His eyes bulge as he catches the nickname slipping out past his lips, nervously scanning your features to see how you responded.

A soft smile came onto your face as you slid your palm into his, Jungkook smiling at the apparent blush on your cheeks, an acceptance of the term of endearment.

He began walking, the two of you striding side by side around the building to the parking lot he’d met you in an hour ago.It was silent as you walked to your car, both of you thinking about what would happen when you said goodbye once you reached it.

You hadn’t kissed Jungkook yet; after all, you wanted to take things slow, both of you focused on pursuing a healthy relationship.

But it was very tempting.

Your previous goodbye, on your second date, had been a close call when he walked you to your apartment after a casual dinner at his favorite pizza place. It had been a very long hug, your faces touching as you pulled back a bit from the embrace. The tips of your noses were brushing, lips a mere centimeter away from each other. His breathing had fanned out across your lips, drawing you in further as you both leaned into each other. Jungkook had been the one to get a hold of himself, clearing his throat as he stepped back, bidding you goodnight and politely bowing out of the door frame of your apartment.

As you approached your car, Jungkook released your hand from his, watching as you dug through your bag in search of your keys. You cheered as you pulled them out, keys clinking against each other in your hand as you lifted them above your head. He giggled at your silliness before it fell silent again. Just as you were preparing yourself to say goodbye, his voice suddenly broke the silence.

“Do you maybe want to come by the dorm tonight? I’ll tell the boys to clear out, if you even want to come over, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought maybe since this got cut kind of short. You’re probably tired, I don’t know why I even suggested-”

His adorable rant was cut off when you slotted your lips to his, Jungkook freezing in surprise before he melted in your touch, eagerly reciprocating as he pushed his lips back against yours.

His hands found your waist, pulling you snug against his body as his heart beat hard against his chest at the feeling of your hands coming up around his neck, pulling him down closer to you.

The spark that came from your kiss was something you both felt, not a care in the world given at the fact that the band's team members could probably see you from their respective offices in the BigHit building.

A sudden buzzing against your thigh caught your attention, pulling apart from Jungkook at his phone in his pocket vibrating once again.

“I think you’re needed.”

He huffed in annoyance at it, before catching your eyes and frowning.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, guilt overtaking him again as he watched you turn to your car. You spun around, shaking your head at him.

“No apologies, Kook. It’s fine.” You assured him, bringing your hand up to brush the fringe out of his eyes. He closed his eyes at your touch, opening them to gaze adoringly at you.

You turned to open the door of your car, lifting yourself up to sit in the driver's seat. Jungkook stepped forward so that he was closer to the vehicle, leaning forward to press a light peck to your lips.

“Are you coming over tonight?” he asked, still nervous, but braver than before.

You nodded with a smile, pecking his lips again before ushering him off with a light pat to his chest.

“C’mon, I don’t want you getting reprimanded. Text me the details, okay?”

“Okay.” He smiled as he leaned away from you, stepping back and shutting the door as you started the ignition. You gave him a small wave with a smile, him waving back at you as he watched you pull away.

As he walked back to the building, he couldn’t help the giddy smile on his face as he replayed the last hour he’d spent with you in his head.

He couldn’t wait to see you again.

#bts #bts writing #bts imagine #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts x reader #bts fanfiction #jungkook #jungkook writing #jungkook imagine #jungkook imagines #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfiction

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iamanartichoke · 3 years

Text

Started to post this rant on the other post but the conversation was involving so many people going back and forth that I didn’t feel my additions were necessary there; everything I’d want to say was said already, and better.

But, of course, I still have feelings, so I’m just gonna dump them here instead.

Under the cut.

Wow. Just wow.

Fuck whoever took someone’s TAGGED POST and spread it around for the sole purpose of mocking it. @iamnmbr3 I am so sorry that happened to you.

Fuck whoever responds to people’s apprehension and negativity with anger and mockery.

Fuck people who think that the Loki fandom clearly has to be a hivemind, bc anyone who is deviating from the “omg bEsT mOsT AcCuRaTe LoKi dEpIctIoN EVAR i am SO EXCITE” reaction is being shunned, made fun of, vague-posted about, and just generally being treated as if they should not speak AMONG THEMSELVES about their disappointment in what we’ve seen so far of the show.

Fuck people who submit anonymous ask after anonymous ask to popular Tom Hiddleston ask blogs, obsessing over what people are disappointed in.

Fuck people who make posts like “omg guess what the whiners are complaining about today!!” and spread them around. (How do you even know what’s being whined about today? Stop fucking seeking it out.)

Here’s the thing: I am/was excited. I am taking the trailers with a grain of salt. I am examining what Tom has to say about it and considering the sheer volume of content we’re about to get and remaining (cautiously) optimistic. I have never hated the idea of this tv show.

And for the record, I have never hated Ragnarok, either. I’ve seen it more times than I can count bc there was a time when it was my comfort movie. It was funny and fresh. It got me into Loki enough to actively join and engage in fandom. But even when enjoying it as a comfort movie, it felt much more like crack fanfiction than anything that went in tandem - canonically, characteristically, or tonally - with the first two Thor movies.

As I familiarized myself more and more with the entire franchise, it was more and more clear to me that there were two sets of characters being portrayed, and that I vastly preferred to engage with the Thor 1/TDW set of characters even while enjoying the Ragnarok set.

And talking about that on tumblr was interesting and engaging to me, bc that’s how my brain works. I like to dissect things. I like to analyze fiction. I like to be critical. And I enjoyed reading meta and engaging with people who had similar thoughts.

Until it became clear that this is a fandom that makes you feel like you’re not allowed to be critical of anything, lest you be labeled an “anti” and a debbie downer and a misery queen. Ragnarok was kinda ruined for me in general bc I felt like I was no longer allowed to enjoy it the way I wanted to bc I didn’t also consider it even a good movie, let alone the best Thor movie ever.

And this is happening with the show now, too. Like I said, I was excited and I was optimistic but the closer we get to the premiere, the more deflated I feel. And it’s because this fucking fandom is ruining it for me. Specifically, the majority of this fandom who is so offended by a small number of outliers who do not care for the new way Loki is being portrayed (and yes, it IS new, and does not mesh with what we saw before Ragnarok, and you can protest that but you are wrong) that they can’t ever shut up about it.

Yes, I can curate my fandom experience and I can block tags and whatnot but even after doing that, I still keep encountering it. And, also, I feel like I shouldn’t have to block/blacklist 75% of the fandom just so that I can feel secure in engaging with it without worrying about being attacked or made fun of.

I don’t care if you’re excited about the show. I’m happy for you! If you’re excited and engaging with that excitement in positive ways without shitting on anyone else, good for you. Thank you.

But it seems like a whole fucking bunch of you aren’t content to just be excited. You’ve gotta stir up discourse shit too, bc - I don’t know, you’re bored? It makes you feel good? It feeds your superiority complex?

Here’s the facts: You are the ones who are making it miserable for everyone - you who are doing all of the above things and continuing to make tumblr feel very hostile to everyone who isn’t wetting their pants in excitement about this fresh new Loki stuff.

Just stop it. Maybe do some self-reflection and ask yourself why it bothers you so much that other people don’t feel the way you do, or ask yourself why you need to stir up drama where there otherwise shouldn’t be any, and whether or not you’ll be happy when the outliers have been driven from the fandom completely and all that’s left is your hivemind of toxic positivity.

^^^ This is not well-written, it is literally a brain dump, so I apologize if it’s nonsensical or disjointed.

#just ugh #fandom wank #reblog if you want to i guess but #i'm not proud of the quality of this post #smh #long post #cut post #skip if you don't want to read about fandom nonsense

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schnitzelbutterfingers · 4 years

Text

the forgotten one- chapter 2

A/N: hiya there! here is the second chapter of ‘the forgotten one’! this is also emotional, and angsty, but don’t worry. there will be some fluff in the next chapter. seb and jazmin the mother will arrive at boston. ethan’s still processing the news and he’s afraid. SO afraid. and abby... well you’ll find out!! sorry this took almost two weeks. sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? but i finally completed it!! as always, forgive me if there are any spelling mistakes or grammar errors. lmk if you want to be added or removed from the tags. enjoy!!

summary: Louise Ramsey, the mother of the famous, brilliant diagnostician Ethan Ramsey, is back into his life. However, Louise holds many secrets, dangerous secrets, that could harm him, Dr. Abigail ‘Abby’ Chacko (my MC), and the very few lives he actually cares about. It is up to Ethan, Abby, and their friends to save each other from what is about to come.

pairing(s): dr. ethan ramsey x mc (dr. abigail “abby” chacko)

warning(s): violence and blood. there might be some fluff along the way, but you get the gist. DON’T READ IF YOU”RE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH DEATH, VIOLENCE, and BLOOD.

word count: 3042

masterlist

Seb’s POV

When he saw Amma standing still, a tear tracing her cheek, it practically grieved his heart. He looked elsewhere, when his eyes landed on a picture of him and his baby sister. It was when Seb graduated from John Hopkins University at the age of 24, getting accepted to a residency program in Northwestern Memorial Hospital, where he was working presently. He had a bouquet in his hand, made by his sister. It was swelled with red roses, white calla lilies, and orchids. They were smiling, and Abby was lowering her lips to his cheeks, a gesture in which he adored. Merely looking at it made the running pains flow through his blood, banging at his heart.

Instantaneously, he heard a small thud. He turned around and directly perceived that it was the sound of knees, because he regarded his mother on the ground, sobbing and screaming. Amma suffered from anxiety and depression, something is being treated by Dr. Joah Jehovah, a psychologist. And it took all of his willpower to not imitate her actions.

Her sister. Stabbed. By some freak. After barely surviving the assassination attempt. He questioned God again and again as to why his baby sister should be punished like that. What did she ever do? She suffered frequently through her childhood, and she suffered just two weeks before, and now... she’s suffering again. Will she be able to endure this?

No, Seb chastises himself. Don’t think like that. She has survived worse, she’ll survive again.

After comforting Jazmin and blinking back some tears of his own, he forcibly opened his MacBook Pro and breezed through American Airlines, trying to buy the first two tickets to Boston, Massachusetts. This had been their second time flying to Boston this odd year, the first time when Abby was stuck in the contamination room.

First class seats. Like I would care at this point. They purchased economy seats out of hurry and rushed to the airport. The whole flight, Jazmin was trying to conceal her face with a crimson scarf, not presenting anyone her tears. There were two oblivious people in the front seats, laughing and smiling uncontrollably, and he desperately wanted to yell furiously at them, tell them to stop before he loses his unconscious mind. If it was possible, he would want to shout from the top of his lungs on the airplane. But that’s not fair, even to the two passengers. Because they’re really excited to see Hamilton. How did he know? They’re holding two tickets out in the open, and it wasn’t difficult for Seb to read them. Ah, the benefits of observation.

He was trying to stay strong for his mother, but a few times, he excused himself to the bathroom, where he would shed some tears, hoping, praying, for her angel sister to survive.

They landed in Boston, and when they were getting their luggage from the rack, he only saw her. And Ethan. He had no idea what Ethan was going through.

Seb and his depressed mother are now in a taxi, going to Edenbrook Hospital. The sun’s shining goldenly, a few clouds in the sky, perfect for a picnic date. Ragged tears of nervous sweat are prickling on his head even though the weather is chilly. There is snow, kids making snowmen, snow angels, snow ball fights. It reminded him of Seb’s and Abby’s childhood.

The siblings almost never had the chance to play out in the snow because Abraham and his people would whip them with a belt. Whenever their father is not there though, Amma would sneak them out and they always made the most of their time playing out in the snow. He can still remember their grins and how Abby got her first frostbite for staying outside for five hours. Eventually, Jazmin had to drag their butts back into the houses, where they shared hot cocoa. When snow was falling in her first winter in Boston, she was so excited that she called Seb to let him know. He had a small smile on his face as Abby ranted to him about what she and her roommates will do.

He can note how Amma was trying to possess a determined face. The ominous silence sounds almost deafening, Seb takes out his phone and dials Ethan’s number. Someone picks up but that someone is not Ethan. It’s Naveen.

“Naveen?! How is Abby?” Seb places the phone on speaker phone, so his mother can hear what Naveen has to say.

“Abby’s surgery was successful. The stab wound affected her liver, but Dr. Tanaka and the surgeons managed to fix it. She is now sleeping in Room 24B.” He paused for a moment. “Are you and Jazmin in Boston?”

“Yes, Naveen. We’re on a taxi heading to the hospital.”

All the while he can hear himself thanking God, the angels in heaven and all the saints for taking care of his baby angel. Jazmin is spilling joyful tears and sobbing. However, he also wants to know where he is. Where his anxious friend is. He nervously takes a deep breath and questions the senior doctor.

“...Naveen? Where is Ethan? Harper was the one on the other end the first time. At that time, I knew it was because Ethan didn’t have the strength to talk to me. Abby is alright now. Why is he not talking to me?”

There is dead silence on the other end. The only sounds he can detect are the cars on the other lane and the taxi’s radio playing I Can’t Feel My Face by The Weeknd. Wow, what a great song accompanying my mood, he thinks sarcastically. Ultimately, he hears the chief gathering a deep breath.

“Come to the hospital immediately. I will tell you what happened.”

“Okay, Naveen. Thank you.” he says as he frantic cut the call.

Seb and Jazmin share a concerned look. As they drove through Edenbrook’s main entrance, he couldn’t help but think. Whatever is happening now, it’s not good.

________________________________________________________________Ethan’s POV

Relaxation. Ease. Relief. Relief.

Relief was the word he used when his longtime mentor Naveen survived. Relief was the word he used when Abby won her hearing, an obstacle that almost stopped her from saving more patients and sufficiently advancing her career. Relief was the word he used when he saw his Rookie again after two months in the Amazon, fighting off a virus with the W.H.O. Relief was the word he used when he felt her head on his shoulder while driving her back to her shared apartment from the dinner with the governor. Relief was the word he used when he had her on the luxury yacht, distracting him from the opulence and Leland Bloom. Relief was the word he used when he passionately kissed her outside of his apartment after the softball game, the first time in a long time. Relief was the word he used when he caressed her with his lips during the Mass Kenmore heist. Relief was the word he used when he announced on national television that he wasn’t single, which somehow, didn’t make him feel anxious. Relief was the word he used when Abby overcame the toxin, which threatened to take the lives of her and Rafael, already killing Danny Cardinal and Bobby Gunderson. Relief was the word he used when they cuddled and clung fondly to each other in the ski resort, blocking the sounds of the wind rattling against the windows, a huge blizzard taking place outside. And now...

Relief was, no, is the word he is using to accurately describe how Ethan feels after his Rookie’s surgery.

He does not want to undergo that. Ever. Again.

If he ever sees Louise Ramsey in his sight, he will lose it. He will lose it. He will lose. It.

He started believing in that woman again, only to be driven back to square one. She rubbed a huge pack of salt deep into the wound in his heart. In fact, it was Abby who recommended that she should hear Louise out.

*Flashback*

Ethan can’t sleep. He tries to close his eyes, hoping that the next time he unravels them, it will be five a.m. He reveals his eyes again and groans. His clock reads 1:12 a.m.

The radiant moonlight is shining through the windows and onto his satin sheets, the sole source of light in his room.

Ever since his mother came to the ER, admitted in there for an apparent overdose, that was all he could think about. And Abby..

He shut her out. Once again. Thinking about how he slammed the on-call room door in her face made him wince with guilt. He hadn’t sighted her after that. How were they supposed to be in a relationship (are they in one?) if he keeps shutting her out again? He can’t even open up his feelings to her, the one who shared her past, her present, her deepest, darkest secrets...

Ethan instantly decides to contact her.

The phone picks up on the second ring.

“Ethan? Is everything alright?” Abby sounds awake, not tired at all. He hears papers shuffling on the other side.

“No, Rookie. I wanted to apologize for the way I acted today.”

There is a long moment of silence. “What are you talking about? What are you apologizing for?”

She sounds genuinely curious and confused, he wants to scoff at her for neglecting what happened. For not being mad at him. For not shutting him out. Just like he did many times.

“I closed the door in your face after you had attempted to console me after Louise came in the ER. It was downright impolite of me, and I am sor-” he is interrupted.

“Ethan, don’t ever be sorry for that. I understood that you needed some space. And besides, I have to admit.. if I was in your shoes, I would have done the same thing.”

She pauses for a moment, and this time he almost hears the sound of her unique heartbeat. “I will never know the pain you suffered during your childhood after knowing that your mother left you. But I do know this. I will always be there for you, Ethan Ramsey. Whether you like it or not.”

His heart swells with genuine emotions and tears starts to burn through his eyes, but he forces to flutter them away, his throat tightening.

“Abby.. I... thank you. That means a lot to me. And, for the record, I’ll always be there for you, Abigail Chacko.”

Abby laughs wholeheartedly, hearing the words she used back to her, the first pleasant sound of his whole day that makes his stomach flip.

The laughter dies down, and there is silence stretching for a long time. At the last moment, Abby promptly breaks it, a sense of relief flooding through his cells.

“...How are you, really? With everything that’s been going on with your mom, I mean.” Then, there is a painful quietness that seemed acutely uncomfortable. She breaks it again, with a gentle voice. “I’m sorry. I know how painful this situation is, and just wanted to-”

He waves off her apology with one question, a question that had been racking him for a long time. “..What would you do if you were in my shoes?”

“...What do you mean?”

“If you had a similar circumstance where someone who hurt you came back again into your life, in a long time, what would you do?”

The once visible moon is now being hidden by a cloud, showing off a little bit of brightness, as if performing an act of humility as he waits for an answer. After an eternity in what was only a few minutes, she answers.

“I would forgive them.”

Ethan isn’t genuinely shocked to hear this, but it still makes his lips slightly part. He knew Abby’s and Seb’s childhood, which, from what he undoubtedly heard, could have been more painful and terrible than his own. They got beaten up and assaulted almost every day, Seb had told him days after they became friends. So, he decides to ask this one question.

“..Why?”

“..I didn’t say I was gonna forgive them quickly, did I? It takes time for a person to truly forgive someone, and to me.. that’s okay. If they haven’t changed, I will still forgive them, but not immediately, but if they did change and they want to be a different person, then I will forgive them, no matter what they did to me.”

Ethan lets out a sigh he has been containing for a while, instantly recognizing his need for oxygen. If her father came back, as a changed man, would she forgive him? How can she do that? No, the key question is, how will she do that? Before meditating deeper into his thoughts, she disrupts him.

“Is this about your mother, Ethan?”

“..I.. I’ll admit I have been thinking about that. I also have been wondering.. I’m like my mother aren’t I?”

Bewilderment substitutes her gentle voice. “What are you talking about? You’re not like your-”

‘I push everyone away, especially you. Every time when you try to get close to me. That’s exactly what my mom did to me and my dad. She left us without a note. I left you to the Amazon with no reason as to why I did it.”

“Ethan-”

“Tell me, Abby. Tell me that you weren’t hurt by my actions and I will let this topic go.”

Another impressive silence, until he hears some cars honking on the bustling streets of Boston. And he hears her familiar voice on the other side, bringing remorse but an equivalent amount of considerable comfort in him. “..Ethan.. you may have hurt me. A lot. I’ll admit that. But you are not your mother, do you understand that?

Ethan tries to swallow a small lump in his throat. “You’ve changed. From pushing me away to letting me in. I am honored to be a part of your life in this way. And, to answer another question of yours, in my opinion, I think she really wants to change. For Mr. Ramsey and for you.”

His throat tightens again as he hears her speak once more. “It takes a lot of courage for someone to visit their family after 25 years. Maybe she does really want to change. But I’m not making any options for you. This is your choice and yours only.”

She still aids him, even though he shut her out today. She still cherishes him, even though What did I do to deserve her? he thinks.

“Ethan? Are you there?” he hears her troubled voice. He speaks to alleviate her worry.

“...Thank you. For this, I mean. For always being there for me when I need you.”

She sighs contentedly . “Ethan, I told you once before, and I’ll tell this again, until you get it in your head. I’ll. Always. Be. There. For. You. Whether you like it. Or not.”

*Back to present*

“Ethan?” He hears a familiar voice from down the hallway. Seb. Next to him is what he presumes to be Jazmin. Their eyes are pinkish, cheeks blushed and streaked with tears.

How is he going to talk to them? How is he going to talk to Seb, the one most beloved friend that he has, cares for and trusts? How is he going to talk to Jazmin? Even though they hadn’t really seen each other before, they usually communicated on the phone a lot, and she seems to be the dear mother he never had until now. And he.. he failed them.

Seb speaks up first, looking at him straight in the eye. “We know everything, Ethan. We know.”

Ethan stands there. Not moving. His face looks deathly pale as he looks at him and his mother. They.. know? But ho-

“Did Naveen have anything to do with that?” Ethan replied angrily.

The successful surgeon sighs profoundly. “Yes, he told us. But before you say anything, just hear us out, okay?”

Ethan speaks low, in a terrifying voice that makes interns want to get away from him. He cuts Seb out before he states anything. “..I’m sorry. I apologize. I really am sorry. I can’t believe that woman really put her through this, and it almost seems unbelievable. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have started to trust Louise again. And I promise you that when I get that witch in my hands, I will-”

Jazmin instantly ceases him with a raise of her hand. “Son, do you think we’re mad at you?”

The attending’s eyebrows draw together as confusion overtakes his senses. They’re not enraged at me?

She chuckles slowly, as if sensing uncertainty. “To answer to your lack of certainty, I’m not mad. I’ll never be mad at you. you are not your mother. You are not Louise Ramsey, do you understand me, young man?”

Emotions. Sentiments. They’re flying around him as she announces these words. Suddenly he recalls the similar words his Rookie said.

But you are not your mother, do you understand that?

“I..”

Seb scores him off. “Ethan, stop blaming yourself for something you didn’t do. You never made a mistake and we know you love our Angel as much as we love her.”

“I... I love her, don’t I?”

His best friend snickers. “Took you long enough.”

Next to him, Jazmin is sending the doctor a goofy smile.

Suddenly, the moment of ease was interrupted gently by Caspian, a male nurse.

“Abigail Chacko?”

Ethan almost passed out from hearing her name. To not make the moment more awkward, Seb responds for him. “We’re here for her.”

“Abby is conscious and is asking for Dr. Ramsey.”

_______________________________________________________________

Mystery Man’s POV

I walk outside of the ‘prestigious’ hospital. No one minds me. They’re absolutely that stupid, aren’t they?

Louise calls me. “I escaped. Now tell me, what should I do next for our plan to be a success?”

I respond cautiously to her with ease. “Our secret spot. I’m on my way there. Meet me at 5 A.M. Sharp.”

Louise chuckles wickedly. “Marrying you does have its perks.”

I smile wickedly. “It indeed does.” Right away, I cut the call.

________________________________________________________________

A/N 2: any idea who the mystery man is? hint: it’s not alan.

A/N 3: sorry for the cliffhanger!! i promise you that you’ll know more soon.

tags: @missmiimiie @aylamwrites @starrystarrytrouble @udishaman @caseyvalentineramsey @queencarb @choicesstan1 @newcolonies @arcticrivers @angela8756 @takemyopenheart @rookie-ramsey @ohchoices @ohvamsey @ohramsey @natureblooms24 @drariellevalentine @openheartfanfics

#pixelberry choices #choices stories you play #open heart #open heart choices #pixelberry #pixelberry open heart #ethan ramsey #playchoices #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey fanfiction #ethan ramsey x mc

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artistic-writer · 3 years

Text

Sparking the Pavement :: CS Moto GP AU :: Chapter 7

Title: Sparking the Pavement by @artistic-writer Rating: E Summary: Killian Jones has everything he has ever dreamed of. He likes fast bikes and even faster women, that is until almost losing his brother makes him rethink his life choices. And then a chance encounter with a blonde bombshell on the race track gives him the chance to change and find love, but as usual, team politics get in the way and for the first time in his life, Killian can’t just get what he wants. Moto GP racing AU.

AO3 - FF - Ko-Fi

A/N: I FOUND MY TAG LIST! But please let me know if you want to be added/removed as its a little out of date.

So, here is ch 7(or ch 8 if you are on ao3) and i can’t thank you guys enough for sticking with this story, especially as this year hasn’t exactly been full of words. I don’t like this chapter, but my last-minute-ultimate-goddess-beta @resident-of-storybrooke said it was okay, so I have to believe her. Massive thanks to her, and like I said, she is awesome, so go show her some love!

Taglist: @resident-of-storybrooke @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @hookedonapirate @winterbaby89 @courtorderedcake @initiala @cocohook38 @branlovesouat @teamhook @snidgetsafan @sherlockianwhovian @shireness-says @wingedlioness @therooksshiningknight @ilovemesomekillianjones @bmbbcs4evr @blowmiakisscolin @deathbycaptainswan @onceuponaprincessworld @chinawoodfan @seriouslyhooked @snowbellewells @wordsmith-storyweaver @jennjenn615 @delightfully-difficult-pirate @doodlelolly0910 @tiganasummertree @hookedmom @thejollyroger-writer @rachie1940 @unworried-corsair @cs-forlife @notoriouscs @killian-whump @darkcolinodonorgasm @mariakov81 @strangestarlighttree @shardminds @thisonesatellite

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Killian felt hot. Or was it sick? Or was it both? All he knew was that the second he had seen Emma standing beside his boss - their boss - his entire world felt like it had imploded. To stop the room from spinning, and to help stabilize his frayed nerves that were threatening to unravel even more than they had been since Liam’s death, he had fled like some sort of coward without so much as a word to her. The air outside of the garage hadn’t made it any easier to breathe and the haze clouding his vision, a mixture of tears and dizziness, had him bumping into the wall of the corridor down which he had made his escape.

Killian flattened a palm to the pristine white wall, hoping to steady himself long enough to stop himself falling over, but the weight of his boots tripped him up, and he was only saved from toppling by a firm but gentle grip. The familiar warmth in his hand was grounding and like a newborn taking its first breath, Killian inhaled hard and audibly, the sound almost drowned out by the slamming of the door he had been hastily guided through. Eyes closed, he felt like he was floating away but the warm hands on his face chased away the clammy sensation on his skin instantly and when his eyes fluttered open, he already knew to whom they belonged.

“Emma,” he breathed like it was the only word he knew. The mixture of emotions swarmed through him like hornets attacking prey, suffocating him, stinging him, making him wish that he hadn’t fallen so fast and so hard for the woman tenderly cupping his face in her hands like he was made of the finest china.

“I’m sorry, Killian, I meant to tell you,” Emma said softly. Her thumbs brushed over his cheeks and wiped away the tiny amount of salty tears he had let fall. She felt guilty, of course she did, and she was angry at herself for not telling him, but the minute she had found him playing the piano, his pain had become her pain and there was no amount of truth that would ever make that disappear.

“Stop,” he bit out, shaking his head from her grasp.

“Killian, please,” Emma pleaded, his rejection cutting through her.

His silence broke her heart in two. He was conflicted and she could tell just by looking at him that the pain tearing through his soul was more heartache than any man could take. The room they had bundled into was just a small closet of some kind filled with supplies and faintly smelling of fresh oil, but even in the confined space, Killian still managed to take a step back when she stepped forward.

“Killian, I know you are angry,” Emma began, but the harshness of his quick response took her back.

“Do you?” Killian snapped.

“Of course I do!” Emma snapped back, albeit in a hushed voice.

“How could you?” He stared her down, the warmth from her body radiating through her Honda issue shirt that still smelled of the chemicals used to preserve clothes in transit, making him feel sick to know he might never feel her body against his again.

"This is about me taking the job. Liam’s job," Emma surmised quickly and Killian huffed. "Look, I’m sorry. I didn't know things between us would be so intense."

"We can't be together. Not now." Killian was ranting, sliding away from her back into the depths of sorrow that had filled his soul. Having Liam ripped away from him was one thing, and now he would be losing her too. "I told you things, Emma, things I would never tell anyone." Killian looked down at her with sorrowful eyes, like he wanted to ignore the voice in his head telling him to push past her and run further away.

"Killian, stop,” Emma said firmly, patting his cheek until his eyes met hers. “Breathe,” she whispered, sounding out the word on a breath of her own, forcing him to mirror her actions, in and out, until the quiver in his lip ceased. “I can’t give up this job and I take back how I feel.” Emma closed the gap between them and pressed her forehead against his. “What, you think I meant to fall in love with you?"

“I can’t lose you,” Killian whimpered, pulling his head away from hers.

“And you won’t. Me taking the mechanic job changes nothing. I still hear everything you said, every little detail of your pain.” She stepped forward, one hand flattening over his heart, her fingertip caressing the material of his shirt that threatened to dampen the beating of his heart to her touch. “This,” she began, tapping a finger on his shirt, “still has me. All of me.”

Killian, having let his gaze fall to her hand on his body, and taken back by the electricity he swore he could feel shooting from her fingertips, took a breath and lifted his head until their eyes met once more. His eyes filled with water, not quite tears, but threatening to fall nonetheless, and Emma quickly slipped her hand down his arm and grasped ardently at his fingers.

“All of me, Killian Jones,” she repeated, the lump in her throat changing her voice to a husky rasp. Emma lifted his hand and pressed it to where her heartbeat, quickened by panic and fear of losing the man in front of her. “You’re in here, and I couldn’t cast you out even if I wanted to.”

"Then that day on the track-"

"Was just two people having fun. No malicious intent, I promise. Well, unless you count me taking your bike.” Emma paused, watching the corner of his lips tick up into a glimmer of a smile. “I'll admit, I came to meet you to soften the blow of me taking Liam's job. I just wanted us to get on...” She continued but Killian cut her off with a snort of laughter and a quirk of his eyebrow as he recalled how they had indeed meshed quite well.

“We got on rather swimmingly if I recall.” He smirked and Emma gave his arm a playful slap, glad he was feeling more at ease.

“And to tell you about how I meant no disrespect, but then you kissed me and…"

"I think you'll find, love, that it was you who kissed me," he sassed cheekily.

“Will you stop interrupting me!” Emma chuckled. “I’m trying to make amends here,” she smiled, the apple of her cheeks tinting a rosy shade of pink under his scrutinous gaze. "Does it matter anyway? We have to stop seeing each other now."

"Why?" Killian frowned, clutching onto her elbows to stop her from pulling away from him.

"Our contracts, Killian, you said so yourself. The 'no relationships with colleagues' or instant dismissal clause." Emma wracked her brains for something, anything, that could keep them together, but her close proximity to him made her concentration wane, and all she could focus on was the smell of his aftershave and how much she would miss the scent of wood spice and sea salt on her skin.

"Oh, that little thing." He stepped forward, a sly smirk spreading across his lips as he took her by the hand and pulled her body flush with his. “Little details.”

"I'm serious,” Emma tried to convey, wriggling out of his grasp. “I need this job."

Killian caught her hand in his again and stopped her from retreating to the other side of the supply cupboard. "And I need you, Emma Swan,” he said when her gaze met his once more. Her heart stopped, the lump in her throat catching as she tried to swallow. “This team is built on my success-,”

“Not Will’s?” Emma teased.

Killian narrowed his eyes at her. “You’ve met Will?” he asked with jealousy.

“This team is built on my success,” Emma parroted, prompting him to continue. She looped her arms around his neck and let her body fall against his.

“My point is,” Killian began, gulping hard when the feel of Emma’s body against his made his skin prickle with the sensation of arousal he had come to realise only she could pry out of him.

“Yes?” Emma asked innocently, her fingers stroking the soft, downy hair at the base of his skull and enjoying the way goosebumps appeared in the wake of her fingertips.

Killian clenched his jaw and could hear his teeth squeaking together. “I'm sorry I was a wanker-"

"Yes, you were," she grinned.

"I just didn't want to lose you too, alright?" Killian’s hands snaked around her waist, roughened palms pressing into the flesh of her hip and holding her in place, silently begging her to stay within arms reach.

“You won’t,” Emma promised with a shake of her head. Pushing herself up on her toes as she pulled his head down, she seized his lips in a kiss that was neither needy nor chaste; it just was and the world seemed to stop around them until their lips parted and reality was there once more. "So what do we do now? As cosy as this cupboard is, we are not going to meet in here for our secret workplace rendezvous," Emma said defiantly.

"Quite," Killian agreed, pushing aside something that was jamming him in the back.

"Think you can control yourself around me so we can keep this thing a secret?" Emma tilted her head to one side, somehow not quite believing that she was plotting to secretly date a work colleague on her first day.

"Oh, look at you, already breaking the rules," Killian grinned proudly but Emma just glared at him. "Alright, alright, I'll try."

Stepping forward again, Emma tiptoed to whisper in his ear. "Try hard," she breathed, her hand sliding over the front of his pants until she felt him harden beneath the fabric.

Killian gulped, the falling sensation in his stomach back again, but this time it was driven by lust. His eyes rolled back in his head, tongue darting out to lick at his lips, desperate to remember the taste of her skin. "Hard, aye," he mumbled before a groan reverberated deep in his throat.

"Nope," Emma said suddenly, snatching her hand away from the heat of his length pressing against her palm. "You failed."

"What?" Killian groaned achingly, eyes wide with disbelief.

"You can't even stop yourself from getting an erection, how are we supposed to keep us a secret?" Emma stepped back, arms crossed over her chest but a wry smirk across her face.

"Love, you were rubbing my cock," Killian said defensively, that sly smirk returning as he accentuated the last word with a honey laced timbre to his tone.

"And stop that," Emma quipped with a point of her finger. "Stop pulling that face around me. People will know."

"How will they know?" Killian challenged with a chuckle.

"It's feral and dirty, and so, so…” Emma words trailed off and she hadn’t even noticed the effect touching him had on her own body until her gaze shifted to his slightly parted lips that were still wet from where he had licked them, and she suddenly wished his head was between her legs fixing the ache that had settled between her thighs.

Emma only vaguely remembered seeing him smirk, tongue running over the point of his canine, before she was grabbing the collar of his neatly pressed shirt and was crushing his lips with hers. She heard a clatter, of what she had no idea, but it must have been where Killian had stumbled backwards with the ferocity of her kiss, and she readily ignored it in favour of forcing her tongue into his mouth for a taste of him. Killian pushed back after a beat, hands skimming up her back and cradling the back of her head in one hand, holding her to him as he devoured her kiss, inhaling the scent of her and wishing he was anywhere but at work at that exact moment.

"Can we finish this later on at my place?” He rasped breathlessly, breaking the kiss before his eyes had even fully reopened. “It's bad form to rouse a full mast out of a man and then leave him to fend for himself,” he groaned, the tent in his pants painfully obvious.

Emma grinned slyly but gave him no answer, instead, pulling him in for another kiss, tongue diving into his mouth for another duel with his own. Killian groaned again, anguished by the fact he knew there would be no release for him despite how turned on he was. This time it was Emma who broke the kiss and she sucked on his bottom lip with a feral growl of her own.

"Leave five minutes after me," she rasped, pushing him away from her in an attempt to re-acclimatize to her senses.

“And later?” Killian asked eagerly to which he only received a smirk over her shoulder as Emma slipped out of the doorway, teeth biting her bottom lip hungrily as she winked at him. Killian sucked in a breath, shaking his head to clear the fog of lust in his brain whilst looking down at the state of himself, erection poking out proudly as if it was trying to follow it’s mistress out the door. “Five minutes,” he laughed to himself, letting his head fall back so he could stare at a spot on the ceiling on the cupboard, willing away the blood in his cock keeping him as hard as marble at the mere thought of seeing Emma later on. “Maybe ten,” he shrugged, fist clenched at his side with no sign of his manhood retreating. “Alright, fifteen,” he conceded with a small smirk.

The day had been tough. Not only were there a million people asking a million questions and still offering a million condolences about Liam - how big was this building anyway? - but it seemed around every corner was someone else Killian needed to avoid. His return to work hadn’t gone unnoticed by the media, who constantly hounded him for a comment about Liam, like vultures over a still warm carcass. Overwhelmed wasn’t even the word for it. Will had tried his hardest to stave off the rabble, but in the end, Killian had been forced to retreat to his driver’s trailer, one he normally used on the road as the team travelled between race circuits. It was calm and quiet and had offered him the solace he needed, and he had managed to completely forget about his earlier rendezvous with the lovely Miss Swan until after lunch, when both he and Will were summoned to the garage.

Nothing short of thorough on her first day, Emma had made short work of Ruby’s paperwork and had dived straight into the more hands on side of her job role. Belle, Will’s primary mechanic, had helped her find her feet and move her tools into the garage. There was a workspace waiting for her, cleaned and newly painted by the faint smell of fresh paint that had yet to disappear, with her name etched into a plaque above where her toolbox would go. Belle had helped her manoeuvre the brand new huge, red metal chest into place and was busy showing her all of the pristine, metallic tools inside that were all just for her.

It felt somewhat paradoxical, a fully trained mechanic, having honed their craft with their own set of tools which they could tell apart with their eyes closed, getting a brand new set, but Honda had rules, and one of them was that they only used certain brands of tools. Of course, Emma knew it was all based on sponsors and maybe even next season would deliver her a new set of tools, but for now, she couldn’t wait to break in the ones right in front of her. She pulled open a drawer, the shallowest one at the top, fingers hooking under the chromed lip with the same glee as a kid at Christmas before revealing a set of immaculate wrenches and specialist tools that made her giddy with excitement.

“Can’t wait to get going, huh?” Belle appeared behind her and made her jump a little.

“Is it wrong that I am thinking about sabotage just so I can fix something?” Emma laughed, her fingers running over the biggest wrench in the set.

“Trust me,” Belle quipped. “With the way these guys race, there will be plenty of fixing to do.”

“Oi!” Will yelled, his voice echoing around them as he entered the garage at exactly the moment Belle had been insinuating his lack of skill. “I for one am offended.”

Belle spun around to follow his voice and shifted her weight onto one hip, her hand resting on the curve of her hip. “Will, hun,” she began with a playful smirk. “Following the guy in front of you isn’t racing. That’s just driving.”

Emma stifled a laugh and pushed the tool chest drawer closed.

Will narrowed his eyes at his mechanic. “I thought we were friends.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Belle laughed, giving him a wink.

“You hear this, Killian? Belle is teaching the new girl her bad habits already.”

At the mention of his name, Emma’s ear perked up and she tried not to look so desperate to see him as she turned around and saw him enter the garage behind Will. He looked tired but they had been at it for the majority of the night before and his hair was still a little dishevelled from their cupboard tryst. His hands were in his pockets, probably to remove the temptation of touching her, and the way he licked at his lips before replying to his teammate was sinful. She wasn’t sure, but Emma could have sworn there was a whimper in her throat, but she hoped she had managed to swallow it before Belle heard.

And then he lifted his head, looked her dead in the eye and smirked like a predator who had thoroughly exhausted it’s quarry and was about ready for the take down.

“I’m sure Miss Nolan,” Killian began, emphasizing her name as he toyed with the words on his tongue as he advanced on her. “Has a few naughty habits of her own.”

Will’s laughter managed to disguise the nervous chirp that tumbled from her lips but it was useless in hiding the fact her cheeks were abloom with a red blush. Killian spotted it immediately and raised an eyebrow in her direction, the corner of his

mouth tugging into that boyish smirk only she would know meant he was implying something else. She mirrored his smirk slyly, averting her gaze just as quickly as she had caught his eye,lest Will or Belle notice their eye fucking.

“Well then, mate, I’m glad she’s working on your equipment, and not mine,” Will scoffed.

Emma’s eyes widened at his words, and even though she was looking back at her tool chest, trying desperately to distract herself from the choking sensation in her throat, she could feel the burn of Killian’s stare on the back of her head. Covering her mouth with a slightly shaky hand that was very uncharacteristic of a mechanic of her calibre, Emma coughed to clear the dryness that had set itself firmly in the back of her mouth, and when she took the risk of sliding her gaze sideways, Killian was there, waiting, with raw darkness and sex in his eyes that made the apex of her thighs tingle.

“Will you boys stop it? Emma has only just got here and you’re already scarring her.” Belle clipped the back of Will’s head with a playful slap, before pointing an accusatory finger in Killian’s direction. Before he had time to react, she was continuing, a more menacing tone to her voice. “Leave. Her. Alone.”

“Why is your rage directed at me?” Killian asked innocently. “Will’s the sex pest!”

“Oi, fuck off, mate!” Will detested, rubbing the back of his head.

“Language!” Belle screeched, yet again slapping Will but this time across his shoulder.

“Language?!” Will countered, his voice higher than it should have been for a man his age. “Emma’s raced! She knows what swear words are.”

There was a spot of silence, during which Emma tried to busy herself with absolutely nothing in front of her, but it wasn’t long before she could feel a second pair of eyes boring into the back of her head.

“You raced?” Belle asked quickly. “When? Where? Why don’t you race anymore?”

Emma didn’t know Belle that well but she had already worked out that the brunette was the sort of person who had an issue controlling the lilt of her voice when she was engaged by intrigue. She didn’t mind. It was natural to be curious, but she had hoped her colleagues would have remained in the dark a little longer. It wasn’t something she wanted to relive, not yet, but exactly how they had found out was soon revealed when Killian’s head shake of denial turned Will’s cheeks right red as she looked from one to the other.

“I googled you,” Will admitted sheepishly after reading her silent question.

“Will!” Belle’s voice pierced the air again but he was quick to sidestep her intended blow this time.

“You asked!” Will frowned defensively. “How is you asking different to me searching for Emma Nolan online?”

“How did you find me?” Emma piped up suddenly, stepping away from her tool chest and facing Will, her arms folded tightly across her chest. “You shouldn’t have found me.” Her defences had kicked in, whether she wanted them to her not, and Killian noticed them immediately and rushed to intervene.

“Why don’t we save this topic for another time, aye?” Killian slipped in between Emma and Will, his back to his teammate, before his hands were on her shoulders and, as if reading his mind, Belle was directing a confused Will away from Emma’s fury. Killian could feel the tension in her shoulders, despite his gentle coercion, and he almost forgot himself when one of his hands gravitated towards brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “Belle, Will, why don’t we give Emma a moment alone?”

Belle was quick to nod her head and pushed Will towards the door, muttering angrily about his stupidity. Killian was about to follow his colleagues but just as they exited the garage, Will still grumbling and his voice echoing down the hall, he was stopped when Emma grabbed onto his little finger. He turned quickly, his eyes falling to the way her hands were clutching to his pinky, her slight tremor travelling all the way up his arm.

“Love, what is it?” Killian asked quickly, concern lacing his voice. Casting a quick glance over his shoulder to watch the door to the garage fully close, Killian felt a surge of adrenaline invade his body, his worry for Emma the primary cause. “Emma?” Killian pried again. He brushed the back of his hand over her cheek, slightly bent knuckles stroking her in an attempt to rouse her from her state.

“Swan,” Emma mumbled, swallowing hard.

Killian frowned and shook his head. “I’m sorry, love, I’m not following.”

“Swan,” Emma repeated, finally lifted her head so their eyes met once more. “I raced as Emma Swan, not Nolan. You’re the only person, other than me, who knew this, and yet Will Scarlet managed to google me? How?”

The way she was looking at him for answers, with pleading in her watery eyes, made his heart pained. He couldn’t give her an answer because he simply didn’t know and despite his best efforts, the uncertainty in his own eyes must have been blatantly obvious to her because Emma’s lip quivered, and the dam finally broke, hot, rolling tears spilling from her eyelids. No time passed between the first tear falling and Killian pulling her against the firm planes of his chest, wrapping his arms around her as more than just comfort. It was a protection, a means by which he promised to find out.

“I’ll talk to Will,” Killian offered. “Find out where exactly he found out, alright?” His hands rubbed her back, splayed out over the material of her shirt and letting her cry, her tears lost in the material of his own uniform. He felt her nod against him and moved his head so that he could kiss the top of hers, letting his lips linger against the warmth of her hair while he inhaled the smell of her, traces of his shower gel mixed with her own floral scent invading his nostrils.

“Thank you,” Emma sniffed, lifting her head and relaxing out of his embrace. She shook her head and brushed her hair from her face and Killian’s hands were cupping her face and brushing away the lines tears had left on her cheeks with a softness she hadn’t realised he possessed. Before she had time to realise his intentions, his lips were on hers, preceded by a small smile of assurance, and Emma felt the weight of her worry disappear.

When he broke the kiss, Emma took a second to open her eyes, and only did so prompted by Killian gently rubbing his hand up and down her arm. He smiled at her warmly, a genuine look of content on his face now that he knew she was okay, and took his hand in hers before lifting it to his lips and planting a soft kiss to her knuckles.

“Are you sure you’re alright, darling?” He asked again.

“I’m sure,” Emma nodded, hastily wiping at her cheeks once more. She blew out a breath, letting all of the tension leave her, and clutched at Killian’s hand dangling between them at the same time. “I’ll be better tonight,” she teased. “I have plans.”

Killian smirked, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Oh, you do? Not with anyone too horrid, I hope.”

“Oh, he’s ghastly,” Emma mocked, faking his accent with a little too much American twang. “But very good in bed. You’d hate him.”

“Well, as your colleague, might I take this opportunity to express my concerns?” Killian raised an eyebrow when she tilted her head and leaned her whole weight against him, her fingers toying with the collar of his shirt.

“Feel free,” Emma shrugged.

“I’m concerned you might be in too deep with this guy.” He grinned, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “Or maybe it is he who is in too deep?” He growled, the words vibrating over her ear.

“If he plays his cards right,” Emma smirked coyly, biting her bottom lip. “That might be exactly where he finds himself.”

Content that Emma was alright, Killian had headed out of the garage and was intent on finding Will. He’d got held up slightly when Robin had wanted to talk to him about the next season - too long, if he was completely honest - and it was way into lunchtime by the time he had caught up with his teammate. Will always ate his lunch on the track, surrounded by bikes and the smell of lubricant and oil tainting his food, his greasy hands unwashed as he tucked into whatever had been on offer in the cafeteria that day. Today, it seemed, had been a cold meal day with a selection of finger foods and sandwiches on offer, much to Killian’s disgust.

“You know we have gloves, right?” Killian asked gingerly, stepping into Will’s garage with a look of disgust on his face.

Will looked up from his bike, mouth full of half the egg sandwich he held in his blackened hand and a smear of grease across his cheek. He chewed and swallowed, giving Killian a shrug.

“I like to feel the parts I work on,” he shrugged, stuffing another mouthful of the sandwich into his gaping maw before swigging from a bottle of coke.

Killian grimaced. “I meant for the sandwich,” he clarified.

Will gave him a grin. “Tastes better with a little Castrol dressing.”

“You truly are the most disgusting human being I have ever had the pleasure of knowing,” Killian told him, not even a little bit surprised by his own words as they left his mouth.

“Why, thank you, squire!” Will gave Killian a little salute, his confusion between medieval terminology and military actions revealing his youth. “What’s up? What brings you out to the second riders area?”

Will patted the chair next to him, offering it to Killian, who plopped down into it without any more prompting.

“I needed to ask you a question,” Killian began, declining Will’s offer of some grease covered potato chips. “Where did you find the name, Emma Swan?”

Will stopped mid chew, holding the shards of chips in his mouth with his tongue. “I googled Emma Nolan and Emma Swan came up,” he mumbled awkwardly.

“Pfft, give over, mate!” Killian scoffed.

“No, really!” Will detested. He shook the bag until all the crumbs fell into one corner, then tipped his head back and emptied the bag into his mouth. A few more crunches later, he was licking his lips and sloppily licking his fingers before unlocking his phone and turning the device towards Killian. “See.”

Killian snatched the phone out of his hand, ignoring the way it was slightly slippery from the potato chip oil coating its side, and ignored Will’s protest as he focused on the screen. His teammate hadn’t been lying. There, in black and white digital print, for the world to see, was a photo of Emma Nolan under a huge bold title that gave away her race name, Emma Swan, to the entire world. Killian felt his blood begin to boil when he read the subtitle that alluded to the fact Emma had tried to hide her identity to get her job, and as he skimmed his thumb up the screen to scroll down, all became somewhat clear.

“Cassidy?” Killian muttered and hadn’t realised out loud until Will snatched his phone back and gave him a nod.

“He used to date her, apparently.” Will shrugged and stuffed his phone back in his pocket.

Killian frowned, a little shaken by Will’s revelation. “When?”

“Did you know she got caught doping?” Will raised his eyebrows whilst trying to dislodge a piece of potato chip from behind his tooth.

“What?! No, she never!” Killian argued, fuming.

“Yeah, see, it’s right here,” Will began, pulling his phone back into Killian’s view and tapping the screen a few times, but he didn’t have time to read any of the articles about Emma Swan/Nolan before Killian was slapping the device out of his hands. “Hey!” Will yelled, watching the love of his life clatter to the floor, screen down. His heart sank. “If that’s broken, mate,” he growled, straightening himself up and puffing out his chest.

“Yeah? What?” Killian snarled, squaring up to his teammate until they almost bumped noses.

“Fuck off!” Will pushed against Killian’s chest, hard, and the other rider stumbled back a little.

“Or what?” Killian challenged, moving back into Will’s space, his heart hammering in his chest.

Will gave him another push, and stopped Killian advancing by holding out an open hand. “Look, I know you’re not Cassidy’s biggest fan, but I’m not to blame for that shitbag said, am I?” Will could see the darkness of rage clouding Killian’s eyes, changing the normally mellow blue colour to a stormy grey, and his teammate was clearly clenching his jaw. “I’m just the messenger, so don’t shoot, alright?”

Killian took a long deep breath and followed it by another, letting his eyes flutter closed. The onslaught of new information was too much, overloading his system and shorting out the already very short fuse he had when anyone mentioned the name Neal Cassidy. Coupled with the fact he had just learned that Emma, the most wholesome woman he had ever known after his mother, had once been in a relationship with Cassidy too? Fury was the only thing he could feel, but given the chance to calm a little, he suddenly realised why Emma’s race days were not a first date sort of conversation.

Will picked up his phone off the garage floor, the sound of shattered glass scraping the concrete and a following tut of disgust leaving his mouth with an added groan, made Killian feel remorseful immediately. Will was his friend, and he had been right; he was just relaying information he had found on the internet. No reason for Killian to lose his cool so quickly, especially over a colleague who, for everyone else’s benefit, was just the new mechanic.

“Bugger it,” Will sighed, tossing his now dead phone onto the tool chest he had been using. “That’s just bloody brilliant.”

“I’ll buy you another,” Killian offered, rubbing his temples.

“Yeah you will,” Will snapped. “What’s gotten into you today? You storm out of the big reveal, and now you’re going all Hulk on my phone?”

“I’m sorry,” Killian said more evenly. “I said I’ll buy you another.”

“I’m worried about you,” Will said quickly, tapping the palm of his greasy hand with the round end of a spanner. “I know losing Liam was the hardest thing you ever had to experience, but I wish you would just talk to us.”

“Us?” Killian narrowed his eyes.

“Me, Elsa, Belle, Robin. Us. Your Team, your family!” Will sounded exasperated, all of his worry for his friend seemingly leaving him all at once. “Mate, I’d even be happy if you started pouring your heart out to the new mechanic because at least then you’d be talking about it!”

The corner of Killian’s lips pulled up into a small smile at Will’s words and he cast his gaze down to his feet, ashamed of the way he had been acting lately. He’d been so wrapped up in mourning his brother, blaming himself, that he hadn’t stopped to realise how it was affecting the people around him. These people had known Liam too. They were all a part of his life in one context or another, and Killian had failed to notice their own grief whilst he had been so consumed with his own.

“Will, come here,” Killian ordered softly, taking a step towards his teammate.

“Why?” Will asked suspiciously, frowning at the way Killian had opened his arm as he advanced.

“Just come here,” Killian insisted, waving a hand towards himself to encourage Will.

“No, mate, no…”

Without another word, Killian was pulling him into a crushing hug, and Will only resisted for a few seconds before he let the spanner he was holding clatter to the floor with a metallic echo. He threw his arms around his friend, face buried into the crook of Killian’s neck as a soft, watery sob hitched in his throat. Killian tightened his grip, unable to form the words he was looking for to comfort his teammate.

“I miss him too,” Will whispered, his voice changed by the lump in his throat.

Killian still couldn’t find the words, instead, his hand cradling the back of Will’s head and letting him cry against the collar of his shirt. Will bunched the material of Killian’s shirt in his fists and let out a manly wail, letting out all of his sorrow and anger at the same time, encouraged by Killian gently patting his back. When he felt Will relax, Killian loosened his grip and both men stood back upright, face to face. Will hastily wiped at the tear stains on his cheeks, smearing a big black line of grease across his cheek before wiping his nose on the sleeve of his overalls, which made Killian chuckle.

“You really are disgusting,” he said fondly and Will just grinned cheekily.

#sparking the pavement #stp #cs fanfic #cs fic #csff #captain swan #cs #smut fic #motogp #cs au #ch7/8

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silvia7272 · 4 years

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8 ~ The Blog-Off

I thought it would be time to meet some of the secondary characters I haven’t introduced yet. Also, I think this might be the third to last one before Piper is introduced to the gang? Maybe, just soon, I hope. And I think it’ll feel like a massive info dump but oh well, I wanted more people than just the class.

Also, I want to give these characters some actual personality traits, hope you like them.

Since I’ve made it that Timetagger isn’t canon in my storyline then I’ll have to add that Alix’s watch is just a unique watch and not a Miraculous since she’s a part of the class salt. Hopefully, that makes sense. Also, the episode Feast hasn’t happened either.

Word Count: 5698

Tags: @queenmj10, @fangirl39, @animegirlweeb, @northernbluetongue, @maribat-is-lifeblood, @raisuke06, @indecisive-mess-named-me @luleck, @themotherofhogwarts, if you wish to be tagged all you have to do is say. Also, if you change your name please tell me, I don’t want to leave you out since you’ve asked to be tagged.

Ok, so I just checked on the fanon website information for Miraculous Ladybug and it says Juleka and Alix are 15, how? And why couldn’t they just make it simple so they’re all 13 at the start? I really don’t get it, could someone explain it to me, it just seems so odd to only have 2 people at different ages, (Just saw that Kagami is 15 as well)? For now, they first became heroes at 13, Adrien 14 because his birthday was in the bubbler. Including those 3 cause it makes more sense, because if Juleka really is 15 it's said that Luka is 2 years older than her so that means he’s 17 and that makes me extremely iffy about him liking a 13-year-old Marinette. Yikes, I like Luka leave him alone damn it.

So, the second year of Miraculous Ladybug, they’re all 14-15.

***

It was a particularly sunny day at Collège Françoise Dupont. There hadn’t been any Akuma’s for a while. Leaving everyone a chance to relax.

Well, most could relax.

“Aurore I’m sure its fine, you don’t need to stress so much” Her friend Mireille tried to calm her friend down to no avail. She was still staring at her phone.

“Y-Yeah cheer up. It's only been a day. Maybe people just haven’t l-looked under that tag yet?” But that response only made the blonde glare.

“How could they not. Its an actual Akuma battle I was able to get hold of and nothing? Unbelievable!” The video itself was of the Akuma SleepSis, Aurore was able to get some footage, shaky, but she was able to upload that battle.

Unluckily for her, it seemed that no one was interested but a few people. She couldn’t understand, it had Ladybug and Chat Noir as well as that new hero everyone wanted to know. But because she was new no one paid any attention to it.

“Hey, it's only the first video. Maybe if you make more people will see you.” Mireille suggested, she didn’t want to see her friend upset, they had started to become closer after their rocky start and she didn’t want her to be Akumatized because of this.

“It's so not fair, my video is the latest Akuma fight and nothing has come of it, meanwhile little miss blogger gets all the attention and she hardly does any posts about Akuma’s anymore, it's all about this Lila girl, who by the way is completely fake. Nothing on Akuma’s, more about Ladybug’s love life, why should we give a damn about that-” And here we had a completely wild Aurore, she was ranting while her friends were trying to calm her down. Marc already knew Lila was lying when Marinette told him after… Certain events happened. And Mireille was a good friend, believing Marc and Aurore right away, they had come at separate times and besides, after hearing the girl, all Mireille could see was fakery everywhere.

“Excuse me? Can we sit here?” A voice spoke, breaking the three out of their conversation.

“Huh? Marinette! How are you?” Aurore stood to hug the bluenette who was overjoyed with the fact they saw each other again. Their class schedules were so spread out, this had been the first time, before Rosina joined in fact, that she could see them.

And boy did they change.

“Err Marinette I don’t want to tell you this but Chloé is behind you, extremely close behind you” She pointed to the blonde who didn’t seem amused at all.

“Geez blondie, don’t talk about someone who’s in-ear reach!”

“Well maybe if you weren’t so close to us you wouldn’t hear!” They glared at each other so hard you could see the literal spark in their eyes.

This was going to be a long day.

***

“Sooo you two are friends now?” Mireille concluded after hearing this whole story.

“I find that extremely hard to believe” Aurore spoke, her eyes still not breaking away from Chloé.

“Well, no one's forcing you!” She retaliated.

“Eheh… So where is this miracle worker?” Marc but in, he found it better that Chloé was trying to mend her old ways, and try to redeem herself. It seemed to be working at least, she wasn’t insulting everyone at the table, only Aurore.

“She said she was coming later, she wanted to go explore something” Marinette explained, oblivious of Chloé’s horrified expression.

“And you let her!? You know she needs to be kept in check, what if she’s halfway across Paris by no-” Arms appeared around the girl's shoulders.

“Mari! Chlo! Hiya” It said.

“Ahhh! Don’t scare me like that!” Chloé hit her head, she was too surprised to realise who it was, but she wasn’t sorry, no one should scare someone and expect nothing to happen to them.

“Hey, no fair, it was only as they say a jest” Marinette held an embarrassed smile. Taking Rosina’s arm as they sat down at the table.

“Anyway Rosina, these are the friends I was talking about. Aurore, Mireille and Marc” She pointed to them as Rosina excitedly waved.

“H-Hi-” Marc couldn’t finish that sentence.

“Wow, I love your pigtails they look so cool. Aww, you look so cute in that outfit, like a cute little panda. Wow, I love your t-shirt I so want one for myself.” They all seemed confused. Why was this girl flattering them?

“Don’t worry she does that to everyone,” Marinette clarified.

“Yep, I read if you want to make a good impression you must compliment to provide a friendship with them, now that we’re friends what should we do?” She smiled an enormously large smile, she looked cute and happy, like they could feel the positivity radiating of the girl.

“You’ll get used to this as well, she’s always this happy.”

It was silent after that. No one really seemed to talk, because there was still a big elephant in the room. And it was all pointing to a specific blonde.

“Ugh fine I get it. I’ll go and leave you all in peace” Chloé got up and started to walk away. But two hands pulled her back.

“Wait Chloé it's fine. You seem like you’re really trying so I’ll give you a second chance.” Mireille said.

“Mmhmm, yeah Chloé you’re getting so much better, she even got me a phone” She held it up, her charm still intact, she wanted to take good care of it.

“Wow really?” Marc was surprised, Chloé actually gave someone a present? Was she an imposter? No, it didn’t seem like an Akuma.

“Yeah wanna see?” The redhead excitedly showed off her first-ever phone to the boy. Even explaining things Marc knew but didn’t have the heart to tell her.

“Mhmm buying your way into friendship now?” Aurore so wasn’t convinced at all; sure, people could change but she wasn’t about to forgive Chloé after all the years of her bullying her.

“For your information, Rosina was in need of a phone because she’s never had one. So, it was a gift” She retorted, arms crossed as Marinette put her hand to her forehead. Her and Mireille had given up trying to hold them back, it was obvious they weren’t going to like each other, it might take more time for them to get along.

“As if I’ll fall for that trick. I’ll see you crack under the pressure real soon Chloé Bourgeois.” She huffed as her head turned, refusing to look at her anymore.

“Whatever Aurore Beauréal” The other four were paying attention to Rosina as she was showing all her new apps.

“Err, R-Rosina I can’t understand any of it, what language is it in?” It wasn’t in French that was for sure.

“See see, since I’m still getting used to the French, so I’ve put it in Arabic since it's easier, that way whenever I text my friends they won’t get confused if I get anything wrong.” She gleamed as she put it back in her bag.

“It's fine Rosy, we can help you just tell us ok?”

They continued to talk as they had 1 hour of a free period left. And a previous topic came back to relevance.

“So, you’re a blogger as well?” Rosina was told what a blogger was after Alya overheard her uncertainty. She was dragged off by the girl as she explained. She showed all of her videos to her. Rosina was amazed by the fact one could capture motion and replay it. She had heard about a blog before but had yet to see it. Chloé and Marinette were able to steal her away after causing a distraction.

“A beginner, I was kinda inspired by Alya’s, but it slowly derailed into fake news, so I wanted to make one myself, for Ladybug. She’s been amazing for us and she deserves to be respected. Not pry about her love life or identity” Marinette was beaming on the inside, finally, someone wanting facts and information, plus she knew Lila was bs anyway. She couldn’t be more relieved.

“But… No one seems to want to watch it” Her confidence wavered, Marinette felt dejected, how could she help her she wondered?

“Can we see it? I wanna see what it's about” Aurore beamed with joy, she happily showed her, watching for any change in the girl's faces.

But before the redhead could state her opinions, the blonde beat her to it.

“There's nothing special about it”

“What! H-” She held up her hand, she so wasn’t done.

“It looks like a video that Césaire girl could do, hell I could do that with my eyes closed. There isn’t anything special here” Aurore had enough, how dare she walk in here and disrespect her like this. The pigtailed girl was so close to being done.

“Chloé’s right”

“Rosina you can’t just say it like that!” Marinette was concerned, please don’t make her have to face off Stormy Weather again!

“No wait- I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry Aurore, I just think you can change it, that’s all” She frantically waved her hands around as Aurore blinked.

“Huh?”

“I just mean, Chloé is right that it does look like Alya’s, so maybe you can make different err- what's the word… Content yeah that. Make different content, like an analysis of Akuma, and their powers and weapons.” Marinette shot up, ideas filling her mind.

“Maybe you could interview the heroes about questions regarding Akuma’s? I know people would feel better having their queries answered.” Mireille then joined in.

“You could include tips on how to stay safe during an Akuma attack? That could be useful.”

“I-If you want a script to use, I could help with that?” Marc piped up.

“And since I’m feeling generous, I guess I could lend you some space to use for your videos. Anywhere else would be barbaric” Aurore would’ve glared at her, but she couldn’t make herself do that. They were all encouraging her to continue, to make it unique, to make it her own.

She smiled.

“Thanks, you guys. I’ll be sure to remember this. And you too Chloé” Said blonde smirked.

“What? Sorry I didn’t hear that” She became irritated.

“Chloé please stop teasing her, that’s not a very nice thing to do” Rosina grabbed onto her arm, trying to stop the inevitable argument.

“Ugh fine, it wasn’t any fun anyway” Now they felt shocked. Chloé willingly giving up her teasing? That was unheard of- maybe Rosina really was a good influence after all.

***

[This is great, love the special guests]

[Thanks so much for the advice!]

[Thank you, sweetie, I’m sharing this with everyone xxx]

Hundreds of comments like these appeared within minutes of her second video. Amazingly Ladybug had somehow heard of what Aurore wanted to do and brought Crisono along for the ride as well. Because it was a quiet night, they were able to gain so much information, and Aurore was able to stop fangirling and have a proper conversation with them. They got so many recordings done in a single night Aurore was able to go to sleep feeling peaceful.

Her second video consisted of self-defence demonstrated by Ladybug, it held a serious yet comedic approach as Ladybug demonstrated what would happen if someone, Akuma or not, attacked you using Crisono. Ladybug playing the hero while Crisono played the villain, and what a funny villain she was. It was a huge hit and the viewers wanted more, wanted to know more about Crisono.

Luckily her third video would consist of who exactly Crisono Tassa was? They knew she didn’t hold a Miraculous, so the mysteries surrounding her were endless.

She was so happy by the boost she couldn’t help her locking onto Rosina the minute she spotted her at school.

“Thank you thank you thank you! They love it, and Ladybug and Crisono came to help me. Rosina, you’re the best” Rosina could only pat the girl on her back as her limbs were constricted from moving.

“I didn’t do anything really. But I’m so glad you’re happy Aurore, I mean I know my acting wasn’t the best bu-”

“What?” Mireille asked, what acting was she talking about?

“In the v-” Marinette clamped a hand over the redhead's mouth.

“Well I think I heard the bell go, and you know how Mlle Bustier can be with tardiness so byeeee!” Once they were out of earshot of the three new friends Rosina had made Marinette gave a glare to Rosina.

“You can’t keep doing that?” Rosina tilted her head.

“Doing what?”

“Revealing your identity to people Rosina. It was fine with Marinette because she’s Ladybug, and there were circumstances with Chloé but you can’t do it with other people it can be really dangerous” Tikki came out lightly reprimand the girl, Tikki had long ago deemed Rosina safe to be around as well as hold a secret, and came to care for the girl just like Marinette, she only wanted to protect her.

“But it's fine, it doesn’t matter if people know it's me” She tried to reason. But the bluenette shook her head.

“Yes, it does Rosina. Your friends and family could get hurt if Hawkmoth ever finds out your identity. Please Rosy. Don’t reveal yourself to anyone else”

“But Mari, I only have you, Chloé, Kagami, Adrian, Chat, Aurore, Mireille and Marc as my friends” Marinette would’ve winced at the mention of the blonds but now wasn’t the time.

“Yes but-”

“Plus, I have no family, so he can’t use them to get to me”

“W-What?”

“I don’t have a family, I only have 8 people to protect, so that’s why I’ll strive to protect all of my friends.”

“B-But what about-”

Riiiiiiiiiiing

“Well class should be starting soon, c’mon Mari, we don’t want to be late ok” Before the bluenette could answer she was already being dragged off, she couldn’t stop her as the words went around in her head.

I don’t have a family

‘How can she say that so casually? And what about Franchezca, what about her?’

These questions whirled around the girl’s head so much she couldn’t pay that much attention to the lesson. Not like Bustier called on her. She was glad for that.

Maybe she could ask later?

***

“Rosina?”

“Yep,” A voice spoke, popping the ‘P’. They were walking around the city; they were meant to be meeting everyone as they had planned to all hang out later but Marinette was able to convince Rosina to go earlier. And Marinette felt it was a good enough time to ask Rosina what she meant beforehand.

“You said you don’t have any family to protect. But you also call Mlle Franchezca Aunt? So, if it’s not too much trouble, could you explain?” She stopped walking.

“I mean you only want- I mean, only if you want to. I don’t want to force you or anything” She really hoped she hadn’t offended her.

“Its fine Marinette, I just don’t know where to begin”

She placed her hand under her chin, looking to reminisce on something.

“Let’s see, how did Aunty say it again?”

In the middle of a desert, an older woman with a cane walked.

She was searching for that damn forth Trinklet and it was nowhere. But she needed to find it fast, if not then it would crack.

And she really didn’t want to spend any more time in this stupid desert than she had to.

But then she saw a glow.

‘Perfect’ She thought, making her way towards it, believing that would be the end of it.

But it was only the beginning.

As she came closer to the glow, she saw a bundle of blankets next to it. She was surprised about that discovery.

But that was nothing, because then she heard a cry.

“What the-?”

She rushed to the blanket, if it was what she thought it was then she had to move quickly.

And like she was able to predict… It was.

A baby.

“Who would leave a kid all the way out here?” Franchezca decided that she would try and find out who the baby belonged to. Of course, she wasn’t going to get attached to her.

No, of course not.

That would be absurd.

“She always blamed my smile was the reason she couldn’t give me up” Rosina had finished her story as Marinette stood there.

“So, you really don’t have any other family members?”

“Nope, I don’t know anyone related to me. And Aunty always told me to call her Aunty cause she didn’t want to be called Grandma.” She laughed as she remembered the embarrassed look she gave when the Silver-eyed girl said Grandma once.

“You were just… Left alone?”

“Yeah, she told me this poncho was the only thing I had on me. That’s why I wear it everywhere. But it's alright. Aunty took care of me for all that time, and then I got the chance to train to fight all the Trinklets in the world. It's great” She raised her arms in the air to exclaim she wasn’t even sad.

Swish.

“I didn’t know you wanted a hug, Mari?”

‘She doesn’t seem bothered at all; I want to feel sorry for her but… Should I?’

“You do have family”

“Mari I-” She was about to repeat herself but Marinette jumped to cut her off.

“You have me and Maman and Papa. We’re your family. All of our friends are family and your Aunt. That’s why you can’t reveal yourself to anyone” Rosina paused. She wasn’t expecting… That.

“Really?” It was barely audible but Marinette heard it. And it was so sincere.

“Yeah, so please promise me you’ll stop doing that”

“…Ok. But if I can’t transform in time you can’t blame me if anyone sees” She cheekily replied her usual self-returning.

“Fine, but that’s only if, ok?” She shot back; Rosina nodded before they continued on their walk. Apparently, there was someone she wanted Rosina to meet. All she knew was that he didn’t attend Collège Françoise Dupont.

***

“Rosina, this is Luka. Luka this is Rosina.” They had arrived at *Pont des Arts the meeting place Marinette had organised earlier, all of her friends arriving later gave Rosina enough time to get along with the newcomer, everyone else knew him, it was only fair if Rosina got some time too.

“Pleased to mee-”

“Wow, your hair looks so cool, were you born with it or did you dye it? Wait, are you by any chance related to Juleka? Wow you look so cool” She repeated as he stood back just a bit, he had predicted her melody to be calm and slightly childish, now it had just changed dramatically… He needed a moment to adjust.

“Sorry Luka, I should’ve warned you she was hyper.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it, it’s good to see you so happy, Rosina seems to have drowned out that melancholy you had” That caused Marinette to blush before she looked back at Rosina. They continued to have a small conversation, at least before everyone else arrived anyway, although it did surprise Marinette when Luka kept looking around and checking his watch, was he waiting for someone? Was he just biding time before leaving them? Was it going to be his girlfri-

“Hayo, Luka long time no see? It’s been like sooo long” A girl who looked like the same age as Luka approached the gang of 3. And she looked so pretty.

She had green hair that complimented her dark skin, her orange jacket looked of high quality and red trousers, was this who Luka was waiting for? Was this his gir-?

“Noémie, it’s been a while, I should have asked before, but I was wondering if my friend could hang out with us?” Marinette was slightly put off, ever since the Lila situation she’s been ever so slightly apprehensive of new people, but she guessed since she’s a friend of Luka’s she would soon be a friend of hers.

“-Gasps- Luka is this the Marinette ya keep talking and gushing about? Oh, my life. She is the cutest little thing ever. Selfie child” Before Marinette could respond she’d already taken a selfie.

“You look even cuter on camera, oh stop ya gonna kill me smols” Noémie’s hand was then grabbed by someone else, it wasn’t forceful at all, but she did lookup.

“Hiya Miss, I just wanted to say that I love your green hairstyle, it looks super cool on you”

‘Is that a tear-��

“Oh my god these two smols are so like adorable, I’m officially adopting you two, my precious little babies.” Marinette would soon learn she would never be able to finish another thought around the green-haired girl. Ever again.

And adopting?

“Eheh no thanks, I have a Mother and one is more than enough” She tried to get out of the hold but couldn’t.

“What’s adopting?”

“I’ll… Tell you later” Mari sighed, this seemed to become a long day.

“I was going to tell you that she can be a bit extreme, but she beat me to it.” Luka sent an apologetic smile towards the two, more to the bluenette since Rosina seemed to be enjoying the affection. It wasn’t like Noémie was doing anything harmful, but he knew she could be a bit… Overbearing at times.

“Selfie time”

“But you just took one?”

“Like girl, ya can never have too many selfies with smols like ya. All these photos can stay online forever. All these memories we can have and keep and look back on is like sooooooo cool. Now say cheese!” her monologue was filled with so much passion for selfies Marinette was able to giggle.

Ok, she liked her, she seemed really quirky.

Whether it was luck or not the others arrived not too long after, unluckily Noémie tried to use that same trick on Chloé because she was apparently a fan of the Mayor’s Daughter…

Yeah, that didn’t turn out well.

But she got over it when they both started taking selfies.

To the extreme.

It was a selfie war at this point.

The 6 were put on edge, but they decided to stay with them, so it was their fault.

Although there was one thought a young blonde had since the day they met.

And it was starting to get to her. And considering they were at the mall anyway she could enact on her plan.

“Rosina let’s get you a new outfit. My treat” She had to try and slowly ease her into it. If not, it would sound mean, and she couldn’t possibly do that to the redhead.

But said redhead couldn’t reply before a new blonde nuisance had to but in.

“Why? What's the occasion Chloé, you wouldn’t happen to be buying more ‘gifts’ to keep your friends, would you? Or could it be that you simply don’t like Rosina’s fashion sense?” She wrapped her arms around the redhead, her new innocent friend who didn’t deserve to be tricked by anyone, even if she knew Chloé was trying to be better.

“Aurore” Mireille tried to ease the tension, but she knew it was to no avail.

“No, I just thought we could all go on a shopping spree. But of course, you wouldn’t know anything about fashion to begin with.” She shot back, two could play at that game and so far, she was winning.

“Chloé” Marinette was now trying to keep the piece as Luka squeezed her shoulder in support. He knew they were just teasing, and it was kinda fun to watch.

Marinette.exe has stopped working.

While everyone else was concerned over a passed out Marinette, Rosina started smiling. The two blondes grew confused before their hands were grabbed.

“Ok, let’s go shopping. I’ve never shopped for clothes before so let’s go” They were dragged off with a bouncing Noémie following as the others were preoccupied.

Chloé and Aurore both wanted to drag the girl off to separate stores but unfortunately, they found out if you start pulling on a person, it will eventually hurt. Marinette had to pry them off her before scolding the two, the others either laughing or taking photos, although I think you know who was taking photos, with the caption: new Mum of the group.

Rosina’s first pick from Chloé was a lovely white knee-length dress, black leggings and a light blue jacket. It seemed lovely before Aurore gave her own pick. A floral pattern navy blue dress with white leggings. Of course, the two bickered which one was better as Marinette gave her own pick. And she looked so cute.

A blue tank top with a matching skirt with a teal bodysuit underneath.

“Wow, this is so stretchy, look look I can do the splits in these.” That earned her a clap as she excitedly bounced up and down. And Chloé couldn’t help the feeling of happiness in her gut. It never happened before with Sabrina or Adrien, was it because she wasn’t just bossing them around?

Yeah, that might be it.

“Hey, I could probably sew something onto it to make it stand out if you want?”

“Really? That would be so cool Mari, thank you bestie?” They hugged before Mireille and Marc chose a new outfit as well.

Did she deserve this? After everything she’s done? Did she really deserve this?

Did she-?

“Hey, your friends are trying to help you Chloé, you are included blondie, don’t screw it up” She nudged her shoulder gently.

Huh, she must’ve been able to tell what she was thinking?

But Chloé wasn’t about to admit that. Especially not to Aurore of all people.

“Whatever, I know I’m their best friend, something you could only dream of having” She gave a playful smirk back, they were starting to get along without even knowing it.

“Hayo guys, let’s take a selfie to mark the beginning of this beautiful like friendship with all of you smols. Hope we all hang out some more” Holding out a camera for the 8 people there, posing for the camera, Noémie planning to tag them all later.

“C’mon Chloé! I wanna buy you something too” they were all dragged off to continue their shopping spree. So many clothes were brought, including the ones that the blondes had chosen, Rosina really loved them as well.

They all ended up getting some really cool shades as well, as well as the fact Chloé was able to spot a jacket that had the words ice queen written on the back. She so had to get one for her and Marinette to wear at school for kicks.

Rosina got everyone a bracelet with some colourful charms on. She got one for 3 others, but they weren’t there. They all beamed with glee as the girl was tackled with a hug by them all.

Marinette felt as if she could finally relax around them. They didn’t just hang out with her to try and make a plan for how to get her together with Adrien, they didn’t just hang out with her to just talk about her crush on Adrien, they actually all just wanted to hang out and enjoy each other’s company. Something she never got the chance to do before Lila came in… Not like she thought she’d be able to do, no doubt the topic would soon go towards Adrien eventually.

But she was able to take in the calm atmosphere around the group of 7.

She knew deep down in her heart that they would all soon be the best of friends.

***

The weekend had ended, and boy was a lot packed into that.

A lot.

Not only did everyone have tons of bags pack with new clothes and various items, but they also decided to dine out in Chloé’s hotel. Friends discount was applied here.

And amazingly Kagami was there along with her Mother. Rosina and Tomoe surprisingly had a conversation about fencing, Kagami was still apprehensive considering her Mother’s opinion about friends but it seemed to dissipate once Tomoe heard her Daughter laugh for the first time in a long time.

Tomoe also heard how fond Kagami was of Rosina after hearing about their fencing match, she wished to challenge Rosina to a match of her own to which Rosina happily agreed, much to everyone's surprise.

But they knew the girl could handle herself, 3 more so than the others but it was fine.

Also, remarkably, Rosina was able to convince Kagami and Tomoe to attend more get-togethers with the rest of the group. It might have something to do with Rosina speaking to her in Japanese and found Rosina to be a good influence.

So that’s how the group of 8 became 9.

The next day Rosina had finally started her contract with the Agreste’s. Rosina would start to be Adrien’s “bodyguard” at school, at fencing lessons as well as at photoshoots. On Sundays, she would be a language tutor for him as Saturdays would most likely be a day off, unplanned photoshoot or more piano lessons.

Adrien was ecstatic once this was all sorted. Finally, he wouldn’t be alone anymore, yeah, he wouldn’t be able to talk to Plagg as often, but as long as Plagg had his cheese he was sure he’d be alright. Besides, since Rosina was actually Crisono, he didn’t have to give a reason for his disappearances.

It did give him more of a reason why secret identities shouldn’t be so secret, but he knew he couldn’t reveal himself for his Lady and Master Fū.

The girls, however,

They were less than impressed with Rosina’s decision considering they told her they weren’t friends with Adrien anymore, but, it was Rosina’s choice and they couldn’t tell her not too.

Besides, it was who Rosina was. If she thought of Adrien as a friend, they couldn’t stop her, they may not like it but if they forced her to deny any interactions with him, they would be as bad as Lila.

So they had to learn to accept it and slowly, it didn’t faze them, sure they couldn’t hang out as much, but when you have a girl full of energy you find that they can and will spend as much time as possible with them.

So, when they arrived at school, they weren’t surprised to see Adrien hug Rosina.

“Thanks for agreeing Rosina” The latter nodded as they headed inside. Even if the blonde still hadn’t accepted it fully, the bluenette was there to help.

But then they heard something that made them both smirk.

“Alya are you alright, that new blog just skyrocketed up, it's halfway to the number of followers you have” Mylène seemed devastated but to that Alya waved her hand around, not the least bit interested.

“Oh please, that blog isn’t half as good as mine, where’s the pizazz? Its soo boring to look at I got tired after that first video.” Rose and Juleka didn’t look convinced.

“But her other videos are so much better. They even have that new hero no one knows about on it.” That perked the girl's interest.

“WHAT! How in the world did she get an interview with Crisono?” She soon watched that video and was furious to find Ladybug there as well.

“She’s even provided tips and other stuff with Akuma’s” Juleka joined in as Alya furiously search through the contents of the Let’sBugOut page. It somehow featured Ladybug in most of them, whether it was by video call or in person.

“So, she doesn’t accept interviews from me but from some amateur! How could she?” Alya didn’t know what she had done to receive the cold shoulder from Ladybug but she supposed that maybe she didn’t want her to be in any danger, that maybe if they stopped talking, Akuma’s wouldn’t be so interested to pick her as a target.

At least… That’s how Lila put it when she had come to the girl for help.

“Very easily, don’t you think? At least Aurore doesn’t pry about unnecessary details about Ladybug’s life. And she actually provides facts, something the LadyBlog is really missing.” Chloé retorted, returning to the desk at the back, everyone glaring at her she had become accustomed to it.

“Chloé how could you say that about Alya? Is this just because you aren’t Queen Bee anymore? And you're taking out your frustration on Alya. If you want, I could always ask Ladybug for advice on how you could improve and be a better person?” The girls swarmed around Lila appeared to be shocked while the other two were annoyed, how dare she sully Ladybug’s name!

“Girl there's no need to help someone like her, I know you're extremely kind, but you don’t need to extend it to the likes of her” Alya replied, that girl had a heart of gold.

“Are you sure, I wouldn’t want Chloé to become too upset at being rejected by Ladybug, I couldn’t imagine the shame she must be feeling now.” The duo was able to see that obvious jab made towards the blonde. How no one else could was a definite mystery?

Marinette paused, how Chloé decided to answer may decide on her future prospects of being a hero, what would she say?

“I wasn’t rejected by Ladybug, and how dare you lie about being friends with someone way out of your league.” The girls were quick to retort but Chloé paid them no mind.

“And I am still Queen Bee, in or out of costume. I don’t need it to define me. I’m more of a hero than you’ll ever be” She smirked at the last line before grabbing Rosina from Adrien, who was talking about schedules by the way, and promptly sitting down with Marinette. The blue-haired girl impressed by the blue-eyed girl's words. She didn’t spill the fact that technically she was still Queen Bee, just changed.

Chloé was learning.

She just wished the others would as well.

***

*Pont des Arts = A Pedestrian Bridge In Paris.

I hope you enjoy my new OC I put out. I just thought I wanted Luka to have more friends so here we go.

After making that outfit for Rosina I couldn’t stand it and knew I needed to change it, so I thought why not throw some Chloé sugar in there as I’m at it. Also, I think it’s reasonable for not everyone to believe or accept Chloé’s redemption since not everyone is so ready to forgive, right?

And with that, Rosina has kinda met all of the Marinette Protection Squad members (Minus Felix, he’s gonna be a special case)

1 more chapter till Piper, I really can’t wait for it, the next one will contain some unexpected salt towards a certain bluenette. Hope you’ll all enjoy it as much as me, I just think it’ll be great and clarify stuff.

Also, could someone help me with Rosina’s backstory? Or be willing to read and see if it's alright? Since she was found in a desert I was going to put her birthplace as Egypt, but with Franchezca travelling around she doesn’t really know anything about it, but later she learnt Arabic after her Aunt told her the story of how and where she was found.

Is that alright. I’m not offending anyone with that am I? do I need to change anything with that?

Sorry if it sounds stupid, I just want to make sure it's not insulting anyone.

Also, maybe some help with accents? Her first language was Spanish, but her favourite is Arabic, so what sort of accent would she have?

Anyway, I hope you liked this part can’t wait for the next it will be shorter, maybe haven’t planned it all out yet, but I hope that’s alright.

Note: Updated the pictures. Also, I keep updating Noemié’s design because of the artist in me, haha. hope you like hers.

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