#i like how the gun emoji looks like it's pointing at the speaker

[katsigian]

Brain is so sleepy because I've fallen sick once again so before I wither away in our farmhouse the last spark of energy in me decided that it would be spent on putting together an oc tag game. Truly amazing how resilient my Valen addicted brain can be

[clinttbartton]

Jack gets sick on the road. Sam knows how to dad. Set early season 14.

read on ao3

---

Zepplin plays softly through the Impala's speakers. The early morning darkness outside smothers them like the knitted blanket draped over Jack where he's stretched out across the back seat. His head is pillowed on his jacket, and his legs are curled up near his middle.

Sam and Dean slump in the front seat, Dean behind the wheel and Sam scrolling on his tablet without really reading anything in an effort to stay awake. They speak in murmurs back and forth about the hunt they're returning from, about how they need rest.

"And showers."

"And about four pounds of bacon."

About how Castiel and Mom are waiting for them back at the bunker.

Just as Sam is finally getting into the article he has open, Jack shifts from lying on his side to his back and makes a noise in his sleep. Nightmares aren't uncommon for Jack, not for any of them, and Sam wonders if he should wake him or let him ride it out.

As if he’s read Sam’s mind, Dean glares and gives a shake of his head to Sam’s unspoken thought of pulling over and checking on the kid. Dean's been driving a long time and no doubt he's gunning to get home as fast as possible. He knows from experience too that pulling over isn't going to magically chase the nightmares away the next time Jack falls asleep. Sam concedes for the moment and turns back to his tablet.

The third time Jack cries out, Sam reaches his arm over the seat and pats Jack's leg. "Jack, buddy, hey."

Jack wakes with a start and groans again. "Sam?"

"Hey, it's me, I'm here. You okay?"

"I- I don't think so." Jack shivers under the blanket and winces as he shifts again. "I was having weird dreams. I'm cold, but when I have the blanket on me I feel too hot, like I'm on fire. And I hurt all over."

"Hurt? Like aches?"

Jack nods. Sam sighs. Hm. Not just nightmares then.

"Sounds like you might have a fever, kiddo. We'll pull over soon," he shoots Dean a pointed look across the front seat, "and take your temperature, get some medicine, alright?"

They pull into a Gas-n-Sip just as the approaching sun is painting everything gray, and Sam pops the glove box open to find the thermometer he stowed in there shortly after Jack lost his grace. Dean raises an eyebrow, as if he isn't the one who’s kept baby wipes in the trunk since before Sam turned twelve, and Sam rolls his eyes, straightening up as he steps out of the car. "What? Never know when we might need it."

He sticks the boxy end of the thermometer between his teeth so his hands are free and rummages in the trunk to pull out what he's looking for, a bottle of ibuprofen in case Jack doesn't have a fever after all. He strides around to the back driver's side door and swings it open where Jack's head is resting.

Sam hates to wake him now that the kid's finally gotten to sleep, but it's unlikely he'll have another chance to check him over until they're home.

"Jack?” he murmurs. “Wake up, sit up for me."

Jack groggily cracks his eyes open and tries to pull the blanket tighter around himself. It takes him a few moments to process what Sam said, but eventually he hauls himself upright and slumps against the seat, flushed cheek pressed against the vinyl. Under the florescent gas station lights and the early morning sky, Sam can see the dark circles under Jack’s eyes and the sheen of sweat at his hairline and the goosebumps on his arms where the blanket isn't covering them.

"How much longer until we're home?"

"A lot longer if we keep hamming and hawing," Dean calls from where he's pumping gas. He's only being a dick because he hates to see Jack sick too and wants to get home so he can fix him soup and Cas can heal him, but his impatience does nothing but piss Sam off.

"It's hemming and hawing, Dean," Sam snaps over his shoulder. He turns back to Jack and brushes at the hair hanging in the kid's eyes.

He takes Jack's temperature: 100.6. Not dangerous, but he's definitely come down with something.

"I'm gonna run inside for some medicine. Do you want the syrup kind you drink or the capsules you swallow?"

Jack thinks a moment. The last time he took capsules, he'd nearly gagged trying to swallow them, so Sam isn't surprised when he croaks, "Syrup, please."

Sam pushes Jack's hair back from his forehead one more time before unfolding himself from the backseat. He returns with Nyquil, a bottle of water, and a portable pouch of applesauce. Jack cringes when Sam hands him the cap full of thick blue syrup.

"Three, two, one," Sam counts down for him, and Jack pinches his nose and tilts the cap back to swallow the medicine. Sam motions for him to do it again to get the sip he missed at the bottom, then lifts the corner of his flannel so Jack can wipe the lingering syrup from his lips.

Jack gulps down half the applesauce pouch to rid his mouth of the medicine taste before pushing it toward Sam. Sam twists to poke his head out the door to ask Dean if he wants the rest, who grabs it immediately. Probably not the best idea if they want to avoid the rest of them getting sick, but Sam doesn't think Dean's eaten since lunch yesterday.

Dean tosses the empty pouch into the trash can next to the gas pump, double-checks that the gas cap is on, and slides into the driver's seat. "You gonna ride back there with him?"

Sam nods and reassures Jack he'll feel better in twenty minutes or so when the medicine kicks in. Jack shuffles closer until he's pressed against Sam's side and leans his head against Sam's shoulder. Sam wraps an arm around him, pressing a kiss into his hair.

With his free hand Sam texts Cas an update on their ETA and that Jack's not feeling well. Cas replies with a thumbs up emoji, a crying face emoji, and a yellow heart emoji seconds later. Sam sends back a purple heart.

Before they get far down the road, Jack resituates himself with his head in Sam's lap so he can stretch out across the back seat again. He drifts off to sleep easily this time. Sam tucks the blanket more tightly around Jack's shoulders and cards his fingers through Jack's hair the rest of the way home.

[miccicci]

                                       CRIPTOLOGY 101

                                       RootShoot78 (Miccicci)

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17001558 

Fandom: Person of Interest 

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No archive warnings apply

Categories: F/F

Characters: Root (Samantha Groves),Sameen Shaw, Harold Finch, the Machine

Relationships: Root (Samantha Groves) / Sameen Shaw 

Summary:

The one in which Root keeps writing coded messages to Shaw just to piss her off and Shaw wants to punch her in the face (as usual).

The first time it happened was a Sunday afternoon. Shaw was playing fetch with Bear when she got a text from Root, whom she thought was sleeping in the other room.

01001011 01101001 01110011 01110011 00100000 01101101 01100101 00100000 01101001 01100110 00100000 01101001 00100111 01101101 00100000 01110111 01110010 01101111 01101110 01100111 00101100 00100000 01100010 01110101 01110100 00100000 01100100 01101001 01101110 01101111 01110011 01100001 01110101 01110010 01110011 00100000 01110011 01110100 01101001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01100101 01111000 01101001 01110011 01110100 00100000 01110010 01101001 01100111 01101000 01110100 00111111

Shaw looked puzzled, her eyes falling on a heart emoji at the end. “What the hell is this?”

She entered the bedroom without knocking and found Root cross-legged on the bed, working on her laptop.

“Root”. She completely ignored her. “Root” she called louder.

“Mh, yeah?” she said distractedly, barely raising her eyes.

“Did the Machine finally damage your head?”

Root’s lips curved to form a little wry smile. “Why, do you miss role-playing? You be the human and I’ll be the robot?” she said, not even trying to hide her smirk.

When Shaw didn’t answer, she shrugged her shoulders and continued: “I just thought it’d be fun to explore new ways of communicating”.

“Communication is effective when speaker and listener understand the same code of language. I don’t speak nerd.”

Root tilted her head and gave her a both stern and amused look. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a few numbers now, Sameen” she challenged her.

Shaw stared back at her for a few moments and then sighed. “Fine”.

She closed the door and grabbed Root’s second laptop that was resting on the desk. She groaned while searching for a way to convert what she believed was binary code and knowing she would regret this already. Once she’d put all the zeros and ones into the converter and sneaked a few disapproving glances at Root in the meantime, she clicked the convert button, only half curious as to what she would find there, the other half was already preparing to roll her eyes.

“Kiss me if I’m wrong, but dinosaurs still exist, right?”

Shaw stared at the screen with a deadpan expression, not sure what to think. She looked at Root. “Kill me if I’m right, you’re getting everyday more annoying, aren’t you?”

“So you didn’t think it was cute?” she said, teasing her.

“Yeah sure Root, you’re adorable…” Root smiled, detecting Shaw’s sarcasm “…like an intestinal parasite.”

“I love your similes”. Everything that came out of Shaw’s mouth sounded endearing to her.

Shaw groaned. “Just stick to English next time, ok?”

After closing the laptop, Shaw got up and walked towards the door followed by Root’s eyes, but when she had her hand on the knob, she stopped. Root looked at her curiously, but just as she was about to ask her what was wrong, Shaw turned around and to her surprise, she planted a quick kiss on her lips.

“What was that for?” Root asked a little dumbfounded, as anytime Shaw would do something unexpected like that. “I thought you were going to punch me”.

“Well…” she said “…you are wrong.” And with a smirk playing on her lips she walked away, leaving a dreamy Root behind.

___________________

The second time it happened, Shaw was in the subway with Finch. She hadn’t had a break for ten hours and was about to take the first bite of her pastrami sandwich, when the screen in front of her lit up.

“BTHBTLYNLSZMIIAEXQ?”

She eyed it suspiciously. “Finch, I think your computer is trying to talk to you.” She hummed when she finally got to taste her sandwich. "Better than sex.”

“What do you mean it’s trying to talk to me? Is it the Machine?”

She shrugged and nodded towards the computer. Finch studied the message and stated that it’d probably been written by a human, to which Shaw made an acknowledging sound in between mouthfuls, but then stopped chewing when realization dawned on her. “It’s her” she said with her mouth full. She tried to ignore it and focused all her attention on the delicious sandwich in her hands. But the more she ate, the more she thought about what that meant. And the more she thought, the more she got angry that her first meal of the day had been ruined. She sighed heavily and put down her half-eaten sandwich. “Finch, this is for me.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s Root. I don’t know if she’s going crazy or she just wants to piss me off, but she’s sending me these coded messages or whatever and all I want to do is eat my sandwich. I have no idea how to crack this thing, can you do it?”

Finch gave her an alarmed look. “Of course, Miss Shaw.”

“Thanks” she said, resuming to eat.

After a while, Finch updated Shaw: “It would appear Miss Groves has furtherly encrypted the message using another cipher, these letters make no sense. Let me work on it.”

“Sure, whatever.“

It was only five minutes until he spoke again: “Oh dear.”

“What”

“She- um… Well, she…” Finch stuttered awkwardly, adjusting his glasses.

Shaw narrowed her eyes, hopped down and looked over Finch to scan a piece of paper in his hands and her eyes widened. She violently grabbed the paper from his hands and stormed out of the subway, leaving him alone with this new trauma.

___________________

“Wanna fuck me tonight? Really?!”

“Well… do you?” Root said in a saccharine sweet voice.

“Finch read that!”

“Well honey…that’s why it was encrypted.”

“Are you serious? The only reason he read that is because you encrypted it! And you couldn’t just…” she pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. “You really needed to use a combination of two ciphers to tell me to fuck you?”

“Are you giving me permission to simply slip naked in your bed next time, then?”

“No, I’m not.”

“I think you should.”

“I think I should shoot you.”

“Mmh, kinky” she said, causing Shaw to roll her eyes. “I thought we would be done with guns at this point.”

“A girl can dream.”

“Of course.” Root replied. “Are you mad at me?”

“I’m always mad at you. Right now I really want to hurt you.”

This was the way with Root. She would either send you a secret coded invitation or she’d straight up slip into your bed naked. Who needs half measures anyway?

Root ventured to hook a finger in Shaw’s jeans’ loops to get her close but instead she found herself slammed against the wall by Shaw’s strong arms, their faces only inches apart. What was with Shaw and her gluing herself to Root everytime she was pissed at her? Not that she minded, of course. When she had recovered her breath, she said: “It was really that embarrassing with Finch, huh?”

“You have no idea” she growled, her low voice sending a shiver down Root’s spine.

“Why don’t I make it up to you tonight…“ she said with a suggestive smile, tracing a finger down Shaw’s chest ”…my offer is still valid.“

Shaw scowled, batting Root’s hand away and backing off her. “Why do you always have to be so irritating?”

“That’s why you love me.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

Even though she felt the urge to hit her, she had to admit the offer was tempting, but she still wanted her to pay.

“Let’s make a deal”.

“Mh?” Root ‘s curiosity was piqued.

“If tonight you can get me off in less than one minute…” she paused, Root’s curiosity was definitely engaged now, “… you’re safe. If you can’t do that-”

“Tsk, please.”

“If you can’t do that, I’m gonna make your life a living hell for the next week.”

Root didn’t hesitate: “Deal.”

___________________

Fuck this woman and her tongue.

Shaw was trying her best not to come, but Root was using all her best tricks and it was proving really hard to resist. She even started to grind around Root’s fingers unconsciously and barely fought the urge to grab her by the hair to push her in. A moan escaped her mouth as she had almost forgotten about their deal at this point.

But then Root stopped abruptly. “Sorry Sam, the Machine needs me.”

“What? Seriously?” Shaw said, instantly missing the expert fingers that had left her on the edge.

“She’s printing me a new identity as we speak”.

“Ugh, you can’t even finish me?”

Root laughed: “Someone’s eager. Weren’t you supposed to give me hell for a week?”

“In fact I didn’t come, the minute is over” she said lying to herself.

“Yeah but you were pretty close to coming. If the Machine hadn’t called-”

“Bullshit. It doesn’t count.”

Root tilted her head and smiled, curling her nose. “I think it does.”

Shaw, who was resting on her elbows, dropped dramatically onto the bed and groaned, while Root went to pack a little bag with her guns and some clothes. Once she got everything she needed, she climbed on the bed to kiss her favourite sociopath goodbye. Shaw waited until Root was out the door to say: "I won.”

“No you didn’t.“

___________________

The next day, Sameen was stuck in the subway alone, bored and frustrated that they had left her there. She was cleaning all her guns for the fourth time when a message popped up on the monitor very much like the day before. She was certain it couldn’t be Root this time, since she was on a mission and wouldn’t have time for this. But when she took a look at the screen, she frowned.

“486F6E65792C2077652072616E206F7574206F66206D696C6B2C2063616E20796F752062757920697420706C656173653F”

“It better be the Machine who hacked her brain.”

She noticed something that startled her then. “Wait, she’s using the fucking emergency line?”

Shaw was furious, she started to pace the room.

She’s on a mission, maybe she needs help? She’s using this code for extra safety?

She whistled for Bear to come. “Come here buddy”. She threw a bone for him to catch.

No, she’s just teasing me again. I’m not playing her stupid ass game.

“Good boy.” She scratched his ears while he lunched forward to lick her face.

But why did she use the emergency line? What if she’s in trouble and I’m not helping her?

She tried to resist, she really did, but the thought of an injured Root by the hands of someone that wasn’t her made her angry and overcame the annoyance she was feeling. So she gave in, she sat massaging her temples and started decoding the message. After a few attempts she screamed in frustration and kicked the computer, annoyed that she had to turn to the internet to figure it out, but she had a feeling that this time Root was being serious. Come on.

After a quick research she discovered it was hexadecimals and ran the code to convert the message to ASCII.

“Honey, we ran out of milk, can you buy it please?”

Shaw blinked a few times to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. Unfortunately, she wasn’t. Root had actually sent her a coded message to tell her to buy fucking milk. She felt herself starting to tremble from rage, since Root wasn’t even remotely in danger and was probably home watching her somehow and laughing. She got up from the chair, determined to end this once and for all.

“You keep watch on this place, I’ll be back soon” she said to Bear and then grabbed a bottle of expensive looking scotch before heading out.

When she got home, she found Root leaning on her desk, intent on working on her laptop, she didn’t even see her. Shaw sneaked towards her in absolute silence, until- SBAM! She slammed the bottle on her desk. Root jumped and made a little squeal, bringing her hand to her chest instinctively. “Jesus, you scared me”.

“Good.”

“Oh nice, you brought drinks”.

Shaw snatched the bottle away from Root before she could even touch it. “Not for you.” She moved the bottle on the table and grabbed a glass.

Root pouted. “Mh, why so grumpy?”

“I’ll fucking kill you, Root.”

Root raised her eyes from the laptop while she continued to type and smiled knowingly.

Shaw poured herself a much needed drink and smelled it briefly, then muttered into her glass: “Thank God Finch buys top shelf.”

“Maybe you should spank me instead”.

Shaw choked and sputtered her whiskey, her throat burned but she still managed to give Root a death glare.

“Mmh, that’s just the look I was hoping for.” Root bit her lip, her voice an innuendo.

Despite herself, Shaw felt a pool of heat in her lower belly, making its way through her anger and easing her just enough not to punch her in the face that instant. Nonetheless, she pretended not to be affected by her words and if possible, she looked even more pissed, pursing her lips. Unfazed, Root got up and close to the shorter brunette and whispered seductively in her ear: “I’ve been such a bad girl, Sameen, you need to punish me.”

Shaw’s spine tingled with pleasure and irritation and she lifted her gaze to see a smirk forming on the hacker’s lips. She reconsidered punching her, but she knew Root would never stop until she indulged her, so shaking her head almost imperceptibly, she fluttered her eyes shut and sighed: “I guess…If I killed you, the Machine would go full AI on my ass. This sounds a lot more fun.” Then she added: “Although the real punishment for you would be no punishment at all, but I am still missing an orgasm from last night, so.”

Root perked up. “Soo, are you free tonight?” she asked playfully, she knew she was. Her eyes were sparkling with their usual mischief.

“You know I am. Just remember that I’m gonna get back at you for doing this, at some point. And I swear to God, if you ever use another damn code or whatever, I’m gonna end you.”

LATER THAT NIGHT

“Root?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Are you doing Morse Code on my clitoris with your tongue?”

“…maybe” she said, “Do you want me to stop?”

There was an emphatic silence from Shaw, while she collected her thoughts and remembered her previous threats.

“I’ll fucking kill you, Root.”

Shaw stared blankly at the ceiling for a few seconds, then closing her eyes, she slowly exhaled and said reluctantly: “No, don’t stop.”

Root instantly wore a smug grin. “Didn’t you say-”

Shaw huffed loudly and pushed Root’s head back between her legs. “Shut up”.

Revenge could wait.

[lovelylogans]

I honestly love your story where Roman and Virgil make pancakes at 3 am and sing along to meme music together. It's such a feel-good story and its also really funny. (also i love the mental image of Roman wearing more casual clothes when he thinks he's alone) idk, the entire story thing is great and i still go back and read it randomly to spike my mood up. :D Idk if you do prompts, but if you do, could i maybe request a follow up scene of them maybe hanging out again? its fine, if not. its-

(2/2) - still an amazing story on its own either way

ao3 | other fics on tumblr | coffee?

warnings: memes, some low-self esteem, food mentions

pairings: platonic prinxiety

words: 1,325

notes: thank you so much! and yes, i do, but i do take quite a while on them (everyone is in the drafts, i swear!) as probably evidenced by how late i’m gonna answer this ask, rip. the opening of this fic came from phanalogical_falsehoods’ comment on ao3, which was really helpful with giving me direction on this one! anyways, on with the prompt fic!

Virgil had been getting slowly better and better at cooking pancakes.

He still burned a few, and some looked a bit too pale for comfort; he wasn’t Patton, but most of his pancakes were edible, so Virgil figured that was good enough.

The fact that it was nearing four am hadn’t escaped his attention, which was probably another way he wasn’t like Patton. Actually, it was definitely a way he wasn’t like Patton; Patton and Logan were the most inclined to being early birds; Virgil was much more inclined towards being a night owl, or just generally an insomniac disaster, regardless of Logan’s nagging. 

Virgil, at last, put the last of a pancake on the top of his stack, and nodded, before turning to the table to set it down to grab the butter and syrup, and nearly dropped the newly-completed pancakes in surprise.

“What are you doing up, Princey?”

Roman was lounging on the table, not quite with his usual poise; it mostly just seemed like he’d flopped back onto the table, his legs dangling off the edge. Paired with the hoodie he was wearing, his posture more like Virgil’s own, rather than something befitting royalty.

Roman twirled his wrist half-heartedly, and let his hand drop back down onto the table with a thunk. 

Virgil paused, frowned, and lowered his shoulders.

“Princey.”

He let out a loud gust of a sigh, made a vague hand gesture, and a ukelele appearing in his hand. It wasn’t with the cool, choreographed movement he usually did, or an excited reach; just a movement for the sake of movement.

He set the ukelele against his chest in what Virgil thought was probably bad form.

“Hey,” he sang, voice scratchy, as if he hadn’t warmed up, or drunk any water that day. “How you doing, well I’m doing just fine, I lied, I’m dying inside—”

Virgil cringed, and shifted his hold on the pancakes.

“Um,” Virgil said, highkey wishing he was like, a third as emotionally proficient as Patton was, “um—”

He hesitated, before he shuffled forwards, and set the plate of pancakes on Roman’s stomach. Roman turned his head towards him.

“Do you want, like,” Virgil said, and tried his best not to fidget. “What do you want to—? Do you want me to—?”

Roman blinked at the pancakes, and sat up a bit.

“Can we,” he began, and let out a massive sigh. “Can we do the thing we do where we just ignore our problems in favor of memes?”

“Yes,” Virgil said, relieved, because if Roman had wanted to break down and have a monologue about how his life was falling apart, Virgil would’ve had no idea how to handle it, but avoiding his problems by focusing on something funny and familiar was much more Virgil’s department. “Yeah, sure, we can do—do you want jam on your pancakes? I’m gonna make some more, I had extra batter.”

“Okay,” Roman mumbled, at last sliding off the table, keeping a two-handed grip on his plate. Virgil got the jam, and a big glass of water, and silverware, and set them all down in front of him, before turning the stove back on and getting another plate.

And—okay, sure, spoonfuls of jam straight to mouth. That was normal behavior, especially at four am after quoting that vine. Great.

“Could you at least eat the pancakes,” Virgil said. Roman stared at him, before tearing up the pancake, and effectively using the pancake bits as a spoon, staring at Virgil all the while, as if challenging him to say something.

Virgil blinked at him, and instead clicked on a meme playlist on his phone. 

“This is. A nice stick,” a modulated voice began over the speaker, and Roman smiled weakly through his mouthful of pancake and jam.

“Lemme smash,” Roman and Virgil both monotoned at the same time, and by the time the video ended, Roman was smiling, but it was a weak one, teeth barely visible, and what was visible was stained four-fruit red.

So Virgil was going to have to bust out the big guns, then.

“You asked for it! A whole video dedicated to the rainbow sponge!” The woman declared, beaming.

“Ever thought about how this is Patton in forty years?” Virgil mused, and Roman snorted inelegantly into his pancakes. Well. Pancake as a spoon, meant to transport heaping piles of jam into Roman’s mouth.

They listened, and the woman added, “Who said you can’t go straight?”

“We’re gay, Dee,” Virgil informed the phone, flipping his pancake, and Roman snorted again.

Virgil listened as the next video started, and he tilted the phone towards Roman, “This is the video that’s gonna end the water is wet debate, once and for all—”

Roman blinked. “I don’t think I’ve seen this one.”

“Oh, then you have to watch this one, the man zooms like he has a PhD in it,” Virgil said, shaking the phone at Roman a bit like how an exhausted mother would shake a jangly toy at a crying baby. “And don’t get jelly on my phone!”

“Fine,” Roman said, taking it, and Virgil turned his attention back to the stove as he listened to the passionate water is not wet debate, which had put Logan into apoplectics a month ago.

Roman, looking devious, proceeded to tap at the phone a few times, and Virgil heard the tell-tale whoosh of a sent message.

“Logan?”

“He’ll be furious,” Roman said happily, handing the phone back to Virgil. The message with the video link was full of kissing emojis and smirking emojis. It was blatantly obvious that Virgil wouldn’t have been the one who sent it.

“Well—”

“He’ll be frantically trying to convince all of us, who think that water is wet, that water is wet,” Roman said, digging his pancake bits into the jam again. “He will then be frustrated that he does not have anyone to debate this with, and will probably resort to attempting to remake that video to prove his point, only for us to reap the harvest of Logan attempting to use zooms on his camera. Tell me you don’t want to see that.”

Virgil paused, and tilted his head, lips pursed in a you right expression.

“Yeah, okay,” Virgil said. “Wanna watch a video Patton would scold us for?”

“Intriguing,” Roman said, cautious. “Scold us for what?”

Virgil hit play.

“FUCK YOU, BALTIMORE!” the salesman boomed, Virgil’s phone at full volume, and Roman choked cackling on his pancake. “IF YOU’RE DUMB ENOUGH TO BUY A NEW CAR THIS WEEKEND, YOU’RE A BIG ENOUGH SCHMUCK TO COME TO BIG BILL HELL’S!”

The swear-laden, r-rated car commercial continued, at full volume, Roman trying and failing not to laugh at it, and eventually had to wipe his tears away, before his gaze landed on where Virgil was standing, absentmindedly picking up a dish towel to clean up some spilled batter from the oven rack.

“I have an idea.”

This was stupid. This was so, so stupid.

And yet.

“When Logan and Patton aren’t home,” Roman snickered, before he took a breath, and Virgil squinted through his sunglasses as the familiar notes started up. Virgil didn’t even know Roman could play the trombone.

Obligingly, though, Virgil began to slam the oven door in time, and the notes got shaky and wheezy because Roman would start laughing, and then Virgil would start laughing, and they’d have to start all over again, until—

“What are you two doing?!” Logan demanded, sleepy eyed and scowling, rubbing his eyes, before seeing the way they were standing. Sunglasses on, Virgil in fitting pajamas, Roman about to start blasting the trombone in his face.

Logan paused, rubbed his eyes again, and said instead, “I’m going to believe that this is a lucid dream, and I am going back to bed.”

Wah-wah-wahhhhhh, Roman blasted after him, and Virgil had to tighten his hold on the oven door to keep from falling over in laughter.

taglist: @somewhatsanders @tommysandypantsisasolarnymph @erlenmeyertrash @lindesensate @lakesandquarries @lacandra @midnightcandy @jughead-is-canonically-aroace @analogicalisreal @stay-in–place @pinkeasteregg @kanejandkruge @livenarrator @thats-kat-with-a-k @magicmapleleaf @didsomeonesayprince @fandomsofrandom @mollycassmith @zerogettie @panic-at-theeverywhere @youtuberswithalex @faacethefacts @thathockeygirl77 @actually-al @dreamsshadowwashere @pebblesbrownie @i-will-physically-fight-you @senseace @romanamongthestars @starryfirefliesbloggo @deep-deep-blue @sandersideblog​ @i-am-avacado​ @absoluteamethyst​ @violetmcl​ @angeliclogan​ @imgaybutvoltronisgayer​

[jungiyara]

Ever Since We Met [SF9 Dawon AU]

Man I’m a sucker for cheesy one shots. @fyeah-bubblekey this ones for you :3

Text Key:

[ sample ]: author notes

SAMPLE: Your thoughts

SAMPLE: Dawons Thoughts

SAMPLE: Same thought at same time

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Ever Since We Met [Based off the song Nearly Witches by Panic! At the Disco]

Song for reference (Live ver. 2011) 

Song for reference (Org, with lyrics)

Dear lord I hate school. 5 tests, 3 essays, and a presentation in 3 weeks?

It was the beginning of the second semester of your 11th year in high school [secondary school?]. This was the most important year of your education. The year where all your grades and extracurricular actually mean something. Everything seemed to fall on top of you at once. If you had it your way, you would have dropped out and gone to performance school. But your parents would never allow that. So you dragged your ass out of bed into Hell. You didn’t care for much. But you only cared about one thing. Cheesy as it is, the school's music program is the only reason why you even try; your parents wouldn’t let you be in the music program if your grades were awful. You were the president of the program, you sang, danced and played both the clarinet and guitar.

The best part about this program was not just the fact it wasn’t a boring classical orchestral highschool band, but that it was a versatile program, where there were guitarists, drummers, bass players, singers, and dancers. It was to focus on different styles while promoting individuality and unity. Most students played more than one instrument and everyone was like a family.

You enjoyed adding new people to the program each year. But when your director said that there was a new singer who transferred in, you felt nervous yet excited. Since the seniors graduated last year, the program lacked any singers, and while you were amazing, it wasn’t your focus as was dance and guitar.

“Lee Sanghyuk is his real name but prefers to be called Dawon, I believe,” said your teacher. “He’s a singer and dancer, doesn’t play any instruments.” Wow, so I have a bit of competition now? “It’s your responsibility as president to introduce him to the program. I expect you to make an announcement to all three music class periods. And I believe he’s joining your class. Make sure you update on our set list for the concert in a month. I haven’t handed out the parts yet, but I heard the kid sing.” You relaxed at his expression. He seemed excited by it. “He’s one of the best I heard since our last male singer graduated.”

You took a look at the setlist. 2 general orchestral pieces and 1 instrumental alternative piece for the high school, 1 indie for the 8th graders, 2 combined 6th and 7th-grade pieces, few jazz ensemble pieces and a drum line piece. With a dance performance put in, the concert would run about an hour and a half.

“Nearly Witches? Isn’t that a Panic! At the Disco piece? For the high school” You asked. “Indeed it is. It’s the last song on the piece. It’s probably going to be a duo.”

Oh no. Your the only female singer right now and you haven’t even heard the new kid yet. “I know what you’re thinking y/n, and don’t worry, your voices match each other.” The bell rang, meaning you had to go to your last class. “Good luck kiddo, you can do it!” You loved your teacher. He was almost like a second parent.

Next Day:

You came to school early so you could run to the music room and meet the new kid. As you walked in your heart skipped a beat.

Oh god he’s hot. Almost tripping over the instrument cable damn 8th graders you walked into the office. You were trying hard to keep your composure. He had soft black hard and beautiful brown eyes, was a little taller than you were, though you were in heels. He had a smile that was so bright you thought you needed sunglasses. Your teacher read your mind and started giggling as he instructed you to sit.

Okay, professionalism. You gotta know the kid for the benefit of the program.

“Hi I’m Sanghyuk, but you could call me Dawon!” His voice was bright and I feel like he's comedic and outgoing. “Hi Dawon! I’m Y/N, the president. I heard you’re a vocalist? I know this is fast but we have a concert in about a month. Do you have a free period so we can discuss?” I’m talking so fast oh god. I hope he doesn’t notice I’m staring.

“Uh, I think 4th period?” You saw his schedule. I share 4 classes including free period. This should be fun.

“Do you dance Dawon? After school on Thursdays we have a dance class. We do stuff from hip hop to alternative and traditional. I can introduce you to the Dance team leader for you.” 

“I actually love dancing, I’ll take you up on that offer.” Does she know that I’m really fuckin nervous. 

“I think you’re gonna be a great addition to the program Dawon!” said your teacher, noticing the slight tension. 

The bell rang, and the first music class came in. The three music classes were the two highschool and the one middle school. The first was High school A. Your friends Taeyang, Zuho and Rowoon walk in. They greet you and Dawon; Taeyang walks by and whispers in your ear “he’s cute, I approve.” and you hit him playfully. “Dawon, I’d like you to meet the dance team leader and the most awful best friend in the world. Taeyang, we have a new member for Dance.”

He took one look at Dawon. “Like I said, I approve. Talk to me after school newbie.” 

“Well I wouldn’t bet on it, I have about 100 other things I gotta do, you gotta prove to be a priority!” I hope she found that comment funny or I’m gonna launch myself out the window. Oh my god and he’s comedic. Please don’t let me fall for this boy. You, Taeyang, Rowoon and Zuho are laughing. Thank god. 

As the class settles in, you walk in and introduce him to the group. Everyone muttered in delight; another singer. He shot finger guns at everyone when you described him, and everyone giggled. Oh boy a class clown. Everyones gonna love him. 

Throughout the day, you led him through the school. You two seemed to bond on your mutual hatred for the stupid amount of work you have as 11th graders. “5 test and 2 essays??” “And a presentation!” “How are you alive at this school?” How do i tell him that this music program is the reason why I even try. “I mean, I have music I guess, its my passion.” Oh my god she’s amazing. I can’t believe I met someone who loves music this much. He seems to love music as well. This might be fun.

During your free period, which you previously shared with only Zuho, you two helped Dawon catch up with music stuff. “Our teacher said he wants you and I to sing this song as a duet for the concert.” Nearly Witches by Panic! At the Disco? You both looked at the lyrics while Zuho sat at the table doing his homework. “Ever since we met, I only shoot up with your perfume, Its the only thing, that makes me feel as good as you do” oh god I hope the blushing isn’t noticeable.  

“Okay so the lyrics are a little... lovey... Its strictly professional though. Lets spend the next few minutes splitting up the parts and listening to the song.” My teacher is really trying to set me up with this kid isn’t he. You text Taeyang the song lyrics and he responds with the heart eyes and laughing emoji and you send back the middle finger one. 

“We’re having the whole group sing the first part in french. Seeing that you seem to have a funny bone in you, you can take the ‘Here I am, composing a burlesque part’“ She thinks I’m funny?? 

“You can sing the first verse, I’ll take the second verse following the burlesque line. You can sing the pre-chorus, we can sing the chorus together.” 

He knows what he’s doing oh wow. 

The lunch bell rang. Soon after was the music class. After everyones part was handed out, you two went into the practice room to sing vocals while the rest of the group practiced their part. 

The practice room was a bit on the smaller side; 1 speaker and a music stand. 

“Alright lets get this shit done Dawon.” 

“Don’t you mean... lets get this  shit Done...won...” That was the dumbest joke I’ve made oh lord- ShES LAUGHING?” 

You gave a disapproving laughter at his pun. God he’s cute. ok ok ok focus...

The next 30 minutes were spent singing the parts following the song as it was playing. 

As class ended, you realized he wrote his number on the back of your sheet music with a note. “You know, we might be partners, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.” I hope that wasn’t too much. HIS NUMBER OH LORD. I hope this works out...

______________

You two spent the next two weeks bonding over whatever. You two got along really well. You had a mutual love for dancing. He’s such a good dancer. You found out that it’s been his dream to be a performer/singer. This only made you love him more.

He became everyone's favorite joker, the teachers loved him because he did his work, the students loved him because he made funny, snarky comments about people. Basically he opened up real quick to everyone and fit in right away. 

The best part was during rehearsals. There was a part in the song where the right way to sing the line is in a prissy valley girl accent and every time he does it, the entire class erupts in laughter and you feel yourself falling for him even more. At this point it became a full blown crush on this dude. And during dance practice, Taeyang made sure that you two were close together (he knows all).

He hung out with your general group of friends a lot. I hope she likes me back at some point. I’ve never felt this way about someone before. You noticed how whenever he’s around you he pulls out really bad puns and jokingly flirts with you. Rowoon keeps telling you that he thinks he likes you, but you deny it.

“The song is strictly professionalism.”

The day of the concert was getting closer and closer. You two were told that because it was the last song on the show that you two had to put on a performance. Performance? Its a love song and we’re making it a duet. This could be my chance to pull something. I can’t perform that well, I can show emotion but putting on an act?

The day before the concert you had a sound check/dress rehearsal. This was the time to practice with the amount of space.

“Okay so the beginning is us turned around facing the ensemble. As the song goes into the guitars, we turn around and start dancing. It’ll be mild impromptu.” you explain.

“How should I do my valley girl accent?” he asked everyone, but directed towards you. He starts reenacting that part several times with different poses and accents until the whole group including the teacher is laughing uncontrollably. Dear lord I love him. Your heart rushed with happiness and affection as you told him “Whatever you like. Every time I make her laugh, the happier I feel and the more love I feel for her. 

THE DAY OF THE CONCERT:

You were wearing a short blue dress, white necklace, light make up and your hair falling to your sides. Dawon was wearing a short sleeved blue collared shirt and black jeans, with faux glasses and he hair straightened. Wow. She/He’s hot.

The songs passed, one by one, each group walked off stage and you stood by the door praising everyone. The dance performance came. You couldn’t perform as you requested not to; it was a particularly difficult song and you wanted to watch your boys. Taeyang, Zuho, Rowoon, Dawon as well as Inseong, Jaeyoon, Hwiyoung, Chani and Youngbin all performed a self choreographed and produced song called K.O. At Dawons part you couldn’t stop staring at him. God he’s so good. Is she watching. I hope shes watching. She better be watching, I’m using all of my energy.

As the song ended, you greeted them with hugs as the audience and students cheered. The dance performances usually got the most response.

Soon it was time for the duet. Usually you were nervous, but this time, with Dawon, you felt at ease. 

The whole group walked onto the stage. Here we go. 

“My wing tips waltz across naive wood floors. They creak innocently down the stairs.” You start.

Dawons part came up. Oh boy. 

“HERE I AM, COMPOSING A BURLESQUE, OUT OF WHERE THEY REST THEIR NECKS” Dawon did a 360 degree turn, jumped off the stage, sassily stood with his arm up and hand facing down, his eyes closed and in the most high pitch voice sang with his heart. The audience loved it. You loved it. You loved him. 

You two sung through the whole song, but what confused you was that he walked by Taeyang and grabbed something and hid it behind him halfway through, but you didn’t pay much attention to it.

You two sang the last part together. Waltzing on stage, pretending to be lovers.

“And my one regret is you~~” which was repeated about 4 times.

The last time you two sang that line, he turned around, pulled out something which made the audience gasp and aww. Then turned to you. Here goes nothing.

“And my one regret is you.” A FLOWER! 

As he handed you the flower, you almost in tears, him with a goofy smile and on one knee, the song ends. This is a dream. She accepted it! The whole audience and ensemble is cheering.

You two walk out on stage, flower in one hand, your other hand holding his, and bow down.

After the concert, you two walk back to the music room. As you two pack up your things, as well as in the post concert commotion, he throws the question. At this point it’s just you two alone in the instrument closet.

“So, Y/N... do you, maybe wanna go out some time?” please say yes please say yes.

Truly a dream come true oh my god oh my god! 

You kiss his cheek. “Does that answer that for you?” 

To break the tension he replys in a sarcastic voice, “No actually it doesn’t!” 

“Yes of course I’ll go out with you you big goof.”

He kisses your cheek just as the rest of you friends look through the window. Rowoon walks in shouting.

“HEY LOVE BIRDS WE’RE GONNA GO CELEBRATE AT THAT ONE BOUGIE RESTAURANT DOWNTOWN, CARE TO JOIN OR ARE Y’ALL GONNA FUCK?” 

Dawon starts laughing and you hit Rowoon with a music stand, but agree to go.

The music program truly was the one thing that made you happy.

[god7072therescue]

Diary Head Cannon

Hey guys! Now it is Saeyoung’s turn to find MC’s diary, this is going to be another long one so it is going to have a part two for sure! I hope you guys enjoy!!

@whisperbinder thanks for giving me such a fun request!

A/N: Also, there is going to be a lot of profanity because I sense Saeyoung has a potty mouth even though he is a devout catholic. He is a spy for a reason. There will also be NSFW themes ahead so enjoy~

Saeyoung was peacefully finishing up his work as he takes another sip of his phd pepper as he vowed to one day switch to water

thats never going to happen

He leaned back and leaned against the chair so he could pop his back, then his neck, then his hands before he hunched back over his key board to continue his work.He always got so damn stiff

when he worked for hours like thatHe noticed that the popping of his knuckles basically echoed through out the room as he stared at his screen It was quiet in the bunker

Too quiet.

He typically listened to music as he worked but he didn’t need to recently because MC would crank the music up so loud over his speakers in the living room no matter what she was doing in there. He would always listen to whatever genre she played over the speakers

whether he enjoyed it or not

He knew Saeran went out to get some ice cream because he ran out again

But that didn’t answer the real question here 

Where in the hell is MC? 

He rose from his chair while shutting the laptop down before he decided to go and see if he could find MC sleeping anywhere around the bunker

He grabbed his phone with out much thought and put it in his pocket It was a common occurrence since her sleep schedule was just as fucked up as his because she refused to even think about going to bed with out him

It still didn’t keep him from getting worried though

In order to keep the aura light hearted, he grabbed a bag of Honey Buddha Chips and began to shake them as he walked around the bunker “Here, MC, come out of hiding, I have a treat for you!”

He made his tone light as he continued the search for MC, growing a little more panicked because she was not responding

Thank god Vanderwood came by the night before, he didn’t have to worry about her being trapped under a mountain of clothes

the fact that Saeyoung has to worry about that;;;

He finally reaches his room and opens the door to find that there are clothes e v e r y w h e r e

He begins to panic because it looks like there has been a struggle. How in the hell could anyone have gotten in?!

He goes further into the room to investigate all while taking his phone out to try and call her. 

When the screen lights up he notices that he has a text notification from MC He immediately stops what he is doing and looks at it to make sure that it is recent

“I’m going out to have lunch with my parents. They want to meet you soon! I will bring home left overs to you can have some REAL food in your system. See you in a couple of hours!”

She ended the text in a bunch of kissy emojis…oh

what a dumbass

He silently berates himself for not thinking about checking his phone FIRST but he knew that whenever MC was involved he always jumped to the worst conclusion due to past events

 I honestly don’t blame you Saeyoung;;;

He chuckles at her attempt to get him on a healthier diet then shoves his phone back into his pocket. Although he hated it when MC left the apartment alone, he felt much better knowing that she was with her parents and she had her taser with her

He also figured all of her clothes were strewn everywhere because she was running late and she couldn’t decide on what to weartypical MC;;;

But damn did he love her

He was about to walk out of the room to go back to work when something caught his eye.It was a notebook. 

Just a plain black notebook. 

Saeyoung had no recollection of this.

So what does his nosy ass do?

He reads it, of course.

He picks the book up and sits down on the bed after pushing some of MC’s clothes off so he could have some room to sit comfortably.

 He flips it open to the first page and sees a date written at the top in MC’s hand writing 

Huh?? Was this her diary???

Oh he shouldn’t read this it’s private;;;

He begins to close the journal but then he snaps it back open.

Saeyoung is a curious and weak man when it comes to MC

He is startled when he sees that it begins way before she joined the RFA

It began when she was a senior in high school

He can’t help but read through the first half of the journal in amusement because teenager MC was cute as hell

He had to keep himself from burning the page about prom night;;;

And then he got to her college years and he read about her first real boyfriend and break up

He had to keep himself from finding the fucker and destroying his life

And then he got to the day she joined the RFA He had not noticed that he had already spent and hour skimming through her journal

He was too entranced on finally being able to get into MC’s head

 A lot of her mannerisms and habits made sense to him now that he had gotten a first hand glimpse into her past

But she still did something weird as fuck things for no reason which is one of the many reasons why he loves her

He was fascinated at her high opinions about each of the RFA members. He had such high opinions of each of the members especially him

Why him?? Because she felt like he was the only one who understood her. 

Who understood her humor

Her emotions

Everything and he was sweet in his own way

God, Saeyoung felt the exact same way. He still does.

He cannot help the tightening in the back of his throat when he reaches the days he was being a complete dick to her

 he could still see the tear stains that she tried desperately to hide from him when they were stuck in that apartment together.

But he could her her muffled sobs into the pillow

it just crushed his heart a little more reading her thoughts she never blamed him, she only wanted to help and she refused to give up no matter how much he hurt her

 What in the hell did he do to deserve her?

Nothing

But he was too selfish to let her go

He couldn’t help but smile when he read the part when he made her the damn robo cat. He didn’t know that she liked it that much

then he continued to read until the night in the cabin, after she supported him for the majority of the time when he was supposed to be supporting her

He thought that his feelings were the only ones that were so intense at the end of the eleven days

 God, was he wrong.

MC loved him just as much as he loved her and he could not wrap his mind around it. It just made him love her even more.

 He could feel himself choking up at all of the emotions crashing around in him at the moment

we all know Saeyoung is a cry baby when it comes to MC

But his thoughts all go blank when he gets to the page that was about that night in the cabin

He could feel his face turning a bright shade of red when he noticed the length of the pages

It began in her point of view of how thankful she was that she could spend the night with him even though she knew she might literally die the next day

Then she put literal quotes from seven and how they shook her to the core

Then she began to describe the events that transpired in vivid detail

Dear heavenly father, Bless me for I HAVE SINNED

Saeyoung could not believe what he was reading. He was reading every word with great concentration as she wrote about what she liked about the night 

Which was literallyeverything

She wrote about his touch, how he looked over her, how his hands drove her completely wild, how she loved how his lips tasted of her, how she loved the taste of him, how she felt so full with him inside of her, how much she loved feeling so connected to him

How that was literally the best night of her life

 Saeyoung didn’t even realize he had been gripping his cross, but he was, to the point his knuckles were white

He felt like his body was on fire he was so hot at the remembrance of that night

He couldn’t help the growing erection in his pants

especially when he read the last few sentences on the page saying the only regret she had from that night was that they had to stop so soon

She wanted to go all night, but knew they needed their rest

Saeyoung was jolted out of his thoughts  and flung the journal against the wall in surprise when he heard the front door open as MC called out,

 “Saeyoung? I’m home!! I brought home some of your favorites!!” He could hear the smile in her voice as removed her shoes at the door.

 “Baby? Where are you?

“…..are you going to attack me with a water gun again?”

 He could hear the amusement in her voice, but he was actually just wondering how in the hell he was going to deal with the erection in his pants

He quickly tucked it up into his wait band of his pants when he heard her turn the knob to their bedroom and he gives her a forced grin, “Hey baby!!”

 She looks suspicious at his forced tone and grows concerned, “Hey, are you alright?” 

He quickly nods and grabs her by the arms so he can hold her in a tight embrace for a moment before he pulls away, “I was actually about to head out.” 

MC looks at him in confusion, “Okay, is it for a mission? I just brought home dinner but I can stick it in the oven for when you get back.”

God, you have blessed me with an angel.

“I was actually about to go to confession.”

“Confession?”

“Yes, I’ll be back in about an hour, okay? I forgot to go this week!”

MC just looks at him in confusion but just nods “….alright.”

 MC has learned no to question certain things when it comes to Saeyoung;;;

He swiftly kisses her on the lips then he turns on the heel and rushes out of the door.

 he got into his car and sped off towards the church because dear GOD 

did this boy need Jesus.

So, there will indeed be a part two!! I hope you enjoy!! @whisperbinder Enjoy!

[dong-hyucks]

fear is our enemy. | na jaemin [4]

➳ genre. spy!au, future!au, angst, minor fluff ➳ warnings. mentions of blood and death, character death in later chapters, swearing ➳ word count. 3.2k+ ➳ author’s note. admin cj wrote this b l e s s we are in the midst of a talented wriTER - admin. jade ➳ synopsis. [Y/N] Park, the adopted daughter of late director Park Minjun, crosses paths with Na Jaemin, a spy known for his aloof tendencies. now, they have to save her brother from an unexpected enemy.

➳ masterlists. | 1. | 2. | 3. | 4. | 5. | 6. | 7. | 8. | 9. | epilogue. 

  “That’s my brother sleeping,” you said, your voice soft and shaky. “And that,” you zoomed in, “is a shadow of a man with a gun.”

  Slowly, your whole body began to quake. Terror consumed even the darkest depths of your body, and Jaemin’s eyes went wide. If he could have one million tries to peg your personality, this wouldn’t even be in the top ten thousand. He never thought he’d see you look so broken. The pain in your eyes was almost unbearable, and the way your stitches gnarled your—what he could only assume—once gentle features was horrifying. 

  Jaemin just stared at you in disbelief for a few minutes. If you started to cry, he didn’t know what he would do. He didn’t think your emotional spectrum was big enough to encompass this unbelievable amount of sorrow painted across your face—just anger and the occasional sprinkle of happiness that trickled through you daily life.

  “Hey,” Jaemin’s utterance was quiet—almost inaudible—his gaze burned into your tell-tale glare, “does his phone, perhaps, have a tracking app on it?” In an instant, your eyes brightened slightly and you dashed past him to Donghyuck’s cubicle-type office.

  You were sore all over, but none of it mattered. None of it fucking mattered. It wasn’t important that every time you placed your foot on the ground you flinched because it mimicked the sound of a gunshot, nor was it important that you had just left your assigned partner in the dust once again. All that you needed to find out was where Jisung was, and if he was safe. Your little brother had nothing to do with this, he was never involved. This was purely a dig at you.

  Baekhyun’s words were like an unhappy spirit that wouldn’t move on. They wouldn’t let go … not of you, not of anyone. The sentence was etched into your memory with the same knife that had cut through your skin. Through the blazing heat of your anger, you could remember bits and pieces of what he had said. “Chanyeol.”

  Then, Jongdae’s stammering response came back, “Park,” he had stammered, “Park Chanyeol.” Shuddering, you kept going, trying to clear your mind, but also stuffing it with new ideas simultaneously. Jaemin’s curt calls from behind you meant nothing as you walked down the seemingly endless hallway. Your breathing was unusually heavy and your heart was beating rapidly.

  Jaemin’s quick pace—one he rarely took—soon matched yours, but you paid no attention to him. “Y’know, you could’ve at least waited for me. It was my idea after all.” His utterance pierced the thick atmosphere like a sharp knife. The fiery glare that you cast at him did you no good, as he shot one back. Rolling your eyes, you scoffed and shoved him out of the way to open the entrance to Donghyuck’s work area.

  “What?” He paused. “No snarky comment? That’s new. I kind of like it; silence is a good look on you.” That remark set your insides ablaze. Your face burned with fury, but your mind was as cold as ice.

  “Oh,” you replied cooly, “I thought you already knew I didn’t care. Would you like me to say it out loud?” The gleam of amusement in Jaemin’s eyes hardened and he sneered at you, huffing and puffing as he made his way into the chilled space. Internally, you smirked triumphantly, but on the outside, your brow was creased in worry.

  As you walked into the cluttered sector of HQ, you grew surprised. Papers were strewn everywhere, computer parts were scattered about on the floor, and most of the desks were messy. Donghyuck’s eyes widened when you tapped his shoulder to bring him from the trance-like state he fell into while cleaning.  

  “I need your help.” Your voice softened word by word as you looked at all the cuts and bruises crowding his face. A grin played on his lips—it took away from the ugliness of the wounds. In an instant, the previous rage that had filled your body came back, and you whipped around to face Jaemin. His eyebrows flew up like they were challenging you to something, you sniffed and swiveled back to Donghyuck, trying to ignore Jaemin’s presence looming in the background.

   “Always,” he smiled, “what can I do for you, [Y/N]?” Donghyuck stood up and strolled to his computer, throwing glances over his shoulder every so often. When he reached his chair, he collapsed and spun to place his questioning gaze back on you.

  “Do you remember when you met my little brother?” Donghyuck nodded. “We put a tracker in his phone, right?” Nod. “Can you find it?” Nod. “Can you do it quickly?” Another nod. You pondered that fact, thinking back to your hacker days, trying to recall the day when Jisung had accidently saw you at “work.”

  “Just track it,” Jaemin interjected, breaking your train of thought. Despite your obvious dislike towards him, you silently thanked him, because you weren’t sure you would’ve been able to say it without mentally shutting down. Slowly but surely, you could feel the strong wall you had built up against reality begin to crumble, and it was killing you. You weren’t doing a great job convincing yourself that you could keep it together.

  Sneakily, Jaemin was peeking down at you—not in the least concerned, just validating his selfish worries. He couldn’t work with you if you were going to be a child—but you had no plans on doing so. Every time his eyes fluttered down to you, he noticed your hands doing something different. The first time, they were fiddling with your hair. The second, you were twiddling your thumbs. And, the third, your fingers flew across the keyboard, answering the security questions needed to access the tracking program.

  “Damn it, Jisung,” you cursed, “how the hell would I know the name of your first pet?” Jaemin laughed humorlessly to himself—and you, being trained in picking up small noises—pivoted your head, staring at him. “Would you like to try, Na Jaemin? Since you find this funny.”

  He straightened out immediately, and his solemn expression floated back onto his features. He stalked to the square letters and began to type, “F-L-U-F-F-Y,” he muttered under his breath as his long digits typed in the less-than-professional word. Pressing enter, he gazed victoriously at the screen. 

  “Find My iPhone is now locating—Park, fire emoji, fire emoji, Jisung’s iPhone.” As the speaker spat out the name, you looked up at the ceiling, and sent a silent prayer to anyone—or at this point anything—that happened to be listening. Fire emoji? Couldn’t it have just left them out? You just hope it found the phone fast.

  “[Y/N],” Donghyuck’s voice broke the tension in the air, “it’s in the alley behind Hakoya Ramen.” He copy and pasted the address, clicked into a new window, and tried to enhance the photo of it. “The only thing back there—” Donghyuck paused for awhile, seeming to have a mental debate on whether he should let the words slip from his mouth, or not, “���is a dumpster.” 

  In that instant, your heart stopped, and you felt yourself careening to the left. A dumpster. A dumpster was the worst place that Donghyuck could’ve said. You gripped your temples with both hands, and Jaemin whacked the back of your head with the palm of his hand. Donghyuck looked at him as white as a piece of printer paper, and rapidly rotated his chair to face the screen. Like an owl searching for its prey, your gaze whirled to meet his.

  “Standing there with your hands to your face isn’t going to get you to your brother faster,” Jaemin snorted, already on his way out. You hurried to catch up, not wanting to be in his shadow.

  “I was thinking of a plan, Jaemin,” you replied, voice taut. He exhaled sharply, wheeling around on the ball of his right foot. “Remind me to never ask you to make a quick decision then.” With that, a quietude fell upon the night, and neither of you spoke until you had reached the sleek, black travel vehicle. Jaemin gave the operator a slip of paper and muttered a single word before sitting back in his seat.

  “Drive.” 

  Arriving at Hakoya, the two of you were extremely conspicuous whilst climbing out of the van. If you were anywhere else—like on a mission, or at the airport—you wouldn’t have been noticed, but in front of the noodle shop, all customers could do was stare. You tilted your head down, partly because you didn’t want Jaemin to see the tiny tears that pricked at the corner of your eyes, and partly because you didn’t want anyone to recognize you. Admitting to being paranoid was an understatement.

  Jaemin wrenched your arm, pulling you into the dark backstreet. As soon as you caught a glimpse of the ineffably large trash heap, you stumbled a bit, feeling your stomach fold in on itself. He caught you just as you put a hand over your mouth. The slow, flaming sensation of vomit crawling up your throat was overwhelming, but you pushed it back down with a forceful swallow. Jaemin’s steps echoed as he neared the giant garbage can.

  “He’s your brother,” Jaemin chuckled, a bitter edge to his laughter, “you get to dumpster-dive.” Inching towards the metal contraption, you screwed your eyes shut and turned your nose up at the smell. It was almost unbearable, but you pressed on, hoping to locate something useful. Jaemin was showing no symapathy as he watched you dig through trash—but in his eyes, there was a glint on amusement. His gaze would’ve irritated you if a strong odor hadn’t captured your attention. 

  Soundlessly, you waved him over, no longer caring how much of an ass he had been. He awaited a comment, and you could sense him becoming impatient. It was only after a few minutes that you spoke.

  “Please,” you pleaded, “please tell me that it doesn’t smell like blood.” Jaemin walked to the place where you were pointing, and was suddenly bombarded with the foul stench of stale blood and sweat. He wrinkled his nose in protest, but kept feeling around—for anything, really. Jaemin’s body froze as his hand came in contact with razor-sharp shards of glass. Hastily, Jaemin retracted his gory appendage and muttered a string of profanities. After the spell of pain, he went right back in. But, this time, he pulled something out. While inspecting the object in his grasp, you became as still as a stone statue.

  “Goddammit,” Jaemin’s use of colorful language jerked you out of your living nightmare, “[Y/N], take the fucking thing out of my hands.” You speedily grabbed the picture frame, and watched as Jaemin ripped a portion of his black sleeve off to tie around the grotesque lacerations. Scrutinizing the rusted structure, you noted the crimson flecks that coated the outside of it. Instantaneously, the feeling of nausea—which you had become so dreadfully familiar with—washed over you. You choked on your own spit, trying to prevent yourself from heaving your protein bar up and onto the ground.

  “That’s—” your voice hit a snag, “that’s Jisung.” Jaemin trudged over to you, clutching his damaged arm to his side. You recalled the picture in vague detail. It was in the summer—right after Jisung’s school was out— and all of your family, your mother, your father, your older brother, and Jisung were all beaming. It was a sight to see. Everyone in your family—happy. The picture was unusual to say the least, but it was a treasured possession of yours, and you always left it with Donghyuck for safekeeping ... at his desk. 

  The seriousness of what was at hand was just beginning to set in, and your knees screeched in pain as they crashed to the cement below. Your youthful body should’ve been able to take the blow, but all you could do was sob. You knew where this picture was taken, and you knew where it was stolen from. It was photographed right after a successful mission against EXO. Your recollection explained the huge smiles on everyone’s faces—everyone except for Jisung. He was oblivious to the truth, he didn’t know that his whole family was apart of NCT, and that made your heart ache. When the break-in occurred, Baekhyun or Jongdae must’ve taken the photo as well as the documents. The thought itself was chilling, and you shivered, continuing to cry.

  All the while, Jaemin had already contacted HQ, getting the car to come back and pick the two of you up. In a few short minutes, he thumped the top of your head with a week-old, rotting newspaper. 

  “The car’s here.” His voice was strained, almost like someone was compressing it between both hands. “Get up, and let’s go.” You struggled to stand, and Jaemin grabbed your arms and roughly pulled you up, yanking you around the corner and onto the street. The van waited patiently, as you clambered into it.

  It drove into the darkness quietly. The engine humming a sweet melody as the yellow lines on the road began to move faster. The air was still, but it lacked the peace that one would usually find within it. As the seconds of the clock ticked by, your anger stewed and bubbled. 

  “Chanyeol,” you muttered, an acidic taste flooding your mouth, “Park Chanyeol.” Jaemin cocked a brow, but you didn’t offer him another word. You peered out the tinted window, hoping that you would see a corpse on your way back—preferably Park Chanyeol’s.

  You stormed back into HQ. Johnny tried to speak a hello, but you took no notice of his attempts at conversation. The look on your face should’ve been enough to send him—and others—running for the hills. Jaemin trailed closely behind you, lurking wordlessly in your wake. He knew exactly where you were going, but he decided not to disturb you, fearing for his life—and other, unmentionables he would like to keep.

  When you reached Taeyong’s office, your face was beyond the color red. In fact, it was almost blue. Jaemin couldn’t tell if you hadn’t breathing out of worry or if you were really that enraged. He didn’t know which choice scared him more, but he tried to keep his cynical remarks to a minimum.

  The loud clang that occurred when the metal structure of the picture frame crashed onto Taeyong’s desk resonated throughout the room. Sluggishly, Taeyong turned to peer at you. His eyes had a serious glint in them, one that practically spelled danger out on his forehead. But, in all honesty, you couldn’t have cared less. You stared back into his gaze with just as much ferocity. A twinkle of pride flashed across Taeyong’s features.

  “I want this DNA tested,” you growled, “now.” Taeyong clicked his tongue and drummed his fingers against the chipping wood of his work space. Though his stance was cold and his statements were sharp, you could just barely hear the empathy in his voice. 

  “I think you’re forgetting something, [Y/N].” The wide grin that spread over Taeyong’s mouth was enough to make the terrifying dread—that had consumed you once before—come back. In his challenging glare, something else skulked. It meant something, you could tell—and it wasn’t something good. You willed yourself to think back to the actual task at hand after capturing Baekhyun. 

  The documents. 

  “Oh. Oh, God,” you murmured, dizziness swamping your being. Jaemin exhaled deeply, and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Working with you was exasperating, but it was a change from staring at a too-bright computer screen, in a too-dark room, in a too-boring place—so he would take it.

  “Didn’t you say something about a guy—” Jaemin’s ill-defined question penetrated the hushed feeling of the room jaggedly, “—Park, something?” Your eyes gained the small sparkle back, and Jaemin followed you out of Taeyong’s office as you carelessly sped down the hallway.

  “Chanyeol’s in on this,” you muttered, to no one in particular, “I just have to find out how.” It hurt Jaemin as he saw you trying to place all the pieces together in you brain. He wondered if you might literally blow a gasket if you worked any harder.

  “Are you sure you can handle this.” The teasing was back. “It’s looking a bit rough over there.” With a scowl that could kill a whole nation with just one glance, you glowered at Jaemin. He held his hands up in a fake surrender, waving them like tiny flags. “I was just saying.” The tone of his voice was mocking and it made your nostrils flare. At this point—steam was probably forming from your ears.

  “I don’t need you to say,” you retorted, “I need you to do.” Jaemin pursed his lips and frowned. You could tell he didn’t necessarily like your utterance, but he’s been alongside you for long enough now—Jaemin knows not to complain. “Now, go down to Donghyuck and see if he remembers anything from the occurrence.”

  The command was velvety and soft coming from your voice that was thick with sadness, but Jaemin complied, not daring to question you. As he disappeared into the darkness of the hallway, you finally let yourself go. You backed into a wall, and sunk into a crouch. If Jaemin saw you like this, the taunting would never end, and it would be no one’s fault but your own. Warm tears trickled down your cheeks and dribbled onto your arms. The thin liquid tormented you as the salt stains became clear on your face. You buried your face in your crossed arms and wailed. At times like these, it was helpful to have soundproof corridors.

  “[Y/N], what happened?” Chenle’s innocent inquiry rang out from the other side opposite end, where the entrance to Taeyong’s office was. “Weren’t you just with Jaemin?” When Chenle mentioned Jaemin’s name, your head snapped up from where it was hanging, but you were undoubtedly disappointed. He hadn’t come back with information. It was just Chenle— which made you no happier than you had been a few moments ago.

 “It’s Jisung, Chenle.” Although your reply was low and hard to hear, it cracked and broke just the same. Chenle stared at you—his eyes glazing with pity and sorrow. They fragmented your already crushed heart. “He’s gone.”

  “Wh-Who would’ve done that?”  Even though you had no concrete evidence, you eyed Chenle murderously. The gleam in your eye was venomous enough to kill even the most poisonous snake. He stumbled back a bit—having never seen you like this before. You could practically feel his heart beating like a nervous rabbit’s.

  “I think you know who, Chenle,” you snarled, ripping yourself viciously from your place on the brick patterns, “what I need to find out—is why.” Your words were a big indicator for him, and his mouth dropped open.

  “Chanyeol?” He asked. Nodding grimly, you began to walk to the computer rooms with Chenle in tow.

  “I’ll tell Donghyuck to start tracking as soon as I find him.” Chenle’s declaration was music to your ears, and you faced him, brandishing a wicked smirk. He struggled with himself, trying not to run to his desk, scared out of his mind. Whipping back around, you carried on to where the light of outside met the blackness that dimmed the compound.

  “Good.” 

previous ⇠ | ⇢ next

[typewrter]

Scott’s phone vibrates. He lets go of the car door and fumbles his phone out of his pocket.

“You can sit shotgun,” he tells Liam and steps back to sit in the back instead. Liam pats his shoulder as he passes him, tired smile around the eyes.

He only half-listens to Mason’s and Liam’s hushed conversation about the newly bitten wolf whose scent they had lost. Instead, he checks Stiles’ message.

‘Fyi some newbie intern nearly killed ur best friend today! Pointed a LOADED gun at me & then tripped over his own feet’

Scott can’t help but smile as his thumbs fly over the keyboard to reply: ‘Aren’t you a newbie intern too?’ He follows it up with, ‘Sounds a lot like you actually, rmbr when your dad wouldnt give you a gun?’

‘Got upgraded to trainee! keep up, scotty!!’

Of course Scott knows that. Doesn’t change the fact that Stiles is very new at the FBI, does it?

“Are you texting Argent?” Mason asks from the front.

Scott watches the little icon symbolizing that Stiles is typing for a moment longer, then switches conversations.

“Yeah,” he says. “Let him know we lost the lead.”

“Thanks to me,” Liam interject, frustration evident in his voice.

Scott looks up. Liam is hunched up in his seat. It’s night and save for the passing streetlights it’s dark out, but Scott can still tell he has his hands balled to fists in his lap.

“Hey.” He leans forward to drop a hand on Liam’ shoulder, squeezing it briefly. “Don’t beat yourself up, okay? I lost the scent, too. We’re not totally sure there’s even a bitten werewolf here in the first place, right? It’s all just rumors and hearsay.”

Scott’s phone vibrates twice in quick succession. He ignores it.

Mason gives them a quick look. “Yeah, and what am I supposed to say? I can’t even smell the stuff you guys can in the first place!”

Liam gently shoves Mason in the arm, earning himself a “Hey, I’m driving, genius!”

“I’m texting Argent to let him know that we lost the scent,” Scott says and sits back again.

Stiles sent him an image and a text. Still, Scott forces himself to finish his text message to Argent before checking what Stiles sent him.

(After that, he waits a few seconds longer, to see if Liam is really all right. His heart is beating steady, his chemo signals are normal, and he’s arguing with Mason about whether they should throw Corey a surprise birthday party or not. Good enough for Scott.)

The picture is of Stiles; he’s wearing a bulletproof vest with the letters FBI on it over his a dark blue outfit and he’s holding a gun, aiming at something to the left of the camera. The safety glasses on his faces do little to hide the look of intense concentration that Scott’s seen a thousand times before. He’s probably at a shooting range, from the looks of his surroundings.

There’s a curious tugging in Scott’s stomach.

‘Can handle a gun just fine now ;)’, the accompanying text says. ‘Plus I look rly fcking hot holding one so’

Scott has no idea what that has to do with anything but he can’t disagree.

The thing is, Stiles has been – well, Scott would almost say, flirting with Scott for a while now. It’s less crude and overt than when he did it as a joke when they were just kids. More like actual, real, adult flirting, and less like a silly joke. After everything that came with the bite, Stiles had stopped for a while, slowly phasing out the jokes about making out. Scott honestly hadn’t even noticed until Stiles had started up again a couple of weeks ago, mostly over text and on the phone now, since they rarely see each other.

Maybe it’s just Stiles’ way of saying he misses him.

Except, Stiles has no problem outright admitting to missing Scott, (and neither has Scott, for that matter, since he misses Stiles a lot, all the time).

So Scott has no idea what this thing is. All he knows is he always tended to completely ignore those kind of jokes when they were younger and now he wants to reciprocate.

Push the boundaries. Just a little.

‘Didnt know an attractive face was required for being a good shot’, he texts back, lacking anything more clever to say.

They enter Beacon Hills. As Mason stops at a red light, he turns around, trying not to get twisted up in his seatbelt, and takes one, two, three selfies with Liam and Mason in the background, their looks changing from surprised to silly faces with each picture.

“What’re you doing?” Liam wants to know.

Scott shrugs. “Letting Stiles know what we’re up to.”

He picks the second picture to send. Mason’s and Liam’s faces are funnier in the third one – Liam is actually sticking his tongue out and it’s adorable – but well. Scott looks better in the second one, he thinks. He can’t help that he looks tired and sweaty but his smile is less goofy and more attractive. He hopes.

‘Liam&mason say hi!! :D’

Stiles replies immediately with a bunch of shocked emojis. ‘Didnt know u were w/ them! How’s our firstborn doing? Where were u? I dont see any blood’, he adds and then a thumbs up emoji.

Scott is typing a reply, when another message comes through: ‘U rly spending ur weekend at home chasing wolves buddy?’

At that, Scott almost laughs because yeah, of course he does. So does Stiles whenever he gets a chance to be home. Scott regularly has to talk him out of going werewolf chasing (in the nice way) in Virginia, and he’s not always successful.

When another message with more question comes through, Scott just sends, ‘Hold on’.

Mason stops in front of Scott’s house just a minute or two later, Scott’s phone still buzzing in his lap.

“You gonna be okay to get home?” Scott asks, even though they have a car and nothing really happened tonight. He can’t help but worry. Malia likes to blame his mother hen instincts on him being an alpha, but privately Scott thinks that it’s all him.

“Yeah, dude,” Liam replies. “We gonna see you before you leave town?”

“Yeah, I’ll swing by.” Scott gives them each a clap on the shoulder before exiting the car. He barely has one foot on the pavement before his phone starts ringing.

“I was gonna call you in literally ten seconds,” he says as a greeting, letting the car door fall closed behind him and watching Mason and Liam drive off.

“But you haven’t. And you weren’t answering. Could’ve been eaten by a monster by now,” Stiles says, voice going a hundred miles an hour as always.

“I’m not. Still alive and kicking.” Scott knows Stiles can hear him smiling, but it doesn’t matter.

“You ever gonna tell me what you guys were up to or am I gonna have to drive over there and drag it out of you?”

“Dunno,” Scott says. He’s fumbling for the right key for the door, trying to keep his voice down now in case his mum’s already gone to bed. “If me not telling you results in you coming here, then I’m not gonna say a word.”

Stiles is quiet for a long moment. He sounds unusually fond when he demands, “Spit it out, boy wonder.”

So Scott tells him about the rumor of the newly bitten wolf without a pack three towns over, and how it was supposedly a young girl. That they’d gone looking for her, but lost her scent, or maybe never even had it, they’re not sure.

He’s still explaining as he walks by his mom on the couch where she’s watching one of her shows. He stops talking to drops a kiss on her hair.

“Who’s that?” she mouths up at him.

“Stiles.”

“Tell your mom hi from me!” Stiles demands in a loud voice as if he expects it to carry from the tinny phone speaker all the way to Scott’s mom on the couch. Scott winces.

“He yells hi,” he dutifully relays.

His mom smiles. “Hello to you too, Stiles. Tell me how he’s doing tomorrow, hm?” She’s already nestling back down into her blanket so Scott just nods and takes the stairs up to his room two at a time.

“So basically a whole lotta nothing,” Stiles finally sums up when Scott finishes explaining.

Scott laughs. “Pretty much, yeah. I texted Argent cause he was the one who told us about the rumor. If she pops back up again and I’m back at UC, Liam’ll have to go after her. Or I’ll come back down, we’ll see.”

“Think he can handle it?”

“Yeah,” Scott says. “I think he can. Better than he thinks he can, actually.”

Stiles laughs. “That’s cause you always have faith in everyone.”

“I’m just not as paranoid you,” Scott teases back, making sure his voice is soft so Stiles won’t misunderstand. That’s not entirely right anyway, he thinks. Stiles had faith in Scott, always and all along.

“That’s why we’re the dream team, Scotty.”

“Yeah.” Scott kicks up his feet against the wall, lets them slide down back onto the bed slowly. “Miss ya, buddy.”

Stiles exhales loudly and there’s a rustling sound. It sounds like he’s shifting around on his bed.

“Miss you too. So weird not to see your face every day, honestly. Earlier, I was staring at that pic you sent like some kind of serial killer scooting out his next victim.”

Scott snorts. He knows the feeling; though he feels more lovesick than serial killer-like. He’d known that Stiles leaving would be hard on him, but he hadn’t expect it to be like this. Hadn’t seen it coming that Stiles’ voice in his ear would be enough to make his heart beat in a quicker rhythm.

“You coming home for Christmas, right?” Scott asks.

“'Course I will.” Stiles pauses. “You’re gonna need a crowbar to get me off you.” There’s something in his voice – embarrassment, maybe. Hesitation.

“Nah, I’ll like it. I’ll superglue you to me and then no one can demand we be separated for the whole week. Like that time in second grade, you remember that?”

Back then, Stiles had spilled glue on their shirts, causing them to stick together within seconds. This time, Scott thinks, he’d glue their hands together instead.

Stiles laughs quietly. “That was totally on accident!”

“Well,” Scott says slowly. “It won’t be this time.”

He hears Stiles shift again. Suddenly, Stiles smacks his lips, making a loud, obnoxious kissing sound into the speaker. “Alright, Scotty boy, it’s a plan.”

Scott shakes his head and smiles.

[lyricalt]

[ovw] more beach stuff (3)

Rating: T Characters: light mcgenji, plus some surprises. Warning: alcohol mention, bad jokes Note: sometimes.. you want to write something... utterly pointless set to funky music.

Genji hears the makeshift ladder rattle first and then top of McCree’s bleach-blond head appears over the ledge. He’s about to make a smart comment about it, one out of several since the beginning of the mission, but McCree starts talking in numbers and coordinates so Genji turns back around to look out into the ocean, using his HUD to direct his gaze. There’s a third yacht coming in view, windows all tinted and a couple of people sunbathing on the deck. Genji’s HUD snaps a picture, though he isn’t equipped enough to offer anything more than a simple visual.

McCree joins him on the small rooftop, bare feet leaving wet footprints on the ridged tiles. Technically, the lifeguard tower’s rooftop isn’t made to be stood on, but that has never stopped Genji or McCree from climbing up for a better view before. McCree crouches low next to Genji, hair still dripping wet in it’s tie.

The roof slants at an upwards angle facing the ocean. It’s one of the many reasons why they have found it more preferable, being able to have some form of cover while they kept their eye on the yacht convoy at sea. McCree lowers himself on his stomach, shoulder pressing to Genji’s as he starts to adjust his sniper rifle setup.

The rooftop is a small space, but not that small. Genji humors McCree for a moment before he scoots to one side, reaching for the pack of supplies. “What do you need?”

“Get me one of them, uh, dust trackers. And a regular bead,” says McCree, putting his eye to the scope of the sniper rifle. He pauses, easing away for a moment, and blinks with a frown. The rifle is a standard issue, perfectly reliable, but McCree has been modifying it bit by bit on his own time.

Genji picks out the requested items, handing over a tracking bead and the smaller, more expensive cap of the dust tracker. He assumes McCree is still unsatisfied by the gun, but any more customizations and Genji thinks the rifle would just turn into another revolver.

“This shit’s too fiddly for me,” McCree mutters, peering through the scope again and lining his sights. He taps the tripod stand. “Haven’t done this stuff in ages.”

Genji gives him a pat on the shoulder, fingers trailing up to tuck a damp lock of bright yellow hair behind McCree’s ear. “Hm, I see. Would you rather I do it?”

McCree stops his scope measurements, head turning so fast he might have been in danger of spraining it. Genji gives him a leveled stare in return and then, with a smirk, McCree takes the specialized bullets from Genji’s palm. His hand slides further down Genji’s arm. He presses his mouth to Genji’s warmed metal wrist.

“Oh, sweetpea, we know you’ll fuck up the whole mission if you do,” McCree says kindly, and starts loading the rifle, tracking bead first.

“I thought you would say that.” Genji settles back, letting McCree do his work.

McCree’s first shot with the rifle goes unnoticed, timed to fire with the distant lighthouse horn. Genji follows the bullet with his cybernetic sight and a pair of binoculars. He sees the tracking bead stick to one of the antennas of the third yacht, high enough to be not be knocked by waves or seen when the boat is docked. Genji worries for a moment about the sound of the bead hitting against the metal rod, but McCree had caught the second the sail lines chimed over the metal poles, waving from the sea breeze. The ding! of the tracker matches perfectly with the ping! of the sail lines. Genji smiles from behind his mask but doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he pats the small of McCree’s back twice, signaling a confirmation. McCree breathes again.

It takes another minute to load the dust tracker and calculate the whatever variables McCree needs to adjust. As far as Genji understands, a dust tracker is a timed-loaded bullet, set to release a puff of particles to be inhaled. Ideally, it would track the location of the target who breathes it in for a day or two, depending on the amount inhaled.

The tricky part is, of course, firing the bullet in such a way that it releases beneath or near the person’s nose or on their clothes—without the target feeling it. Genji thinks it would be easier for him to simply run up to the person with the dust tracker and cup his hands over the target’s mouth himself, but they have orders to not engage and only observe. Winston had been very firm about it, and Genji supposes if he wants the quieter mission, he ought to obey.

McCree goes still for a very long while, eye to the scope and finger over the trigger. Genji almost gets bored of waiting, but he observes their target—one of the people sunbathing on the yacht deck with an impressively large fishbowl of margarita at their side, no doubt one of the leaders from the way they have been served upon by a duo of hovering omnics.

Genji doesn’t know what McCree is watching for. He can see the sweat trail down McCree’s neck, intermingled with the water from his hair. McCree shifts, lowering his head by just a fraction. A strand of hair falls across his forehead, almost like a line of sunlight cutting on his cheek. Genji wants to brush it aside, but McCree’s eyes narrow.

The target lifts their drink, putting the glass rim to their mouth.

McCree fires.

Genji sees the target wrinkle their nose, tongue flicking over their lips with a dissatisfied expression, but the drink only gets set aside as the target wipes their nose with a corner of their towel.

He gives McCree another two pats on the back. McCree exhales, putting his head to his forearm to rub the sweat from his brow. Genji snags the moment to brush back McCree’s hair, enjoying how the gentle pull makes McCree tip his head back.

“Well done,” he says.

McCree rolls on his back, mindful of the small pack around his waist. He unzips it for a celebratory cigar and Genji reaches over his stomach to pull out the lighter for him.

“Whew. I want whatever the guy in Yacht-1 was having,” McCree says, turning his head to the flickering flame in Genji’s hand.

“The whole bottle? Hah, I doubt-” Genji halts in mid-sentence as a text message blinks purple in his HUD. “TaKillYa,” he reads, too baffled to mention the line of heart emojis scrolling down his vision.

“Tequila?” McCree says, thoughtful. “Sure.” His cigar catches on the lighter. He inhales.

Genji glances past the mysterious text, almost missing the streak of fine glitter that plays over McCree’s face for less than half a second. His cybernetics slow it down, shows it like static in the air between them, though the smoke from McCree’s cigar obscures most of it. Someone starts to play music on the beach below, the bass vibrations at the perfect frequency to start buzzing faintly in Genji’s ear.

McCree’s pull from the cigar cuts short with a surprised choking noise. He coughs, rubbing his nose. “Ugh, that tasted funny.”

Genji sits up, alarmed. He fixes his gaze back to the ocean. “McCree.”

Sensing Genji’s urgent tone, McCree rushes his cigar and looks through the scope. “Movement. Yacht-2.”

Genji sees someone climbing on to the yacht deck, though an odd splash in the water below the boat catches his attention. He squints. “Someone’s coming out of the water. She’s… signaling?”

McCree swivels his rifle. He pauses. “She’s blowing us a kiss.”

A purple skull flashes in the middle of Genji’s HUD, but Wintson’s anti-hack program wipes the screen clean before it can start being a threat to his systems. Half of Genji’s network connections shut down as a precaution, though he swears the music coming from the beach is growing louder.

Genji steals the binoculars around McCree’s neck. His faceplate makes it awkward to use, but it is not nearly as awkward as seeing a very attractive women wave at him from the deck of Yacht-1, flower-patterned skirt fluttering in the ocean breeze while her own sniper rifle points at them. She has purple skin. He’s left wondering for a second how they had missed that.

Genji starts sliding down the roof, waiting a moment for McCree to fire off one last round before grabbing him by the swim trunks to drag him to the ground. He hears the return fire crack in the distance, and McCree’s sunhat flies off his head as they land hard on the sand.

McCree mutters something under his breath, scrambling to his feet.

“What?” Genji asks, tilting his head. A saxophone riff blares between his ears. He looks around him, trying to find which beachgoer is the one responsible for the loud noise. “I cannot hear you over the music.”

McCree is busy pulling up his shorts and taking out his revolver, but he spares a brief glance at Genji.

“What music?”

Maybe on any other mission, McCree would have had a huge laugh over Genji’s audio speakers getting hacked to play someone’s beach playlist. He hears the song leaking out from Genji’s helmet, too faint to catch the tune but loud enough to notice the rhythmic beat between the pauses of gunfire.

It doesn’t hinder Genji at all, thank god, but McCree would rather have Genji’s undivided attention while driving a jet ski across the rolling waves. The bounces over the water is suspiciously consistent and faster than what he feels necessary, despite the two of them chasing after two yachts.

He holds on tight, one arm circling around Genji’s shoulders and one leg around Genji’s waist. It’s the only way to stay on—there isn’t a less dignified position unless McCree wants to go flying off into the water. The sound of the jet ski’s motor changes in tone, and McCree knows Genji’s about to make a sharp turn. His hold tightens. He’s not much of a praying man—but he comes real close to asking for a few favors.

His revolver is disguised as a flare gun, a little bulkier than Peacekeeper, but it fire a steady round of bullets towards one of the yachts. He manages take Talon’s sniper off guard, shooting her rifle from her hands. The rifle goes clattering to the deck, sliding to the edge of the boat.

Genji spins the jet ski around, leaving a circular trail of bubbly white froth in their wake. McCree shoots the sniper rifle again, giving it one last push into the ocean. From the corner of his eye, he sees Widowmaker calmly disappear below the deck, sliding her sunglasses back over her head. His parting shot misses her shoulder by a hair.

McCree checks back his gun, bullet cases dropping into the water.

“Where’s the other one?” he asks and taps the side of Genji’s helmet when Genji fails to answer right away. It sounds like the song is at the chorus, and he’s willing to venture a guess that Genji is actually listening to it. He repeats in a louder voice, “Where’s Sombra?”

Genji points to the Yacht-3. The jet ski honks, which McCree hadn’t known it could do.

“I’m getting you on the boat. Prepare to jump,” Genji says.

McCree says, “What? Really?”

“I cannot hear you,” Genji replies, and it sounds like a damned lie. He speeds up towards the third yacht, one arm raising as shuriken fly from his hand.

The shuriken embed themselves into the hull of the yacht, cascading down in perfect footholds. McCree starts to very quickly calculate how far he would need to jump, but Genji speaks up.

“Those are in case I accidentally drop you,” he explains, still speeding.

The swell of the ocean lifts the jet ski higher and higher each time Genji rides over the rolling waves. Suddenly, McCree has a very good idea of what the cyborg is planning, and he doesn’t much like it.

“Genji,” he says, plaintive, “I don’t have my armor on.”

“I will catch you if you cannot land on your two feet.”

McCree already feels his bones and muscles aching against his will. He reloads. His leg slides from Genji’s waist, though it doesn’t stop him from giving Genji’s shin a sullen kick to stop his foot from tapping to the music. Genji leans forward, swerving into a cresting wave, just behind the yacht.

McCree presses his ear to Genji’s helmet. He hears the build up of the song, the cheery saxophone, and he is both impressed and annoyed that Genji has somehow timed the whole thing as they jump—tequila!

They fly into the air together, and McCree loosens his death grip from Genji’s shoulders. He lets himself hop off the jet ski before it thuds heavily on the deck of the yacht. Despite his timing, McCree lands off-balanced, unused to accounting for how the floor rolls beneath his feet. He lurches to the side, stumbling, but shoots at a shimmering blur near Genji.

The shimmering blur flickers, and the first thing that comes into view is Sombra’s grin before the rest of her appears, sitting behind Genji on the lopsided jet ski. Her arm slings comfortably around Genji’s shoulders.

“You like my summer playlist, friend?” she asks, wetsuit squeaking against Genji’s armor. Her snorkel hits Genji in the faceplate, to no real effect.

“It sucks,” Genji replies, trying to lean away without giving up his spot on the jet ski.

“No, I actually think he likes it,” McCree says, helpful, but he is ignored.

The jet ski slides back and forth on the deck as both Sombra and Genji try to knock each other off it. McCree is about to suggest the two of them both get off the damned thing for a better fight, but something glints in the distance from Yacht-1, and then he notices Yacht-1 is approaching them fast. McCree blinks, a part of him relieved that Widowmaker seems to have been unable to find another sniper rifle onboard her yacht, otherwise she would just shoot at them from a safe distance.

McCree aims his gun, trying to make out the slender cylinder in her hands. He pauses.

“Oh shit,” he says, backing away and trying to signal Genji.

And Widowmaker, in all her wedge-heeled glory, aims her harpoon gun.

“Genji, sword,” McCree calls out.

Genji’s reaction is immediate and unquestioning. He pulls his sword from its sheath, turning around to face Widowmaker.

He is just in time for the harpoon to spear him through his right shoulder. McCree hears a pained grunt from Genji and the wet sound of biotic parts tearing with metal. Genji whirls back around to glare at McCree.

“You thought,” Genji begins, incredulous despite his gasping. “You thought I would be able to deflect a harpoon?”

“Erm,” McCree says.

He doesn’t get to hear the rest of Genji’s angry yelling. Widowmaker reels Genji back, yanking him into the ocean like a reverse-caught fish. McCree hears a faint splash, but the cord connecting the harpoon to the gun grows taunt. He raises his gun and shoots at the line, fraying the woven threads. He figures Genji has enough blades on him to cut the rest.

“Alright Sombra, where’s-”

To his surprise, Sombra seems similarly annoyed by the whole ordeal. She ignores McCree walking towards her, yelling over her shoulder to Widowmaker. “Hey, what the hell? Watch it. You could’ve hit me!”

“As if that would be such a terrible loss!” Widowmaker shouts back, still trying to drag Genji out of the ocean.

Sombra revs the jet ski, not going anywhere fast. McCree wonders about her. He gets close enough to wrap his metal hand over one handle of the jet ski.

“Y’know… if you’re on the jet ski, and I’m getting on the jet ski—who’s driving the yacht?” he asks, curious, and points his gun at her.

Sombra rolls her eyes. Her palm glows purple. “I am, stupid. Right into that pier.”

She grabs his hand, fingers tapping over the metal skin quick enough to command a release. McCree’s grip in the jet ski loosens, but he’s too busy looking at the approaching pier to care. He runs across the deck towards the edge, because it’s nearly perfect—he can make a jump for the pier and regroup there, maybe call Winston for backup—

There is a man sitting on a motorcycle on the pier. The man’s got a cloak and a skull helmet and black smoke floating around his body. McCree blinks. What the goddamn shit.

The man on the motorcycle seems to be watching the whole thing, arms propped up on the handlebars in a relaxed slouch. He does a doubletake when he sees McCree.

“What the fuck? Really?” Reaper says, staring at him.

McCree lets the yacht crash into the pier, too stunned to even try figuring out what he had just seen. Sombra rides out the collision, letting the tipped yacht slide both her and the jet ski back into the water before taking off, engine sputtering happily away.

McCree rides out the crash as well, though with less grace than a man of his profession should have done. He flings himself off the yacht, where the water should have been, the last he checked, but his legs jar against something hideously solid. He groans, rolling to his side and feeling as if both his ankles have twisted under him. Some fool had thought to catch him in a motorboat.

A can of beer plunks down in front of him before he can draw his gun. It spews out a yellow beam of light.

McCree peers up at his savior. It’s an older man wearing the douchiest shades he has ever laid eyes on, with an apron that says ‘Raise the Steaks’. For a moment, McCree wonders if he had been the one shot with the harpoon, and if he’s been dying all this time and hallucinating through some kind of hellscape.

“Get up, McCree,” the older man orders, rough voice familiar enough to strike a chord. Soldier 76, without the usual tactical visor, it seems.

McCree stares. For some reason, the lower half of Soldier’s jaw isn’t as distinctive as McCree thought it would be.

“What are you doing here?” he asks and wants to finish with ‘—wearing that?’ But he knows he’s not in any position to criticize anyone, given his current attire.

“I’m the getaway,” Soldier 76 says, turning around to steer the boat away from the pier. They start to speed off. “And you’ve been bugged, son. Nice going.”

There’s a spice shaker strapped to Soldier’s arm. McCree looks at it, dubious. The air around him smells faintly like barbeque.

But before he can say anything else, something thuds against the front of the boat and McCree lurches to the backend. Groaning, he peers at the water, only seeing the leftover wake from the boat.

“Did we hit something?” he asks, very carefully, because he has a single guess on what it might be.

“Yeah, your boyfriend,” Soldier 76 says, confirming all of McCree’s suspicions. He slows the boat down. “Do you see—oh. There he is.”

The end of a harpoon pokes through the upper left side of the boat’s hull, the point just touching Soldier 76’s leg. Soldier 76 steps to the side, unbothered, though a drop of blood starts to well up on his shin.

Genji crawls onboard, using the embedded harpoon as a foothold. There’s an impressive hole in his chest, though the tail end of the harpoon cord still threads through the mechanical part of his body. He wobbles on his feet, pointing to the floor of the boat.

“Is that beer?” he demands after a long pause, sounding a little less coherent than normal, but he’s not exactly wrong either.

McCree tugs Genji to the ground, near the glowing beer can, which he finally can assume is a biotic emitter in disguise. He picks up the can and shoves it into Genji’s unresisting hands.

Genji looks down at it. McCree can picture him squinting at the label.

“...Did I lose a lot of blood?” Genji asks, unsure.

“Naw. Just a harpoon through your chest, sweet thing,” McCree reassures as Soldier 76 throws him another biotic emitter. It fizzes out foam when McCree pulls the tab.

“That’s actually real beer,” Soldier 76 says.

McCree snatches it back from the ground and takes a fortifying gulp. It’s cheap shit, but it doesn’t stop Genji from reaching over to grab McCree’s wrist and tip the can his way. He takes a smaller sip—or what McCree assumes would be a smaller sip, if it hadn’t dribbled down the front of his faceplate.

“It’s cheap shit,” Genji confirms, leaning heavily against McCree’s aching shoulder.

“Would you rather have tequila?” McCree asks.

Genji punches him.

[nadiawrimos]

March: what I read

Note: audiobooks marked with (A) the ratings are out of 5 with 5 being the best, on the same scheme as goodreads ★ didn’t like it ★★ it was ok ★★★liked it ★★★★really liked it ★★★★★ it was amazing

recommend me a book! 

Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me by Mindy Kaling ★★ I thought this book was pretty good, and an easy read to start the month off. I liked the voice/tone of her writing and the personal pictures and funny insights but when Mindy said she was a ‘weirdly pro-gun republican’ I kind of just *eye emoji*

Dear World by Bana Alabed ★★★★ Very different from what I usually pick up, but I found this book on my bi-weekly library run and read it in about an hour. I hope that more people will read this book and understand that refugees are just people who need our help - families and individuals and communities shattered by horrific violence. All they want is what every human wants, to live in peace in their home country.

It Devours! Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Cranor ★ This book started so well but then I found myself too bored to continue once I got to the halfway point. Though I did enjoy WTNV this book just seemed to drag on a little too long to keep me interested.

Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey ★★ If I had to write my own daily ritual it would look something like this: Nadia Shmee b. 1993 – 20?? Would like to describe her writing habit, but she doesn’t really have one, especially lately, because she’s in a bit of a creative pot hole at the moment.

Headstrong: 52 Women Who Changed Science - and the World (A) by Rachel Swaby ★★★★ I enjoyed this read, found in my library and inspired by International Women’s Day! In fact, I listened to it on the way to a dinner party celebrating women in my region 😊

The Hidden Life of Trees Peter Wohlleben (A) ★★★★ I loved this book! I wish I would have listened to it on a walk in the woods but otherwise it was perfect and offered awesome insights into trees and forest ecosystems.

Rabid: A Cultural History of the World's Most Diabolical Virus by Bill Wasik (A) ★★★ I enjoyed the ‘cultural’ history presented in this book, describing the ways that people understood (or didn’t understand) the rabies virus. This book was interesting because it wasn’t especially scientific and so I found it easy to follow along while listening and doing some spring cleaning

The Inner Life of Animals by Peter Wohlleben (A) ★★★★★ This was definitely my favourite audiobook of the month. So interesting and informative. Wohlleben’s observations into the ways that animals feel, remember, communicate, and love reminded me of why it’s so important to treat all living beings with love.

China Rich Girlfriend by Kevin Kwan ★★★★ I loved this book too! I read it while luxuriating in the bath in the evenings and I’m definitely planning to finish the last book in the trilogy this April.

Men Without Women by Haruki Murakami (A) ★★★ It might be partly attributed to the fact that it’s translated from the original Japanese, but I love Murakami’s writing style and though the subject matter certainly veered towards the weird in this short story collection, I was happy to listen.

Persuasion: A New Approach to Changing Minds by Arlene Dickinson ★ Arlene is such a good public speaker! I found myself disappointed to discover that her writing doesn’t seem to have the same confidence and this book really didn’t hold my interest.

I am Malala: The Story of the Girl Who Stood Up for Educations and Was Shot by the Taliban by Malala Yousafzai (A) ★★★★★ This has been on my to-be-read list for a while and I’m happy I finally got to it! It was difficult to listen to the misogynistic acts committed by the regime and the general women-are-inferior cultural attitude in Pakistan. Malala had so much working against her and she’s an inspiration.