#i made it through a whole day without painkillers or having to tap out to rest

[eye-of-the-tigerseye]

Dear diary I made my own coffee this morning. Dear diary I had an okay work day. Dear diary my pain levels were minimal today. Dear diary my mental state was alright today. Dear diary I listened to good music on the drive home. Dear diary I cried because I could today. Dear diary I talked to my best friend and he made me smile. Dear diary my girlfriend called to tell me she loves me. Dear diary my cat is so soft. Dear diary my stomach is full. Dear diary I paid my bills. Dear diary I have a new favorite movie. Dear diary my bed is so warm. Dear diary today is a good day.

[blackbat05]

Period Shenanigans

Shangqi x Reader

A/N: Lol so my period came one week earlier than what my period tracker stated? But thank goodness I’m at home and I don’t have any schedules because I would be dead. I try not to arrange anything if I can help it especially on my first few days. What I write is what I experience and what helps me during my period but disclaimer, it may not work for everyone! Hope you liked this impromptu idea that came out of my head. I’m finally done with 10 weeks of placement! Just a little more~ Like and comment if you wish! 

Genre: PG-13

Warnings: Shangqi not being like most men and being so caring? Blood (but come on if you can see blood on action movies why not this?) and a whole load of fluff I guess? Oh an one explicit word too haha 

The two of you come back from your morning runs as usual. Shower and breakfast was next. But after thirty minutes you didn’t come out of your room.

Shangqi decides to make a visit to make sure that nothing happened to you. ‘Y/N?’ He knocks on your door first. ‘You ok?’ He pressed his ear against the door, straining his ears. All he heard was a few unintelligible muffles. ‘I’m coming in ok?’

He made sure that he received your acknowledgement before slowly opening the door. There you were, crawled up on your bed, a hot pack on your tummy.

‘Fuck…’ you groaned as you tried to find the best position. Couldn’t you just live like a normal human being during this time of the month? Evidently god had other plans.

Let’s face it, at this moment you would have been embarrassed for Shangqi to see you in this state. But first, you were too tired to even care. Second, Shangqi was best friends with Katy before he met you. Surely he had seen enough.

He knows the protocol at the back of his head. Giving you a few reassuring taps on the shoulder, he leaves your room to prepare the essentials.

Tea, painkillers, sliced bananas and your favorite chocolate biscuits. Oh, don’t forget your humongous stuffed penguin that laid at the corner of your room but you were unable to get because of the pain that had nearly paralyzed you.

‘And the portable phone charger because I know you’ll be watching Running Man non stop,’ he passes you the object in question. ‘Be careful not to burst you appendix while laughing ok?’

You punched his shoulder lightly as a form of thanks. ‘What the hell would I do without you Shangqi,’ you adjusted your position to achieve maximum comfort on the bed. ‘Come on, watch with me,’ gesturing for him to sit next to you.

For the next 3 hours or so, you spend a good time with Shangqi laughing at the antics that the show provided. It was a good way to ignore the pain that was slowly going away by the minute.

Having your period meant that you were more tired than usual. After sipping the last bit of tea, you eyes felt heavier by the minute, eventually nodding off on Shangqi’s shoulder.

He slowly cradles your head, bringing it down on the pillow. Making sure that the blanket covered you, he cleaned the remaining stuff before leaving your room.

Sleep definitely helped. You woke up about an hour later to the unmistakable smell of macaroni soup boiling. Still in Shangqi’s oversized hoodie, you carried the stuffed penguin out like a little kid, making your way towards the kitchen.

There he was, donning an apron that said ‘World’s Best Cook’.

‘That’s kind of an exaggeration don’t you think?’ You teased, causing him to turn around. ‘Well, I must have woke you up because of this wonderful smell,’ he jokes back, taking a sip of the soup to test its taste. Satisfied, he closes back the lid to let it boil a bit more.

You appreciated what he did for you whenever your first few days of Niagara Falls proved to be physically taxing on you. But you just had one question…

‘When did you learn to cook Macaroni soup?’

‘Uh well,’ he sheepishly scratches the back of his head. ‘I called your mom earlier while you were asleep. She was kind enough to give me a idiot proof recipe for a cooking newbie like me.’

Appreciated? Scratch that out. You were stunned that he actually went to such lengths to make you feel better. You remembered when you were younger, your mother would cook you a bowl of warm macaroni soup. The chicken broth was light and easy on the stomach but still very filling.

Shangqi notices that you’re just standing there, not saying a word. He worries that maybe he went too far. Should he apologize? Should he just tell you that he wanted to help? Should he-

You come forward to hug him. ‘Thank you Shangqi. I’m probably saying this too many times for my own good but this means a lot to me.’

Wanda and Vision just came back from their Sunday grocery shopping. As Vision was about to walk through the walls to get through the kitchen, Wanda stops him.

‘What is it dear?’

‘I think we can wait. We don’t have any cold things to put in the fridge right?’ Vision shakes his head as he followed her looking very puzzled.

Wanda could see you and Shangqi at the kitchen counter. He was standing across you, eagerly watching you take the first sip, as if waiting for a stamp of approval. Your genuine reaction brings a huge smile to his face as he starts telling you his adventures in the kitchen, you laughing at his exaggerated account multiple times.

The two of you were basically in your own world.

Wanda was like a big sister to you since you came here from Madripoor. She felt herself constantly needing to protect you as despite your abilities, your kind heart served as a danger out in the field.

But ever since you knew the Martial Arts master, Wanda felt like she did not have to worry anymore. She knew that you were surrounded by good friends who would have your back out on the field and for this instance - when you weren’t feeling your best.

She quickly makes her leave before you spot her.

But Shangqi did as he was facing the door. He sees the sorceress put a finger to her lips. So he naturally goes back to the conversation with you.

While you finish the last bit of soup, Shangqi takes a quick peek at the entrance again. Wanda was still there but this time it looked like she had something to say to him. She must have used her abilities as his brain suddenly felt strange.

‘Thank you Shangqi for being with her.’

A/N: Yo this was supposed to be a period headcanon? Or is it just my hormones speaking that makes me unusually emotional. Anyways, hope you enjoyed another Shangqi headcanon again!😂 You have my period to thank for that.

Also can I just say I think my standards have changed? Like if a guy’s really considerate to me on my period like hell I think that’s just really neat in my books because unfortunately I haven’t come across any in real life🥲

[saturnsummer]

worthy.

When Sol gets a GPA of 2.02, the study group (and Joon Hwi) comes together to cheer her up. 

notes: another prompt by @thenerdywriter ! i wasn't sure if you meant it like this, but i hope you are satisfied! thank you for your prompt and your trust! i do apologise for the wait!

not much fluff or cliche romantic scenes, but just simple things that i hope when you read, remember your worth and never be defeated. you are worthy, loved and deserving to be appreciated. :) inbox always open!

for anyone who have sent prompts and asks, i thank you for your ideas! i have read through all your asks and am so excited to begin writing, but please understand if i can’t reply you as fast as i hoped! so sorry for this, i’ll try to address my inbox faster!! any mistakes or incorrect information will be taken responsible by me. enjoy!

edit: everyone, please don’t cry on this omg I’ve made 5 people comment their tears now and im terribly sorry for the tears.. I meant for this to be a light hearted story but looks like everyone is crying,, I’ll try not to make people cry now..

original prompt: where joon hwi and the rest of the gang shake some sense into her (sol a) about her self-esteem. 

words: 2787 words

Sol is downstairs at the lounge, holding a clear bottle of soju. She takes another swig from the plastic bottle, hoping that the alcohol can numb her heart like it does to her head. It burns, and she’s turning woozy, but she grumbles and takes another swig. 

2.02. She’s passed, at least. But she can’t help but feel upset. She wasn’t upset that she couldn’t score as well as Yeseul or BokGi, but upset that she’s satisfied with these low results. No one is going to hire her, even less offer an internship while looking at her track records. 

Sol worked her ass off for this exam. She nearly died, if it wasn’t for Yeseul’s reminders to eat. Even her cold stoned face roommate bothered to place bottles of water on her desk. Yet, after all this... 

“Why are you still up?” She hears Joon Hwi ask as he takes a seat next to her. She stays silent with a grim expression and turns away. Joon Hwi was the last person she wanted to see, especially when she’s in such a bad mod. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks as he catches her arm just as she’s about to chug her soju. 

“Everything.” She slurs. “You know I’m not even upset with my GPA? I’m upset of being happy with my shitty grades.” Joon Hwi sighs, attempting to grab her bottle away.

“I should have never came to study. I should have never tried to prove myself to be Dan!” She scolds louder. Sol knows she’s drunk in front of her best friend, but she can’t control herself. She doesn’t care. 

“Kang Sol...” Joon Hwi stands up, grabbing her bottle away from her. “You’re drunk. Go back.” 

“I don’t belong here, anyway.” Her slurs catch Joon Hwi in his steps. 

“I never once belonged with any of you. Being with all of you just drags you all further. I should just stop burdening you all with my questions and rot in a corner. Besides, no one would care.” She softly says, her voice filled with regret and guilt. 

Sol has always felt this way. Ever since she was young, Dan was always the star child. She got top grades while Sol got through in the middle rankings. Dan was always more popular, prettier, smarter. Sol learnt at a young age that no matter what, she would always be overshadowed by Dan. 

Thus, she learnt to be quiet. Only ask questions when she really needs to. Stick to familiar people. Only be loud when told to, and blend in in every situation. She learnt to depreciate herself, because no one appreciated her in the first place. 

Joon Hwi wants to shake her. He wants to write an entire dissertation on why Sol belongs to Hankuk. He wants to show her what he sees: a smart, caring, passionate lawyer-to-be. He wants to show her what he sees when she testified for Professor Yang in court. A confident, woman knowing her morals and rights.

“Kang Sol.” Joon Hwi says, pulling her up by her wrist. Sol pushes him away, but her touches are sloppy and weak. Sighing, Joon Hwi knows that it is useless to argue about her grades and her worth when she’s not even half conscious of what she’s doing. 

He grabs her coat lying on the couch, finding her phone and plans on calling Yeseul. But it’s past 1am, but he doesn’t want to trouble Yeseul. Sighing, he contemplates calling her roomie but reality smacks when he realises she’s home. Noticing how Sol is slowly nodding off, giving in to the fatigue, it leaves Joon Hwi not much of an option to carry her back.

Fishing the room key out from her coat, he takes special care in carrying her, sweeping his arm under her knee and lifting her slowly as to not disrupt her from falling asleep. The key card is in between his fingers as he slowly and quietly makes his way up to her dorm. He thanks the deities above that no one caught him or interrupted him. 

Tapping the key card, a standard ‘beep’, he pushes the door with his back, and takes care to get him and her into the dark room. He can barely see anything, especially since he has no hands to on the lights, but he makes out his way in the small room using the moonlight and what he can tell. 

Joon Hwi knows which side Sol sleeps, knowing from her stories that include her rolling from the bed up to the desk. By now, Sol was sleeping soundly, a slight snore escaping her. Gently, he sets her down on her bed and reaches to take her shoes off for her. Hanging up her coat that he placed on top of her whilst he was carrying her, he finally pulled the thick blanket over her.

But he didn’t leave just yet.

“I never once belonged with any of you.”

Sol’s words echoed in his head more than he thought it would. He stopped and bent down silently by her bed side, taking a few moments to wonder to himself just how and why does she feel so unworthy.

He grabs her bottle of water from her bag, before putting it next to her phone, which is on the table. Knelt on the floor, he observes the slow rise of her chest and the way her eyes flutter and nose twitch when Sol sleeps. Just how can someone like Sol think she’s any less than what he sees?

“You belong here in Hankuk. I’ll show you just why.” His whisper barely audible, as he brushes away a stray hair on her face. With that, he takes his leave and sneaks back to his dorm. (Without getting caught)

-----

The next day, after two painkillers and a big bowl of hangover soup (left mysteriously by someone at their pantry), Sol is headed to study group. She is running a few minutes early than their scheduled timing, but she’s surprised to find the group huddled in hushed whispers. 

“What are you all looking at?” Sol asks, as she sets her book at her usual corner opposite Joon Hwi. BokGi lets out a startled yelp and Yebeom clamps his mouth shut. Sol isn’t surprised to see Jiho crowded there, but is even more shocked to see Sol B crowded with them too. If it was anything, Sol B wouldn’t crowd around and discuss things, unless it concerned herself, or benefitted her grades.

“What...” Sol leans over and raises her eyebrows. Yeseul’s eyes dart nervously and she breaks into a smile. The rest of the group just shuffles back to their seats murmuring under their breath.

“Nothing, unnie! They were just discussing on what to order for lunch.” Yeseul says as she walks over to Sol and takes her bag and books from her, before setting it on the table. “Unnie, shall we get coffees?” Yeseul escorts her out of the room before Sol could react. Sol assumes that it’s due to her hangover that Yeseul is suggesting coffee, thus just following and getting a cold brew and assorted drinks for the others. 

When she returns, they distribute the drinks and start discussing on what to study. 

“Noona, do you have anything?” BokGi asks, a little too enthusiastically. Sol is taken aback and lost for words. She usually just follows whatever the rest want, since answering her questions will take hours. Joon Hwi gives a sympathetic smile. 

“How about you share with us about a recent case? Remember the one that Professor Kim liked in particular?” Joon Hwi suggests. Sol grows quiet. Her? The worst student? Sol let’s out an uncertain laugh.

“Ah, me? I rather my roomie shares. She did better than me.” Sol says, then prepares a fresh document for note taking on her laptop.

“I didn’t do well.” Sol B says quietly, her eyes emotionless as usual, leaning back into the chair. “You did the best. Go on.” Sol is stunned and just nods uncertainly. Taking out her case notes and her reports that she submitted, she nervously discusses the topic on hand. She sneaks Joon Hwi a couple of questioning stares but he only pretends to not catch her eyes.

Everyone is enthusiastic, asking questions and when Sol is stumped, they jump in to help her. They suggest ideas and Sol has never felt so energised by their energy before. She find it fishy how Joon Hwi just sits back and she can feel him smiling whenever she makes a point right or figures out a missing link.

An hour later, when they are done expanding on Sol’s case and discussing, they break for a late lunch together.  Yebeom enters the room with bags of food, as usual over ordering. As they pass out containers of jjampong and jjajamyeon, Sol’s eyes light up when she saw the only thing that mattered in the whole order: her beloved pickles, in doubled servings. 

What Sol doesn’t expect is for JiHo to dump his packet of pickles on her container of noodles. 

“JiHo-ah, why...” Sol is dumbfounded for a moment as JiHo opens his pack of noodles to stir. JiHo only pushes up his glasses. 

“You can have them, noona.” Sol is even more dumbfounded. This was the first time JiHo has called her noona. She didn’t care for the honourifics, and JiHo could call her by her full name for all she cared. But hearing those words from Seo JiHo’s mouth, just made her think everyone was utterly suspicious today.

“Okay, everyone is being weird. What is this?” Sol announces, hoping her tone came out fun, with no hints of anger. 

“Nothing! We just know you’ve been feeling stressed, so JiHo decided to give you his share of pickles, right?” BokGi quips up, as he dives into taking the sauce to pour over the tangsuyuk, before Yebeom and him argue over pouring or dipping. 

Sol, still feeling suspicious, breaks her chopsticks just as Joon Hwi picks up a pickle from her plastic saucer to put on her noodles. Her eyes dart from his chopstick to his face, but he just nods at her pickles, expressions hard to read.

Sol crunches on her pickles, but it does nothing to soothe the feeling that everyone was aware of something, but her. 

-----

The rest of the week was a puzzle piece that Sol could not fix together.

She woke up everyday to a new message by Joon Hwi, sometimes sending her funny videos, or a simple “let’s get through this together”. She woke up once to her roomie handing her breakfast and coffee. It just didn’t click in Sol’s head to see the cold Sol B hand her a sandwich and coffee.

Their group chat was undoubtedly noisy, but even more so now. Something in common was how the more chatty ones would ask Sol for advice or chat and strike noisy conversations. She was used to the chaos, but she definitely didn’t feel used to having the attention on her.

As the group had earned different internships from small and large firms, Sol was going to be left in school alone, still applying and hoping for one to come her way. Her study group knew about it, and instead continued to encourage her about it. They avoided talk on their internships, and actively tried to help Sol. While Sol was grateful, she couldn’t help but wish that they would just act normal and not worry about her.

She chose to meet them for breakfast on the day of their internships. The meal was noisy as usual as they ate their sandwiches and gimbaps. They were dressed smartly in their suits with their briefcases. Sol made a fuss over everyone looking smart on their first day.

“Hurry up and eat, you’re going to be late for your internship!” Sol scolded BokGi as he and Yebeom threw comments back and forth. Everyone was off for theirs and ready with their jackets and bags. Walking with them to the door, she couldn’t help but feel like a mom to her kids, sending them to school.

“Noona! Check your table later in the libra-” Yebeom gleefully mused before BokGi clamped his mouth shut and JiHo (with much irritation) smacked his head silently.

“What?” Sol asks, turning to Joon Hwi, who was turning redder by the second. Joon Hwi closes his eyes, the same way he does when he’s embarrassed and looks away from her.

“Listen to Yebeom and check the table.” He says, finally looking at her. “We’ll see you for dinner then.” Waving a quick goodbye, the group walked away from her towards the carpark where they separated to the bus stops or in the direction of the train station.

“O-Okay…” she mutters, still confused as she carries her books and bag to her usual table at the library. She would have went to sulk at Professor Kim’s office for a while, but she instead chose to head straight to study. Professor Kim had enough on her plate and she wasn’t ready just yet to face Professor Kim with her mood.

There, at her table, lies her stack of books.

Normal, nothing out of the ordinary. Huffing out, she slumps her bag on her table, gathering the post its on the bar above the table. Most of them were just plain comments, like how she had to stop slamming her pen into her hand (it distracted students) or move out of the library cause there aren't enough seats. Opening her book on civil code, she was ready to start drilling her head before meeting Professor Kim. 

Then she spots an envelope, hidden between the pages of the book.

Carefully, she picks it out and looks on the cream white paper, the only ink on it her name, written in neat handwriting. She could recognise Joon Hwi’s handwriting anywhere. A slight scoff escapes her lips and several students turn in annoyance. Realising that this was probably not the best place to be in, she grabs her books and bags (and the post its) and leaves the library. She heads to the empty study room, where she knows she’s be comfortable at.

Opening the flap, she slips out numerous slips of paper, varying degrees of length and sizes. Some words were neat, some were a little messy.

-----

To: Unnie <3

Sol-unnie, you know you’re smart, right? Your grades may not show that you are the best, but I know you are! Whenever I hear you discuss a case with the study group, I know you’re trying your best to memorise and improve. Don’t give up, unnie! I will support you till the end!

- Yeseul 

To: Sol-A noona

Yah, noona! You have to stop injuring yourself, okay? You gave us a really big scare the last time when you started nose bleeding in the midst of study group. Noona, don’t look at your grades anymore! If a man like me can get through law school so far pretty well, you can too! Fighting, noona! 

Noona~ you’re really talented. The fact that you scored so well during the criminal law test and managed to spot the comma just shows for amazing you are! Noona, don’t be discouraged... seeing you discouraged makes us sad too. Your favourite dongsaeng is here to help you! 

- BokGi and Yebeom 

To: Kang Sol-A

You can do it. Review your cases before classes. Get your internship.

-JiHo

To: Sol-A

Live up to your name, will you? And sleep on a regular schedule. 

- Roommate

To: Sol

Sunbae, remember me? Stop doubting yourself and trust yourself. You’re smarter than you know and fit for court. I will support you from wherever you are. I’m grateful for you, for supporting me all this time. I think Dan would be proud of you, and so will the cookie Byeol. 

Sol, you are worthy in my eyes. So stop undermining yourself. You belong in Hankuk next to me. You can’t give up now.

-Joon Hwi

-----

Sol lets a smile creep on her face as she lets a small blush rise to her face. Holding her letters to her heart, she closes her eyes, reminding herself of the past week and her friend’s efforts to cheer her on. She knew no doubt it had to be Joon Hwi who convinced everyone there to write for her despite their busy schedule. For even Sol B to help out and bother about her, it warmed her heart to have her support.

Picking her book, she pinned her hair up as she started drill into her book with a new found confidence, fuelled by her friends supporting her. But most importantly, she felt worthy. She felt loved. She felt confident. She was hopeful.

(Everyone thinks she’s worthy in their eyes, but one just thinks she’s perfect.)

[dreamescapeswriting]

Guardian Angel ~MYG [Request]

WORD COUNT: 1.8k

GENRE: angst, fluffy ending, Helping Yoongi after his surgery, him finally appreciating your relationship together

PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

A/N: I hope this is okay for you my love!

"Do you have any idea how irritating you are?!" Yoongi cried out as he threw his good arm back to make you let go of him. You sighed at him as you held the jacket in your hand, staring at him as you waited for him to get over his small temper tantrum and let you finish dressing him. 

"Going out for a walk was your idea, I'm just trying to help-"

"I don't fucking need your help!" He yelled as he stared at you, his face red with anger as he shook his head at you. Mumbling something to himself as he tried to pull the jacket from your hands but you weren't going to let go of it. 

"Yoongi you're supposed to be taking it easy, let me help you," You knew he felt bad about having to rely on you and the boys for things so you weren't going to hold the yelling against him. You stepped forward to help but this only seemed to anger him more as he stepped away from you and began yelling all over again. Raising his voice so loud that you were sure the neighbours were going to call your landlord again to complain. 

"You have no fucking idea, do you?! Do you know how useless I fucking feel! Having to get my girlfriend to run around for me like I'm so stupid I can't dress myself?!" This time when he threw his arm back in frustration he knocked over a vase of flowers, the glass smashing onto the floor as he stormed away from you.

"I'm just trying-"

"Well don't! Stop trying! I'm sick of you breathing down my neck! Everywhere I turn you're there and it's too much!" He continued to yell out insults as you cleaned up the glass from the floor, sweeping it all up into the dustpan as you tried to get every last piece. 

"Watch where you're stepping, you could cut your foot." You told him as you guided him out of the way, 

"See! There you go again! Treating me like I'm a baby!" He yelled out in frustration, glaring down at you as he shook his head. 

"You're everywhere I turn! Why are you even here?! Why aren't you at work?!" You ignored him as you swept up more of the glass, letting him get on with whatever it was he was saying to you. Trying to drown it out since you knew he didn't mean any of it.

"So fucking annoying," As soon as the last one left his mouth you picked up the broken glass and headed into the kitchen, slamming the door so you didn't have to listen to him anymore. Breaking down as soon as you sat down on the floor beside the bin. All you'd been trying to do these last few months was make sure he could have the best healing time. The doctors and boys were counting on you, wanting you to make sure that Yoongi healed nicely and he was throwing it back in your face.

"He's going to be fine Y/n," Namjoon reassured you as you watched Yoongi being wheeled into his hospital room. He'd just come back up from the surgery on his shoulder and he was still out from the medication that they'd given to him. The boys were all waiting with you from the moment that Yoongi went down, none of them wanted you or Yoongi to be alone while he went through this. It was only a small surgery but something that could drastically change his career if it went wrong so the boys were all waiting for answers.

"You'll look after him right, Noona?" Jungkook asked as he looked over at you, you looked to Namjoon who was already waiting for you to answer the maknae. 

"Of course, I've taken some time off work so I can help with him," You'd already spoken to Namjoon. He thought it was the better option since all of the boys were going to be busy during the healing period. 

"I'll be right there with him," You whispered, looking over at Yoongi in his room ready to go into him when his doctor began to walk towards you and the boys.

"The surgery went perfectly, he'll be fine as long as he rests it. He's going to need a lot of time off to heal. Someone will need to be there every step he takes," His doctor told you as he walked down to you and Namjoon, you were the ones down as Yoongi's emergency contacts on all his forms. 

"I'd expect you'll be looking after him?" You nodded at the doctor and he nodded behind him to his office, ready to go over everything you would need to know on how to look after Yoongi and make sure he made the best recovery.

It felt like it had been forever since you and Yoongi had spoken to one another despite him just being in the other room, he was staring out of the window at the rain while you stayed in the kitchen trying to do anything except going into there and talk to him. It was blown out of proportion, both of your emotions were riding high since you'd been stuck together for so long. Lockdown and the surgery both playing a part in Yoongi's mindset. Looking back on it Yoongi knew it was a stupid thing to do when you were just doing what you were told to do but it didn't make him feel any less upset about it. For the last two months, you'd done nothing but hover around him as if he was about to break at any given moment and it was starting to get on his nerves. You were constantly asking him what he wanted you to do for him. Never letting him do anything on his own. No matter where he was you were there breathing down the back of his neck waiting to help him. He knew he was supposed to be thankful for it since you were the one person who was looking after him after his surgery but it just made him feel bad. It made him feel as though he couldn't do anything for himself and it built up inside of him until the point where he snapped at you and now neither of you were talking.

When he heard you moving he turned around to look at you, your head was down as you walked into the bathroom, ignoring him even though he hadn't said anything. Yoongi knew that even if he tried to say something you'd stay silent and lock yourself away from him and he couldn't blame you. The whole time you'd done nothing but make sure Yoongi was healing perfectly, he remembered everything you did for him. Cooking, cleaning, helping him in the shower or baths, making sure he could watch the boys preforming and being there for him when he got upset about not being able to be there with them.

The temperature in the bath was perfect and you looked at Yoongi who was standing in the doorway, 

"Thanks," He whispered as he watched you, he'd gotten home four days ago and it was finally time that he could have a bath with the stitches in. 

"The doctor said it'll be fine, as long as we don't soak the stitches," You told him as you moved the shower curtain out of the way so he could get into the bathtub easier. 

"Will you get in with me?" He laughed as he began to kick off his boxers, waiting for you to help him with his shirt. He wasn't allowed to lift his arm up by himself, he needed someone to steady it for him while he changed or did anything that required using that arm. 

"You want me to?" You giggled as you saw the blush creeping onto his cheeks, nodding his head as he watched you. 

"Then sure," You whispered, waiting for him to get into the water before you would join him in the water. Stripping out of your clothes as soon as he was in the tub and climbing into the tub in front of him. 

Even when he knew how tired you were, you were always there to make sure he had everything that he needed. All those times he would wake up in the dead of night in pain you would instantly wake up and stay awake with him so he didn't have to go through it all alone. He knew how much begging and pleading with your boss it had taken to manage to get the time off just to look after him and there he was throwing it back at you when all you were doing was being nice and doing as you were told. It was as if you were his one and only guardian angel, always there to look after him and he adored you for it. Even if he hadn't shown it and then yelled at you for being in the way when he was really just upset at himself for everything. Staring over at the bathroom door as he heard the shower running so he made his way over and tapped on the door softly. 

"Y-Your tablets are on the table with some tea," You stuttered out and Yoongi instantly knew you were crying in there so he knocked again without a word. The door slowly opening to reveal you standing there, tears rolling down your cheeks with bloodshot eyes. 

"Are you in pain? I can get the stronger painkillers-" You stopped talking as Yoongi wrapped his good arm around your waist and held onto you tightly. Kissing your shoulder as he held you, tears streaming harder down your face as you hugged him back. Relaxing against his embrace as you let go of every emotion you'd been feeling for the last couple of weeks. 

"I'm sorry I yelled and said things I didn't mean...I-I'm tired and annoyed at myself," He whispered as he pulled back to look at you, reaching up to rub the tears away from your face, smiling weakly as you locked eyes with him he was going to keep saying sorry for as long as he took.

"We're both tired," You whimpered as you kissed his lips softly, trying to remind yourself that he didn't mean it and you knew it. The two of you had been having a lot of broken sleep so it was getting to you too much. 

"You should take your meds, come on..." You whispered, pulling him in the direction of the kitchen but Yoongi stopped you. 

"I'll take them, go and have a long bubble bath...I'll order some food?" You nodded at him, the idea of a nice hot bubble bath and take-out food sounded like the perfect combination right now. 

"Then we'll curl up on the sofa and watch a movie until we fall asleep," He promised you as he looked at you, raising your hand to his lips and leaving a small kiss on it.

Tagline: @lyoongx​ @mitzwinchester​ @fan-ati--c​ @rjsmochii​ @kneel-begyourpardon​ @taestannie​ @innersooya​ @sw33tnight​ @sweeneyblue1​ @acciocriativity​ @that-anxious-bisexual​

[somedayonbroadway]

Room

Room Masterlist

Chapter 4

Something felt different when Race woke up the next morning. He opened his eyes to see his daddy still fast asleep, but he was curled up next to him tighter than normal. And there was purple on his neck. Daddy said it wasn't paint, once. Those marks were different. But they looked colorful and odd and Race knew that paint could make things change colors.

With shaky fingers, Tyler reached out to touch the mark. Daddy sighed in his sleep and Race mimicked him, his big blue eyes widening when he saw his breath leave his lips. Squinting a little in confusion, the child blew quietly at the ceiling.

He saw it again.

Looking up at Skylight, the little boy saw that the edges of It were white. He'd never seen Skylight look like that. In the middle, he could see grey. Daddy had said that those were clouds once. Aliens didn't like the rain.

Still, the boy could only focus on the smoke coming out of his mouth. "I'm a dragon…" he whispered. Dragons in TV breathed like that. Fire and smoke. Dragons were cool. They could fly and breathe fire and sometimes turn invisible. Race liked dragons. He rolled towards his daddy again, tapping his shoulder. "Daddy, look!" he whispered. Tired green eyes slowly opened but Daddy didn't say anything. "I'm a dragon!" Again, the boy breathed out steadily, watching smoke float up into the air above him.

Jack squinted. He took in a sharp breath as he slowly forced himself to sit up, his neck sore and his head hurting more than usual. His throat felt tight. He sniffled as he glanced up at the skylight and then at the radiator. His son watched him calmly as he reached over to the lamp and tried to click it on.

Nothing happened.

"Shit…" Jack hissed. The power was cut. For a split second, hope bubbled up inside him but he shut it down quickly. Still, he couldn't help but try, climbing off of the bed and trying to pry the electric door open with his fingers. It didn't budge. In a moment of frustration, he kicked at the thing, seeing Tyler sit up slowly in the bed.

Letting out a long sigh, Jack bit his lip. He'd lost track of time in Room plenty of times before, but he knew that it was November. It was only a couple days after his baby's birthday. And it was about to get really cold.

So Jack walked over to the wardrobe and pulled open the drawers, tossing Race two long sleeve shirts and a blanket, needing to keep the boy warm. Tyler was so small. If he got sick, it wouldn't be good. Jack didn't know what to do if Tyler got sick. Spider gave them six painkillers at a time. It was all the medication they had.

So Jack helped bundle his little boy up as best he could. He tried to ignore the soreness in the back of his own throat and the bruises that he knew wrapped around his neck. Tyler didn't argue with him. The boy still seemed a bit shaken and Jack didn't know what he could do to make it better.

He was still shaken too.

Time didn't stop for them. Jack let his little boy work through some stretches as he warmed up some oatmeal for breakfast. Talking hurt a little bit. Jack still wore his pajama pants and the only long sleeve t-shirt Spider had given him. He had a scarf around his neck, made of a strip of an old blanket, but it was more to hide the bruises than to actually keep him warm.

As the child sat down with a book at the table, Jack listened to him read. This story used to be one of his favorites. Someone used to read it to him. Someone used to read to him all the time.

"For, you see," the child said in a voice that was only innocent, "so many out-of-the-way things had hap-happened l… lat-ley—"

"Lately," Jack corrected gently as his son sounded out the words. The young man's voice was hardly more than a whisper.

"Lately," Tyler repeated, finding his place in the book again. "That Alice had begun to think that very few things indeed were really impossible…" The child kept reading.

But Jack wasn't listening.

Last night played over again in his head as he stared down at the stove. He swallowed hard, thinking about his own screams and the inability to breathe or do anything while Spider talked about his son like he was an object instead of a little boy who had no clue what kind of life he was living, what kind of life Jack was living. Nothing had been on his mind but protecting that child. His child. Nothing had been on his mind but keeping that boy safe, the one thing he had left to do.

Something had sparked in him last night, something that he hadn't felt in a long time.

They need to get out.

He should be devastated right now, completely torn apart by reality as it slashed through him violently and chipped away another piece of him but all he knew was that he felt something. For the first time in a long time, he could feel something again. It was nearly overwhelming.

Mind whirling, Jack moved on autopilot, serving his boy breakfast before he found himself sitting in his chair, unable to move as so many different things rushed through his mind, so many memories resurfaced and he couldn't stop them. He could only stare down at his child, watching him for hours as he just went about his day without a care, reading, playing and drawing and coloring and feeling safe in a world Jack had created just for him because he thought that something was so far out of his reach he'd never be able to tell the truth.

But maybe Alice was right.

It must've been hours before Tyler sighed and looked up from his snake made of egg shells and a string. "Daddy?" he asked.

The young man flinched a little as he forcibly pulled himself from his thoughts and he shook his head. Five years and it had come down to this. Jack cleared his throat, sniffling as he ran a trembling hand through his hair. He knew what he had to do. He just hoped his kid would still be able to look at him the same way. "H-hey, Tyler, do you remember Mouse?" The words were odd and he felt sick just saying them. Anxiety flooded through him when Tyler nodded. "Yeah…" Jack breathed, biting his lip. "Ya know where he is?" He somehow managed to make himself sound quiet and calm even though he was screaming inside. Tyler shook his head, looking up at Jack curiously, a crayon in his hand. Jack paused for a moment, leaning closer to the boy and studying him for just a moment longer. Then he glanced around, almost like he was afraid someone might be listening. "I do…" The young man nodded over to the heavy metal door that he hated so much. "He's on the otha' side of this wall."

Looking over to the wall, the boy sat unamused, not quite picking up on the tone his daddy had in his voice. "In space?"

"No," Jack replied, shaking his head and blinking back the tears as he bit his lip. He swallowed hard. "In the world… it's a lot closer than outer space," he breathed, keeping his gaze steady and his voice quiet.

Big blue eyes stared up at him in pure uncertainty as though the very idea was completely ludicrous. "Dumbo, Da', there's Room 'n then outer space. Mouse lives on a TV planet—"

"It's not a TV planet," Jack cut off gently, reaching for his son's hand and carefully taking the crayon away from his small fingers. "Those things that you see on TV… they're pictures of real things, real stuff like trees 'n oceans 'n parks 'n people—"

Raising his eyebrows up in disbelief, the boy asked, "Dora's real, for real?"

At the question, Jack sighed. He shook his head and tried to remind himself that he was talking to a small, innocent child that had been lied to his whole life. He tried to remind himself how Tyler had grown to believe these things because it might have been easier that way. But this wasn't easier. It wasn't. "No, kid. Dora is a drawin'—"

"A drawin' like those?" the child interrupted again, pointing over to the sketches that were hanging on the wall with tape.

When Jack glanced up to those pictures, his heart sank. "No… not like those…" he whispered, taking in every feature, every detail of those people for the first time in years. He fought to tear his gaze away. "Do… do you see how those people… they look like us? People on TV, the ones that look like us, they're real people."

Tilting his head to the side, as he often did when there was something he wasn't understanding, Tyler brushed a hand through his hair. He shook his head, not believing the words.

Bouncing his leg a little bit Jack looked around, trying to find some way to explain this, some way to get his baby to understand. His eyes landed on the book Tyler had been reading. An idea sparked in his head as he looked back down to his son. "You know how Alice wasn't always in Wonderland? You remember how she was outside with Dinah? N' she—"

"She fell down, down, down into a hole!" Race finished with Jack, nodding as he caught onto at least that much.

Hope bubbled up in the young man's chest as he nodded. "Yeah! Yes! Well, I wasn't always in Room," he explained quickly. The little boy clearly still did not understand what was being said to him. Jack's chest tightened and he wished to cry. Aside from last night, he couldn't remember the last time he'd done so. "I was a little boy, just like you, except I didn't live in Room. My name was Jack. Jack Kelly. You asked me a long time ago why Spider called me 'Kelly,'. You remember?" he asked. Tyler didn't respond. "It's my name. My name's James Kelly. I lived in a house with a yard and a swing—"

"A house like in TV?"

Jack paused, reminding himself to take a deep breath. Tyler was curious and he was so, so smart, but Jack didn't know how to explain this because this was something no child should ever have to understand. "No, Tyler…" he nearly whined, his voice breaking with exhaustion as his throat still throbbed from last night. "A real house, one where I lived, outside of this place." The young man forced himself to slow down and paused as he realized how desperate he was beginning to sound, though the child didn't seem to notice. "Race, you're so smart… I know that you can get this… I know you wonder about what's on the other side of that door…"

Glancing over to the door, Tyler bit his lip. "What other side?"

Hardly reacting to those words, Jack just shrugged. "Tyler, there's two sides to everything," he informed the boy easily.

"Not an octagon."

If Jack didn't have so many other things running through his brain, he might have laughed. Instead, Jack just paused, taken aback by the sentence as he thought about it. The kid was right. "Well… yeah, but—"

"An octagon has eight sides," Race shrugged, those blue eyes never leaving Jack's face.

The young man scoffed. "Okay, kid. Ya got me there, but there's always two sides to a wall," he tried again, picking up the small book for reference. He stood the thing up and used his hand, closing it in a fist as he looked from little model to his son. "Look… we're here, on the inside," he stated, his fist on one side of the book before he moved it to the other side. "And out here… there's the world…"

Staring at the book hard, trying to figure it all out, Race scoot forward in his chair. "What's in the world?"

"Everything," Jack whispered, setting the book down on the table. "Cats and dogs and forests and beaches—"

"No way!" Tyler yelled. "Where would they all fit?"

"They just do. They just fit," Jack assured. He studied the child's face for just a moment, before continuing on. "Where do you think Spider gets our groceries?"

The little boy pointed to the television, as though it was obvious. "From TV, by magic!"

Shaking his head, Jack replied, "It's not magic, kid. He goes out into the world, into a store, and he buys them." The man looked down at his child. "Racer, I know what I told you was different, but you were little then. I didn't think you would understand. But now? Kid, you're so old now. You're so smart. I know that you can get this."

Letting out an innocent sigh, Race looked back down at his drawing. "Can I have somethin' to eat?" he asked, seeming more than uncomfortable with the topic of conversation, but Jack couldn't stop.

Frustrated, the young man groaned and let his head roll back so he was looking up. That's when he saw it.

Standing up quickly, he pointed. "Look! Look, that's a leaf!" he said, pointing to the single small thing that was stuck to the skylight with melted ice. It was a rotten brown color. He scooped his son up from under his armpits and helped him up closer to the single thing that had let them see outside.

The boy squealed. "Daddy!"

"I need you ta see this, Race," Jack said. "Look!" he pleaded, stepping up onto his own chair. Tyler could almost touch the skylight.

Squirming in his daddy's embrace, Tyler shook his head. "It ain't green! On TV, leaves are green!"

Letting out a breath and placing his son back on the ground, Jack shook his head. "They're green until they fall off trees, but then they fall n' rot n' turn brown—"

"What about the things you said?" The child asked. "Trees and dogs and cats and oceans?"

It began to hit Jack hard how tired and weak he felt. He glared up at the skylight. "We can't see them from here. Skylight looks up. Windows would look sideways so we could see them, but we ain't got no windows." He hated how difficult this was to explain. He hated that he couldn't truly give up, not even after all this time because he didn't want to burden the boy with this knowledge. But soon enough, Spider's interest would shift. And Jack couldn't let that happen.

Still, the boy pouted, twisting a bit as he stood, looking down at the ground. "You're tricking me."

Jack crossed his arms over his chest. "No, I ain't… I ain't, Racer. You were too small before. I had ta lie because you wouldn't understand, but I'm doin' the opposite now. I'm un-lyin', because you're five now. You're old enough ta understand what the world is," Jack continued on desperately as Tyler shook his head. "Yes. You have ta understand, Tyler. I need you to understand!" he insisted as his voice broke again. "We can't keep livin' like this! You have ta help me!"

The child lowered his head as he muttered more to himself than to his daddy, "I wanna be four again…"

The tears and breaks of Jack's heart only deepened at the words as tears built up in his eyes. Once again, his eyes found that small children's book that lay on the table. "Alice wasn't always in Wonderland. N' Daddy wasn't always in Room…" he began again with a deep breath. "I lived in the world… in a house with my mama n' my pop n'..." Jack glanced back at those sketches on the wall. "N' my big brother. You'd call him Uncle Specs…" Jack's words were shaky as he tried to smile at the name, that stupid nickname he'd given to the one person who had stood by him throughout his whole life. "N' my ma n' pa, your grandma n' grandpa. God, they'd love you…" Just thinking about all of it made the young man want to cry more, the urge to scream and bang on the walls hitting him even harder. "We used ta sit outside n' have barbecues in the backyard n' we'd sit on the swing n' eat ice cream."

Moving to sit back down, Tyler reached for his crayon again. He went right back to coloring.

Jack sighed and sat back down too. "When I was a little older… when I was sixteen, I was walkin' home from school all by myself, and a girl pretended that her dog was sick—"

Without even looking up, the boy still interrupted. Jack supposed he was grateful the kid was still listening. "What girl?"

Swallowing hard, Jack sniffled. "Sh-she was helping Spider. She… I think she was his niece—"

"Where is she now?"

"She's gone, Tyler—"

"What was the dog's name?"

"There was no dog!" Jack snapped before he whimpered, pressing his hands into his eyes. "Spider tricked me! He stole me, n' he trapped me here n' I can't get out!" The young man was shaking. He didn't want to go through this again. He didn't want to have to think about it ever again, the way that innocent smile had turned cruel and sadistic as he was shoved into the back of an old truck and taken away.

There was something in his daddy's voice that Tyler had never heard before. He sounded scared. His voice was high pitched. So Tyler looked up at him, stopping himself from continuing to color. "You said Room was our Refuge," he said.

"Room is a shed, Race! It's a garden shed!" Jack said, tears rolling down his face as he said it. "Spider locked the door and I don't know how ta get out! Ya know the secret numbers that Spider pushes ta open the door?" The boy nodded. "He's the only one that knows them. I don't know what they are. I've been locked in here for six years! I've been in Room for six years!"

Tyler shook his head and tried to go back to coloring. Jack grabbed his crayon and the boy pouted even more. "I don't like this story!" he whined.

"Well, it's the story you're getting!" Glaring up at the man, Tyler remained silent, so Jack shook his head. "Baby, the world is so big. It's so big, you wouldn't even believe it, n' Room is just one stupid part of it…" he whimpered, letting the tears fall freely now.

"Room ain't stupid! It's our home!" the child insisted, tears falling down his cheeks as well.

"Racer—"

"I don't believe in your stupid world!" the child screamed.

For a moment, all Jack could do was stand there and let his bottom lip quiver before he collapsed back onto the ground and pulled his knees up to his chest and used his arms to shield his head. He let out a small sob as he hid his face from his son, trying to calm down even though he knew his chances of getting out of here were wearing thin. His son didn't understand. He may never understand and it was Jack's fault.

It was all Jack's fault.

Jack didn't say a word for the rest of the day. He sat on the ground until he dragged himself to bed, letting Race follow him. He went blind to what the boy had done, whether he'd eaten or not, whether he'd watched TV or read a book. He didn't know.

Then, he slept. It was all he had left to do.

Tyler cuddled up beside Daddy. He didn't like it when Daddy was sad and hugs made Daddy feel better. He didn't mean to yell at Daddy. He shouldn't have yelled. So he snuggled up to his chest and fell asleep.

He only woke back up when Lamp turned on.

The little boy breathed out, trying to see if he could be a dragon today just like he'd been yesterday. Dragons were cool. He liked being a dragon, but he supposed maybe being warm could be fun too. Daddy didn't like the cold.

Reaching up to touch Lamp, Tyler found that he couldn't see smoke coming from his own lips. "Daddy," he whispered, rolling over to face him. "It's warm again…" Green eyes slowly blinked open and looked at him, glancing at Lamp before they shut again. Daddy rolled away from him. "Daddy," Tyler called again, scooting closer to him. "Da'?" Daddy didn't move.

Sighing, Tyler pressed himself into his daddy's back as he sniffled just a little bit. He pulled the blanket up over himself and Daddy and tried to help warm him up. Daddy was shaking a little bit. He must've been cold.

"Daddy… do ya want me ta tell you a story?" Daddy didn't say anything. So Tyler just started talking. "Do ya wanna say hi ta Egg-Snake?" Egg-Snake was their longest friend. "Egg-Snake is the best at bein' fancy… n' Melty-Spoon is the best ta eat with. Toilet is the best at disappearing poo! And Labyrinth is the best at hiding things," he whispered. "N' you're the best at readin' n' singin' n' drawin'... when you ain't havin' a gone day…" The child hugged his daddy around the middle. He didn't like gone days. But he knew his daddy couldn't help them. So he just kept talking. "Lamp is the best at lightin' up Room…"

Jack listened to his baby ramble on. He didn't speak as he pressed his face down into his pillow. A tear slipped down his cheek and he didn't move any more as he felt the dip in the bed disappear from behind him. He could vaguely hear Tyler climb up onto the counter to grab the cereal. He could hear the boy eating and playing and stretching but he couldn't tear his gaze away from the wall.

It was another day gone for him.

And Tyler knew that.

The boy entertained himself that day, getting bored with anything and everything that he tried to do. He played with Egg-Snake and Labyrinth until he lay on the floor and stared up at Skylight, wondering about everything his daddy had told him the day before; about leaves and trees and dogs and cats and oceans and grass and Grandma and Grandpa and Uncle Specs. He wondered what ice cream tasted like and how sand would feel between his toes.

He wondered about Spider, about why Spider would steal his daddy and why he wouldn't let Daddy leave.

When the light began to fade, Tyler stood up and made hand puppets in the yellow square on the wall. He didn't get dressed all day so he could lay with Daddy whenever he wanted to.

Daddy didn't move all day.

Tyler laid with him and told him The Story and other stories. He read to him and talked to him and sometimes he just went quiet so Daddy could sleep.

He went to get Truck out of Wardrobe after eating more cereal for dinner.

The little toy was bright red and brand new. Spider bought it for him.

Spider stole his daddy from the world.

Tyler looked at Truck and then back to Daddy. Then he broke off the wheel to Truck. And another one. And another. And the last. And he shoved Truck under Wardrobe and sauntered back over to Bed, snuggling up beside Daddy as he closed his eyes and told himself The Story quietly. "Once upon a time, you were all alone…"

Jack forced himself out of bed the next morning. He still wasn't talking, but he carried his son over to his chair and sat him down, wanting to apologize for being lost the day before and trying to force Race to understand everything all at once. So he turned the stove on and started to make some eggs as Tyler sat down in front of the TV.

The young man prepared breakfast and let it cool for a moment and he crossed Room to get to his son's clothes. He nearly tripped over something when he got there. Pausing to inspect whatever it was that had stopped him, Jack's heart warmed before breaking just a little bit more when he found the only gift Tyler had ever been given was completely trashed. He shook his head, trying not to read too much into it as he set some clothes out on the bed for his son and went back to the counter to serve some food.

He heard some show playing in the background. He thought nothing of it. Not until a small voice spoke up. "Are turtles real?"

Jack froze. He blinked, having not expected a question like that, so curious and patient. It took him a long moment to recover as he forced himself to nod. "Yeah… yeah, turtles are real," he confirmed, a small smile growing on his face for the first time in days.

"Sharks and crocodiles?"

"Yeah," Jack breathed, glancing back at the child. "They're all real," he said, scooping up some eggs and putting them on two plates before he went to sit beside his kid, watching the boy change the channel to some Victorian show.

"Real?" Race asked.

"Eh… Sort of…" Jack began slowly. "So… those are real people, but… they're playing pretend… they're telling a story with costumes," he explained the best way he knew how.

The remote clicked again. The boy watched the old cartoon for only a moment before he looked up at Jack. "Just TV."

Something new spread across the man's chest as he allowed his smile to widen just a little bit as he bumped his son's shoulder with his own, nodding. "Hey… you're gettin' it," he encouraged.

They fell into a silence as they ate. Jack could practically hear the gears in Racer's head turning as he watched TV, flipping through channels, trying to decipher what was real and what wasn't.

Eventually, Tyler set his plate aside. "When Spider comes back, I'm gonna kick his butt."

Smoothing back the child's hair, Jack pulled him into his side. "Ya know, I tried ta kick Spider's butt once…" he stated.

Tyler peeked up at him. "Really?"

"Yeah." Jack pointed over to the corner of the room. "Toilet used ta have a lid on it. It was the heaviest thing in Room," he explained. "I picked it up n' I hid behind the door n' when Spider came in, I smashed him on the head with it." It was all so long ago, but Jack could still feel ghosts of pain shoot through him as he recalled what happened next. "But I wasn't fast enough. Amelia… the girl that helped steal me… she shut the door n' Spider grabbed my wrist." Jack gently held Race's wrist in his hand, rubbing the exact spot his own wrist still hurt. He used to be right handed. It hurt so much now. "That's why it's sore now…"

The child snuggled into his daddy's side. "We could wait till he's asleep n' kill him dead!" he suggested.

Hearing the boy talk like that should've worried Jack, but he did not react. He only scooted himself in front of the child, nodding his head as he sat criss cross in front of him. "Yeah… we could… but then what?" Jack asked. "We'd run out a' food. N' we don't know the code to the door."

"The Grandma and Grandpa and Uncle could come help us," Tyler suggested.

Jack's heart swelled at the mere idea of the door breaking down and his brother rushing to him, his mama and his pa running in right behind to hold him and carry him out of there. But, "They don't know where we are, baby…" he sighed. "Room ain't on a map."

Tyler frowned.

But Jack shook his head. "Hey… let me show ya somethin'..." he whispered, standing to his feet and taking his son's hand in his own. He led the boy back over to the bed and lifted him up so he could stand in front of the sketches that were taped to the wall. Jack looked at them all over again as he sat on his knees in front of them. He let his fingers trail over the boy he'd drawn so long ago, the one that only looked slightly like him, the one taped in between a beautiful woman and a kind old man. He lifted the piece of paper up from the bottom, revealing a small string necklace, a small charm in the shape of the moon hanging at the end of it. It was taped to the wall, hidden. Jack had nearly forgotten it. "This is the most important thing I have in Room…" he said, peeling the thing from the wall, and playing with the charm in his fingers before he hung the thing around Tyler's neck. "This was your Uncle Specs's. He gave it ta me when I was fifteen for my birthday so that I would know that he was always lookin' out for me…"

Tyler looked down at the thing, inspecting it for a long minute before looking back up at his daddy.

"Tyler… do you wanna meet the world?" Jack asked, watching the child before him with all of the love he had in him. The five year old nodded. "Okay, we have one chance. We have one chance ta do this, do you understand?" Again, the boy nodded, hesitantly this time. "Okay… I'm gonna need your help, baby. You're gonna help me."

Tyler gripped the charm in his hand tightly, looking up at his daddy, uncertain of what was about to happen. But Jack just nodded, letting out an anxious breath.

"You're gonna help me trick The Spider."

Tagged:

@bitchiaintanonymous

@bexlynne

@cluusheen

@deliciouspeachpirate

@prettyinlimegreenboots

@trekkiehood

[cdyssey]

Regret

Summary: When Fran doesn't come down to breakfast after spraining her ankle, the whole house is concerned for her—especially Niles and Mr. Sheffield. Set after "An Affair to Dismember."

A/N: Okay, so I've binge re-watched nearly four seasons of The Nanny in four days, and had to get at least one fic out of my system, lmao.

Fran Drescher's acting in "An Affair to Dismember" when she suddenly broke while talking to Maxwell made me sensitive. ;-;

AO3 Link

—

Breakfast is a remarkably boring affair without Miss Fine bursting through the door, raising her arms in a floral robe, and proclaiming, with signature adenoidal stylings, “Good moooorning, everyone!” 

The clink of silverware, the scraping of ceramic plates, the ruffling sound of Mr. Sheffield anxiously attacking the New York Times like a new Andrew Lloyd Webber play has just dropped—all of it is so terribly drab that Niles spends the first fifteen minutes of her pronounced absence coughing loudly in the hopes that his employer will pick up the hint to do something about it.

“Oh, do go get a bloody cough drop, old man,” he finally snaps, smacking his newspaper down on the table. “You’re driving me mad.”

“Sorry, sir,” Niles arches a brow as he refills Mr. Sheffield’s coffee mug. “I have asthma.”

He turns away to replace the coffee pot on the side table.

“And half a mind to kick your tetchy derrière,” he mutters under his breath.

“What was that, Niles?”

“Nothing, sir! Just saying thank you for your attentive care.”

“Dad,” Master Brighton thankfully interrupts, “where’s Fran, and what have you done to make her mad this time?”

Niles immediately turns around again in time to see his boss’s shoulders straighten in that way they often do when he’s indignant.

Or guilty.

Or some mixture of them both.

“I beg your pardon, Brighton,” he replies stiffly. “Why do you immediately assume I’m the problem here?”

“Process of elimination,” Brighton shrugs. “Fran’s not mad at me, Maggie, or Grace, and Niles is one of her closest friends.”

“You’re so astute, Master Brighton,” Niles smiles wryly as he moves to the left to get a better view of Mr. Sheffield’s face. The vein in his temple is beginning to throb, which is always a good time.

“She hasn’t dated anyone recently,” Miss Margaret pipes up.

“And she’s always fighting with her ma,” Miss Grace adds, “but that's never kept her from Belgian waffles before.”

“So, Dad,” Brighton grins, patting his father once on the back, “unless our math is wrong, that leaves you.”

“Goodness me,” Mr. Sheffield mutters, angrily stabbing a piece of link sausage with his fork. “I didn’t know I was in the presence of the lost Hardy Boy.”

“So you did do something!” Margaret exclaims. 

“No! I bloody well did not, Nancy Drew. For your information, Miss Fine accidentally hurt her ankle clubbing last night with Val. I don’t think it’s broken, but I’ve called a doctor to come by just to check.”

“Tsk, tsk. And you didn’t offer to pick her up Cinderella-style and swoop her downstairs so she wouldn’t miss breakfast?” Niles asks chidingly, only to be greeted with a nasty glare.

“Yes, I did offer to bring her down to breakfast as a matter of fact... but Miss Fine seemed strangely subdued when I spoke to her through the door... I didn’t know what to make of it to tell you the truth...”

Mr. Sheffield’s brow contracts as he searches Niles’s face for an answer, and Niles stares back just as studiously, observing the profound concern in his employer’s dark eyes.

The gentleness.

The romance.

The stunningly oblivious care.

Niles sighs fondly.

Unlike Miss Babcock, he’s never had the heart to kick poor puppies when they’re down.

“I’ll bring her Advil and a fresh ice pack,” he promises. “Perhaps some pain relief will help her to regain her spirit.”

“I hope so,” Mr. Sheffield replies, self-consciously turning to his plate again, the tips of his ears rather pink. “I hate when Miss Fine isn’t feeling well.”

“Here, here,” the whole table concurs.

—

Twenty minutes later, Niles is at Miss Fine’s door with a silver tray laden with all the essentials: painkillers, an ice pack, a mug of coffee (milk instead of cream and extra sugar), and a copy of the new edition of Gloss. He lightly taps on her door with the side of his loafer.

“Miss Fine, can I come in?”

“No,” comes an immediate and sharp reply. “I’m not dressed!”

“How discouraging,” Niles sighs smilingly. “What ever shall I do?”

“Suff’a, and at least give me a minute to find a brassiere.” 

“Oh, we’ll be here all day then.”

He hears a strange thud, a collection of evaluations (“dirty, dirty, slutty, Maggie’s, dirty”), and an assortment of Yiddish curse words he now vaguely recognizes from being friends with Miss Fine for nearly four years now. And then finally— 

“Come in, Jeeves, but shut the door behind ya ‘cuz I haven’t applied a morning layer of lipstick yet.”

Niles elbows the knob and pushes with his shoulder until the door lights open to a peculiar sight. Far from being neat, Miss Fine’s room looks like Macy’s after its annual Black Friday sale with clothes strewn everywhere—from the dressers to the wardrobes to the floor. An empty suitcase is lying on the bed next to Miss Fine, who is sitting in bed wearing an oversized t-shirt, her injured ankle propped up on a pillow. Niles can tell, even from the doorway, that it’s red and swollen, but to his satisfaction and relief, it doesn’t appear to be broken.

“Welcome to the jungle,” Miss Fine mutters when she notices his incredulous gaze. “We got all the animals out t’day.”

“I can see that,” Niles replies, placing his tray on her bedside table and shutting the door. With his usual efficiency, he then walks back over, retrieves the ice pack, and gently places it on the affected area, frowning when she flinches.

“Mr. Sheffield said that the doctor was coming at ten,” he says as he gently lowers himself onto the bed, clasping his hands primly on top of his lap.

“Mm,” Fran grunts noncommittally, grabbing the two Advil pills and knocking them back with a swig of coffee.

“What? You’re not curious as to whether or not said doctor in question is single, Jewish, and living in a Manhattan penthouse? Miss Fine”—Niles reaches over and places the back of his hand on Fran’s head—“do you have a fever?”

“Oh, Niles,” she swats his hand away, “I’m not in the mood.”

“It’s been awhile since I’ve heard that one.”

“Niles!”

“Sorry, Miss Fine,” he withdraws his hand with a laugh. “You know I have to warm up before Miss Babcock arrives.”

“Glad to assist,” Fran quips, taking another sip of coffee, and it’s only as she closes her eyes to savor the taste, that he notices there are lines beneath her eyes from what seems to have been a sleepless night. 

The smile sinks from his face.

“You know,” he says quietly, “in all of our acquaintance, I’ve never known of you to injure yourself while dancing.”

Fran opens her eyes only to immediately glance away, tapping her long nails against her mug.

“Val tripped me up when she thought she saw Elton John,” she shrugs dully. “Turns out it was just a really lifelike poster of him behind the bar...”

“I see,” Niles returns, raising a brow. “It was nice of Miss Toriello to forgo her weekend trip with her parents to come back and… boogie woogie oogie with you.”

“Dammit,” she pouts, scrunching her nose. “I didn’t think I’d told you that.”

“You didn’t. I overheard you and Miss Toriello gabbing on the phone about it yesterday morning.”

Fran can’t seem to help herself; she smiles crookedly, even as she shakes her head.

“I dunno who’s more absorbent sometimes—you or the dish sponge.”

He smiles back at her, patting her uninjured leg gently.

“Me, naturally."

"I can believe it, Chatty Cathy," she sighs.

"Now tell me, Miss Fine"—he regains his solemnity quickly, unwilling to let her deflect with jokes—"why does your room look like a tornado went through Loehmann’s?”

Her dark eyes immediately glance around the messy room, as though looking for an excuse and failing to find one.

It’s only now that Niles is sitting down, taking everything in, that he notices that most of the articles strewn about are her favorite clothing items, from her holographic Versace dress to the black tube top that Mr. Sheffield can’t pry his eyes away from every time she wears it.

“I almost did a very stupid thing, Niles,” she half-whispers, looking down into her coffee cup, her fingers tensed and shivering around the handle. “And the thing is, maybe it wasn’t really all that stupid? Maybe it was the smartest thing I could of done in a lifetime of doin’ so many stupid things.”

She pauses briefly before sardonically adding, “People included.”

Though Niles doesn’t have enough dots to connect the full picture, he has what he needs in the way of evidence to get the basic gist: Nigel being in town, the two of them going out, Nigel leaving town, the suitcase, the swollen ankle, and Miss Fine's uncharacteristic melancholy, smeared across her face so sharply that it may as well be lipstick.

He swallows thickly, suddenly grasping how close that they had all been to losing Fran forever.

“Well,” he says, making an effort to hitch an oblivious smile on his face, “isn’t it your mother who says that everything happens for a reason? It seems as though you’re right where you belong.”

“Yeah,” she snorts indelicately. “Twenty-nine multiple times over, single, and livin’ in a mansion with a man who won’t even commit to his meal orders at restaurants, much less his very available and desperate nanny.”

“Beautiful, young, and living in a mansion with three children who love you, a butler who’d be lost without you, and a man who won’t commit to his tie choices either but still cares for you deeply all the same,” Niles corrects her softly. “He was very worried for you when you didn’t come down to breakfast this morning. He didn’t even do the crossword on the Times.”

“Gee,” she rolls her eyes playfully, “how romantic.”

“Very,” Niles grins, “a modern day Romeo—emotional hangups and all.” 

With that, he pats Fran again and stands up; he has no doubt that Mr. Sheffield will be calling for him soon to interrogate him as to Miss Fine’s wellbeing. 

Maybe he can even get C.C. on speaker phone to rub it in her face.

“Y’know, Niles,” Fran smiles at him fondly, “if this whole Mr. Sheffield thing doesn’t work out, we should elope in Vegas in ten yea's.”

“Only if you wear this little number,” he says, bending down and picking up a black cocktail dress from the floor, folding it neatly over his arm.

“You wish you could be so lucky.”

“If we’re going to be in Vegas, anything can happen, I suppose.”

After he retrieves the silver tray from the bedside table, he bends down and kisses Miss Fine lightly on the head, his heart hurting when he notices the way that she closes her eyes beneath the gentle touch—young and vulnerable and terribly hurt by something he can’t quite fix with a well-timed witticism.

“Get some rest, Miss Fine," her murmurs against her head. "I'll check on you a bit."

“Thanks, hubby."

—

Scarcely ten minutes later, he’s down in Mr. Sheffield’s office as per usual, offering the producer a fresh cup of tea even though he had already drunk his traditional two cups at breakfast. 

He insisted, though, on a third, for some excuse he couldn’t quite come up with.

And instead of coming up with an excuse, he immediately asked for all the particulars of Miss Fine’s health.

Predictable chump.

“Thanks, old boy,” Mr. Sheffield frowns, returning to his crossword, tapping the end of his pen arrhythmically against the paper. “Let me know when the doctor for Miss Fine arrives. I want to be there when he checks her over.”

“Ooh la-la-la,” Niles hums, dropping a sugar cube into the tea with a zesty plop.

Mr. Sheffield places his pen down on the desk angrily. 

“Not like that… I just want to ensure she’s going to be well… you know, for the children’s sake.”

“Yes,” he sighs theatrically. “How will the children ever be able to bear their nanny having a twisted ankle?”

“Oh, shut up,” Mr. Sheffield snaps. “I don’t pay you to be sarcastic.”

“No, sir, you pay me to help you with the crossword when you’re missing three-across,” Niles smirks knowingly when he glances down at the incomplete puzzle. “What’s the hint?”

Mr. Sheffield adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose before looking down again.

“A word that means feeling bad for not doing something that you should have done all along. Disappointment. A sense of shame.”

Niles straightens up with a long-suffering shake of his head.

“Oh, sir, do I really have to spell it out for you?”

[dameronology]

tea & whiskey {jack daniels x reader} - 4

summary: it’s the morning after the night before. time for a very awkward conversation.

warnings: warnings, very very brief alluding to smut but rly only if u squint 

song for this chapter is best friend by rex orange county! also the series masterlist can be found through the link to my main masterlist in my bio :) enjoy!

- jazz

You were’t sure what you needed more the next day: painkillers, to help your hangover or another round of drinks, to help you forget what you’d done night before. 

Or should I say - who you had done the night before. 

You didn’t sleep with your co-workers, much less your boss. God, it was almost as bad as if you’d slept with Merl - no, you couldn’t even let your brain go there. You’d already thrown up twice that morning (once into Jack’s toilet and then once into the subway tracks) and you didn’t need to make yourself do it again. Your stomach was churning and it felt as though the Blue Man Group were rehearsing their drum set in your frontal lobe. You’d tried to nurse it with a large block coffee and a half a packet of painkillers but alas, to no success. 

Somehow, though, your physical pains were the least of your worries. The fact you’d snuck out of Jack’s apartment and left without a word was playing over and over again in your head - so much so, that you almost didn’t come into work. Almost. Not even this situation was enough to make you take a day off. 

‘Is there a reason you’ve been stood outside the office for fifteen minutes, agent?’ You jumped at the sound of Champ’s voice. He glanced between the Starbucks coffee in his hand and the bruise around your left eye (fuck, you’d forgotten about that), quirking an eyebrow. ‘Rough night?’

‘No.’ You quickly answered. ‘Sir.’

‘So you what...walked into a door?’

Got drunk, tried to square up to a guy, got punched and then fucked my boss - thanks for asking. 

‘Yeah.’ You nodded. ‘I’m not normally clumsy but I forget that doors in America...go the other way? You know, drive on the other side of the road, use a different weight system, doors that go-’

‘- you can stop now, Percival.’ Champ cut you off. ‘Make sure you look after yourself.’

‘Right.’ You nodded. ‘Thank you.’

With the agent staring you at expectantly, you had no choice but to go into the office. You forced a smile, using your weight to budge open the door and step inside. 

The sound of your heels against the floor announced your entrance; the faint smell of Jack’s aftershave wasn’t normally that noticeable, but that morning, it wasn’t doing you any favours. You stood in the door way for a moment, letting it shut behind you as your eyes landed on the cowboy. 

He didn’t even look at you. Why wasn’t he looking at you? Fuck, had you upset him-

‘Nice of you to make an appearance, Percy.’ He suddenly spoke, flashing you a smile as he tore his eyes away from his computer screen. ‘How’s the shiner? Your buddy sure did pack a punch, huh?’

‘Uh, yeah.’ You blinked in surprise. ‘It’s fine, a little sore.’

‘You should pop down the lab on your break. Ginger will sort it out in no time.’ He leant back in his chair. 

‘Are we just not gonna talk about the fact we slept together last night?’ 

Jack suddenly jumped in surprise, eyes widening. Right, clearly not. 

‘I was trying to find a way to bring up such a sensitive subject.’ He replied. ‘But I guess I don’t gotta worry.’

You sighed as you walked over to your desk, placing your bag down and taking a seat. Fuck, your head was killing. You rubbed your eyes and cleared your throat, forcing yourself to continue the difficult conversation you’d just unwittingly started. You got the vibe that people in the South probably didn’t talk about sex so crudely. Twenty-something years of hanging around Eggsy Unwin had de-sensitised you to the idea of it being a taboo subject. 

‘I’m sorry I left this morning without saying anything.’ You sheepishly murmured. ‘When I do stuff like that, it’s usually with random guys I found in a bar.’

The biggest question that kept playing over and over in your head was why? 

Why Jack? You’d rebuffed Tequila’s advances before he could even finish the damn sentence and yet you’d slipped into bed with Jack with ease. It was probably to do with the fact he’d been such a good kisser, and the rest did not disappoint. It had been good. Really good. Possibly the best you’d ever had, actually. He’d said at the beginning of the night that he was going to help you kick back and chill out and...yeah, he’d done a pretty good job. 

‘It doesn’t affect me, sugar.’ Jack shrugged. ‘I don’t see why it has to change anything between us.’

Of course. Had you forgotten who you were talking to? This was Whiskey, the biggest flirt at the fucking agency. He’d probably had a different girl the night before you, and he was probably going to have somebody else tonight. He hadn’t said or done anything that could have lead you to believe it meant something more. Sure, you’d become friends and saw each other day and yeah, he drove you home sometimes because he didn’t want you to walk home in the dark and he had invited you out to help you de-stress when you needed it most. 

Did you like Jack? Did you want it to be something more? Did the last few weeks all....add up to something? Then again, maybe he was just being nice. Maybe he was just looking out for you, because you were a young woman, alone in the city. Perhaps last night had just been...a fluke. A glitch in the system. A wobble in what was otherwise a completely professional relationship.

‘No, you’re right.’ You nodded, scratching the back of your neck. It really felt like you should have said something more, because it felt like something more. ‘It didn’t mean anything.’

He quirked a brow at you. ‘So we’re good?’

You forced a smile. ‘Better than ever, Whiskey.’ 

You’d had one night stands before. They were standard, really - but it was rare you found yourself thinking about them the next day. Something between you just worked. You couldn’t put your finger on it, in the same way you couldn’t spell out the sudden urge to kiss him last night, but some things just couldn’t be explained. Your attraction to him certainly couldn’t be - he was older, used the worst nicknames and spoke to you entirely in Southern metaphors. But, as aforementioned, he’d also looked after you.

Maybe that was what you needed. Maybe it was what you wanted-

- You stopped yourself there. No time to unpack all of that, especially when you were this hungover and spent most of your waking hours spitting fire about how independent you were. You’d had Tequila pinned to the wall less than twelve hours ago for trying to make move on you.  It was probably something to save for therapy (which was on your to-do list). 

The tension in the room felt a little more reflective of a fight between a couple than it did of two friends who had casually slept together the night before. Normally, the room was just calm, filled with the only sounds of you two occasionally cracking jokes or your fingers desperately tapping away at your respective computers. Now? It was tense. Suffocatingly so, as though it could have swallowed you whole. 

‘I’m gonna get more coffee.’ You announced, abruptly. ‘And I guess I’ll pay Ginger a visit to sort out this annoying fucking bruise. You want anything from Starbucks?’

‘Didn’t you just go?’ He observed. 

‘Yeah, but I want some fresh air.’

As you passed Jack’s desk on the way out, he reached out and grabbed your hand, quickly tangling your fingers in his. He peered up at you, brow furrowed - you were off. He knew you were off. He’d proven time and time again over the last month that he could read you like a fucking book. You were a clown for thinking that he wouldn’t notice the fact you’d completely retracted into yourself, or that you’d suddenly from from Jack to Whiskey. 

‘You’re annoyed at me.’ He observed.

‘I’m not annoyed at you.’ You didn’t try to pull your hand back. ‘I’m annoyed at...myself, I guess.’

‘Why?’ 

‘Because I let last night happen.’ You explained. ‘I shouldn’t have made a move on you, I shouldn’t have broken every professional boundary between us for one night of meaningless-’

‘- what if it wasn’t meaningless?’

You froze, suddenly snatching your hand back. What were you meant to say to that? You couldn’t work out if you wanted it to mean something. There was so much to untangle but your main concern was sorting out your sore nose and banging head ache. 

‘Jack...’ you murmured. ‘I can’t talk about this right now. My head is on fire and my nose is fucking purple.’

He stood up, reaching for his jacket. ‘C’mon then, I’ll take you down the lab.’

‘I can get there myself, really.’

‘D’you know where it is, sugar?’

‘I can work it out.’ You shot back. ‘I’m smart-’

Before you could finish your sentence, he had a hand on the small of your back and was guiding you out the room and down the hall. That was new; he hadn’t really shown you any signs of physical touch - excluding last night, obviously - but the progression felt...natural. Heck, Jack hadn’t even realised he was doing it, and you didn’t feel the urge to complain or push him off.

That was probably saying something. 

--

‘There we go.’ Ginger murmured, slowly dabbing at the bruise with...something. ‘Good as new.’

You felt as good as new. After putting a weird paste on your nose and forcing some fancy, top-of-the-range painkillers down your throat, your hangover was gone and your nose was no longer stinging. You’d been out here thinking that Kingsman had been far ahead with their medical technology, but this place made it look Victorian. You were tempted to ask if they had an amnesia-inducing medication that could make you and Jack forget the events of last night, but then you realised something.

You didn’t want to forget.

‘Thank you, Ginger.’ You smiled. ‘I really appreciate it.’

‘What did you do to end up with a busted nose and black eye, anyways?’ Ginger raised her eyebrows. 

‘Our girl tried to deck a man twice her size because she thought he was following a woman into the bathroom.’ Jack replied, gently rubbing your shoulder. That’s fine. That was totally fine. You were fine. 

‘I had the right intentions.’ You muttered. ‘Anyways - Calahan isn’t gonna catch himself, so I gotta get back to work. Thank you again, G.’

That was code for Jack and I are about to have a very awkward conversation. To be frank, you would have begrudgingly left at the whole ‘it didn’t mean anything’ point, but he’d been the one to push it, to float out the idea that it could mean something. You’d thought it, but he’d been the one to say it. That was the huge difference between the two of you. You could compartmentalise your feelings when they proved to be an inconvenience. Jack Daniels, however, was...brash. When he felt something, he had to say it. It was a blessing and a curse. 

You both walked back to your office in silence, once again with Jack’s hand resting on the small of your back. He knew you didn’t need looking after - hell, you’d proved that ten times over - but it almost like he was keeping an eye on you. He’d seen you square up to two different men in the last twenty four hours. It was for your safety, really. 

The minute the door had shut behind you both, that tension immediately returned. This time, however, there was a little hint of excitement. Anticipation, maybe. 

‘So...’ you trailed off, leaning against your desk. Awkwardly playing with your hands, you peered over at him. ‘Let’s recap: we slept together, I snuck out, we said it didn’t mean anything and then two seconds later, you retracted that statement.’

‘I didn’t retract it.’ Jack insisted. ‘I was just reading your signals - which are confusing as fuck, by the way, sweetheart - because you were the one who walked out.’

‘My signals?’ You scoffed. ‘You were the one who invited me out the in first place! And the one who drives me home every damn night so I don’t have to walk alone!’

‘You’re the one who’s being as skitterish as a calf at a goddamn smoke out-’

‘- as a what at a what?!’ You spluttered. ‘You’re the one calls me sweetheart all the time!’

‘Yeah, well, you’re the one who kissed me first-’

‘- just shut up a second!’ You held your finger out to him. He silenced immediately. 'I feel like we’re overcomplicating this.’

He quirked an eyebrow. ‘We are?’

‘Whi - Jack.’ You took a deep breath. ‘I am going to ask you this once, and once only. If you say no, I’ll move on and we can act like this never happened. If you say yes...we can discuss it, okay?’

‘Okay.’ He nodded. ‘Go for it.’

‘Did last night mean anything to you?’ You asked the question slowly, in the same tone you might ask a child what small object they had in their mouth. 

‘Not at first.’ Jack replied. ‘I didn’t go into it with the intention of it meaning something.’

You frowned. ‘Do go on.’

‘I was gonna come in this morning and pretend like it never happened. Then I saw you, with that stupid bruise and stupid smile and I realised that you’re brash and dumb and fucking gorgeous and ...shit, you’re spiteful as hell and I’m a little terrified of you but damn, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t fucking obsessed with you.’

‘Well, shit.’ You murmured. It was the answer you’d wanted just...in a lot more words. 

For a long time, your head strong nature and inability to tolerate ninety-nine percent of the human race was something people had used a reason not to like you. But Jack? Oh, no. Not him. He saw it as a challenge, maybe. He had an urge to cut through the thorny outside and trying to see what you held on the inside. He’d see little bits of it here and there - your smile when you spoke about Eggsy, or the way you’d gone out your way to try and protect that woman - but he was determined to find more. He wanted to find more. You were an enigma, a vortex of swear words and brash decisions, and hell, you were sucking him right in.

‘You gonna say anything more than shit?’ He urged. 

You’d never been all that good with words. Didn’t actions speak louder? That’s what your mum had always said, and it had proven true in your line of work too. Punching the daylights out of someone was always a clearer threat than a concerning phone call. Pulling your weight on every mission was more proof of hard work than gloating to your uppers about your achievements.

And kissing your boss was a much clearer sign of telling him that you liked him too rather than just verbalising it.

Jack almost veered backwards when you lunged at him, just about catching you in his arms. Your lips crashed together - it was a little more desperate than last night, but then again, so was the whole situation. His arms caught you at the waist, holding you against his chest as he kissed you right back.

After a few moments, you pulled back for air. Neither of you said anything, instead choosing to just stare at each other with disbelief.

‘That was very unprofessional of me.’ You admitted. ‘But I do like you Jack and I’m worried it’s going to be a problem-’

‘- since when has mutual attraction ever been a problem?’ Jack practically snorted at the idea. ‘I like you. You like me. I don’t get what’s so complicated about that, sugar.’

‘Because it’s unprofessional! You’re my boss and I’m here to work.’ You suddenly took a step back, complex feelings finally colliding. ‘To prove myself and get a promotion!’

‘And you’re doing that just fine!’ He shot back. ‘Better than fine! You work your ass off ten times harder than any agent I’ve ever met. I don’t know how those uppity goddamn suit-makers haven’t realised what an asset you are.’

‘Are you saying that because you like me or because you mean it?’

‘Ouch.’ He murmured. ‘Even if I couldn’t stand you, I would still recognise the fact you’re one of the best agents I’ve ever seen.’

‘Wouldn’t that be an ideal world.’ You snorted. 

‘How about this?’ Jack reached forward, taking your hands in his. ‘It’s clear that whatever happens now, we probably can’t go back to how things were. I can try, but I promise you it won’t happen.’

You nodded in agreement. 

‘So, you can back track on everything we’ve just said and let it affect how we work together, or we can just lean into this whole stupid thing.’ He continued. ‘We’ll work together and play together. Two birds one stone, just until you go back to London.’ 

This was something of a rare opportunity: mutual attraction. Aside from the occasional one night stand in London, you barely had the chance to have fun. After years of hard work, maybe you deserved it. It was just...fooling around. You’d both admitted you liked one another but it was hardly a grand declaration at love. There were some feelings at stake, but not enough for you to be worried. 

‘We need ground rules.’ You replied. ‘I like you and you like me but we have to put the brakes on it there. You have to promise not to fall in love with me. Obsession only, okay?’

Jack tilted his head to the side, as if to say fair enough. ‘Sure thing. Anything else?’

‘The minute this starts to interfere with my work, I’m cutting you out.’ Your tone was a little sterner. ‘Heck, the second it happens, this stops. It’s...an addition to my work, not a replacement.’

‘As your superior...’ he said the words teasingly. You hated that you loved it. ‘I will make that doesn’t happpen.’

‘Good.’ You gave him a curt nod. ‘Then it’s settled.’

You stuck your hand out for him to shake. Jack peered down at it, almost waiting for you to retract it and break into a grin. But that didn’t happen. You were completely serious. Could he put it down to British weirdness? Probably. 

‘You drive me fucking insane.’ The cowboy grabbed your hand, yanking you towards him and capturing you in another kiss. 

tags: @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol​ @imananxiousdriver​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @66wookies​ @paintballkid711​ @waatermelon-sugaar​ @hepburnwritess​ @haileyybird​ @xjaywritesx​ @jabbajambler​ @the-mandalorian-clone-lover​ @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky​ @welcometothepedroverse​ @wickedmuse​ (message me if you wanna be added!) 

[spencers-renaissance]

Trees and Seas Have Flown Away, I Call it Loving You

Summary: Derek says something hurtful, but it happens to lead to just about the best thing that's ever happened to Spencer.

Tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, making up, bullying, angst with a happy ending, autistic spencer, coming out, getting together

Pairing: Morgan x Reid

Word Count: 3.2k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Spencer is having one hell of a morning. He’d slept late, a significantly rare occurrence for him, and the metro had been delayed and diverted, leaving him to walk a decent chunk of his journey into work. To top it all off, he’d left his pencil case at home, leaving him stuck with cheap office supplies on a paperwork day. 

He hates days like these, when his mood is so seriously affected by events beyond his control, and he knows he’s just going to continue to fester in his own self-prescribed misery if he doesn’t take some drastic steps to change the way he’s feeling. 

After a moment of staring into space as he considers his options, he decides on a few deep breaths to try and calm himself down. Surveying the mess on his desk after opening his eyes, he tackles that next, sorting through case files that can be filed away and organising the notes he’s currently working on as well as rearranging his personal items to stop them taking up so much room. Already feeling better, he takes a few sips of water and some painkillers for the headache he can feel coming on, and locks eyes on the break room. His mid-morning coffee is due.

Elle and Derek are chatting at the counter when he pushes the door open, and he smiles at both of them. He’s still getting used to being around Elle. She’s so confident and intimidating that he’s not really sure if she likes him that much, and it definitely doesn’t help that she reminds him of the girls he used to go to school with, the ones who found it amusing to laugh at the much younger autistic boy, hiding his stuff and calling him names, standing by and laughing when the older boys would beat him up. 

He tries very hard with her, though. Maybe this would be a good opportunity to build more rapport, he thinks, so he listens in while he refills the coffee machine’s water. It’s definitely got nothing to do with how much he wants to climb Derek Morgan like a tree.

Derek looks over and catches him up in that thoughtful sort of way that always gets Spencer’s stomach fluttering. “Elle’s just telling me about the hot date she had on Saturday,” he winks, nudging her in the side. “He seems like a catch.” He sips innocently at his coffee and Spencer realises belatedly that he’s being sarcastic and watches for Elle’s response. God, he wishes conversations weren’t so damn convoluted.

“Oh, fuck off, Morgan,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You’re just jealous because I got laid and how long’s it been for you? Months?”

It’s Derek’s turn to roll his eyes, looking over at Spencer in a way that has him flushing pink. “Come on, Greenaway,” he laughs, “you know full well I’m not exactly lacking in that department.”

Elle gives him a dubious look, before raising her eyebrows and sipping her coffee. “Whatever you say,” she says in a patronising tone - the kind that reminds Spencer of an adult indulging a fantastical child. Derek laughs again, tapping lightly on the underside of her mug and causing it to spill over her hand a little. Spencer envies how easy it is for other people to elicit such a beautiful sound from Derek’s mouth; the few times he’s intentionally made Derek laugh he’d felt like he won a trophy, the sort he’d frame in a cabinet and show off to visitors, giving them a tour of the limited map of Spencer’s victories with a proud smile on his face.

He watches the exchange a little awkwardly, not knowing how to respond to these two very dominant personalities discussing an area he’s not overly familiar with. Unfortunately, they don’t ignore him forever and Elle looks over at him, her intense, fiery gaze already stirring up nerves in his stomach. “Anyway, what about you, Reid, when was your last hot date?” she teases, and he cannot for the life of him figure out if it’s friendly or malicious. 

He flounders for only a second, cheeks heating up steadily, before Derek interjects. “Oh come on, Elle,” Derek scoffs. “Not sure Reid’s whole ‘twink aesthetic’ thing is quite what women are after, is it, pretty boy?” 

Instantly, humiliation bleeds into his veins. His stomach swirls and he feels dizzy, completely out of his depth as his face reddens even further and he starts to sweat. The playful nudge that digs into his side doesn’t do anything to bring him out of the protective trance his mind’s gone into. “I--” he tries, but he’s cut off by Elle clearly growing bored of the conversation and pushing off the counter-top to leave. 

She turns around for a moment as she heads towards the door, walks backwards a few steps as she delivers the final, devastating blow. “Hey, you never know, Reid,” she grins, “maybe the whole virgin genius thing will win them over instead.” She chuckles to herself as she leaves the room, door swinging closed behind her softly, leaving Derek and himself standing there in a vacuum.

Today of all days. It’s been a long time since the last time such a crushing level of humiliation was burning inside him, but he remembers the emotion like muscle memory. His body knows exactly what to do as his gut swirls and his head spins, sweat beading on his skin as though the very little self-esteem he had left is leaking steadily: the stopper that had been keeping the small amounts of confidence he had inside him degraded and dissolved by his coworker’s careless words, nothing there anymore to stop it leaking out of him. 

It’s not new. But the sting is so much more visceral when it’s shocked into him by two people he considered friends and one person he was hopelessly, desperately in love with. It feels exactly like high school and university did: the toleration of his presence for intellectual reasons, for everything Spencer had to offer, but ultimately the social rejection of him as a human being when it actually came down to it. He was useful to the team for as much as he could give them. And that was it. 

Derek takes a sip from his mug as Elle leaves, but he doesn’t notice Spencer’s completely frozen state until he tries to move on to another topic. “Spencer?” he asks, obviously concerned at his non-response and completely oblivious to his inner turmoil. “What’s wrong?”

He can’t find the words to respond, but he does manage to meet Derek’s eyes and he just stares at him for a few seconds before he shakes his head and looks away again. Derek’s clearly confused, but that only makes it worse. Is he overreacting? Or is Derek just truly that oblivious to the cruelty in his words, to his feelings? 

Feeling the tears burning in his eyes and adamantly refusing to cry in the middle of the breakroom, he turns around and hurries to the bathroom without saying a word. 

⭐️

He barricades himself into a stall and sits on the closed toilet seat as tears steadily spill down his cheeks. This is exactly the reason he hasn’t told a soul at the FBI -- how would a group of alpha personalities who were likely the most popular kids in high school, likely would have bullied him if they’d attended the same school, that he was gay? 

The humiliation stings more coming from Derek. Such negative association with his sexuality had proved himself right: this was a secret he needed to keep quiet. It just hurt so badly that the man he loved seemed so dismissive, so rude about something so integral to his being, and the allusions the entire exchange had to previous traumas had him struggling for breath through the steady stream of tears. 

It takes him a few minutes but he eventually manages to calm himself down. He splashes some cool water onto his heated skin and tries his hardest to breathe deeply, even though it feels almost impossible at first. Usually when he gets worked up and has a meltdown or a panic attack he’s able to talk himself out of it after he’s calmed down a little; able to rationalise and apply logic to the situation, which tends to illuminate either an overreaction or a clear path through the problem.

That coping mechanism is not applicable, though - Derek and Elle truly hurt his feelings and there’s no way around that. Instead, he just tries to push it to the edge of his mind. He thinks through the quantum physics problem he’d started at breakfast, and the logical progression through the formulas and rational reasoning he has to use brings his heart rate down and he feels at least a little calmer, even if the twisted knot of dread and grief and pain still sits heavy in his stomach. 

He’s just solved the physics problem in his head when the door swings open and he can hear Derek’s signature tread on the bathroom floor. “Spencer?” he calls quietly, pausing as the door closes behind him for just a second before making his way to the end stall. “I know you’re in there.”

“I am in here,” Spencer confirms, resenting how weak and watery his voice sounds. 

Derek sighs heavily. “I didn’t get it until I talked to JJ,” he admits, speaking through the door. “I was confused why you suddenly acted so strange so I asked her what she thought was up. I thought it was all friendly banter. To be honest, I didn’t even realise what I’d said until I was explaining it to her. But you gotta understand, pretty boy, I never meant to hurt you. I’m so sorry.”

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, but the tears still escape anyway, spilling down his tears in an expression of silent grief as he listens to Derek. He takes a deep breath in through his nose and swipes the tears away from his cheek with his fingertips before unlocking the door, revealing the most apologetic expression he’s ever seen. It doesn’t make him feel much better. He still meant what he said.

He smiles weakly. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, and his voice sounds so vulnerable, it’s giving him away. 

Derek’s expression doesn’t ease at Spencer’s forgiveness, he doesn’t smile and consider the issue done and dusted, he frowns harder, eyes desperate. “No, don’t dismiss it,” he says. “I hurt you, and that was wrong. I shouldn’t have said what I said, and Elle shouldn’t have either, okay, kid? I’m really sorry.”

“I know, but I’m used to it,” Spencer says, trying for a light tone and missing the mark by an embarrassing amount. 

“Well you shouldn’t be,” Derek frowns. “If you’re so used to it, though, then why did this affect you so much? I’ve never seen you lose your cool like that.” He looks genuinely confused, and combined with the sorrow smothered across his features, it’s a pitiful sight. 

“Don’t push, Morgan,” he warns, looking back down at his hands. His back hurts from his awkward, hunched position on the cold porcelain of the toilet. 

“Seriously, Spencer, I--” Derek looks completely bewildered, caught off guard by the way he clearly expected this conversation going and the road it’s actually taken. 

“I’m gay, alright?” Spencer interjects, loudly. He looks up fiercely into Derek’s eyes as he says it, but the fight quickly drains out of him and he looks down at his hands again, tensing automatically in fear of his reaction. 

Derek doesn’t say anything though, so when Spencer eventually looks up again, he finds a strange expression on his face. Not mild disgust or confusion or awkwardness, but relief and fear and frustration. 

“Spencer, I--” He cuts himself off as he shuffles his feet and looks away, but Spencer doesn’t miss the mournful tone as he realises the true impact of his words, how they must have hurt him. “You’re gay? That’s… why my comment was so hurtful, I’m so sorry. I never wanted to imply any kind of homophobia, I mean… I’m bisexual,” he admits, the same fear Spencer had felt swirling in his stomach written on Derek’s features. 

“You are?” Spencer replies, surprise colouring his tone. He feels a surge of hope rise in his chest and he forces himself to tamper it. Just because Derek likes men absolutely does not mean he likes men like Spencer. In his experience those kinds of people tend to be fairly rare. He stands up from his uncomfortable seat, meeting Derek’s eyes properly for the first time since he entered the toilets.

What he means to do is give him a hug, or maybe have some sort of conversation on a more equal playing field. He does not mean to kiss him. 

But when all of a sudden Derek’s lips are on his and Derek’s hands are cradling his cheek and waist so gently, surely it would be rude not to kiss him back. So he does. Far too passionately for a public bathroom in an FBI building, by all accounts.

They break away eventually, and Derek immediately panics. Spencer can see it rise in his eyes and body language, so before he can say anything he pulls him into the stall properly, shutting the door behind them and kisses him again, more gently this time. It’s the most confident thing he thinks he’s ever done, and he’s damn proud of himself because he does not want to go another day without Derek kissing him as tenderly as he is right now, without his hands roaming up and down his sides, without the careful brush of his fingers against the side of his head as he pushes a strand of hair back behind his ear as they pull away again. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that, pretty boy,” Derek whispers, and Spencer can feel the gentle brush of his breath against his lips.

He’s lost for words again, but in a completely different way from just minutes before, and he absolutely cannot believe this is happening. Today of all days. 

“Me too,” Spencer confesses, smiling slightly as he allows himself to convey the vulnerability he’s feeling on his face instead of building up a wall in front of it as he usually would. It doesn’t take long for reality to set in though. “But we are in an FBI building and we could definitely lose our jobs for this.”

“Right,” Derek acknowledges, looking up as he puts a bit more space between them, as much as the tiny stall allows. “Later, though, we could maybe do this… not in a government building?” 

Spencer’s always wondered how it feels to be on the receiving end of Derek’s romantic charm and charisma, and it’s rather overwhelming. Derek’s smiling cheekily as he interlocks their hands and waits for an answer and Spencer’s finding it a little hard to breathe again.

“Like… a date?” Spencer squeaks, face flushing again -- though admittedly in a much more pleasant manner -- as he prays he hasn’t got the wrong idea.

“Yes,” Derek smiles, “like a date.” He pauses and takes a breath, grinning wider for just a second before he suppresses it slightly and looks back at Spencer. “How about… I swing by your place at 7 and we head to that new Italian place you’ve been talking about?”

“Really?” Spencer asks, face open and vulnerable and honest. He hopes to God that he’s not being mocked right now. It’s happened before. He’s not sure Derek really understands the amount of trust he’s placing in him, the burden that might bring. 

“Yes, really,” Derek chuckles, bringing a hand up to rest at the side of his face again as he thumbs gently over his cheekbone. “I’m gonna wine you and dine you, baby, just you wait and see.”

Spencer knows he won’t be able to speak without squeaking embarrassingly again, so he just nods emphatically and beams at Derek. 

“I’ll see you at 7, then, pretty boy,” he winks, pressing a brief kiss to his lips. “I’ll be counting down the hours.”

⭐️

Taking care to exit the toilets separately, they return to their desks, filling out the paperwork left over from their most recent case. Spencer is certain that more than one coworker picks up on their shy, knowing looks, shared over the top of coffee mugs and cheap printer paper,  but he can’t find it in himself to care. The very thing he’d craved for almost three years, since he first stepped foot in the bullpen and was introduced to Derek Morgan, was within his clutches and he was going to hold on to it no matter what it cost him.

Things feel different almost immediately: ‘pretty boy’ is infinitely more affectionate, the previously platonic touches are lingering and meaningful, Derek’s completely unnecessary paperwork consults seem more affirming and reassuring than ever. The idea that he could possibly spend the rest of his life with Derek Morgan’s hands on him, his passionate kiss on his lips, his compliments and nicknames warming him from the inside out, feels almost dizzying. He knows he’s smiling stupidly, he also knows that JJ and Elle are smiling knowingly, but he just doesn’t care.

He drives himself home and dresses in his smartest suit as soon as he gets back, even though Derek isn’t due for another 30 minutes. For reasons he refuses to acknowledge, he tidies his apartment while he waits and then takes a seat on his sofa, tapping his foot in anxious anticipation. By the time he hears a knock on his door, his heart’s in his mouth and his stomach is fluttering wildly, but that all fades to irrelevancy when he locks eyes with Derek.

“Dr Reid,” he says calmly, smile providing a soft kind of light to his face and Spencer wishes he never had to look away. He passes him a beautiful bouquet of flowers, and Spencer knows enough to recognise it’s a curated bunch, not a hasty supermarket buy but a thoughtful, purposeful trip to the florist. 

“Wow,” Spencer says, and he absolutely tries to fight down the emotion rising in his throat but he isn’t quite successful. He takes the offered bouquet and examines them in closer detail, tracing an index-finger along the petal of a yellow daffodil. “New beginnings,” he whispers as tears spring to his eyes. He stares at it a little longer before looking up to meet Derek’s softened, deep brown eyes. He’s still in disbelief that someone would go to the lengths of researching the language of flowers for him, knowing it was something that he liked. “Thank you.”

“New beginnings,” Derek repeats, taking another step closer, “love me, desire, wisdom, and affection returned.” He lifts a hand to rest on Spencer’s cheek again and looks deep into his eyes for just a moment, conveying all he needs to with one look, and leans in to kiss him.

⭐️

Aaaaand this is the conclusion to my 12 Fic Challenge! Thank you to everyone who supported my fics through this journey, I can’t believe all the amazing things it’s led to and I’m so happy that this is the fic to end it. I’m so excited for what’s next in store, so stay tuned! <3

@strippersenseii @criminalmindsvibez

[journalxxx]

By Hook or by Crook (1)

"Is it possible to become a hero like you even without using any quirks?" Toshinori thought that it was a strange question. Strangely worded, and with too obvious an answer to be worth asking. Still, he stopped. The memory of a similarly naive middle-schooler from way too long ago made him pause. He shouldn't have paused. Another impossibly shrill scream erupted from the boy when Toshinori tried to reassure him of his identity, and turned up with a mouthful of blood instead. What a charming day this was proving to be. Almost an entire night spent awake due to his old wound deciding to make a fuss and disregard any sort of painkillers he threw at it, a frustrating morning followed by an equally frustrating afternoon he had struggled to navigate through with the alertness of a drunken sloth, which had caused him to get lost in the sewers while chasing a dangerous criminal, as well as fail to notice a whole human being sticking to his leg as he took off at the speed of several hundreds kilometres per hour, and now this.

Toshinori took a proper gander at the brand new crack in his privacy. He was a freckled, scrawny thing, with unruly green hair and enough jitters to be picked up by the nearest seismographs, probably.

"How... How? Is it- are you- are..." The boy stuttered, pale and physically shivering from the shock. "Is... was that your quirk? A transformation quirk?" He brought a hand to his mouth, subconsciously mimicking Toshinori as he wiped the blood from his lips. "That hurts you when you use it?" "...Something of the sort." It was an explanation as good as any. They stared at each other for a few moments, before the kid dropped his gaze and started muttering to himself. Toshinori could barely make out the words, but it seemed to be something about internet forums and theories about All Might's quirk. Toshinori sighed and sat down on the concrete, leaning his back against the railing to catch some much needed breath. There was no point in running off now, was there? He supposed the most sensible thing to do at this point was to have a little chat with the boy, if only to ascertain whether he was capable or willing to keep such a momentous secret. He waited for the boy to finish his quiet soliloquy... for two or three minutes, during which the onslaught of words didn't show any sign of dwindling. He politely cleared his throat, and the young man's attention was immediately back on him. "What's your name, boy?" "Uh... Izuku. Izuku Midoriya." "Midoriya." Toshinori acknowledged with a nod. "And you're quirkless, I take it." "Oh... Uh... Uhm..." Midoriya snappily clasped his hands behind his back and his eyes darted around as if caught stealing jam. It was an understandable reaction, if a tad overblown, Toshinori thought. Quirklessness was rare these days, and never something one could be proud of. His own powerlessness had frustrated him in his youth, and it positively tore at him in the present, now that his physical condition rendered him functionally quirkless for more than twenty hours a day. "Regarding your first question..." Toshinori paused, running a hand through his hair tiredly. Was there any way of putting this kindly? "Surely you realize the huge dangers and requirements that come with a hero's profession. Pros risk their lives every day, and in order to even make a livelihood out of it, they need to achieve a certain amount of success and visibility. Frankly, I'd advise anyone with a less than exceptional quirk, either in terms of combat ability or versatility, to think very carefully about undertaking this career path. To think of someone without a quirk attempting it..." Midoriya's head dropped again. "I... I see... But what if...?" The boy bit his lip and trailed off with a conflicted look. He shook his head, apparently reaching some private conclusion, and continued. "It's just... I've always admired you so much! Saving people with a fearless smile is just about the most inspiring and incredible thing one can do! If only everyone followed your example-" "I should hope they wouldn't have to!" Toshinori interjected decisively. "You know, the world I dream of is one where only few of the very strongest have to bear the hero's burden, so that all the more people can be free to enjoy their lives without fear or extreme sacrifices. We aren't there yet, not by a long shot, but..." He allowed himself a little smile. "I'm sure happy to know I'm inspiring courageous and driven citizens such as yourself." Midoriya's face immediately acquired a marked tomato hue. A small barrage of stuttered thanks followed. Toshinori raised a hand to stop him. "Look, kid. Your heart is in the right place and there's nothing worthier in life than pursuing your dreams, but... I cannot in good conscience encourage you to follow a path that would ultimately destroy you. You have no hope of becoming a hero - no hope to survive as a hero without a quirk, and a damn good one at that. As you can see..." Toshinori gestured towards himself, unable to keep his smile from turning sour. "Not even I can be a hero like me without using my quirk." Midoriya took it better than Toshinori was expecting, all things considered. Those anxious eyes roved around his gaunt form for a few moments, sympathetic and a tad disturbed. But the boy's features soon composed themselves into a look of calm thoughtfulness. "I understand." He nodded, straightening up his back, only to curl slightly upon himself all over when doubt reared its head again. "I guess... I'll just have to find a different solution..." "Indeed. If helping people is your goal, there are plenty of professions that regularly achieve that. Healthcare professionals, lawyers, policemen, firefighters, social workers-" "I know, I know..." Midoriya's expression became distant. No doubt it wasn't the first time he received such a speech. Children these days received their first career advice as early as primary school, during the mandatory quirk counselling sessions, to help them better understand how their abilities could be nurtured and directed into constructive endeavors for the benefit of the whole community. Now that Toshinori thought of it... did quirkless children like Midoriya even receive any such counselling? The program didn't exist when Toshinori himself was a kid, so he realized he didn't quite know. A lack of career counselling would explain the boy's irrealistic hopes. "If you are dead set on working in the heroics field, there are options there as well." Toshinori added, determined to do at least one thing right that day and offer the poor kid a grain of useful advice. "Have you considered working as a support item engineer or as a quirk analyst, for example? You certainly seem to have the qualities for jobs like these." "Uh? How can you say that?" "I took the liberty of flipping through your notebook before signing it." Toshinori tapped his temple as the boy's cheek tinged with pink again. He really wore his heart on his sleeve, didn't he? "You seem to have quite a well-organized mind, and keen observation skills. If I were you, I wouldn't underestimate how far those two talents could bring you in the right field." "Ah... Thank you! I- it's just a hobby, nothing more! But thank you! I really appreciate you taking the time to answer my question! And give me advice! And listen to-" It devolved into another short stream of gratefulness and humility. Toshinori deemed his impromptu orientation session a job decently done and he finally stood up. His left side gave a sharp twinge. He couldn't wait to be back home, stun it with a generous helping of ibuprofen and hopefully catch up on a few hours of sl- ah crap, he'd left his grocery bag near the manhole he had emerged from, hadn't he? Maybe it would be quicker to just do the whole shopping again at the closest convenience store... "Now, about what you just saw..." Toshinori approached the boy, lowered his voice and scanned his surroundings automatically, as if there was anyone who could overhear them on the small rooftop they were standing on. "I don't think I need to point out that it would be really, really bad if voices of a secretly emaciated Symbol of Peace were to start circulating, on the web or by other venues-" Midoriya raised his head from the deep bow he had maintained for the last good minute, eyes wide. "O-oh! Of course-" "But I'm going to do it anyway. It would be really bad. Catastrophic. Not only for me, because I would know exactly who put the rumors forth and I would have some choice words for said source, smash being one of them." He had meant it in jest, but the terrified expression on Midoriya's face warned him not to put too much faith on the boy's sense of humour. He showed the palms of his hands in the universal gesture for I'm not going to smash anything. "...I'm joking! Obviously. But I do need to know if I can count on your utmost discretion." "O-Of course! Your secret is safe! I swear it on my life, All Might! No one will know!" There was no doubting the fervor radiating from Midoriya's every pore. Toshinori nodded and squeezed the boy's shoulder while also not-so-subtly pushing him towards the door to the stairs. "Good to know, good to know. Now, let us both be off." Toshinori moved towards the exit as well, patting the pocket of his cargo pants. "I have to hand this guy over to the nearest precinct before-" His hand patted rough cloth and the wiry muscle of his thigh, and nothing inbetween. Toshinori stopped in his tracks and checked his right pocket. Then his left one. Both empty. He gazed around the rooftop in confusion, noticing a clear lack of plastic containers on the barren expanse of concrete. "Hey, have you seen..." He started, glancing at Midoriya. Who was staring at his empty pockets in obvious distress, both hands covering his mouth as if to keep himself silent. Something cold gripped Toshinori's scrambled insides. "...the bottles... where..." Toshinori's sleep-deprived brain pieced it all together with frustrating slowness. Loose trousers pockets. Clingy boy. Hundreds of kilometres per hour. Gravity. RIght on cue, a loud explosion made them turn their heads in unison, and a black cloud of smoke erupted among a cluster of buildings a little to the south of the one they were standing on. "...Shit." A small part of Toshinori's mind added 'cursing in front of a child' to the impressive streak of fuck-ups he was accumulating in a single day, but most of his evidently dwindling faculties were busy trying to come up with a way to unravel the current predicament. He marched to the door without wasting another moment. "Go home. Take a detour if you have to, just stay well away from there." "It's my fault." Once again, despite Toshinori's better judgement, the boy's words compelled him stop. Even muffled by Midoriya's hands, his whispers sounded positively agonized. "I made you drop them. It's my fault. Oh God, what do I...?" "What? Don't be absurd! You didn't do anything, I should have-" It came out more harshly than he thought, and the kid's horrified eyes snapped back to him. God, he hated seeing him blame himself for what was clearly Toshinori's blunder - a blunder unworthy of the greenest of rookies, let alone of the celebrated number one hero - but there was really no time to waste self-recriminating. "Look, just go home. I'll-" "I can't! None of this would have happened if I'd just-" Midoriya burst out, halting his own words just as abruptly and wringing his hands guiltily. "I have to help! I can help! Let me-" "All right then." Toshinori said, and his ready agreement shocked the boy into silence just as he had expected. Telling him to wait around and do nothing wasn't going to work with that hero-obsessed mentality of his, so he chose a different approach. "Here's what you'll do. You'll stay here until you've calmed down enough to keep your wits about you. Then you'll go to the nearest police station - there's one just over there - and tell the officers what just happened. Minus the part where you've seen me like this, obviously-" "How's that going to help?! They can see the smoke, by the time I get there they'll already know-" "We don't know if that explosion is the villain's doing. It might be unrelated, and in that case the villain would be still at large." Toshinori explained with his most commanding tone, despite the urge to dash off. "Even if it is connected to the villain, I scooped him up into two bottles. We don't know if each half is capable of causing damage on its own. You have to alert the police so that they can start searching for both as quickly as possible. I'll take care of whatever that accident is." Despite the panic, Midoriya seemed to process his words. He gulped, and gave him a worried once-over. "But... can you fight again? Even like that?" "Tsk! I'd expect more trust from a fan." One more for the road, Toshinori coached himself. He reached into his quirk and flexed, his muscle form puffing up dutifully and his trademark smile slotting back in place. He gave the boy a confident thumbs up. "I'll have this solved before you can blink!" Toshinori flung himself down the stairway before Midoriya could come up with more objections. He managed five flights of stairs before his quirk failed him again and one hundred and eighty kilos of muscles went up in steam. He stumbled as he coughed up more blood, his scar hurting like it was trying to murder him, but he didn't stop. Hopefully the boy would follow his orders and make himself marginally useful, and more importantly he would keep himself out of trouble and away from the danger zone. Meanwhile, Toshinori... well, he'd have to clean up his own mess in some way or another.

Izuku stood stock-still for a good minute before his body reconnected to his brain. A lot had happened in the last half an hour, there was... there was a lot to unpack there. First things first, his duty. The admittedly sensible instructions given to him by All Might himself. Point number one was regaining a semblance of lucidity. His legs felt like jelly, so he simply let himself slump to the ground and breathe deeply. Never in a million years, not even in the darkest and most conspiratorial corners of the net, Izuku would have ever imagined to discover what he had discovered about All Might. All Might had a quirk... that debilitated him? Some sort of temporary performance-enhancing boost that wore his body down whenever he used it? Because what Izuku had just seen wasn't the body of a healthy person, not even remotely. Pale, hunched, with barely any flesh hanging from his still oversized bones, with sunken eyes and non-existent cheeks. Totally unperturbed by the gush of blood spurting from his mouth, as if that was a perfectly ordinary occurrence. Was it the result of decades of continued usage? Was Japan's Symbol of Peace constantly and deliberately harming himself in order to do his job? Izuku had experienced firsthand that powerful quirks came with unforeseen drawbacks, but this... this was... This was none of his business, Izuku chided himself. All Might was... All Might. Number one hero. An unprecedent and yet unsurpassed phenomenon. He knew what he was doing, for sure. It was presumptuous of Izuku to even doubt that he did. He had said he would take care of things, and he was certainly going to. Izuku scratched his head furiously, as if to rid himself of those intrusive thoughts. He felt better, more grounded. Time to move onto step two. He made his way down the stairs and out of the building, slowly, mindful of the lingering dizziness, careful not to trip and cause himself and others further troubles. The street was full of curious onlookers glancing at the rising column of smoke, filming it with their phones and chattering about it among themselves. Luckily, Izuku spotted a policeman almost immediately, as he was busy trying to disperse the small crowds and redirect the traffic. He recounted his tale, purged from gossip-inducing details, to the zealous officer, who promptly reported it to his superiors via his radio. There, he'd accomplished his task. Quick and effortless. The last item on his to-do last was heading home. Izuku stood on the sidewalk, contemplating the enlarging black cloud. Smaller explosions could still be heard popping in the air now and then. It had been at least ten minutes since All Might's departure and, judging by the heated talking coming from the officer nearby, the crisis hadn't been solved yet. Izuku thought back of how All Might had left the building using the stairs, instead of one of his much quicker, much more efficient leaps. A gnarling unease gripped his stomach, and his feet started moving on their own. He just couldn't get it out of his head. His idol's shrunken body, the immense tiredness that seeped through his every movement when in that form, his stern request for discretion. Your very life and safety may depend on your discretion, Izuku. Izuku shivered. Accidents aside, he had acted for the best, hadn't he? Despite everything... Civilians were not allowed to use quirks freely on public grounds, even though exceptions could be made in case of blatant self-defense. But even if he had used his quirk to stop the sludge villain by himself, what would he have done afterwards? He doubted he could use his newly acquired quirk effectively, and in a quirkless fight against an adult, he would have gotten the short end of the stick anyway. Not to mention the aftermath. Questions. His quirk revealed. Suspicion and distrust. Izuku's legs brought him to the site of the accident in a rushed daze, as his thoughts wandered in circles. He peered beyond the crowd of onlookers, and the scene he witnessed froze the blood in his veins. It was a disaster. The sludge villain was indeed responsible for it, and he had a hostage as well, tightly wrapped in layers and layers of goo. Numerous fires surrounded the captor and his victim, the heat and destruction giving them an almost hellish appearance. Almost half a dozen of heroes were already involved, but none of them seemed capable of creating an opening or coming up with a plan to face the situation. A veritable tragedy was unfolding before everyone's eyes, and no one was moving an inch to stop it. Izuku gazed around in a frenzy, searching for the one man who could and would solve it all. He spotted him quickly enough, his wild blond mane making him easy to pinpoint even with his gaunt frame huddled against a wall. All Might, the number one hero, looked like he was barely managing to stand on his feet. Hunched over, jaw clenched, one hand holding onto the nearest lamppost, the other clutching his side tightly, bright blue eyes dimmed in frustration and trained on the grim spectacle unfolding in the fiery lane. The sight dispelled any remaining doubt in Izuku's mind. All Might couldn't intervene. He couldn't use his quirk freely, either because of some pre-existing hard limit, or in fear of the repercussions it would have on his body. He had had to waste some of his limited stamina to save Izuku earlier that day - save him from a danger that Izuku could have, should have at least tried to handle himself - and now he was too drained to help. And the current hostage was paying for that - Izuku's heart nearly stopped as said hostage suddenly thrashed about enough to free a small portion of his face, enough for Izuku to recognize him, as more explosions boomed and set ablaze more of the surrounding buildings. Kacchan. Izuku moved without thinking, his mind blank. In that moment, he couldn't think about anything - not his father's recommendation, not his fear of exposure, not his weakness or inexperience, not the Symbol of Peace, not even his crushing guilt - except one thing. He couldn't let Kacchan die for his mistakes. A lot happened, very quickly, too quickly for him to process. The crowd and the heroes screamed. The villain saw him and readied a blow. Izuku barely dodged it by bodily throwing himself to the side, blindly. He landed hard on something that felt like overheated metal, but it didn't hurt too much. A slimy arm impacted solidly against the asphalt, missing him by mere centimetres. Goo from the monstruous limb splattered all around, staining his clothes. Without thinking, he reached for the green mass with both hands, let his palms sink into it, closed his eyed to focus and just did it. There was a strong gust of wind, as if a very fast car had suddenly raced past him and barely missed him, at the same time as he heard the asphalt crack a little to his left. Suddenly, all went perfectly still and silent. Izuku gulped, and forced his eyes open. The first thing he saw was All Might's massive back. Roaring muscles filling his oversized clothes amidst thin strands of steam, the hero was standing in full bulk right between him and the villain, his right arm raised and poised as if charging a punch, but completely motionless. There was no more sludge around Izuku's hands, nor anywhere in the street. Peeking between All Might's legs, Izuku saw Kacchan twitching weakly on the ground, and another person standing beside him. A thin, flabby-looking guy, with an ashen complexion and not a single hair on his head, face or bare chest. A blood-curling scream erupted from the man's - the villain's - mouth. As he stared in stark horror at himself - probably seeing his human limbs for the first time in his life, Izuku realized - the weird silence and stillness instantly receded. The heroes rushed forward to help Kacchan and apprehend the panicking criminal, the crowd cheered, and All Might turned to look at Izuku. There was no smile on his face. Izuku had never seen the Symbol of Peace without his usual cheery attitude. He realized the hero looked a lot less reassuring without it, and a lot more... purely, bleakly intimidating. The sheer magnitude of what Izuku had just done suddenly hit him like a train. He scrambled to his feet, heart beating wildly in his chest, and sprinted towards the closest alley. He heard All Might's voice calling to him, but he ignored it and ran, ran until his lungs burned with the effort and the tears made it impossible to see where he was going.

An undefined number of streets and turns and forks later, Izuku stopped. He collapsed against the closest wall, gasping for air and clutching at his jacket in a desperate effort not to succumb to hysteria. He'd done it. He'd used his quirk in front of a whole crowd of civilians and heroes. There was no hope of avoiding the consequences of that. Kacchan would dispel any doubt the police may have about what had transpired. Even though his childhood friend had kept quiet about it for years, out of... Fear? Respect? Leverage? Izuku honestly had no idea - there was no reason for him to shield him from the official investigations. It was out of Izuku's hands now. But maybe... maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. He had saved his friend from a gruesome fate, first of all, which was undoubtedly good. And maybe his father was plainly wrong, maybe their quirk could be tolerated, even accepted by society at large. Maybe even trained for the purpose of- "Midoriya!" Izuku's stomach did another somersault. All Might's skinny silhouette had just emerged from a nearby road and was approaching him quickly, one long arm raised to catch his attention. Oh God, Izuku had hoped he'd be too busy to chase him right off the bat. He'd hoped he could at least make it back home and talk with his father, with his mother before... "There you are! Why did you run off like- Hey, are you hurt?" All Might asked, immediately grabbing his arm to support him when Izuku wobbled dangerously. The man eyed his side worriedly, and Izuku finally remembered to check it himself. His jacket was torn and singed where he had fallen on the burning debris, but the layers of clothing underneath were surprisingly intact, and so was Izuku. "No no, I'm fine, thank you. I just... I guess I was scared of being told off for rushing in." Izuku offered with a poor attempt at a smile. "More afraid of being reproached than of facing a villain head on? You're an odd one, all right." All Might chuckled, visibly amused. "Law enforcers can be sticklers for non-professional quirk usage rules, but I don't think you would have gotten into too much trouble, all things considered." "I-I see... well... I guess I'll have to deal with it anyway, sooner or later..." "Ah... Not necessarily. I don't think anyone other than me realized what you did. In fact..." All Might rubbed the back of his neck with an oddly embarassed grimace. "I think I may have... sort of accidentally taken the merit of what happened back there. People saw me and just assumed I smashed the sludge off the villain faster than the eye can see. Journalists were already showing up and I was running quite low on stamina, so I scampered off before, you know... " He gestured at himself eloquently. "I can release an official statement later to rectify the matter, if you want. I'd hate to steal the spotlight of an aspiring hero." Izuku blinked. No one else knew? Kacchan hadn't talked? Or had All Might fled before he could hear his account? Probably the latter. And... "Aspiring hero?" "Indeed. It seems I have made some wrong assumptions about you." All Might positively beamed, ruffling his own hair and regarding Izuku with a sort of challenging grin that made Izuku squirm on the spot. "You aren't quirkless at all, are you?" "I never said I was..." Izuku tried to deflect lamely, hoping not to sound too cheeky. All Might merely laughed in response. "Very true! A variant of Erasure, isn't it? I've never seen any Erasure quirk work on mutant types, but I guess it is true that the new generations are naturally more endowed." "Uh... Y... Yeah..." Izuku heard himself say. He... He didn't want to lie. There wasn't even any point in lying considering that Kacchan was going to expose the truth anyway. But Izuku's mouth had been basically running on autopilot since his idol had materialized into his life, and his brain seemed to have lost the computational power to rein it in when said hero was in the vicinity. "That's good! Very good! Why would you be concerned about not using your quirk?" All Might scratched his chin thoughtfully. He seemed strangely unbothered by the fact that Izuku hadn't corrected him earlier, prompting him to waste valuable time of his day to bestow misplaced advice. "I guess Erasers tend to be somewhat at a disadvantage with rescue operations and solo missions... But I can assure you that, when it comes to apprehending villains, any combat specialist would beg to be teamed up with an Eraser. They're the absolute best support in case of quirk misfires and misuse... As you've just proven yourself." All Might seemed hell bent on encouraging Izuku's dream, now that he saw a real chance of success for him. Izuku was... moved, honestly, and sincerely grateful. But the hero was, once again, wasting his words. That wasn't Izuku's quirk, Izuku's quirk was far more sinister in its mechanics, far less likely to be requested or even endorsed by the hero community. Far more powerful, frighteningly so. Would All Might even be standing so close to the boy, within an arm's length, if he knew what would befall him if a hint of greed or envy pushed Izuku to- "Don't look down on yourself, kid." A bony yet amicable hand squeezed Izuku's shoulder, ripping him out of his meandering thoughts. All Might was smiling openly, his voice tinged with a softness that was entirely at odds with his haggard looks. "Your quirk might be less flashy than others, but I've seen enough today to know that you're definitely hero material, both in skills and heart." The really important thing is recognizing your own flesh and blood. Recognizing yourself. Izuku had been thinking a lot about that old interview of All Might's lately. The closer the UA admission test got, the more he found himself doubting his father's pessimistic take on the villainous nature of their quirk, and the more he wondered if he shouldn't trust himself, recognize himself, with enough conviction that everyone else would simply have to trust and recognize him too, eventually. It was easier said than done, of course. Spending the first twelve years of his life as quirkless hadn't exactly geared him towards building oodles of self-confidence. But he had to start somewhere. And if there was anyone in the world who was likely to see and trust and recognize Izuku for who he was, villanous quirk or not... it had to be him. The man who was the living embodiment of hope, reliability, rectitude and positivity. The man who apparently had a quirk with such a detrimental side effect that he ought to avoid resorting to it like the plague, and yet who kept using anyway, for the sake of the people. The man who was standing right in front of Izuku, giving it his all to obliterate his insecurities with sensible and kind words, with something awfully akin to pride for him shining in his clear eyes. If there was anyone that could change Izuku's world, it was All Might. "I, ah... actually, I... that isn't my quirk." "Oh?" All Might would have raised an eyebrow, if he had any. "Then what is it?" "I..." Izuku gulped. "I can take quirks. From other people. Permanently. And use them as my own." Silence. Not a muscle had moved on All Might's face, but suddenly his smile seemed a lot less alive, and a lot more set in stone. Izuku willed himself to keep speaking. "That's what I did to the villain. I stole- I took his quirk. It was the fastest way to stop him. The only way I could think of. It... worked quite well, uh?" Izuku offered a tentative smile, at the same time as All Might's started to fade. That... didn't bode well. But of course not even All Might could react to such a piece of information with immediate enthusiasm, it was a lot to take in, Izuku understood that. No doubt any moment now he'd slip back into his pep talk, reassure him of his chances to become a hero, wipe away his insecurities with a blinding smile and a boisterous laugh- "Do you still have it? The villain's quirk?" All Might asked in a whisper. "I do." Izuku knew, without really needing to try it out. He knew it with the same certainty as he knew that he was thirsty, or that his side did in fact hurt a little bit, or that most of skin was constantly brushing against his clothes. It was an almost visceral sensation, both conscious and subconscious, that he couldn't quite put into words. "I could try to use it too, if I wanted. Although I d-don't, really. I don't think I'll want to see any more slime for the next ten years or so, especially not on myself. Or as myself..." Izuku chuckled nervously, his heart growing heavier as All Might's expression reverted to one of studied, rigid neutrality. For once in his life, words failed him completely. He wrung his hands in discomfort, hoping that All Might would be the one to break that increasingly worrying silence. But his fidgeting caught the hero's attention. Very slowly, as if trying not to spook a wild animal, All Might's hand left Izuku's shoulder and took the boy's hand in his own, turning it over. He straightened the curled fingers with his thumb, fully exposing his palm and the small, circular hole right in the center of it. And then all of Izuku's hopes crumbled to dust. Very scary, very disturbing things had happened to him that day. He had almost died, he had almost accidentally killed a friend, he had inadvertedly learned a potentially peace-endangering secret, he had been forced to reveal a personally-endangering secret. He could have lived with all of that, probably. But nothing could have prepared him for the subtle shaking of All Might's hand as he observed the stigmata of Izuku's quirk. Nothing could have humiliated more than the sharp inhale of his idol, than the way his breath caught in his throat in obvious shock. Nothing could have confirmed his father's warnings more than the one thing he would have never, never, never expected to see - let alone cause - in the eyes of the Symbol of Peace. Fear.

[tunedtostatic]

galaxies of my heart

Vikady, also featuring Sana and a brief Krejjh cameo

CW: injury, aftermath of torture, painkiller drugs, brief domestic violence mention (not named characters), food, discussion of medical trauma & painkiller controversies

As she speaks, one of her hands makes what could be the beginning of a motion to reach for Arkady, then folds back into her lap. Arkady wonders if Sana gave her a crash course on Not Touching Your Loved Ones Without Warning After They’ve Been Tortured Because They Might Freak Out, or if that was something she already knew from her time as a medic. Either possibility feels depressingly plausible.

I finished my first tscosi fic! In which injuries are cared for, miscommunications are miscommunicated, assumptions are countered, and kisses are kissed. Title (and lyrics referenced in the fic) are from “space girl” by Frances Forever, even though it’s kind of a fluffy song relative to some of the subject matter, but not to worry, I have a permit [unfolds a sheet of paper that reads “I was working on my Vikady fanmix in the morning the day I started this fic and got it stuck in my head big time”]

Edit: I realized 9k is a little long to be easily navigable in post form so I archived this as well. I just learned when attempting to post a credited picrew that Tumblr is still hiding posts with links, but it’s at archiveofourown dot org, /works/31851859.

Edit the second: Re-reading “adrenaline makes you do stupid things” by jaggedwolf and I'm 90% sure I accidentally stole a couple things from there rather than the general primordial soup of my brain (the line "That can't be comfortable" and maybe the general concept of Arkady making sure she gets hurt before the person she's been captured with), so adding this to give credit where due to a really great fic that you should definitely read if you haven't already.

~

The first time Arkady surfaces, everything around her is still coated in a haze as though she’s dreaming. The room is quiet, and when she takes a sharp breath in, all of a sudden Violet is leaning over her, her hair swinging near Arkady’s face.

“You’ve got very dynamic hair,” Arkady says, or at least tries to say, and then she’s asleep again.

The next time she wakes up, she wakes up completely, although her mind still feels a little foggy. Her body aches, and—yeah, based on that ceiling, she’s definitely in the medbay of the Iris 2. Which means that they made it back to the ship, or at least that Arkady did—

Fear surges through her, and she peers back and forth. Her eyes land on Sana, who is sitting to the right of her bed, crocheting something that sprawls across her lap in chaotic loops.

Her intention is to say Sana’s name, but she can’t even make it through the first syllable, emitting a sound that sounds more like the “Ssss” of the litter of feral kittens Brian and Krejjh found that one time. Great job, Patel, you’d make a better hissing kitten than a first mate. Krejjh is going to have to stop calling you First Mate Patel and start calling you Feral Kitten Patel—

The thought of Krejjh is enough to make Arkady’s whole mind flinch. Krejjh—

The feral kitten hiss must have been loud enough for Sana to hear, though, because she’s dropping her crocheting to her lap, looking toward Arkady.

“Kady,” she says warmly, at the same time as Arkady croaks, “Krejjh—”

“Is fine.” Sana’s hand comes up to rest on the pillow next to Arkady’s cheek, a steadying presence, though she doesn’t touch her.

“They were with me.”

“They were.” Sana nods. “But they’re here and they’re not hurt. Hanging out with Brian in the kitchen as we speak.” She glances through the medbay door before her gaze bounces back to Arkady, and it’s such a familiar Sana kind of motion that Arkady feels the remainder of her panic fade slightly. Speaking of octopuses of myth and legend, that’s Sana, one mental tendril keeping track of the approximate status of each member of her crew at any given time.

“How are you feeling?” Sana continues. “Park said you were in a lot of pain before you passed out. Violet has you on a painkiller drip, but she’s using the minimum the way you always want. If you’re in pain, we can raise the dose.”

Arkady turns her attention more fully to her body. Pain and sensation are present, but muffled, as though they are far away. Ribs: hurt. Arm: hurts significantly. Legs: hurt, but only a little.

It’s bearable. “I’ve had worse.”

“Kady—”

“I’m fine, Sana. Just feels like…what do you call them…colors, purple, ouch…bruises.” She shakes her head, then stills with a wince. “The others?”

“Everyone’s safe.” Sana pats the pillow where her hand rests next to Arkady’s cheek. “Park found you and Krejjh before anyone laid a finger on them. He got out fine, too. You’re the only one who was hurt, Kady.”

Arkady studies Sana’s face. “How…bad is it?”

“Six fractures, no serious tissue injuries.” Sana’s voice is gentle but matter-of-fact. “We’re going to pick up some skeletal accelerators next time we’re on-planet. Violet thinks that with those in the mix, the worst,” she gestures to the cast on Arkady’s right wrist, “should be mended in about two months.”

Arkady closes her eyes. One day, everything is fine, the next, a few backwater IGR assholes get the drop on them, and now she’s going to be out of commission for two months.

Still. Better her than Krejjh.

The thought is an icily familiar one, although yesterday she was limited to the grimmer Better just the two of us than the others. Krejjh was tied up on the other side of the room, and when the IGR goons got bored beating on Arkady, or kicked her in the wrong place and just killed her, they’d move on to Krejjh, and there was nothing Arkady could do about it—

Arkady’s eyes fly open, and she turns her head to nudge it clumsily into Sana’s hand. Sana cups Arkady’s cheek in her palm, thumb brushing over her cheekbone, wiping away wetness. When Arkady exhales, her breath is shaky. Stupid. They’re all safe now.

“They didn’t hurt Krejjh?” Her voice doesn’t sound like her own, unsteady and small.

“They didn’t hurt Krejjh.”

“Can I walk? Before the two months?” Her voice is still so small. Stupid.

Sana brushes Arkady’s temple with her fingertips, her calloused palm still warm against Arkady’s cheek. “Violet says she thinks you’ll be able to use a walking cast in three or four weeks. Or a little earlier, depending on how quickly the accelerators work their magic.”

Arkady keeps her eyes closed. “Those aren’t cheap.”

“That’s what rainy-day funds are for.”

“Do we even have a rainy-day fund anymore?”

“I will shake Other Violet down for loose change if I have to, Kady.” Sana’s fingers caress her temple again, and there is steel in her voice as she says, “This is my ship, and when one of my crew needs something, I find a way.”

“I know you do.” Arkady opens her eyes, though she finds that her eyelids seem to have grown heavier in the intervening minutes. She blinks sleepily at Sana. “You’re such a good octopus.”

Sana beams. “Thank you, Kady! I…have some questions,” she adds, “but they can wait until later, I think.”

Arkady’s eyelids are so heavy, but there’s one other thing she needs to ask. “Vi’?”

“Violet’s okay, too. She’s been taking care of you since yesterday, but I shooed her off to get some sleep.”

Arkady smiles. “’nks, S’na.”

Sana smiles back. “We’re all okay,” she says tenderly, “and if anyone out there tries to change that, I will demolish them.”

Arkady nods against Sana’s hand, straining to keep her eyes open.

“We’re all okay, Kady,” Sana repeats, and Arkady lets herself slip into sleep.

~

There are hours of restless dreams, and a dreamlike interlude where someone gently shakes her awake, holding her head up and helping her drink a medicine cap of chalky fluid, before she slips back into dreams that finally segue into deep sleep.

There is quiet music playing the next time she wakes up. She can remember where she is this time, and she lies with her eyes closed for a minute, enjoying the sound of the instrumental jazz track she recognizes from Krejjh and Brian’s Infinite Space-Themed Playlist. In the darkness behind her eyes, she doesn’t have to face the fact that she can’t walk, or run, or kick, or punch, or protect the crew, or—

Okay, maybe the space behind her closed eyelids isn’t as restful as it could be. Arkady opens her eyes.

Violet is sitting beside her bed with one leg tucked up on the chair, reading a tablet. A few strands of hair have fallen from behind her ear to brush against her cheek, and she’s biting her lower lip the way she sometimes does when she’s focused on something. Brian’s little retro radio music player is sitting on the bedside table, continuing to ooze soft jazz as Violet lifts an absentminded finger to tap to the next page, then curls her hand back into her soft sweater.

Yeah, eyes open? Definitely an improvement.

She should probably say Violet’s name, regardless of how endearing it is to watch her read. Before she has a chance to do so, though, she must breath loudly or make some kind of noise, because Violet looks up, her face crinkling into a tired smile.

“Hey,” she says softly.

Arkady smiles. “Hey, Liu. Good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you, too.” Violet’s smile quavers for a second. “Really, really good.”

Arkady tries to make her voice reassuring. “Hey, I’m okay, Violet, huh? It’s gonna be okay.”

Violet rolls her eyes, a small smile blossoming on her lips. “You’re the one in the medbay bed, Arkady. I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”

As she speaks, one of her hands makes what could be the beginning of a motion to reach for Arkady, then folds back into her lap. Arkady wonders if Sana gave her a crash course on Not Touching Your Loved Ones Without Warning After They’ve Been Tortured Because They Might Freak Out, or if that was something she already knew from her time as a medic. Either possibility feels depressingly plausible.

“It sounds like you have been taking care of me.” Arkady smiles again. “Sana said you were here with me all night until she made you get some rest.” She thinks back, trying to pin down a faint memory. “I remember seeing you, leaning over me?”

“Yeah, you woke up really briefly last night.” Violet wrinkles up her forehead in that adorable way that she does. “You said something that sounded like, um…‘You’ve have hair’?”

Arkady grins. “Well shit, Liu, you sure do have hair, don’t you?”

Violet laughs, shaking her head back and forth. Her hair bobs around as though a breeze is passing through the medbay, and Arkady laughs too, then winces as the pain in her ribs flares.

Violet stills instantly. “You have some fractured ribs—”

“Yeah, kinda put that together.” Arkady tries to breathe with the minimum possible amount of motion.

The expression on Violet’s face makes it look like she’s in pain herself. “Would you like me to up the dose on your painkiller drip?” she asks softly.

“Nah.” Along with the flaring pain in her ribs, both of Arkady’s legs and her right wrist have that same itching, burning ache. The rest of her body is just sore, like she’s covered in bruises, which she probably is. “Uh, speaking of which, though. Could I get a rundown on what’s, you know, busted? Sana said I had…six? seven?...fractures, but we didn’t get into specifics beyond the two-month limit.” She grimaces a little at the thought.

“Six,” Violet confirms immediately, before adding, with an abashed smile, “I mean, not that that makes things that much better than seven?”

Arkady resists the impulse to laugh again, confining herself to a snort. “Can’t argue that point.”

“In answer to your question,” Violet begins, slipping into her calm medic tone of voice, “you have two cracked ribs and fractures to your left foot and right ankle. They broke your right wrist pretty badly, and I’m going to need to be very careful about injecting any accelerators there, especially if we can’t find an actual doctor on-planet to do it, so it might be a little more than two months before any, uh, heavy use, but you should have the hard cast off earlier than that.”

“Right.” Arkady inhales through her nose; exhales through her mouth. “Could have been worse, right?” At least she isn’t blubbering the way she was with Sana, but her voice still drops too small and quiet on the last word.

“It could have.” Violet’s own reply is almost a whisper, and Arkady silently swears at herself for her choice of phrasing.

When she looks up, though, Violet doesn’t look weepy.

She looks furious.

“Hey, you okay there, Liu?” Arkady stares at Violet’s clenched jaw and balled fists. “You look like you’re about to blow a gasket.”

Violet laughs a little, flexing her fingers and curling her hands more loosely back against her sweater. “Did you pick that one up from Tripathi?”

“That’s not a mechanic expression. Everyone uses that expression.”

Violet gives her a skeptical look.

“Okay, yeah, I may have picked it up from the captain. It’s still a normal-person expression, though.”

Violet chuckles, and they both lapse into silence.

This is nice, Arkady tells herself. Spending time with Violet is nice. It’s nice, it’s pleasant, it’s a way to distract herself from the itching, burning ache in her limbs and the creeping dread of knowing that if the ship is boarded, Arkady can’t even run, much less protect anyone else.

“Speaking of Tripathi,” Violet says with a smile, “I should give you an update on the latest, ahem, on-ship situation. Our captain has declared that next time she has a free moment she’s going to tear out that weird shallow closet in the hall next to Park’s room and put in inset cabinets for towels and stuff so Park and RJ and I don’t have to cross the ship for them. But when RJ found out, they said…”

Arkady tries to listen to Violet’s narration of Sana and RJ’s stalemate about the cabinets, smiling at the appropriate points while keeping a lid on the sinking feeling of knowing that for not days but weeks, she’ll be able to do jack-all do protect either Sana or RJ, or Violet, who is sitting here smiling at Arkady with love and trust in her eyes as though half the universe isn’t out to get them here in their one fragile ship that Violet wouldn’t even be on if Arkady hadn’t tricked her onto it in the first place—

She shoves the thoughts away, focusing on formulating a reply to Violet’s story. “Well, if it devolves into fisticuffs, Sana could take them, but if Sana calls a vote, I’m pretty sure Brian and Krejjh will side with RJ about the sheet music, and I don’t know what or whether Park would care.” She grins. “So, even odds.”

Violet snorts. “Well, I’ll keep you apprised, assuming none of the combatants wander in here to make their case to you themselves.”

“Medbay and a show?”

“On this ship? I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Arkady grins again. “I don’t know why Krejjh thinks being an outlaw is boring. The way we live, we practically produce our own shampoo.”

Violet snorts again before adding, in the kind of giggle-whisper Arkady most closely associates with grade-school gossip, “I can’t believe they got RJ into Sh'th Hremreh.”

“I know.” Arkady bites back another grin. “I mean, I guess we shouldn’t be surprised. Krejjh can be very persuasive.”

“If by ‘being persuasive’ you mean ‘talking loudly and enthusiastically about a piece of media until everyone in their general vicinity is compelled by gravitational media force to watch the thing in question,’ then yes, I guess you could refer to it that way.”

“I notice it hasn’t worked on you yet.” Arkady raises an eyebrow. “Or has it?”

“No, I have not dipped into Sh'th Hremreh.” Violet raises an eyebrow. “Yet.”

Arkady bites down on another chest-killing laugh before it can escape, glancing toward the radio on the bedside table. “Speaking of Brian and Krejjh creations. The notorious Infinite Space-Themed Playlist, huh?”

Violet smiles, gazing at Arkady tenderly. “You seemed a little restless in your sleep, and I’ve always hated total quiet when I’m sick, so I thought maybe it’d be nice to put on some background music.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Arkady pushes away an obscure flash of annoyance at the sentimentality of Violet taking the time to put on this playlist for an asleep Arkady as though something as trivial as music is a priority when Arkady is down for the count and Krejjh is doubtless drained from yesterday themself and the whole crew is going to have to figure out how to scrape by and cover piloting shifts and handle everything with no security officer and a stressed pilot and a tired medic and—

She shoves the annoyance aside, telling herself not to be an ass. There are literal studies showing that music is good for mental and physical health, right? And she sure as shit could use as much distraction as possible from the ache of her ribs and her ankle and her messed-up wrist. Having a playlist on is nice. This is nice.

Holst’s The Planets has come on, making for a somewhat grim background compared with the rest of the playlist, and Violet leans forward to jab irritably at the advance button until a benign rock song begins.

Arkady gives her an inquiring look, and Violet sighs, biting her lip again.

“I am so angry,” she says finally. “About what they did to you.”

“You and me both, trust me.”

Violet sighs, slumping in her chair. “You and me aren’t the only ones who are. Krejjh was pretty…shaken. Brian and Sana have been there for them, obviously,” she adds hastily, “and they’re doing fine. We can take care of each other. We are taking care of each other. The last thing I want to do is make you worry about us. But…” She trails off. “This isn’t just another day on the Iris. Not for any of us.”

“Well, that’s why the IGR does what they do,” Arkady mutters, closing her eyes. “Torture gets results.”

Violet sounds startled. “Every credible study in the universe has shown that torture doesn’t work. You said yourself—”

Arkady opens her eyes. “Torturing someone to interrogate them doesn’t produce reliable information. People know that. That’s not what it’s for. Torture is popular across the universe, through history, because it punishes people. Controls them. Their families. Whole societies.” She wouldn’t have to explain this to Sana. “When it’s on the table, you live your whole life under a threat. The actual torturing makes the people doing it feel powerful and good, and in the environment it creates, everyone else is easier to control. Win-win.”

Violet’s eyes have gone all huge and empathetic. “Arkady—” she whispers.

Something about that look always gets under Arkady’s skin. “Calm down,” she snaps. “I know you’re incapable of not freaking out when I talk about my childhood, but no, I’m not implying I was beaten up as a kid. The guards mostly just beat on adults; I think they knew that if they went after kids too often, enough people would’ve stood up against them regardless of losses. Or hey, maybe it was a vestige of human decency. Kinda doubt it, though.” She gestures vaguely with her good hand, careful not to pull at the IV. “I mean, of course I got beat up by other kids a few times, but just in a normal way, not in a torture way—Point is, yeah, I’ve known this stuff for a long time, but it’s not like you’re a stranger to it, right? You’ve spent your entire adult life under the IGR. You knew what was happening to some of the people who were disappearing.”

Violet is staring silently at her with that look of horrified concern, but hey, at least Violet’s overempathetic mind jumping directly to Cresswin as an explanation of Arkady’s knowledge on this subject is arguably preferable to her thinking through the percentage of Arkady’s life spent in Special Forces and then as an IGR guard herself, a train of logic that she finds herself hoping Violet doesn’t follow.

But that isn’t the right way to think about it, is it, her brain points out a moment later, the way it does whenever she considers discretely concealing the most hideous parts of herself from Violet. Violet is dating her. She deserves to know what she’s gotten herself into.

“It was never like…this,” she starts. “It was never me in a room with a helpless person, hurting them. But you know I was Special Forces during the war. You know I was a guard on Telemachus. Yes, I grew up on a prison planet and it’s all very sad but once you get over your latest shock about that—you’re a scientist, you can do the math and figure out that I don’t only know how this works from one side of it.”

Violet’s eyes are getting progressively wider, and Arkady drops her gaze to stare fixedly at her own hands. “They didn’t train us on the details of it; not…techniques. I mean, I don’t doubt they had people for that, but that would’ve been above my pay grade. But me, us, those goons who got the drop on us yesterday, we’re instructed pretty clearly in, ha, ‘maintaining control over a noncompliant population.’ Not like it’s just a few backwater goons breaking bones, either. When I was a guard—”

It isn’t even that her voice breaks, not really. It’s more of a stumble over the sudden realization that her voice should be breaking, or shaking, or anything other than steady and clear.

“When I was a guard, we all knew that some of the people we were guarding would be ferried to the more, ha, specialized options. Zone Z isn’t a secret.” Her voice, still flat, is rising. “And during the war…I can’t pretend that what I did in combat was better. I killed a lot of people, Violet. I killed a lot of people and they will never be alive again. You can’t say that that’s better than being a professional torturer. I can’t pretend that, and I can’t pretend some of my unit and some the people leading us…I can’t pretend that they didn’t do…” She stares down at her body. “This kind of thing.”

Silence. Arkady forces herself to look up.

Violet is staring at her in horror, but, for once, Arkady at least agrees that it’s justified.

She can feel herself breathing hard, and her face is wet again, which is frankly an indictment of her as much as anything else in this conversation. Crying to your girlfriend for sympathy about the horrible things you’ve done to other people isn’t exactly a good look.

“Look,” she says. “Some of this will haunt me until the day I die, and that’s good. It means I’m still human; it means…it doesn’t matter what it means. It’s what I need to do whether it means anything or not. I should be haunted. I think even Sana would agree with that.” She sighs. “I can figure out a way to live with this shit, and I do, but you signing up to…you know…see…someone who you knew was a smuggler and a killer doesn’t mean you thought through the implications of the IGR part of the equation before you asked me out.” Her voice is rising in irritation even though Violet is the last person in this medbay who deserves it. “I’m not the most mobile right now, but this is your medbay, I think you can find the door—”

“Arkady.”

Arkady looks up again. Violet is making steady eye contact with her. The horror hasn’t all gone out of her expression, but her voice is firm, not panicked. “I knew, when I started going out with you, that you had been a soldier with the IGR.”

“Okay, but you also assumed anyone who’d fought in the war was a ‘war hero,’ so you’ll forgive me if I have my doubts that you grasped what—”

“Arkady.” Violet’s voice is louder now, but still very level. “In case you need the reminder, I was fully aware of both your history and what the IGR was capable of the day I asked you out. You know, the day we were fleeing New Jupiter in a stolen IGR ship? That day?” A faint note of humor has entered Violet’s voice, though it disappears as she continues, “I’m going to leave for five minutes, to go to the bathroom and splash water on my face, not for good. I’ll have my communicator if you need anything.”

“Oh.” Arkady stares at her. “Okay?” she manages.

Violet walks out of the medbay, and Arkady stares blankly at the ceiling until her footsteps reenter. As promised, the hair around her face looks damp, but she looks calmer, more settled. She sets a glass of something on the bedside table.

“I brought you some juice, which you should be able to have now that you’re up and talking, but—” She sighs. “We should probably discuss this first.”

Arkady watches her.

“Arkady, I…” For the first time since her calm monologue before leaving the room, Violet looks uncertain, then presses on. “Like I said. I did know that you had been a guard with the IGR, and I did know more or less what that meant. And I knew—” She rubs her face with one hand. “Well, I didn’t know, it’s not like you can ever know with anyone, when I was a paramedic I saw cases of domestic violence where you never would’ve—anyway. I thought that I knew that you weren’t the kind of person who hurt people for your own satisfaction, and that felt like enough.” Her eyebrows crease together. “You make me feel safe. You always have.”

Arkady can feel her face beginning to get soaked again. All the things that she feels are careening around inside her, as though her heart is a ship in a bottle and somehow, within the glass, someone has conjured a storm.

“And it…sounds like I was right?” Violet lets out a breath that could almost be a shaky laugh. “You never…you’re saying you never did to anyone else…the kind of thing that was just done to you.”

She opens her mouth again, then hesitates, her words becoming slower and more contemplative.

“You’re right, though. I’m not sure I…that in the time after I’d realized the IGR was a lot less than less than perfect, I’m not sure I ever thought through the degree to which you, as a guard, would have been complicit in…those things. And…” She sighs again. “You’re right. I do think of people who fought in the war as heroes. I mean, I never really had a chance to—or, no, I can’t sit here and claim that I never had a chance. I never let myself think about how likely it was that some of the people fighting for us were…how did you put it. Specialized at things that make me sick even to think about. But also…”

She drops her gaze to her lap.

“I…I know that you killed Dwarnians. People. I know that a lot of soldiers killed a lot of people. I mean, that’s what war means, right?” She gives another shaken almost-laugh. “And I’m not—I’ve never been the kind of person who celebrates other people dying—”

“I know you’re not, Violet.” Violet is a biologist and a medic. Her work is the stuff of life, not death.

Violet slumps lower into her chair. “Yeah. But…because those deaths feel…felt…feel…partially justified to me, because the Dwarnians were trying to conquer us…maybe I let that make me forget a little that those deaths are still…deaths.”

She lifts her face, looking Arkady in the eye, and Arkady isn’t sure what she sees there. “Sometimes I wonder whether, irrespective of everything else about our lives—” Violet makes a swirly motion with her hand, as though to encapsulate the distances between worlds. “I wonder if you always would have been the kind of person who doesn’t lose sight of the death part.”

“Interesting theory, Violet,” Arkady says, once she can get herself to speak. “Doesn’t change that I was the one of us doing the killing.”

As she says the words, she realizes that they sum out to something snarkier than she intended, but there’s no bite to her voice, and Violet seems to register that.

“No,” she says simply. “It doesn’t.”

Arkady watches Violet in silence as she scrapes tendrils of drying hair off her forehead, straightening back up in her chair.

“Anyway. I’m not walking out that door, Arkady. You’re right, I hadn’t truly thought about what it meant that you were Special Forces. There are probably things about the war that I need to…well, I’ll probably never understand them completely, but things that I need to acknowledge.” She sighs. “But I meant what I said earlier. When I asked you out, I was asking you, not some hypothetical better you. Besides,” she adds quietly, “it’s not like I don’t have my own regrets.”

There’s a pretty big difference between ‘keeping your head down and getting a college degree’ and ‘actively killing people,’ but Arkady doesn’t feel like getting into it.

She lets herself sink back into the pillow. The room feels calmer, like the air on a planet after a storm.

No, it doesn’t, Violet said, and somehow, that feels like an anchor. Violet isn’t so horrified by the things that Arkady has done that she needs to pretend that they don’t exist.

“I. Uh. Okay.” Arkady attempts a smile, though she has a bad feeling that she’s making more of a weird grimace.

Fortunately, Violet doesn’t seem to mind, giving her a smile of her own that’s only a little shaky. “I’m glad we, uh, talked about this, but I’m guessing it isn’t doing your pain any good and I’m ready to shelve it for now if you are?”

“Shelving, uh. Sounds good.” Arkady nods vigorously. “Yeah.”

“Also, you owe me an apology for snapping at me,” Violet says calmly.

“Oh.” Arkady stares at her for a second. “I…shouldn’t have done that, should I?” Great job restating the obvious, idiot. “I…” Jesus Christ.

Violet is watching her silently. Arkady takes a breath.

“Violet, I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have snapped at you about something that had almost nothing to do with you. I mean, I shouldn’t shout at you in general, that’s broadly speaking a dick move, but in this particularly context I definitely, especially shouldn’t have—”

Shut up, shut up, shut up. What is a good apology even like? Sincere. Doesn’t make it about yourself.

“What I mean is—I’m sorry.” She bites her lip. "And, uh…thank you. For, um, not holding me to a lesser standard because I was hurt.” Or because I’m someone who has hurt other people. “Not that you should have to remind me I owe you an apology, but…” She squirms. “You had enough faith in me to know I’d. You know. Want to. So. Uh. Thanks.”

So much for not making it about herself. She coughs awkwardly. “So. Yeah. Uh. You sure there’s not anything…more that you want to talk about? Because I, uh, just freaked out and dumped a ton of my garbage right into your lap, and if there’s anything else you need to say, or ask, or whatever, I’m here. I mean, I kinda can’t go anywhere else right now, but—you know what I mean.”

“Thanks.” Violet smiles a little. Arkady nods, trying to smile back and hoping this one isn’t too grimacey.

Staring at Arkady as though deep in thought, Violet says, “I don’t think there’s anything else, right now. I still want you to talk to someone about…all this…at some point. It doesn’t need to be a civilian counselor. Just…someone. But…”

Violet bites her lip. Her pained look from when Arkady hurt herself laughing is back, if it even ever left. “You have multiple broken bones and you’re stuck in bed and in pain, and right now more than talking about anything I just want you to be able to rest.”

“Oh,” Arkady manages. Helpfully, she follows it up with, “Ah.”

Violet smiles again, then hesitates. “Though, there is—"

She is staring at Arkady very intently all of a sudden, and Arkady can practically see the gears turning inside her head. She feels her own body tensing, a runaway voice inside her warning her that reminding Violet about so much of her past all in one go might mean that this is the day Violet finally does walk out the door for good.

But when Violet speaks, it’s not about the part of the conversation that Arkady was expecting.

“So…you’ve always known that torture, um, works. Ever since you were a kid.”

“What? Yeah, I—you grow up on a place like Cresswin, you get a pretty firm grasp of what torture is used for, yeah.”

Violet is biting her lip as though in deep thought. “So…when I was on the Iris…and you’d just stopped pretending to be Kay Grisham, and I accused you of wanting me to get in the cryo chamber so you could torture me for information…you said ‘We don’t torture, it doesn’t yield reliable results,’ and then you said, ‘Also, it’s wrong.’ But you believed…you knew that torture did work.” Violet’s voice is slow, her face still screwed up as though she is working something out. “Even if not for the exact purpose I was accusing you of. So…when you said all that…the reason that you, the real you, didn’t torture, that the Rumor crew didn’t torture, is just because it’s wrong.”

“Gee, Liu, glad you’re having a warm, fuzzy realization about how heartfelt and wholesome it is that our crew doesn’t torture people.” Arkady’s pent-up dread gives way to a fervent eyeroll. “Have you met Sana? Like, held a conversation with her? At any point in time? For more than thirty seconds?”

Violet sighs in annoyance. “That isn’t what—” she fires back, then stops, her voice going gentle again. “That isn’t what I meant. Do you want to try to have some of the juice now?”

“Liu,” Arkady says, a slow grin spreading across her face. “Are you keeping a lid on the snarky repartee because I’m all injured and convalescent? Because if I can say anything I want while you nobly go easy on me, can I just comment that the way that you put cereal in your milk a little at a time ‘so it doesn’t get soggy’ is mind-blowingly—”

“You’re making me. Want. To be a lot. Less. Noble. About it.”

Arkady snickers, then smiles, holding out her bruised but less-busted left hand. Violet stops mock-glaring and reaches across Arkady’s body to take it in a careful, awkward clasp, smiling at her as though…

Well, shit, Arkady doesn’t know how to put it into words, or at least not into words that aren’t all dramatic and weird. Violet is smiling at Arkady as though Arkady is some wonder of the universe that Violet can’t believe she gets to have the privilege of seeing, like a star or a comet or…whatever it is that biologists rock their socks about, a really cool bug or something.

It’s weird and kind of overwhelming, but kind of in a good way, and Arkady just wants to sit here and hold Violet’s hand, and look at Violet, and let herself be looked at by Violet like the wonder of the universe that Arkady knows that she is not but that she could, as Violet watches at her, almost believe herself to be—

“Violet,” Arkady says, wrinkling her eyebrows. “How many painkillers do you have me dosed up on right now?” She squints at the IV bag above her, dropping Violet’s hand and trying to shove herself a little more upright against the pillows. “Also, does a convalescent gal get to sit up around here? I kinda want to try some of that juice, and maybe someday even do something horribly taxing like read an update on our ship’s computer systems.”

The corner of Violet’s mouth turns up in a smile. “I’ll raise the bed. Let me know where you want to stop.”

“Right.” Arkady lies back as the fancy Iris 2 medbay bed hums its way upright. “Okay, stop.”

Raising her head from the thin pillow, she tips her stiff neck back and forth, peering around the medbay, which looks pretty much the way it always does. Sana’s multicolored crocheting bag is slung over the back of a chair.

“Let’s see, I think there’s—” Violet leans somewhere behind her, pulling out a fresh pillow and reaching forward to tuck it gently behind Arkady’s head. “Better?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“In answer to your question,” Violet says, still in her calm, attentive medic voice as she continues to adjust the pillows, “you told me back when I was taking down medical info on the Rumor that you prefer minimal use of sedative painkillers, and even the Iris doesn’t have any of the good non-sedative intravenous stuff, so I’ve been using the minimum of the intravenous sedative painkillers and transitioning you to our standard orals. That should mean you’re less groggy, but also that we’re blocking less of the, well, pain, so let me know if you want me to adjust the dose. It’s not all-or-nothing; I can fiddle with it a little without instantaneously sending you to another dimension,” she adds, a note of warm humor in her voice as she sits back in her chair with smile.

Arkady blinks, still stuck on the first part of that. “You did?”

“Did…” Violet frowns, visibly parsing which of her words Arkady is referring to, before her face clears in understanding. “Did stick to the minimum end of the range I considered safe and reasonable?” She gives Arkady a look Arkady doesn’t quite know how to interpret, sort of alarmed and sad. “Your medical decisions are your own, Arkady. I’m not going to override your wishes just because I care about you and seeing you in pain isn’t easy for me. Or any other reason.” Violet’s eyebrows furrow. “No one should,” she adds, in that quietly defiant tone of voice that she uses when she’s declaring something and has realized that she wants the whole universe to know it’s what she believes.

“Oh.” Arkady swallows. “Yeah.”

“We’re coming up on the next dose of the orals in a quarter of an hour,” Violet says, her voice businesslike again as she checks her watch. “In the meantime, are you ready for juice?”

“I didn’t even know we had juice.” Arkady eyes the glass with interest.

“There was some concentrate in the pantry. When Tripathi and I sorted the food, we tucked some of it away in case someone got hurt and needed easy fluids.”

“That was very forward-thinking of you.”

“On this ship, not really,” Violet mutters, holding the glass to Arkady’s lips.

Drinking from the glass as Violet holds it turns out to be somewhat complicated and require both of their full attention, but once Violet sets it back down, Arkady leans back against the pillows with a smirk. “Hey, we’re dashing space rogues. A few bumps and bruises are all part of the job.”

“‘A few,’” Violet returns, but without rancor.

“It’s my job, Liu,” Arkady snarks back cheerfully. Between the juice and the strains of one of Krejjh’s actually-good Dwarnian jazz tracks and Violet’s reassuring presence next to her, Arkady is beginning to feel more like herself than she has in a while, the helplessness of yesterday starting to feel a little further away. Even the pain is…okay, the pain is still pretty painful, actually, a constant burn at the edges of her mind.

She hesitates.

“Violet?”

“Yes?”

“Could you maybe…” Arkady licks her lips. “You said you could fiddle with the painkiller drip a little, right? Because my shitty bones kinda hurt a lot and I wouldn’t mind if they, uh, didn’t.”

“I can do that.” When Violet meets Arkady’s gaze, her voice is calm and serious. “I’ll start with a small increment. It will take about thirty seconds to take effect. Does that sound good?”

“Yeah. Yes.”

Standing, Violet adjusts something.

Arkady waits.

“Do you feel anything yet?”

The relief is noticeable, the pain in Arkady’s chest and limbs cooling down a notch. “Better. Wow. Better.” Arkady hesitates. “You, uh. Said that that was a small increment? I think I could use another small increment.”

“Okay.” Violet makes another adjustment.

This time, the relief is almost total. Arkady stares at the ceiling, feeling tears of relief prick her eyes as the burning ache eases to almost nothing.

Everything feels a little foggier, too, but she’s still here, and able to form mental sentences, and the pain is all but gone.

“That’s good.” She bites her lip as Violet sits back at her side. “That’s really, really—the pain is almost gone. Now.”

Violet swallows visibly, staring at Arkady in relief.

Arkady feels a tear coalesce and run down her cheek, and Violet reaches forward with gentle fingers to wipe it away.

“I’m glad, Arkady,” she whispers. “I’m so glad.”

Arkady lets a long breath out, looking around the room again. It’s almost like being in a new room, a room-without-pain, during a new day, a day-without-pain.

“Sana will be glad, too,” she comments wryly as her gaze lands on the crocheting bag again. “She gets all twitchy whenever she manages to have good food or meds or supplies on hand and someone doesn’t use them.” She grins. “It’s her whole octopus thing. You know, I think I called her an octopus yesterday? Krejjh won’t shut the hell up about octopi now that they’ve found out they’re, gasp, actually real, so I guess I just permanently have octopi on the brain now, and I was thinking about how Sana has her whole multitasking thing where she’s got an eye on the status of the whole ship and everyone on the crew at all times, and—damn it, I should have called her a ghost squid. She would have hated that.”

Violet is giggling helplessly. “I can’t believe you called Tripathi an octopus.”

Arkady grins lazily. “Yeah, well, now she’s gotten to enjoy living with the mystery of what the hell I was talking about. Even sedative-induced grogginess has the occasional upside, right?”

Speaking of twitchiness, Violet’s twitchy question face is back, though Arkady can tell she’s trying to hide it.

“You didn’t override what I told you, okay?” Arkady says. “You didn’t dose me up, even when I couldn’t have done anything about it, because I’d told you not to. So I figured you wouldn’t take a mile if I gave you an inch.”

“Oh.” Violet sits back in her chair, looking at Arkady with that same expression she was looking at her with earlier, sadness and something else Arkady can’t parse.                                                                

Arkady sighs. “During the war. When you got injured, they knocked you straight out. It made it easier on the medics, I guess—no panicking soldiers, just unconscious bodies to take care of until they got better or didn’t. And easier on the medics meant less medics per ship, which made it easier on the brass. I mean, I guess that was why, though I wouldn’t put it past just being a power trip for some of them—”

“I know.”

“—but it isn’t like you can easily say when it was that and when it was—” Arkady blinks. “Huh?”

Violet sighs, her eyes dropping to her lap. “That’s not just a wartime thing. When I was a medic out by O-11, some of my colleagues used too much sedative on people they thought were being a problem. Or who…might be a problem. Aggressive, scared, not ‘compliant,’ whatever. Of course, if you paid attention to who they were more likely to think was a problem…”

“I’m guessing there were patterns?” Arkady offers.

“Yeah.” Violet bites her lip. “The irony was that…this was less of a thing out in the field, but pretty often when someone was actually in the hospital, they’d be denied painkillers because the staff decided they were lying or exaggerating. It was…” Violet twists her hands in her lap. “It wasn’t just those problems, either. When you have a lot of people living in poverty, the power dynamics with whoever is in charge of access to medical treatment get…bad. It was not a good situation, and I was—you know. There. Being part of it.”

Arkady blinks, staring at Violet. Maybe the reason she didn’t know how to interpret the look in Violet’s eyes earlier was because it wasn’t actually the panicky huge-eyed way she looks at Arkady what feels like every time Arkady mentions some detail of Cresswin, but a look of recognition.

“I never thought about what it would be like to be a medic under the IGR,” she says quietly.

Violet finally looks up. “Part of it was the IGR, but a lot of my older colleagues had come up doing the same thing. It’s like you said. Republics aren’t perfect, either.”

“Oh.”

Violet licks her lips, hunching further into her chair. “It’s like you said about the war. Yes, sure, once I wasn’t a trainee and it was me and some colleagues out on a call, we were never the ones who gave those injections, used more than was needed. But that doesn’t mean that the ones I was with were always great about other things, or that others weren’t…” She sighs. “Just because I didn’t do anything especially bad myself doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have…you know, tried to do more than I did.”

Arkady stares at Violet, considering offering her her less-busted hand again, but decides against it. If she were Violet she wouldn’t want someone pawing at her trying to offer comfort about something that can’t really be comforted.

Violet’s work is the stuff of life, she thought to herself blithely only a few minutes ago, somehow not thinking about how much being a medic had to do with death and utterly traumatic shit. And-or, apparently, standing aside while your colleagues hurt and traumatized other people and then having to live with that.

“Jesus,” she says.

“Yeah.”

They sit quietly for another few minutes.

“Well, on a lighter note,” Arkady says awkwardly, “when it comes to your current cool, awesome medic job with our little band of dashing space rogues…can I, uh, have some more juice?”

The worst of the haunted look slides off Violet’s face as she smiles. “Of course.”

When the glass is empty, Arkady does reach her less-busted hand toward Violet, tugging her forward when she takes it. “Come here.”

She thinks Violet might go for a kiss on the forehead, depending on how fragile she’s thinking of Arkady as being right now, but Violet kisses her on the lips.

Their lips move together gently for a few seconds, then Violet settles back into her chair, smiling. “Your lips are sticky.”

“Excuse me, Liu, but I feel I should point out that your lips are now also sticky.”

“Touché.” Violet grins as she stands up again. “How’s your pain? We should still be transitioning you to the orals, so I’m going to get that ready now.”

“Still good.” Arkady smiles, wiggling the fingers at the end of her cast as Violet heads for the medbay sink.

“I know you and Sana are going to grump at me and Krejjh at some point for covering you and RJ instead of running,” she calls, “and then grump at me even more for making sure they hurt me before Krejjh, but if it had to be us, you are lucky you got me as a patient instead of Krejjh, trust me. They got completely freaked out when we tried to introduce them to Necco wafer candy a few years ago and still make grim remarks about ‘humans eating chalk.’ Dissolved pills would not be an easy sell.”

She’s expecting Violet to banter something back, but Violet looks downcast when she returns to Arkady’s side.

After Arkady has knocked back the chalky goo, she watches Violet carefully as she returns to the sink. That look could be about any number of things, but Arkady has the strong feeling that she’s seen it before, the first time Violet was bandaging her up after her gunshot wound on the Gay Louisa.

“Are you mad at me?” she asks, hesitantly, when Violet sits back down.

Violet’s face crinkles up in concern as she looks at Arkady. “Mad?”

Arkady grins weakly. “You know, because I went out and got myself hurt again?”

Violet’s forehead smooths out, then re-crinkles itself a second later. “I—no, Arkady, I’m not mad that other people tortured you. Or, I mean, I’m mad, I’m—furious, but at them, not at you.” She pauses. “And yes, I’m…‘mad’ isn’t the right word, but…it makes me upset that you got badly hurt to protect me and RJ, and it makes me upset that you think it’s good for it to be you who gets hurt instead of the rest of us. But you know that the times I chastise you for getting hurt, I’m not angry at you. Right?”

She smiles on the last words, in that specific abashed way that she smiles when she’s asking for reassurance about something that she thinks is just her anxiety playing up and probably not something she should actually be worried about at all.

When Arkady just stares at her, though, a look of alarm passes into her eyes. “You do know that, right?” she asks in a smaller voice. “I would never be really angry at you for getting injured.”

“Oh,” Arkady says. “Yeah. Of course I know that.” Did she?

Violet looks like she isn’t particularly fooled. “Well, now you do.” She sighs, shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry. If—hypothetically speaking, I mean,” she adds, her lips twitching in the ghost of a smile. “If you’ve ever thought I was actually angry at you for being injured in a bad situation…I’m sorry.”

Arkady blinks at her, finally managing to muster a nod.

Violet smiles a little, reaching out and smoothing Arkady’s hair. “I’m not mad at you, Arkady. There’s nothing about you being hurt and in pain that I would ever be angry about.”

“Well, not nothing,” Arkady points out. “You just said that you were upset that I try to put myself between the rest of you and danger.” She can’t resist adding, “You know, my literal job?”

“Your job is being first mate.” Violet’s voice cracks slightly.

Time to see how prohibitive this wrist cast is. Arkady lifts her hand to Violet’s face, brushing a tear from the corner of her eye. “It’s a job with a lot of facets.”

Violet sniffs wetly, lifting her own hands to gently support Arkady’s wrist as she lowers it to her lips and brushes a kiss against Arkady’s fingers.

“I’m not mad at you for putting yourself between other people and danger, Arkady,” she whispers. “In fact, it’s probably one of the reasons I fell in love with you.”

Arkady can feel her face getting hot as she stares, dazed, at Violet. “But…”

“I think it was a very brave and good thing that you did yesterday, and it scares me and makes me angry how okay you are with getting hurt to protect other people. I can feel both of those things at the same time.” Violet smooths Arkady’s hair again.

“Oh.” Arkady clears her throat awkwardly. “I. Oh.”

Violet chuckles, reaching up to dash a tear from her own eye. “You know what I feel, right now, more than anything? I’m just glad to have you back safe with me.”

“Oh,” Arkady says again. “I. Um. Hhh.” Get it together, Feral Kitten Patel. “I’m…glad to be back with you too. Um. Really glad.”

Violet smiles through her tears, and they gaze at each other in silence for a while.

“You know,” Arkady says wistfully, “I’m not exactly thrilled I can’t use a gun, or a knife, or punch anyone, or—” She cuts herself off. “Uh, you get the idea. But what I really can’t wait for is to be able to scoop you up, carry you to bed, and hold you in my arms all night long.”

“I.” Now Violet is the one blushing. “You…”

Arkady smirks, and Violet seems to regain the ability to form sentences, reaching out and caressing Arkady’s cheek. “Well, the scooping me up in your arms part will have to wait a little longer, but you should be able to relocate to your real bed some time in the next few days, and then there’s nothing stopping us from a whole lot of careful cuddling.”

Arkady smiles. “Sounds like a plan.”

“As for right now…I can’t exactly crawl into bed with you,” Violet says, sounding regretful, “but we could try…”

Pulling the chair with her, she moves so that she’s sitting as close as possible to Arkady’s shoulder, then carefully lowers her upper body to the bed so that her lower left shoulder rests just below Arkady’s right one, her face nestled into Arkady’s neck. Her left arm is presumably squashed under her, but her right hand comes up to rest on Arkady’s shoulder, thumb gently stroking Arkady’s shirt.

“Liu,” Arkady says, trying not to laugh, “that can’t be comfortable.”

Violet’s mutter against her neck sounds almost sleepy. “You’d be surprised.”

“Whatever you say.” Arkady tips her head to lean her temple against the top of Violet’s head. “Are you gonna fall asleep like that?”

“No,” comes the immediate response. “Or. Actually, this is more comfortable than I thought it would be, and I shouldn’t leave you alone for more than fifteen minutes while you’re still on the drip, and alarms are fallible so maybe I should…” She raises her hand to her comm. “Violet Liu to Iris Cockpit.”

“Attem—”

“Hello, Science Officer Liu!” sings Krejjh’s sunny voice. “How’s the patient?”

Arkady can feel Violet smile against her neck. “She’s doing pretty good, Krejjh. Hey, can you send someone down here in twenty minutes to poke me awake? First Mate Patel and I are at risk of engaging in some romantic tandem sleeping.”

“Iiiii sure can, Science Officer Liu!” The grin in Krejjh’s voice is audible, and Arkady feels a lingering echo of fear fading from her mind at the sound of them alive and well. “Aaand I’ll let you get right to it. Krejjh out.”

Arkady snorts. “I have no idea why you’re eager enough to cuddle with me that you’re willing to risk getting shaken awake in situ by a pilot making disgustingly enchanted faces at how ‘cute’ we supposedly are.”

“It’s a high price,” Violet says solemnly, her voice sleepy, “but it’s a price I’m willing to pay.”

Arkady snorts again, trying to ignore the growing feeling of sunlit happiness in her chest. Violet’s hair is soft against Arkady’s face and her body is warm against Arkady’s side, and Arkady stares up at the ceiling, trying to comprehend how and why she has gotten ridiculously, disgustingly lucky enough to be here, now, with Violet’s hand curled around her shoulder and the steady rise and fall of Violet’s breathing against her.

In the kitchen, someone or something makes a subdued crashing noise, and someone else cackles loudly. Arkady can feel Violet’s amused sigh, and she smiles, letting her eyes drift closed.

“I hope you play this song someday,” croons the radio, “and think of Earth girl who loves space girl…”

A gentle current of air from the vents stirs a strand of Violet’s hair against Arkady’s ear, and she wriggles her head minutely to dislodge it before tucking her head back against Violet’s. As she closes her eyes again, the feeling of sunlit happiness is so strong that she wonders if she’ll be the one to stay awake even as poor tired Violet falls asleep. That would be ironic, wouldn’t it?

When Krejjh enters the medbay eighteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds later, they have to bounce back and forth from one foot to the other in silent agony for several seconds at the sheer adorableness of the sight of their crewmates cuddled together on the medical bed. First Mate Patel’s forehead is smoothed out in sleep, a smile on her lips, and even when Krejjh nudges Science Officer Liu awake and she disentangles herself from her girlfriend, Arkady curls her head into the indentation Violet’s cheek has left on the pillow, as though even in sleep she knows that any space that Violet takes up in the universe is a place where she will be safe and sound.

[whumpwriterforlife]

I love your writing! You write Nyx(and Cor & Crowe) so well! I don't know if it's alright to send in more requests, so feel free to ignore this, but I would like to request forced to kneel with Nyx. Please continue to share your writing as you like, it never fails to brighten my day!

It's most definitely alright to send more requests, don't worry! Here you go, forced to kneel with some badass Nyx. Thank you for your continued support and interest in my writing, it means a lot to me <3

BTHB - Forced to Kneel

Those crossed in blue have been done, pink ones have been requested.

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV

Characters: Nyx Ulric, Crowe Altius & Cor Leonis (with mentioned Libertus Ostium)

Whumpee: Nyx Ulric

Word Count: 1749

Warnings: None

Can be found on ao3 here

--

“Down on your knees!”

Nyx rolled his eyes and made no move to comply as he stood there, surrounded by a handful of armed men. He flipped one of his kukris, studying the blade for a moment before sliding it back into its sheath. The other was still in his grip, ready for action. Nyx shook his head and looked at the man in charge. “And why would I do that?”

The man scoffed, something dark and dangerous flashing across his face. Nyx frowned. There was a condescending tone to his voice as he spoke, “You’re not a very wise man, are you, Glaive Ulric?”

“Wise enough to make it past your security without being detected.” Nyx shrugged. He didn’t let the fact that the man knew his name phase him. It was a poor intimidation tactic as far as he was concerned, considering he had had his name and face plastered on news — against his wishes — on numerous occasions because apparently he was the poster boy for the Kingsglaive, regardless of his stance on the matter.

“Yet foolish enough to come without any backup,” the man pointed out as he slowly sauntered closer. A brave move for a man who was noticeably smaller than Nyx and clearly not a fighter. Then again, he had two armed men flanking him, one on each side. “Did you really think it was going to be that easy to get through my men and free your friends?”

“Did you really think that,” Nyx paused to glance around the hall, “five men, plus yourself, would be enough to stop me? You know my name, you know what I’m capable of.”

He didn’t even wait for his words to sink in before he threw his kukri and warped. He landed in front of one of the underlings and struck him to the temple, knocking him out. He could kill them, it wouldn’t take much, but the men could be interrogated and used to bring the whole organization down. Nyx also detested needless bloodshed. Underling Two tried to come at him with a knife but Nyx moved out of the way and disarmed him with a twist to the wrist. Panic flashed across the underling’s face as Nyx hooked his hand behind his neck and threw him against the wall.

Two down for the count, four to go.

A gunshot echoed in the hall, and Nyx grunted as he felt something rip through his side. His kukri slipped out of his grasp, clattering across the floor, as his hand dropped to his side. His hand came back red with blood. Nyx hissed but there was no time for him to worry about it as underlings Three and Four charged at him. Underling Three had a stun gun in his hands and Nyx could hear the nasty crackling sound coming from it as it came alive. He ducked under Three’s arm, wincing as his side protested, and grabbed him by the wrist. Underling Four didn’t realize Nyx’s plan until it was too late and he was writhing on the ground as the electricity coursed through his body.

Underling Three cursed and twisted in Nyx’s grasp. The stun gun fell to the floor but Three managed to break free and shove Nyx back. Nyx stumbled a bit, Then underling five was on him, throwing punches at him. The first couple Nyx managed to block just fine but then one got past his defenses and landed right above his injured side. A strangled noise ripped out of Nyx’s throat as he instinctively curled around the wound protectively. It gave Three and Five enough time to grab his arms and force him down to his knees.

“Stay down!” one of the underlings ordered.

Nyx hissed, baring his teeth, as his knees hit the floor and pain reverberated through his body. His chest heaved up and down, breathless, as he tried to push past the white-hot pain. He still had a job to do. A hand snuck into his hair and wrenched his head back as the man in charge came to a stop before them.

“Well,” the man began, his face twisting into a smile that looked all kinds of wrong, “It would appear that, yes, five of my men were enough to bring you down.”

Nyx bristled at smug words. “Good for you.”

The man glanced at the two underlings that were holding him down and brushed them off. “You needn't hold him down, just stand guard. I have a feeling he won’t be trying anything again.”

Nyx’s eyes narrowed, and he could feel the hesitancy in the two underlings as well as they let him go. This man was either extremely brave or stupid, possibly both. Nyx lowered one of his hands over the wound on his side to apply pressure. He had fought in worse condition. It would hurt like a bitch to keep going but Nyx wasn’t one to just give up. “Why is that?”

Behind the man, a door opened and a handful of new underlings piled into the room. Nyx rolled his eyes but there was a ghost of a smile on his lips. The man had called backup then. The plan was coming along nicely. That didn’t mean Nyx didn’t think the man wasn’t stupid — he most definitely was.

The man looked down at Nyx with an unreadable expression. “I find it curious that the Crown could only spare one single man for this rescue mission. Of course, there’s been rumors about how some important people find the members of the Kingsglaive more expendable, but I couldn’t bring myself to quite believe that. Intriguing.”

Nyx shrugged. “Are you sure I came here alone?”

The man frowned at him, a calculating look on his face. Nyx just flashed him one of his more charming smiles. The man’s eyes narrowed and he turned on his heels to look at the newcomers. Nyx could see him tense as he shouted, “Who’s guarding the glaives?”

“Rendell, Sir,” someone responded.

The man dug out his phone and tapped furiously on it before bringing the phone to his ear. Nyx just watched him, his smile never wavering. A minute passed. The man didn’t get a response. The phone cracked against the floor as the man threw it with a frustrated growl. His eyes were filled with fury as he locked eyes with Nyx.

“What did you do?” he snarled, pointing an accusing finger at him.

“Me?” Nyx asked innocently. “Nothing. Well, I did bypass your security, get here and knock out a few of your guys but you already knew that much. Now I’m kind of… well, bleeding all over your floor. Sorry about that.”

The man stormed over to Nyx and pushed him down with a foot to the chest. Nyx winced and gritted his teeth to stop himself from crying out as his side was jarred.

“Don’t expect me to believe that. Something is going on, and you know exactly what it is,” the man told him in a low, icy tone. His foot moved down on Nyx’s chest and over the hand he was using to apply pressure on the wound. Nyx stiffened, a sharp curse leaving his lips as the man put more weight on the wound. “Tell me, and I won’t make you suffer.”

Nyx laughed but it came out strained. “Did you ever consider— that maybe I’m not the rescue party,” he said and groaned when the man’s foot shifted. He still smirked though, despite the pain. “That maybe, instead, I’m the decoy.”

The man’s face twisted with fury but before he could do anything, Nyx had summoned a knife from the armiger and thrown it across the room to warp. The room burst with activity and noise, the doors on both sides of the hall flung open as other glaives rushed in. Nyx faltered as he landed from the warp, sinking down onto his hands and knees. He lowered one of his hands back over the wound and hissed. Getting shot sucked big time.

There was a crackle of magic next to him and Crowe appeared next to him. There was a deep frown on her face as she took in the way he was holding his side. She muttered something about idiots under her breath as she moved Nyx’s hand aside to inspect the wound.

“Dammit, we need to get you to the medics, now,” she told him. She pulled Nyx’s arm over her shoulder to help him stand up. “I don’t have any potions left.

Nyx groaned, leaning heavily on Crowe. Despite being smaller than him, Crowe was strong and supported him with little trouble. Nyx licked his lips and swallowed hard. “Did they- the others, they okay?”

“Yes, they’re all fine. Some were a bit roughed up but nothing a few days’ rest won’t heal,” Crowe said as they started walking. “You, once again, are somehow in the worst shape. You fought them, didn’t you? When you were explicitly told not to.”

“Bah,” Nyx muttered, “The situation called for it. Can you- I think I left one of my kukris there.”

“I’ll have someone get them,” Crowe promised. “Then I’ll call Cor and let him know you were being an idiot.”

Nyx rolled his eyes but regretted it as the world spun in his eyes. “You two… mother hens.”

“You should make that three, I think Lib is waiting outside,” Crowe told him and Nyx could hear the amusement in her voice.

“Of course he is,” Nyx scoffed but then his voice softened. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

A few minutes later Crowe left Nyx with the medics and stepped aside to go through with his threat to call Cor. Nyx grumbled about it, telling her to wait until he was in the hospital and already taken care of but she wasn’t having any of it. So, in the end, Cor was waiting for Nyx at the hospital when the ambulance got there. The doctors wanted to keep him there for a while as they needed to dig out the bullet before they could use any curatives on it. Cor never once left his side. It was nice and made Nyx feel all warm and fuzzy which is what he told Cor, in his special high-on-painkillers way that was mostly incoherent mush. Cor just laughed and subtly recorded it to send to the group chat that had him, Crowe and Libertus in it.

[anthonyjlockwood]

rebuke and 24 for the touching prompt!!

Thank you for the prompt anon!! here it is on ao3! 💜

rebuke + 24 ( “whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin” )

Being with Bobby and Reggie is one of the easiest things in the world.

Bobby likes to tell Luke that he and Reggie bring something unique into his life. He makes it a point to say so-- he always says they bring something so special, and so, so stupid.

Luke takes that as a compliment, really. There’s no better way to let someone know you love them-- to make sure they know that their life would be dull without you-- than to keep things unique and interesting.

Sometimes, he and Reggie like to play this game, one that they secretly like to call “Let’s See Who Can Annoy Bobby The Most”.

They have to do it carefully, subtly, or else Bobby would put a stop to it. And there’s just something about taking turns with Reggie, asking Bobby one stupid, nonsensical, distracting question after another, that just makes his insides feel all warm and fluttery.

Sometimes one of them-- usually Reggie-- just has to say something. There’s no planning involved, no game prep… no brainstorming of the dumb questions that might really get under Bobby’s skin. It’s always something unprovoked, but their goal is usually to make Bobby wish he could just go to sleep for a few days and not have to speak to them for the foreseeable future.

That’s when they bounce back, together, and rally around Bobby to show him why, exactly, he’s put up with them for so long.

(There’s usually a lot of kissing involved in that part.)

Reggie’s really good at coming up with those random topics that will push Bobby’s buttons the most. Most of the time, it’s a question that Bobby won’t know how to answer. Something like…

“Do you think if birds had teeth, they’d have reasons to smile?”

“Alright Reggie, that’s it,” Bobby snaps.

Luke and Reggie exchange a brief grin in victory before Reggie regains the composure to look properly chastised.

“What?” he asks innocently, eyelashes fluttering like a startled butterfly.

“I can’t deal with you two anymore!”

Bobby lets out a slow breath through his nostrils, like a dragon at bedtime who’s had a rough day.

“Let’s play a game. Whichever one of you can shut up the longest gets all the money I have in my wallet.”

But… they are playing a game. A game Luke is very much enjoying. And although the whole “winning money” aspect of Bobby’s game is tempting, the concept of no longer being able to verbally annoy Bobby is enough to have Luke flinching back in displeased alarm. “Bobby--”

“Here, look!” Bobby pulls his wallet out of his pocket and slaps it on the table, letting it flop open. Luke can see a few singles peeking out from inside the pocket. “I have... “ Bobby pauses, flipping through the bills and dumping the change out from a smaller, zippered pocket on the outside.

“I have four dollars and… eighty-three cents,” Bobby deduces. “Whoever can stay quiet the longest gets it. I will literally pay you.”

“But it’s a good question!” Reggie argues. “Birds seem like they’re really happy, singing all the time. I think they’d want to smile, if they could. Don’t you?”

“I don’t... really care,” Bobby says. “And I don’t know why you do!”

“Because--”

But Bobby doesn’t want to hear it. “Time starts now.”

Reggie wilts like a dehydrated hydrangea, but Bobby doesn’t keep his eyes on the bassist to see the hurt expression blossom on his face.

He looks over at Luke instead, who made it a point not to speak during the whole bird debacle-- the key to the Annoy Bobby game is to do it discreetly, one at a time, so that when Bobby thinks he can go to one of them for refuge, he discovers there’s none to be found.

Luke bites his lip, bouncing so fast he’s practically vibrating.

Bobby doesn’t even look away from him to roll his eyes. “If you really can’t not say something, write it down. I just don’t want to hear you speak! Those privileges have been revoked.”

Luke’s mildly offended; he wasn’t the one to ask the stupid question about birds-- his was going to be about armadillos, actually-- so he doesn’t see why he has to be subjected to the whole “vow of silence” thing. It’s not fair.

With a determined glare, Luke reaches over and grabs his notebook and a pen. He scribbles down something quickly and whips the page around to face Bobby.

I didn’t even do anything!!!

“I don’t care,” Bobby says again. “Reggie’s ruined it for both of you. Like I said, speaking privileges revoked.”

Luke puts on an impressive pout that, on another day, might have persuaded Bobby into being a little bit more lenient.

But today wasn’t a normal day-- Bobby has a headache, and he always gets grumpy when he gets headaches. He always says that the pounding in his head is only slightly less painful than “whatever bullshit” Luke and Reggie put him through.

Normally, Luke would be unbothered. He knows that he and Reggie give Bobby a run for his money sometimes… but that’s all part of the fun. The fun that Bobby shouldn’t get a break from just because he’s not feeling well-- pro athletes play games all the time when they’re sick.

And Luke knows that he and Reggie never really offend Bobby, anyway. He can grumble and groan all he wants; but at the end of the day, Luke knows the other boy would be miserable without him and Reggie.

He doesn’t really want to play Bobby’s game, but… now four dollars and eighty-three cents is on the line. Reggie will probably cave first, anyway; then the two of them can reform their alliance. Maybe they’d even split Luke’s winnings for burgers or something.

Luke keeps pouting at him, and eventually Bobby melts a little under his gaze. “I’m… sorry. I just need a few minutes of quiet, okay? I want to see if I can take a nap or something.”

Luke pulls the notebook back and scribbles something else.

Why am I being punished for Reggie’s dumbassery, anyway? TOTALLY UNFAIR.

“You’re being punished because I know you were about to say some stupid shit like…” Bobby clears his throat and puts on his best Luke voice. “‘Reggie’s got a point, you know.’ And I just really don’t want to deal with that right now. I think I want to try to take a nap or at least rest a bit-- so please, please, just be quiet. I don’t care what you do-- just… don’t make any noise. Okay?”

Luke slumps deeper into the couch and crosses his arms, like the petulant child he is.

Oh well.

It’s time to commence Operation Annoy Bobby: Silent Edition.

~

The thing is, Luke knows that Bobby would be nothing without him and Reggie.

They’ve been friends for as long as Luke can remember. And since they started dating eight months ago, not much has changed. They’re still best friends-- friends who can goof off around each other, tell dumb jokes, play music… except now, they also kiss. A lot.

He’s been getting comfortable being with Bobby and Reggie in a new way, sharing a deeper bond than just the best-friendship and family-like one they had before.

The best part of the kissing is that no matter what Luke does-- no matter how much he makes fun of Bobby for being the “mom friend,” no matter how much food he steals off the other boy’s plate… no matter how agitated Bobby is with him, the problem can always be solved by pressing his lips against Bobby’s.

Because as much as Bobby wants to say he’s “the only one looking out for Luke’s and Reggie’s well-beings”... he’s pretty easily distracted.

Luke scoffs to himself-- quietly, because Bobby’s still on the warpath and wants Luke to be silent. Okay.

He can make Bobby forget all about the headache and Reggie’s dumb question about birds. Bobby needs it, really; he needs the distraction. Luke would be doing him a favor.

Only… how can he distract Bobby when anything that comes out of his mouth will make Bobby angry?

He straightens himself up on the couch and risks a sideways glance at Bobby. His boyfriend is sitting on the couch to his left, leaning back against the cushions, hands covering his face.

“Psst,” Luke tries.

Bobby doesn’t acknowledge him.

“Pssssssst,” Luke reaches out and pokes Bobby’s bicep delicately.

“You’re on thin fucking ice, Luke,” Bobby grumbles, not taking his hands away from his face.

Oh, so that’s how this is going to be?

Luke looks to Reggie, appalled, and his other boyfriend looks just as disgruntled that Bobby was really serious about not dealing with them. He pulls out his phone and taps a few keys, then Luke’s own phone buzzes in his pocket.

Do you think we should just leave him alone?

Nah, Luke replies. I’ve got this. He’ll stop ignoring us in no time!

Quietly, he places his phone down on the end table. He catches Reggie’s eye again, and nods towards the door.

Carefully, so he doesn’t wake Bobby up if he is sleeping-- he’s not opposed, he just needs to have a solid plan first-- Luke untangles himself out of Bobby’s lap and steps quietly out of the room, Reggie following on his heels.

“What’re we gonna do? Bobby looks like he’s not feeling well… but I want to talk,” Reggie complains. “It’s so… scarily quiet in there. Can’t we just grab him some painkillers and a glass of water or something so he’ll feel better?”

“He’ll be fine,” Luke assures him. “We’ll be his painkillers. This is what we’re gonna do.”

Reggie perks up in interest; he’s always down to join in on one of Luke’s plans, as poorly thought out as some may be. Luke grins mischievously.

“So, Bobby doesn’t want us to talk, right?”

Reggie nods.

“So what we’ve gotta do is, make him want to talk to us.”

“How’re we gonna do that?” Reggie worries. “If we say anything, neither one of us will win the money! Unless… you wanna call a truce? Give up the bet, because the real enemy is Bobby ignoring us?”

“Nah, we’re still getting the money,” Luke promises. “We’ll even split it. $2.41 each?”

“Did you just do that math in your head?!”

“Yes,” Luke waves him off impatiently. “This is important, Reginald. We need to know exactly what’s at stake!”

“So you wanna risk Bobby’s wrath? For $2.41?”

“Bobby’s gotta learn that we’re worth much more than $2.41,” Luke says solemnly. “We’re going to make him wish he never told us to be quiet in the first place.”

“Okay…” Reggie’s face relaxes slightly, and Luke’s grin widens.

“Follow my lead.”

He leads Reggie back into the room and collapses on the sofa, shuffling himself right up against Bobby’s side. Bobby opens one eye and peers down at him, unimpressed.

“Luke. I’m trying to rest.”

Like a housecat, Luke rearranges himself precariously around Bobby’s slumped figure until he’s on his lap. He leans forward to whisper in Bobby’s ear, but Bobby pushes him away gently.

“You’re not supposed to be talking, remember?” Bobby grumbles. “Do you want Reggie to win the $4.83?”

Luke pokes him again, so that Bobby will back at him, and mouths, “I’m not talking!”

“Can’t I just take a nap in peace?” Bobby complains.

Luke curls his body around Bobby’s and leans forward, really close, until his lips are just brushing the sensitive skin of Bobby’s earlobe.

Bobby shudders at the proximity, and Luke smirks, victorious. He leans even closer and whispers, “I don’t want Reggie to win the money, but I wanted to tell you… you look really hot.” He takes a deep breath and adjusts himself more comfortably on Bobby’s lap.

“Reggie doesn’t have to know I’m cheating a little, does he?” Luke continues, feeling Bobby squirm underneath him. “You don’t need sleep anyway, Bobby.”

“You’re so fucking annoying, Luke. Come here.”

Suddenly Luke feels himself being pulled forward-- then Bobby’s lips are on his with no warning, rough and unforgiving.

A kaleidoscope of color bursts beneath Luke’s clenched eyelids. He can see movement happening around him, he can feel Bobby’s hands running through his hair, but all that is lost in the sound of his own heartbeat, pounding in his ears.

His and Bobby’s kisses are always like this-- passionate and loud and rough, so that they can get it all out of their systems before turning to Reggie.

Reggie likes things slower; Bobby and Luke were built for speed. Luke can hear Reggie’s breathing, too; shaky and uneven as he, presumably, watches Luke and Bobby go at it from across the living room.

Bobby goes to pull away-- he’s coming up for air, or going to get Reggie, or maybe he’s just finally tired of Luke’s distracting bullshit and actually wants to take a nap… How that could possibly happen now, Luke doesn’t know.

But regardless, Bobby goes to pull away, and Luke’s not having it. He pulls him back by the collar of his shirt and deepens the kiss, feeling the soft fabric of his t-shirt under his hands, his fingers getting caught up in Bobby’s chain necklace.

Bobby’s exhale is hot and humid against Luke’s face. He can taste the coffee Bobby had to drink earlier in the day-- the caffeine that was surely powering him through his headache, giving him the energy to kiss Luke back as hungrily as he is.

“You’re the fucking worst,” Bobby’s voice is muffled against Luke’s mouth, and Luke swallows up the complaint in another kiss.

Time gets lost; Luke doesn’t know how long he and Bobby spend engaged in a battle of the faces,but eventually Bobby pulls away and runs a hand down his face.

“I think you lost the bet,” he pants, brushing the hair back from his face and looking at Luke with wide eyes. “The $4.83 is Reggie’s. You talked.”

“Oh, please!” Luke scoffs. “I didn’t hear you complaining thirty seconds ago.”

Bobby rolls his eyes. Luke grabs the back of his neck and pulls his face close once again, so he can whisper in his ear one more time.

“In fact, thirty seconds ago you seemed very interested in what I had to say. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think you missed hearing me talk.”

“I think you’re talking way too much right now.”

Luke leans forward; his mouth turns up in a flirtatious smirk. “Looks like you’re just gonna have to shut me up again.”

This kiss starts off slower. Bobby presses his mouth against Luke’s once again, but this time he lingers there, inhaling Luke’s scent and relishing the feeling of Luke’s soft lips against his. Luke lets out a sigh of contentment and deepens the kiss, arms snaking their way around Bobby’s neck and pulling him closer.

They’re interrupted by someone loudly clearing his throat. Luke pulls away from Bobby and looks up at Reggie, who’s standing in the doorway. He stares at them curiously, his gaze alternating between Luke and Bobby.

“Guys… what’s going-- oh, shit! The bet!”

Reggie clamps his hand over his mouth. His deer-in-the-headlights eyes flick back over to Bobby and settle there, waiting for the verdict that’s going to cost him the $4.83.

“Fuck the bet,” Bobby grunts. “Get over here.”

Once Reggie’s close enough to the couch, Bobby reels him in like a lake trout and presses their lips together. Reggie swallows him up, and Luke watches their mouths battle with each other for a moment, transfixed. He’s still trying to get his breathing back to normal; his face tingles with a burning sensation and he can feel the sticky dampness of sweat on his brow.

Bobby’s lips trace a path down Reggie’s neck; he closes his eyes in contentment and the sight of it sends the blood pumping through Luke’s veins once again. He reaches out to brush Reggie’s hair back.

Reggie startles at the sensation of Luke’s hand brushing his face. He swings his arms around Luke’s neck and Luke feels himself being pulled into the warmth of Reggie’s space. Then the bassist’s lips are on his.

The air’s knocked right out of his lungs. Reggie’s kisses are different from Bobby’s. They’re softer and more subtle, but warmer all the same, and the sensation of being loved overtakes Luke’s mind and heart and has him returning the kiss with a gentle vengeance.

Luke doesn’t know how much time passes as they sit there, exploring each other’s bodies with hands and lips, and he doesn’t know when the static in his ears starts to alleviate. But eventually, they work themselves out of the moment and just lay there, tangled up on the couch. No one speaking, just enjoying being in each other’s presence. Finally, as is his way, Reggie breaks the silence first. He looks up at Bobby with wide, innocent eyes.

“Since I’m the one that caught you and Luke making out, does that mean I technically won the bet?”

“I told you,” Bobby grunts. “Fuck the bet.” “What’s that, Bobby?” Luke smirks. “Did you not enjoy not having to listen to us talk for a while?”

Bobby opens his mouth, probably about to tell Luke once again how annoying he thinks he is-- Luke’s used to it; that doesn’t mean he thinks Bobby means it, though. He’s just proven that he wouldn’t last one day without Luke. But Reggie beats him to it.

“Hey, hey, I think Luke lost!”

“You have no proof of that!” Luke argues.

“Um, the way I walked in on you guys performing CPR on each other begs to differ!”

“Okay, okay, enough,” Bobby placates, like they’re two children arguing over the swirly slide on a playground. “I think we can come to some sort of compromise.”

“Oh yeah?” Luke shoots back. “What sort of compromise is that?”

“You guys can split the $4.83…” Bobby pauses for dramatic effect, looking between Luke and Reggie with an arrogant smirk on his face-- one Luke immediately distrusts, but one that sends a jolt of anticipation deep into the pit of his stomach regardless. “And next time I think you’re talking too much, I’ll just have to shut you up myself. Deal?”

And as much as Luke hates the quiet… he’s not opposed to Bobby being the one to shut him up.

Maybe they can work something out.

[luninosity]

It’s @whumptober2020 time! Have some Steve/Bucky, with modern-day politician!Steve. This one’s for theme 17 - I Did Not See That Coming - specific prompt: blackmail; and theme 26 - If You Thought The Head Trauma Was Bad - specific prompt: migraines.

Enjoy!

#

Bucky reads the email. Then reads it again. Looks at the pictures. Then takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes, fingers pressing the spot between his eyebrows. He knows the words and the photos won’t go away.

 He’s already got a headache: the beginnings of what, based on experience, is going to be a really awful migraine. It’s been a long day even though it’s only eleven in the morning; he loves the energy and momentum of Steve’s congressional campaign, and he loves helping write press releases and speeches, and he loves Steve, of course.

 It’s just a lot. Noise bounces around the headquarters and bounds into Bucky’s office despite his closed door. The passion’s wonderful but also loud. Their lives are already changing; they’ll change even more once Steve’s elected. And now there’s this.

 Bucky wishes fleetingly, just for a second, that he and Steve could run away somewhere, just the two of them, maybe visiting a goat farm or the Grand Canyon or someplace quiet and vast and full of stars; and then he laughs a little at impossibilities and gets up. He loves Steve, and Steve needs to know about this.

 He catches his balance with a hand on the side of his desk, as his vision briefly sparkles and blurs. His desk supports him, worried. Steve’ll be worried too, so Bucky squares his shoulders and ducks out into the cacophony of posters and phone calls and lurking reporters and interns. Several of them recognize him—not as Steve’s boyfriend, but as a valuable inner-circle staff member—and wave. Bucky lifts a hand in reply.

 They don’t know he’s Steve’s boyfriend because, on advice from Brock the campaign manager, they’ve been keeping that one quiet. Bucky’s not an asset, Brock’d said. The sexuality might be acceptable—Steve’s proudly pansexual, always has been, and Bucky’s also out and not shy about being gay, and Steve’s campaign’s built around inclusion and affirmation. Steve could run for office with a man on his arm. But James Buchanan Barnes specifically…

 James Barnes, one-time prisoner of war. James Barnes, present-day moderately successful science fiction author, not bad with words and putting them together. James Barnes, formerly brainwashed former assassin. James Barnes, with a twisted and ugly past that even he doesn’t remember too much about, who’s done things the legal system says he’s not guilty of, not being in his sound mind and all, but who still pulled those triggers, set those traps. James Barnes has a prosthetic arm, PTSD, and migraines and full-body aches on an unpredictable and painful schedule.

 James Barnes would be a liability, if Steve wants to win.

 Bucky, who’d once upon a time seen Steve’s face on a local council-board election poster while roaming New York City streets on an assignment, who’d recognized the eyes of the boy who’d been the first person he’d ever kissed and the boy he’d grown up with and joined the Army with, who’d stood there and gone off-mission and abandoned his target because tiny firecrackers of memory were exploding behind his eyes…

 Bucky had nodded. Agreeing with Brock.

 Steve, of course, had been angry. But Steve also listens to Bucky, at least more than to anyone else. And Bucky had made a choice, and Steve won’t trample over that.

 His head aches, dull and clumsy and thick. He clutches his phone.

 He taps at the frame of Steve’s open door. Natasha, who’s in charge of publicity, is just getting up to leave; her expression starts as a smile but becomes concern. “Are you—”

 Bucky tries for a smile. Even his face hurts. “Just something Steve should look over.”

 Natasha obviously notices he’s not carrying anything, no printed speech drafts or copy for a press release, just his phone; but she only nods, not pushing. She does pat his shoulder, the not-prosthetic one, on the way out. And shuts the door.

 Bucky’s pretty sure she’s guessed about him and Steve. He’s not sure Steve realizes that.

 Steve at the moment is getting up—he’d been leaning casually against his desk, not sitting behind it—and coming over, holding out both hands, all muscles and blue eyes and golden shining heroic concern. “Buck—I was just going to come find you, I wanted to tell you—come here, sit down, you look—another migraine? Or—”

 “Yeah, but that’s not it.” He does sit down, because Steve’s guiding him onto the small blue sofa. It’s not really big enough for two men their size, but being close to Steve feels nice. Or it does for now; his stomach twists. Steve might not want to hold him, in a minute. “I just got this email. You need to know.”

 Steve takes his phone. Reads. Swears, low and vehement.

 “Yeah.” Bucky closes his eyes. His stomach feels unhappy too. Nausea, right on schedule. Steve’s lights’re too bright. His shoulder hurts; even his hair aches. “I don’t know how he got those pictures. But the how doesn’t matter.”

 The man has pictures. Bucky and Steve. Clearly together: caught sharing a kiss as they duck into their front door, coming home, laughing under an umbrella and the rain. Unmistakable.

 He wants money. He also wants Steve to drop out of the race. The timing’s flawless; the polls have Steve ahead, as announced earlier this morning.

 Steve sets down Bucky’s phone. Stretches an arm to reach the light switch, which he can, just barely, and dims the lights. Then coaxes Bucky further down onto the sofa, head pillowed on Steve’s lap. Bucky tries to protest but desperately wants to lie down, wants Steve’s hands on him, and so gives in.

 Steve’s artist’s fingers rub lightly over his temple. “How’s this?”

 “Better.” It is, a little. Steve knows how hard and where to touch, or not touch, or work up to. “Love you.” Even as he says it, he winces: that’s exactly the problem right now.

 Steve’s hand moves to the nape of Bucky’s neck, soothing, rubbing tension away. “Love you. So, um. What I wanted to tell you…guess this won’t be so bad, after all, and the timing’s even kinda funny…”

 “Steve, he’s trying to blackmail you. Using me.”

 “And it’s not gonna work.” Steve’s deploying a version of the politician voice, the authoritative fiercely protective one that never fails to weaken Bucky’s knees, but this version’s even deeper and rumbly and intimate: Steve’s not about to let anyone threaten Bucky. “I fired Brock this morning.”

 “You what? Why?” Bucky starts to sit up. Cars crash inside his skull; he can’t breathe, dizzy. “I need to write you a statement—you’ll need a draft of—Jesus, Steve, tell me you at least said something tactful—”

 “Well, I didn’t punch him. Close, though.” Steve sounds amazingly unworried. His hands ease Bucky back down; one covers Bucky’s eyes, making the world blessedly dark and calm. “Nat’s taking over as campaign manager. That’s what she was in here to talk about.”

 “Jesus,” Bucky says again. “It’s only eleven am, and you’ve fired Brock and given Nat a new job, and we’re getting blackmailed. Why’d you fire him?”

 “He…said something I didn’t like. Want me to make your ginger tea or grab your painkillers?”

 “No, just stay here for now. It wasn’t about me, was it?” The guilty silence on Steve’s end makes Bucky’s head thump more. “Steve, no. Tell me you’re not firing people over me.”

 “I fired him because he’s a fucking awful person who says fucking awful things about people who’ve been through trauma, and also about women, and also about people in therapy, and also about which of our interns he wants to fuck,” Steve says. “I don’t want any of that around here. And I want you here. I’m done pretending I’m not in love with you, Bucky Barnes.”

 “Steve—”

 “I’m proud to be with you.” Steve lifts the hand from Bucky’s eyes long enough for Bucky to focus on him, to see he means it. He does, and all that fiery conviction takes Bucky’s breath away.

 Steve Rogers has always been ready to take on any villains, to join any protests, to protect the world if the world needs a protector. Skinny scrawny sickly Steve’d had that lion’s heart long before the Army and the rippling muscles and, now, the carefully chosen politician’s suits and ties. Steve knows about strategies on all sorts of battlefields.

 And Bucky loves him so damn much, with heart and soul and fingertips and kisses and aching dreams and hopes and promises. With everything they are and have been and will be, together.

 Steve goes on, “I’m proud to stand next to you. I love you. I don’t fucking care who knows it—it’s about time everyone knows it. That’s who I am, and I’m not gonna hide it, and I’m not gonna let some jerk with a camera ruin it. You’re you and I’m me and we’re together to the end of the line.”

 “And that’s that,” Bucky manages, shaky.

 “Yep.”

 “So…we’re…just gonna ignore the whole blackmail thing.”

 “We can report it. But I’d already decided.” Steve hesitates. His hand’s stroking Bucky’s hair now, a welcome deliberate heavy presence. “But…guess I didn’t exactly ask you. Shit. I’m sorry, Buck, I should’ve. I haven’t said anything yet, just fired Brock, so…if you want…if you’d rather not…we don’t have to go public. You don’t have to go through that.”

 Bucky doesn’t answer for a second, only lying still in the dark. Steve’s thigh’s a good pillow. Steve’s voice is warm and loving. Steve’s hands are full of love too.

 He says, “I’ll write us a statement. A press release. And we should do an interview together.”

 Steve’s hand stops moving.

 Bucky opens his eyes a fraction. Peeking up. “Kinda proud to be with you, too, y’know.”

 “Oh,” Steve says. “But—I thought—”

 “Never really wanted to hide.” Bucky shrugs a shoulder, a small movement; it doesn’t hurt. “Just thought…maybe it was the right advice, not like I know anything about politics, and maybe you’d be better off…”

 “I wasn’t. Not without you.” Steve touches a fingertip to Bucky’s mouth; Bucky kisses it. “So you only agreed because of me. Trying to protect me.”

 “And you fire people because of me.”

 “Just the one, and he’s a dick.”

 “I like your dick,” Bucky tells him, not that Steve doesn’t already know. “So…guess we’re doing this. When?”

 “Now,” Steve says. “I’m taking a long lunch and I don’t have anything I can’t reschedule—or that Nat can’t handle—this afternoon. I’m planning to take my boyfriend home, take care of him, and also kiss him in front of the whole campaign staff on the way out. If he’s, y’know, good with that.”

 “He’s very, very good with that,” Bucky says, because it’s very, very true. Despite the pounding in his head, the world’s looking fantastic. Brock’s gone, Steve’s ahead in the polls, the blackmail’s utterly irrelevant, and Bucky gets to kiss Steve and be loved by Steve and swept away by Steve while people cheer, and so, yeah: good, he decides, is exactly the word.

[writingsfromhome]

Collaboration

A/N: This one's told from Harry's pov. I just wanted to have some fun with dialogue, trying fluff for once (I think?)

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

The flashing lights on the red carpet bring back the headache that was pounding my temples since this morning. I grit my teeth and pose for the last show before making eye contact with my manager. I’m ushered along, a few people calling out for an interview. My manager whispers one would be good for image so I sigh and find myself in one of those millenial gossip journalists.

She asks what I’m wearing, I show off the shimmery fabric of my pantsuit and the fringe on the legs.

“So we heard rumours, Y/N Y/L/N and you are working on an album together?”

I lean in and pretend to look intrigued but my heart picks up speed just from hearing her name. “Who said that?”

The journalist plays her part and laughs at my joke. I say seriously, “I would love to collab with her anytime, she’s a legend. But I haven't even got her digits."

She says something sympathetic, "maybe things will change tonight."

"I hope so! I'm even wearing my liucky ring," I show it off to the camera. Finally the bit is over and I walk into the cool building. People are already breaking into groups and lost guests look for their name.

I knew I would see Y/N today, it was always a mystery whether she would show up to these award shows. She started young in the industry, a child-actor turned singer when she released a single to a movie she starred in as a teen and it stayed in the top charts for months. She was pretty private as far as celebrities went and she didn't always show up to these things. But the couple times I interacted with her we had hit it off. The first was just a casual acquaintance when our mutual friend introduced each other at a premiere.

The second, though, was at a restaurant. The people I was having dinner with invited her party to our table. She had ended up squished beside me but we talked the whole night. We thought alike and turned out she was a big fan of my music, had even attended my concert, proven by some photos she showed me on her phone. I confessed I had a big crush on her in her earlier movies when I was a kid. She teased me and I let her. But we forgot to exchange numbers so I didn't actually talk to her after that. If we had, I would definitely ask her about collaborating.

"Just had to ask Jen, here." My manager comes by with a bottle of water and the painkiller in my hand. I take it gratefully and then he pushes me to my seat. I glance around, a couple familiar names. But mostly it seemed like I was seated with couples. To be the 7th wheel. And my chair had its back to the stage. Whoever planned this did not like me.

The lead up to the start of the awards is a rush of hugs and catching up with people. It isn't until I sit down, my chair turned to face the stage, that I realise Y/N is here and sitting a table down, her chair angled to the stage but she catches my eye.

I can't help the smile that overtakes my face but I manage to resist waving at her like a child. She gives me a nod but her lips tug up into a shy smile as she focuses her eyes on the stage.

We get introductions, a skit, and a performance. They announce some winners and then they announce the surprise performance by Y/N. I hadn't even realised she'd left.

It's so quiet you could hear a pin drop, the stage blacking out until a single light shines. Y/N steps under it and begins, it starts off slow but by the chorus there are dancers and an old school car and a gown with fake blood as she sits atop the car with the dagger sticking out of her chest as she belts out her song. The final notes ring out when she pulls the dagger free and it clatters to the floor. And the entire audience goes crazy. I'm standing clapping and grinning like an idiot. Y/N makes eye contact with me and winks. People turn in my direction but I don't make it obvious it was me. I didn't want any rumours about us.

As the night moves forward, I catch eyes with Y/N a few times. The first time I raise my eyebrows and mimick pulling a dagger out of my chest. She hides her smile behind the pamphlet. The second time she catches me staring at her, she pretends to look annoyed and I pretend to hide my face with my hand. When I check her face she's trying to hide her laugh. Someone behind her leans in to whisper something but she keeps her eyes on me.

I feel like I'm on cloud 9. Not only did I finally see Y/N after so long but she remembered me. And I think she was flirting with me! Maybe she would show up to the after party.

During the break, she motions to the meet her in the foyer and I don't even wait a few minutes. I'm right behind her and follow her into a little enclosure off to the side.

"Hi," I say casually.

"Hi," she smiles. "Long time no see. I like what you're wearing."

"Thanks. You look lovely yourself. I wasn't sure I would see you tonight."

"It's been a while since I've been plucked and prodded and red-carpet ready. A girl misses the feeling of flashing lights and ten reporters asking what you're wearing." She flips her hair over her shoulder, sarcasm in full effect.

"Sounds like you need a drink," I suggest.

"God, yes." She grabs my arm and I lead her to the bar, she leans in next to me as I order for us.

I watch as she takes a sip of the drink I ordered for her. She looks surprised and takes another sip. It settles in even more how normal this felt. And my childhood crush never really went away.

"You should order for me more often. I usually just stick to what I know." She comments.

"Then you should go out with me more often," I say.

She responds by clinking her glass against mine, a mischevious look in her eye.

"What's that look?" I ask.

"What look?"

"The one you're giving me right now!"

"I'm just looking at you!"

"Then what are you thinking? Because you're not just looking at me! You're giving me the look!"

"The look," she scoffs like I was making it up.

"It's there," I tap her temples. "What are you thinking in there?"

"I really don't think you want to know what I'm thinking," she says into her drink.

"No, now I really want to know," I wait for her to move the glass away from her mouth.

"No you don't. It's...not very appropriate." She doesn't look me in the eyes, pretending to be interested on what the little menus read.

"Inappropriate thoughts are my favourite," I say. She looks up and is about to say something.

"Harry!" Someone calls from the side and I'm disappointed that the conversation is cut short. I wanted to know even though I already knew but I greet some friends instead. when I turn backY/N's gone. Damn.

I find her back in her seat but she's talking to a few women I remember she was in movies with in her early days. But it's like she senses me because she turns to look as I sit down. I narrow my eyes at her, she looks away.

When I win for single of the year, I stumble onto stage. I was sure I wouldn't win this. Luckily my manager had made me practice something on the way here just in case but every word leaves my brain when I glance at Y/N and she has the same expression from earlier. I knew she was thinking something inappropriate and that just clears my head of anything except her.

"Sorry I've got some stage fright it seems," I joke and everyone laughs. Phew.

I manage to get some words out, give my thanks and walk back to my table in a daze. People congratulate me but I barely know who. This was a dream come true for me, and nearby a very dreamy woman was giving me eyes and I didn't know how this night could get any more surreal.

But it does.

***

By the time I get ready to leave for the afterparty, I'd waited for inscribing and more congrats, some pictures and group pictures of winners. I'm tired and stop by my hotel to change into something more casual. I didn't see Y/N and I give up hope that I would. Her going to an awards show and an afterparty were rare. She must have disappeared again, without leaving her number. I would just have to wait for a next time.

But when I get to my hotel door, a figure sits outside it.

"Hello?" I call from afar, if this was a fan that somehow got in there was going to be a security issue. But the person looks up and it's just Y/N. Her glam from earlier is wiped off, she has on just tights and a tanktop. She quickly stands up.

"I didn't see you at the party. Wasn't much in the mood to mingle. I thought I would try your room."

"How did you know my room?" I ask as I open the door and leave it open for her.

"I'm a floor above, I saw you leave."

"So you're stalking me now?" I ask.

"If I remember correctly you were the one watching me all night."

"Really?" I drop my things on the floor and dig through the drawer for a shirt and jeans. "If I remember, you were the one with inappropriate thoughts."

"I never said that," she says as she picks up the award I put on the table. "Congratulations by the way. You totally deserve this like I told you!"

Y/N references part of the conversation we had at that dinner. When she revealed she was a fan, said she was in the industry for years and she saw I had promise.

"And that compliment kept me going through the whole album." It was true, she gave me a boost of confidence that helped keep me focused and crank it out in time.

"So where's my shoutout?" She sits on the desk, her feet swinging back and forth.

"Third song on the album," I say smoothly.

"Really?" She stares. The song was about a mystery woman just being the girl next door. Exactly how I felt about Y/N. "You wrote a song about me? Wow. Not even my exes have given me the honour."

"You deserve a million songs written about you," I say truthfully. Y/N was a special woman-misunderstood and misinterpreted. But she was a powerful singer and a funny, honest, and kind human.

"You're a sweet-talker Harry Styles." Y/N leans back and I can't avoid the way the fabric of her tanktop stretches over her body. She notices and smirks. "It's unfortunate you're just all talk though."

"All talk?" I decide two can play at the game. I take off my silk shirt and wait a few before slipping on my tshirt. I notice her eyes trailing down my body and it gives me the confirmation to step towards her. I put my hands on her thighs, and she parts her legs automatically. I step in between them but stay inches away from her face, "I do more than just talk."

"So show me," she says, her gaze going down to my lips.

"Only if you tell me what you were thinking tonight," I challenge.

"You're still on that?"

"I want to know."

"How about I show you instead."

In a surprising move, she pushes me back and stands up before shoving me onto the bed. It takes me a moment to recover but I'm smiling as the whole Y/N finally comes out of her shell. She peels the tanktop off of her and walks towards me. I lean back on my elbows.

"I wish you showed me earlier," I say. She shuts me up with a passionate kiss.

***

I'd lost track of time, the rising sun the only tell of how much time had passed. Y/N lies on the pillow beside me, her face peaceful as she sleeps. Her hand is loosely intertwined through mine between us. It was a wild night collaborating after all-just not in a way we wanted share. I almost want to pinch myself to be sure this was real. The woman of my dreams with me tonight. Several times over. Asleep as the first rays of sun leave a soft glow on her skin. She was as beautiful as ever.

I must have fallen asleep too because I wake up with a pressure on my chest. I'm flat on my back and Y/N's head is resting on my chest as she stares at my face.

"I can see up your nose," she comments.

"Stop looking," I mumble in my croaky morning voice.

"I can't stop. It's just so dark and unexplored."

I close my eyes again, not realising she'd taken my finger to stick up my nose until she does. I sit up and she's thrown off of me. I sneeze once, and again. And turn to her.

"I don't like that loo-" she shouts as I pull her to me and hold her down to climb over her. I sneeze again as she wriggles underneath but pretty soon she stops as I kiss her.

"You're lucky I'm so nice," I say into her neck as I kiss her. "Or you would be in a lot more trouble."

"You are not nice," she giggles. "You didn't let me explore up your nos-okay okay!"

She cuts off as I tickle her sides, crying out to stop, saying she can't breathe. "I'll show you not nice," I tell her. I hold her hands above her head and pin it there before I kiss her down her body. She tries to free my grip but I hold on, using my other hand to move lower than my mouth could.

"You wouldn't," she looks me in the eye as I kiss her again.

"Well I'm not very nice," I whisper and watch her squirm underneath me. I finally let go of her hands and she pulls me to her to grip, rolling me over when I'm done so she's on top.

"I'll let you in on a secret, Styles." She tells me while I laugh at how flushed she'd gotten but I quiet when she pulls my arms up like I did to her and somehow finds the robe tie from the floor to tie them in place. "I'm not very nice either."

"Well who said I like nice girls?" I ask her. She only smiles before pulling the blanket over our heads and making sure she tortures me in the best possible way.

[peachyunjinnie]

❝there’s always a first time❞ hjs ― m.

― summary:

your brother seungmin is very protective over you, but one day your best friend gave you a stick and poke tattoo and you get an infection. fortunately seungmin’s friend jisung as a hobby tattoo fanatic helps you take care of it and when seungmin wasn’t there you two decide to run away.

badboy!jisung/goodgirl!reader | fluff, smut | 5.3k ↬ content warnings: swear words, the mention of alcohol and drugs. drunk/high sex, with a little size and corruption kink.

a/n: i had this idea a couple of days ago and i tried my best to get this idea into a fic, i hope you enjoy it !!

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The relationship between me and my cousin Seungmin is better than with anyone else, you could say that we could consider ourselves as siblings and even best friends. We had the same taste in humor and even better lived in the same house after my mother died right after she gave birth to me. My father ended up bringing me to my aunt and uncle at the age of 2. 

Seungmin is 1 year older and has ‘BBPI’ as he calls it which means Big Brother Protection Instinct. I know, complete nonsense and as a 16-year old I don’t get why I have to be protected. Well, as Seungmin said I am still ‘his small sister’. Pathetic. As said before Seungmin is 1 year older to be exact 11 months and 28 days and has friends, for whatever reason, he has a whole group. Well, he warned me about one of them, the walking trouble: Han Jisung. He basically is the opposite of me, a 180 if you want to say it.

He stole the car of his stepfather numerous of times and I remember seeing him drunk and completely stoned in school, that I will never forget. Last year he was stumbling through the hallways of our school. His hair messy and his smile never leaving his lips. He had the hardest time trying to keep his eyes open, or even just keeping his legs moving. And the best part, he puked on his teacher's chest. It was the highlight of the whole day, no the whole semester. His stepfather thank god is very wealthy and managed to keep him in school, somehow.

I heard a lot of rumors about this Jisung and I really do not want to believe that he was in the Russian mafia boss nor do I want to believe that he killed his father and is living with his mother who helped him. It was really funny though to hear how unique and ridiculous the fantasies and the gossip was at our school, I mean a Russian mafia boss, seriously?

I hung out with my own friends, but sometimes I would get to talk and just meet my brother’s friends. In conclusion, we even had the same taste in friends. They were really nice. I really have the best friendship with Felix and Changbin. Felix firstly has an excellent taste in music and humor, secondly, he is by far one of the most concentrated gamer I’ve ever met. Changbin is just Changbin. He is kind of annoying and clingy with his friends. Which you would’ve never expected from this buff hulk. And to be completely honest with you, Changbin and Lix...are kind of cute together.

Well, with Seungmin being as protective as he is, he has told me clearly that dating is already a picky topic but dating one of his group members. I think he would be as angry as he was when I asked him what a ‘Day6′ was. He really ignored me for 3 weeks straight, with a text message saying ‘if you know who wonpil is then you are allowed to talk to me’. (stan day6, cowards.)

“Stop moving so much, I’ve done it before and you’re overreacting.” She whisper-screamed. She was nearly done with her K on my thigh, It was way bigger than I thought it would be, but it looked good.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m just getting poked by a hot needle on my thigh over and over again.” My sarcasm was louder than the thoughts in my head that were shouting lines of ‘you’re so in trouble’ or ‘you will never be able to get this off your skin’. 

“So.. Here we go. Done.” She said as she was looking at her masterpiece of a K on my thigh of the size of a thumb. But it looked even and nice. She has done a (The first letter of y/n) on her thigh. I cannot believe how red it was though, and swollen. Extremely swollen

“Kim, when will it be ‘okay’?” I asked her with a slight nervous undertone. I really am the biggest chicken on earth. She opened her bag and got saran wrap. She took some out and wrapped it over her creation with such a soft touch. I still cringed and squinched.

“Maybe a week or two. It doesn’t take too long.” She smiled at our bond. I smiled with her. We ended up in a big hug and stayed like this for some time before she packed her stuff and headed out.

I admired her work on my thigh and stood up, with an overwhelming pain spreading across my thigh. I couldn’t stand up on my own feet, my thigh stung extremely and harshly. 

Panic rising through me, what the heck should I do now? Should I call my mom and tell her about it? Should I tell Seungmin and ask him for help? Should I just emigrate to Brazil and start my new life as a Silvia Theresa Rodriguez? 

I crawled to my bed and tried my best to let the 2 years drama club pay off. I called my mom and asked for a painkiller. She came up to my room and sat on the edge of my bed.

“Honey, is everything okay?” Her concerned eyes scanned my body and noticed my messy hair and my pale face. I coughed.

“Mom, I-I’m sick.” She sat there and looked at me and gave me the painkiller with a glass of water. 

I snatched it out of her hand and gulped the pill down as if it were the only banana in the jungle. Her concern grew faster and she shook her head.

“I’m going to call your teacher. You’re not going to school.” She said as she got off my bed and walked off with her phone in her hand, dialing the number.

After the longest 8 hours, Seungmin came home, and thank god came into my room. With a bag of McDonald's and a big smile, he went to my bed and sat down. 

“Why didn’t you come to school?” He gave me the bag and with a breathtaking smell of fat and fast food filling my nose and getting the best of me. 

“Oh, I am sick my head hurt a little, and mom overreacted.” I said with a huge load of fries in my mouth.

With a small pat on my thigh, he hit the right spot of the K and a shriek came out, my whole body tensing up and Seungmin looking at my covered thigh. He took the blanket off. My shorts relieving the now swollen and slightly scabbing spot. 

A moment of silence filled the room and Seungmins face has gotten from a healthy color to a concerning red and then to a frightening purple.

“Surprise...” I smiled awkwardly.

“Y/N, you got a fucking tattoo...” His voice was a low growl, but still, you could clearly hear the pure panic in his voice.

“Uhm, haha yea. So I made it myself, you like it?” My shaking voice showing the state of mine. My thigh looked pretty bad and as painful as it would’ve been, without the painkillers.

“Did you disinfect it?” My whole head went blank. Of course, it was so swollen and scabbing, Kim didn’t disinfect it. My face went paler than pale and I rethought the consequences of an infection.

“Okay, I’ll take that as a no. Get your shoes and we will get to my friend he will help you.” He really was very serious about the infection so I stood up with a numb pain, but not as overwhelming as it was yesterday. I searched for my shoes and directly followed him.

A quick bus ride and a small foot-march later there was a big but still small and cozy house. Red and white, reminding me of a red velvet cupcake. Looks fancy but is cute at the same time. The grass and the dwarfs decorating the beautiful view. A middle-aged lady working in the garden, planting in seeds and watering the red tulips. 

“Hello, Mrs. Han is Jisung home?” He grinned at her.

“Oh hello, Seungmin. Nice to see you again!” She smiled at him with a motherly aura surrounding her. She hugged him and I could see that she liked Seungmin a lot. He didn’t really know what to do awkwardly stood there and let her do. She noticed me standing there and hiding behind Seungmin's tall figure and met with her warm brown eyes.

“Hello, and who are you?” she asked with a bigger smile.

“Uh, I am Seungmins sister.” I immediately trusted her and her warm embrace.

“Ah yes, I can see the model genes going in the family. You seem like you’re in a big rush to see Jisung, he’s in his room.” She told us and saw my embarrassed blush across my face as Seungmin took my hand and yanked me downstairs to where Jisung was.

The basement as a room, interesting. It was colored black and had a lot of posters of some bands that I have never heard of. There he was on his bed smoking a cigarette and admiring his newest addition to his arm, a slightly red and in saran wrapped tattoo. A small skull drinking from a glass bottle, very precise and well made. He sat there and continued to smoke.

“Seungmin, what’s up.” he took a puff. Not giving anyone a single look. His hand tapping over his forearm and keep admiring his skull. 

“I need your help. My sister made a tattoo and now it’s infected. Do you know what to do?” Seungmin seemed very concerned and worried. Jisung stood up and chuckled a little.

“The little Y/N, has a tattoo?” He asked me and looked down at me. 

His eyes have the same warm brown as his mothers and I weirdly trusted him regardless of his reputation. His hair was dyed a very light blonde and his face was very chubby, unlike his body which was athletic: muscular but slim. He had two tears on his face and my thoughts went crazy. Who in the actual hell did he kill and the rumors of Jisung being a Russian mafia boss came into my mind and I reconsidered if I should be worried to be in a room with him?

“Seungmin, I have some lemonade for you.” Mrs. Han's voice echoed through the basement and he looked at Jisung.

“Go for it, I will take care of her.” He gave him green light and Seungmin looked at him with a look in his eyes. Which could be translated into ‘If you hit on my sister, I will drag your corpse to the nearest forest and let you get eaten by the birds’. Jisung nodded and Seungmin went upstairs.

“So tell me, how did you do that?” He said with a smile as he pointed to my infected K. His hair falling on his face, a little messy but still perfectly proportional.

“Uhm, a long story...” He went to his desk and took out a liquid and a cotton pad. He pushed the chair next to the bed and patted the bed. I quickly sat down. Him in front of me.

“I have time, come on.” He looked up and gave me a simper. I felt a small tickle again and wanted to trust him with it.

“Well uh, my friend Kim wanted to get us bonded. She took a needle and poked my skin for some time until it was done.” He laughed a little, letting me see his whites. 

“You stick and poked and didn’t disinfect it?” His eyes still on mine and not leaving the look they had, of the warm and soft chocolate brown.

“No, we didn’t and stop making fun of me- Ah-” His cold hand touching my thigh. My body stiffened and it was hard to relax.

“Calm down, relax. You wanna listen to music? disinfecting this will be a little uncomfortable.” He stood up and walked to his stereo. He took out a cassette and stuck one in. A prehistoric cassette, I haven’t seen this since I listened to Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban one years ago. After some seconds of silence, ‘All The Small Things’ by blink-182 boosted through the speakers.

He turned around and sat down again and wet the pad with this liquid. He took off the wrap and the air hit the wound. It was a stinging soreness, that leads me to look away and bite my lower lip, hard.

He took the wet pad and started to clean up the wound as careful and gentle as possible, the stinging and burning pain was a very harsh rush of pain. I whined and groaned loudly.

“Does it hurt?” He asked as he was still cleaning up.

“Well, yes,” I said with a small whine.

“Good. If I see you with a new tattoo I will get you punished.” his voice getting raspier and raspier. But he still cleaned the wound up and was done with the disinfecting. He stood up again and got some of the saran wraps and pointed his finger, signaling me to stand up.

I stood up from his bed and he kneeled down to wrap it up. His hands still very cold and tickling my thigh. 

“So Kim, is your friend?” His voice a little absent.

“Yes, my best.” I had to automatically smile.

“Tell me about her, how is she like?” I was surprised at his interest in my personal life but answered him.

“Oh, um she is reckless and she never thinks about her actions. She makes out stupid things that I have to box her out of. But she also has a nice and gentle side that not many know. I love her a lot.” I smiled at our memories and how easy it was to be myself around her.

As I was in my thoughts, Jisung took out a bottle of Jack Daniels and takes a glass. He gets him a good amount and gets another glass after seeing my big eyes. After a long friendship with Kim who was known for drinking, I have never drunk any alcohol, well until today. He gave me a glass full of brown fluid.

“I- I can’t believe we did that.” I laughed as Jisung was holding my hand walking on an abandoned street in the middle of nowhere. He had given me a big sip of the whiskey, it was a burning sensation of my taste buds being confused and curious for more. 

“It’s better, not being sober right?” He asked stumbling into the sunset.The bitter taste of the alcohol and the adrenaline of me running away with a friend of my brother without his permission. I felt every single touch of his hand tightening and holding my hand in his clutches not letting go.

“Come on drink it, Y/N. The painkillers are not going to help you any better than Jackie will.” He smiled and waved the glass in front of my nose. I mean I never was drunk and I want to know what it’s like. My curiosity and stupidity have gotten control of me and I accepted with a shaky hand. 

I took a small sip of the whiskey and the bitter and stinging sensation was so disgusting. I couldn’t swallow it and started to look around for somewhere to spit it at. But with Jisung forcing me to look up at him with his fingers, pushing my head upwards. 

“Swallow it, now.” his eyes burning holes into mine and letting me breathless with no other choice other than swallow. I gulped the fluid down and the burn in my throat was unbelievably harsh. 

“Good girl, now. If Seungmin sees your ass drunk this will be very dangerous for both us. Do you have any other clothes or is this everything you’ve got?” He already searched in his closet and gave me a black hoodie with some jeans. 

“Here you go. Hurry up, my mom is not going to keep him for any longer.” He went upstairs and left me with there a little tipsy and with some clothes from this boy that I barely knew. 

After getting them on I noticed the size difference, Jisung has it in L. On me it was XXL. The size was really funny and the jeans that should hug his waist like they are on the ones he is wearing, are now hanging from my pelvic bone. I saw my reflection of the mirror and busted out in laughter. 

Jisung came down and looked at my new outfit, and laughed as well. He came in front of me and squished my cheeks. He played with them and ruffled my hair into a mess, I officially am looking like I just woke up with my PJ’s. 

“You look so cute, this stuff is the tightest clothing that I have and your body is just sliding through.” He smiled and looked into my eyes, his hands still cupping my cheeks. A strong smell of alcohol and cigarettes leaving him, mixing with his cologne.

He stepped back and admired this baggy look. He had a hand on his chin, thinking about what can make it look even better than it already does. With an idea in his mind he sought for.... a belt. 

He took the of course black belt and put it over my waist. I almost wanted to remind him that I am not a toddler and can put on a belt myself, but the sudden closeness of him and his firm grip on his jeans on me. My heart did a small tap dance, but he continued to put it on with no sign of hesitation.

“This looks better. Take your shoes and let’s get out of here.” Trouble, that was what I am going to get after this. Am I out of my mind going with Jisung with no other thought? Am I dumb for trusting this dude that threw up on his teacher's chest in the hallway last year?

He packed his bag with a shit ton of bottles and some other stuff that I don’t even want to know what it is, the curiosity of what is in this bag now really bugged me. What did he have in this bag? He started to notice my glare on his black backpack.

“You ever had drugs, little one?” He asked as if it was the most normal thing to ask a 16-year-old. If I ever had drugs, the small sips of this weird and burning stuff and the coffee I had in the morning.

“N-No.” My stutter surprised me and the sudden tension started to get harder and intense. My subconscious shouted in my head to get out and go home with Seungmin, but this Jisung really had something and I wanted to explore that.

“There’s always a first time and I needed to go out anyway. You wanna meet my friends?” His smirk was absolutely precious and there was no way in hell that I could say no to this face. After my agreement, he smiled even brighter than before. He took some of his rings and gave those to me and some chains. I looked so different from what I daily wear and with a hat my appearance was complete.

“I-It’s so much better. Not having this pressure.” After another big gulp of the whiskey, he threw the bottle to the road and opened his bag. A see-through water like a bottle. He gave it to me and I opened it after some seconds of struggle. We stumbled through the sunset of the lonely and empty roads of a beautiful panorama.

“Le-Let’s sit down for a while. I am so ti-tired.” I laughed and sat down on the empty road. He joined me and took the opened vodka bottle from me and took a small sip after gasping dramatically and getting a green bag out of his pocket. It looked like leaves and after a long time of finding out what it was, I knew it when he started to build a joint.

I took the bottle and drank the alcohol. I couldn’t believe this scenario, I am drunk and I am about to get high. I will get so much damage for this one night, but it still felt like it was a Bonnie and Clyde after play. Such a euphoric moment, and a moment I would’ve never have dreamed of.

So deep in my own thoughts and my own actions and with this alcohol in my hands, I didn’t see that Jisung was already done with his work. He saw my lazy eyes and pointed out to his bag.

“Hey, listen to music on my phone the code is 0325.” I crawled over to his bag and searched for the perfect song and here it was. New Flesh by the Current Joys, a carefree and a lighthearted song. The song started playing and Jisung snickered.

“I start to really learn a new si-side of you. Little miss Y/N.” He finished his joint and licked it clean. He grabbed in his bag and pulled out speakers. This bag really is a survival kit. He connected them to his phone and the music blasted out with such an enormous volume.

He took out his lighter and the fire sneaked it’s way through the marijuana and gives out a really unique smell. He seemed relaxed and fell on his back. He now was lying on the hard and cold cement road, his little relaxing tool between his fingers.

“So you never smoked before, like ever?”He has gotten up again and let his arm over my shoulder, giving me a really focused look.

“N-Nah.” I giggled for no reason. My head felt dizzy and my vision getting blurry after breathing in second-hand smoke.

“So I’m gonna show you, ho-how to do it the right way.” He smiled and almost closing his eyes completely.

He took my face into his hand and held the joint on the other hand. He gave it to me and I held it the best way I could, trying to let it fall down. I took a big hit and coughed all of the smoke out in a matter of 3 seconds.

He laughed uncontrollably and as he was laughing my head started to turn, my stomach started to growl and my mouth was getting dry. I honestly did not expect it to work that easily but I felt the difference in my body. I took another puff of it and another.

With a little time it has gotten easier and better to not cough. Jisung after not talking for what seemed like a whole eternity, started to notice that the sky is getting darker. He saw a whole field next to the road and threw his stuff in there and threw himself as well.

“Come here! The field is soft.” He shouted from his new spot and I giggled and jumped on top of him. His laugh resounded through the emptiness surrounding us and my giggle became a little quieter when I felt his hand on my hip. As before, when he put on the belt for me, my face grew hot and my eyes stayed on him and I played with his hair. He stroked my body with his fingertips, it feeling like electric wires rushing through my hot body. 

I leaned down and then kissed his soft lips. Right at this moment I didn’t care about anyone. My brother, my parents, my friends not even my own thoughts that screamed in my head to cut it off and go home. I wanted to live and wanted to enjoy, feel this moment. Exactly live in this moment right here and there. In a field in the middle of nowhere with the music still blasting somewhere near us and the taste of alcohol still running through my mouth and most importantly, Jisung being right here and there. 

“I d-don’t want to pressure you to anything, Y/N.-” I shushed him up with another kiss and his smile making the butterflies in my tummy explode into a mess. He tucked on his hoodie and leaned into my ear.

“I am sure you look even better without my hoodie on.”

I giggled loudly, his hand getting lost on the inside of my hoodie. Grasping on my bra and massaging it softly. My world turning in circles and the music still playing on the highest volume from the speakers, somewhere in the grass.

“I want you, now.” I said, looking down to him. I took off my hoodie and threw it next to Jisung beneath me. His hands still on me, my hair falling down to the side of his face. I was needy and what could feed this hunger was him.

“If your brother could see his little girl…” he smiled at my face being some small inches in front of his. the taste of the marijuana in my mouth mixed with the strong vodka and whiskey was driving me into the dumbest things.

I kissed his soft lips, touching them a little and his tongue rolling with mine. He tasted like danger and everything forbidden for me, giving me a thrill of my life. I continued to go down his neck, sucking the best I could making it hard due to the lack of energy.

“You’re doing great, little one.” He moaned when I once reached his hard and perky abs, leaving a trail of bruises and hickeys all the way down here. He groaned once I unlocked his belt and pushed his jeans down to his boxers. The outline of his dick was hardly poking out, getting me to an idea of my first blowjob ever.

I pulled the off and there he was, poking at me. The hard and red tip, cum dripping on them slightly. I took him in my hands, carefully pumping him. His eyes following my actions his whines and stares telling me to put him in my mouth, I couldn’t get him all in, him laughing at me trying my hardest to deepthroat.

“Your little mouth is amazing.” He mumbled with his eyes closed tightly, his hands getting lost in my hair. Moans and grunts getting me wetter and wetter. I couldn’t breathe and with my mouth being filled up completely, my eyes turning to the back of my head.

I backed up and took some time to breathe, a string of saliva connecting my lips with his wet and throbbing dick. He pushed his hair back, his hand still on my head, grabbing and pulling at it hardly. I choked lightly on his pressure on my head, pushing me down and forcefully getting me down. After some seconds of complete silence he let go and a broken groan echoed through my dizzy head.

“Uh fuck, how can this small mouth get all that in?” He smiled looking down at me with his lazy eyes on the string of saliva connecting his tip to my lips. I started to laugh out, the feeling of a dick in my mouth reminding me of a Popsicle. He laughed as well, this whole scenario being unbelievable. It was deep dark outside, the only light being the lanterns of the side street and the moon, shining out heavily. The wheat among us, the music that still played beside us.

He suddenly stopped giggling immediately and closed his eyes. His head was thrown to the ground and he held my head in his hands, still thrusting into my mouth hardly.

“Wh-Where can I c-cum?” He stuttered and I just continued to bop my head down his length, feeling every inch in my mouth, I choked a little on the twitch of his cock. “Fuuuck.” He groaned loud through the hard beats of the music. I felt his dick twitch again in my throat and as I moaned the vibrations got him to spill his load into my mouth. The warm liquid running through my throat, I choked once again and the shivers went down my spine mercilessly.

“Ah fuck.” He tried to collect his breath, moaning more curse words. I still sucked at the tip and popped him out of my mouth, his seeds running down my lips. I looked up at his brown eyes, stars above us reflecting in them. He had the warmest and softest expression on his face, starring down at my cum filled mouth, trying my hardest to swallow everything.

“Now it’s your turn, princess.”

[enchantedlokii]

Lost

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: graphic injury, compartment syndrome

Characters: Peter Parker, Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones, Betty Brant, Tony Stark, May Parker, FRIDAY

Mentioned: Happy Hogan

@whumptober2020 Day Twenty: Lost

“‘Come hiking with us,’ they said. ‘It’ll be fun,’ they said.”

Peter huffed as he finally managed to drag himself to the overhang he had found. He sat down harshly, rolling up his pant leg to see how swollen it was. “This is just how I wanted to spend my senior trip.”

For their senior trip, Peter’s class had decided to travel to Gatlinburg, Tennessee. So far, it had been amazing. They had gone to Dollywood the first day, then spent the second day in the city. The third day they had gone to Clingman’s Dome, the highest point in the Appalachian Mountains, and Cade’s Cove, where they had seen deer and bears.

Today was supposed to be a free day. They were allowed to go wherever they wanted as long as they stayed in a group of four or more. That’s how Peter ended up on a hiking trail with Ned, MJ, and Betty. How he got separated from them was a longer story.

“I’m going to scout ahead,” Peter told the three as they stopped to rest. With his powers, he was able to go much longer than his friends without needing to rest. Sure, Ned and MJ knew this and would understand if he decided to climb some trees or swing from the branches with his webs, but Betty had no idea he was Spider-Man. Getting ahead would give him a chance to let out some of his energy.

“Please be careful,” Michelle told him, squeezing his hand. “You have your bear spray?”

“Right here,” he told her, patting the can in the pocket of his backpack. “I’ll be okay.”

Except, he wasn’t. Peter may be Spider-Man. He may be strong and fast and heck, he could lift a bus, but he was a klutz by nature. The boy had caught his foot on a root and ended up tumbling down a gorge. He knew that, in reality, he was lucky. Because anyone else probably wouldn’t have gotten out with nothing more than a broken leg and some cuts and bruises, but he was still lost in the woods and in extreme pain without a single bar of cell service. And to top it all off, it was starting to rain.

“Okay, okay,” he murmured to himself. “Let’s weigh our options.”

Peter propped his leg out in front of him, trying his best to keep it straight for when his powers decided to start mending the bone. Chances are, he would have to have it rebroken and set either way, but maybe he would get lucky. “You can either stay here and wait, see if anyone finds you, or you can try to make it back to the trail with a broken leg.”

He sighed and shook his backpack off, opening it up and taking out a water bottle, hoping it would ease his nausea. He had already puked once, immediately after he stopped rolling and felt the pain in his leg, and he couldn’t risk getting dehydrated out here. It was summer, and he only had a few bottles of water packed. He didn’t have much food either, just a few sandwiches and bags of chips, but he knew he could go longer without food than water and he wasn’t too hungry with his stomach in knots.

“Worst case scenario staying here is that they never find you and you starve to death or get eaten by a bear,” he continued talking to himself. “Worst case scenario trying to get back to the trail is you get lost deeper in the forest and make it harder for them to find you.”

He sighed, unsure. “Okay, okay, it’s okay,” he told himself. “You can’t get worked up and panic. That’s not going to make this any better.”

He continued thinking for a moment before finally reaching a decision. For now, at least, he would stay at the overhang. He would rest, give his leg time to heal, and wait to see if help arrived. They would start close to the trail, so he needed to stay as close as he could. With the rain, he was bound to fall again and get injured worse anyway.

If they didn’t come by the time he was out of supplies, he would start trying to find a way out on his own, but hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

“God, that hurts,” Peter huffed, wincing as his leg throbbed. He dug through his bag carefully, relieved when he saw the high-powered pain pills that he had packed. He had almost not brought them on the trip, knowing that he wouldn’t be fighting crime on vacation, but Tony had insisted he take them because accidents happen. Sure enough, they had.

“They’re going to freak out when they find out,” he murmured. “Him and May both. . .”

“Boss, you’re getting a call from May Parker,” FRIDAY announced, catching Tony off guard. He raised an eyebrow as he looked up from his work.

“Yeah? Put her through,” he told her. Then, when he heard a click. “Hello, May.”

“Tony,” she started. Immediately he knew something was wrong from the tone of her voice. She sounded as if she were crying, her voice breaking a bit. “I just got a call from Peter’s teacher.”

He felt his blood run cold at that sentence. Peter was on a school trip nearly twelve hours away from New York City right now. “What? What happened? Did he get hurt? I can have a plane ready in five minutes if we need to get down there.”

“They can’t find him,” she cried. “He-he was hiking with his friends. Ned said he went to scout ahead and they never caught up to him. He just disappeared. He’s not— he’s not answering his phone.”

“Okay, okay,” Tony started, taking a shaky breath. He knew that he had to keep his panic at bay if he was going to do anything to help. “Okay, I— I’m going to get a plane ready for you. I’ll have Happy pick you up and bring you here. I’m going to go ahead and fly down there and help look for him, okay?”

“Wh-what if— what if he—”

“May, listen to me,” he told her. He heard her hum in reply so he continued. “I promise you that I will not stop until we find him, okay? Day or night. We’re going to find him and bring him home safe.”

“O-okay,” she replied. “Okay. Thank you, Tony. I-I’m sorry, I just— I’m just—”

“You’re worried,” he said softly. “It’s okay. I am too, but it’s going to be alright. Don’t forget what all he can do. He can take care of himself until we find him. He’ll be okay.”

Peter had never been in so much pain in his life. Days had passed since his fall, and his leg wasn’t getting any better. In fact, he thought it was getting worse. The medicine he had barely touched the pain, and the swelling wasn’t going down at all. He was sure that he had a fever, too, making it almost impossible to sleep. Already, he had drunk nearly all of his water, but he hadn’t been able to touch his food since the first day, being in too much pain to have the slightest bit of an appetite.

The fact that no one had found him yet terrified him. At this point, he was sure that he had some sort of infection in his leg, maybe even compartment syndrome. If that was the case, he knew that there was a good chance he wouldn’t survive. Even with his powers, he would need surgery, and quick. For a normal person, it would probably already be too late.

As his condition worsened, Peter started to lose track of time. With that, he was losing hope. How could he even be sure they were still looking for him? They may have given up at this point, thinking a bear had gotten him. It wasn’t an unlikely possibility, after all.

“What a way to go out,” he mumbled to himself one night. His fever was keeping him awake, as usual, and his painkillers were doing nothing for him anymore. “Spider-Man dies from a broken leg. How would have thought?”

He sighed and turned his head to look out at the trees. He was too weak to sit up at this point, and he was sure that meant he wasn’t going to last much longer without proper treatment. If no one found him in the next day or two, he was a goner.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t wanna go. . .”

It had been five days since Peter went missing. At this point, most people had given up. The local officials told Tony that most people didn’t survive the first night. Most people who went missing on hiking trails had gotten injured or been attacked by the area’s wildlife. They said that at this point it would be more of a retrieval than a rescue, but he knew that he had to keep looking.

Because Peter wasn’t normal. He would last longer than most people, even if he was injured. He wouldn’t believe that he was dead unless he saw it for himself. He couldn’t. Peter wasn’t someone he was willing to give up on like that.

The whole time, he had only slept once. He searched for three days and nights like he said he would before finally giving himself a few hours of rest. Then he set out again, searching for any sign of Peter. “Pete?” he called, ducking under a branch. “Peter?”

Most times, there was no response. This time, however, he thought he heard a faint reply somewhere in the distance. “Peter?” he called a bit louder. “Are you there?”

He strained to hear, closing his eyes in an attempt to focus his senses. Sure enough, he heard a very weak reply. “H’llo?”

“Peter!” Tony hurried in that direction, soon seeing a rock overhang that could be used as a shelter from the elements. “Peter?”

“‘M here,” he heard the boy reply. Sure enough, the sound came from the rock. He rushed that way and found Peter laying inside, struggling to try to sit up. His cheeks were flushed red, and one of his legs looked swollen and jutted out at an awkward angle, but he still tried to sit up. A small smile crossed his face when he saw Tony coming towards him. “T’ny.”

“Hey, Buddy,” he said softly, carefully brushing the bangs of his dirty hair to the side. His eyes were glassy from fever, and he seemed a bit out of it, but it gave him hope at the fact that he was lucid enough to recognize him. He let out a small breath of relief. “God, you’re still alive.”

“Mhm,” Peter hummed. “M’ le’s bro’en. ‘S no’ goo’.”

“Yeah, Kiddo, I see that,” he told him, his voice a bit wet. He could tell that Peter was in pain despite his obvious effort to hide it. He stood up slowly and backed up, tapping the casing on his chest to let his suit form around him. He made sure to keep the helmet off, having no need for it right now. “I’m going to pick you up, alright? It’s probably going to hurt, and I’m so sorry for that, but we’ve gotta get you to a hospital.”

“Mmkay,” Peter murmured. “‘S a’ight.”

“Okay,” he said, bending down and carefully sliding a hand under his back and another under his legs. “Let’s get you out of here.”

When Peter woke up, his head felt foggy. He wasn’t sure where he was at first, but he knew he was safe. He felt cooler than he remembered feeling before, and he wasn’t in any pain. It was nice. Perfect after all that he had just been through.

Feeling a hand in his, Peter forced his weak muscles to move and squeeze it. He smiled when the grip tightened slightly and a hand moved to brush his cheek. “Hi, Baby.”

Peter forced his eyes open, smiling as he saw May sitting beside him. “May,” he murmured, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth as he spoke. He didn’t sound coherent, but he could tell from May’s smile she understood him.

“I’m here, Sweetie,” she whispered. “I’m here.”

Peter gave her a lopsided smile before turning his head slowly. He squinted as his eyes landed on the couch that was pressed to the wall. Tony was laying there, fast asleep, holding something in his arms. Peter’s mind was too drugged to realize that it was one of his blankets and another was laying on him now in the hospital bed.

“He looked for you for five days,” May told him, noticing her nephew’s staring. She continued when he turned to look at her again. “He only slept five hours the whole time you were missing. He fell asleep an hour after you came out of surgery and hasn’t stirred since.”

Peter blinked at her in reply. He thought he could faintly remember the man finding him, but he wasn’t sure. He had a fever at the time, and now his head felt like it was filled with cotton. “Go back to sleep, Sweetie,” May insisted, kissing his forehead. “We’ll talk once you more with it, okay?”

“Mmkay,” he murmured. “Love you, May.”

“I love you too, Peter,” she replied softly. “So much.”