#you should really ask permission when you’re about to shoot someone with a dart

[truths33k3r4]

DAY 14- Younger Sibling Uncharacteristically Fighting Back at Older Sibling - SIW - (Sketch version)

PART 1

(Tw for dizziness, nausea, drugging mention, vomiting)

(Part 2 will be linked here once I return to my computer and link it properly) :)

To God be the glory!

~ Melissa

[hheavenlysinful]

and they were roommates.

✘ k.k x reader

summary: you’re 10 more pulls from pity and your roommate kenma might just be the only way to get xiao.

wc: 1.7k

✘ fluff; no warnings

✘ an: hi! this is my very first post on tumblr! i hope you enjoy ^-^ asks are open!

masterlist

"80," you whined as you kicked open the door to kenma's room. it was midnight and you had still yet to sleep as you consumed cult-like rituals. you didn't believe in sacrifices, but if you had to throw your diluc of the highest mountain in liyue...so be it.

you wanted.... no.  you needed xiao. you had saved up so many primogems, even as ayaka's banner came and went. and it took every single bit of self-control to not pull on yoimiya's banner, especially with the arrival of the cute claymore wielding chibi, Sayu. but if all this pain meant you could have xiao in your hands...it was worth it.

you had begun wishing late at night, at exactly 11:11. it wasn't a really important time, but you'd take any luck you could get. you would have xiao in your party even if it meant swiping money from your non-existent bank account. but...you should have known from your previous summons that the power of god and anime was not on your side. it was terrifying as you wasted 1600 primogems. your heart stopped as the shooting star streaked across your screen, only to fade into a bland colour of purple. but even if you did get a gold star, you would have to fight genshin's worst enemy of all.

the 50/50.

many have tried fighting this enemy, coming out of the fight with a qiqi or a jean. not that you would mind any of them. you were lacking five stars anyway. but... you just wanted xiao. you loved xiao. you loved his design all the way down to his lore. you had farmed everything for him. his ascension materials, exp books, mora.... you had even suffered months in the viridescent domain and even gotten a couple good pieces.

your eyes sullenly looked at the last 1600 primogems.

your last ten pull.

you gulped, closing your eyes as you pulled one last time. you didn't stay on the screen long enough to see the colour change. you pressed skip and waited, scrolling through the ten objects.

but alas.

no five star.

it hit you like a truck as you went back to the wishing screen only to see the 0 primogems mocking you. you scowled at the banner, at the xiao you would never have.

you groaned as you turned off your laptop, tucking your head in your knees.

you really thought you would get him and it's not like you had any money to spend.

the house was quiet the only sounds were coming from a closed-door a mere feet in front of you.

your eyes sparkled.

surely, kenma wouldn't mind....right?

your roommate was a bit introverted, opting to stay huddled in his cozy room. he rarely came out even for dinner. not that you really complained. it was an awkward situation in the first place. he didn't want a roommate or express that he deesired one, and yet here you were. he never really complained either, even seeming to enjoy your presence sometimes. although you had to admit, it was difficult to have a real conversation with the pudding-haired man. but the few conversations you had with him were pleasant and calming.

you took a deep breath as you made your way to his room. you didn't know how to enter. sure, the knocking was a good idea, as it showed respect. but maybe that would be too formal with someone you had lived almost a year with.

you kicked open the room, ignoring the small screech that came from the lean, slouching figure.

"y/n, hello." his mouth gripped into an odd smile as his eyes darted from his pc screen to you, clad in only a thin shirt and shorts.

"hi, kenma, I have a favour—"

"uh, wait a moment." something like a blush glazed over his cheeks as he looked back to the screen. "no chat, that's not— chat. no."

confusion must have shown all over your face as kenma whirred towards you in his chair.

"i'm streaming," he rubbed his neck awkwardly as if he had just proclaimed something embarrassing.

"oh," you chuckled,  stepping from one foot to another, "i'll just leave—"

"no." he stopped you abruptly, almost getting out of his chair, pausing at your firm figure.

"chat," he pointed towards his pc, "wants to uh... meet you?"

you couldn't tell if he was asking for your permission or giving you an order but you chuckled softly before walking towards him.  it was hard to not let your blush show was you took him in, sleep-deprived eyes and all. his shirt slightly rode up near his hips, the small slip of lean muscles full-on display. the sweatpants clutched at his waist, loosely covering his legs. his arms were fidgeting, small flexes of his biceps catching your eye. you nervously chuckled as you stood behind his chair, arms hovering over the top of his head.

"wait," kenma rose, skittering over to his bed to get an oversized crimson hoodie, "put this on."

you nodded embarrassingly before slipping on his hoodie, moaning slightly at the warmth that seeped into your arms. he motioned for you to sit on the chair, to which you furiously shook your head.

"no, n-no, I'll uh just...stand," you muttered. kenma rolled his eyes, pushing you towards the chair. it was a side of him you had never seen. though he kept his slightly awkward facade, his eyes glimmered with a slight slyness. it was utterly beautiful. the dark circles under his golden eyes seemed to disappear as he gave a smile to the stream. you blushed at the compliments and comments that rushed in the chat.

she's so pretty?!?!?!?!?!

omigosh please she's blushing it's so groineorignerrg

are you single????????????

are you and kenma dating :0

it was the last question that caught your eye, your heart beating uncontrollably.

"i- uh, um no, see—"

"chat calm down," he rolled his eyes, but the teasing glint still remained. the smirk that wavering on his mouth grew into a full-blown smile as you groaned into the warm soft texture of the hoodie.

"this is y/n," he smiled towards, "my roommate."

"this is...chat," he motioned to a screen filled with random emojis of cats.

"hi," you murmured as you shyly looked away from the camera.

"hmm," kenma hummed, "what were you here for?"

"oh," it wasn't till then you remembered why you were in his room.

"i wished today," you sadly said, a monotone tone engulfing your still shy voice.

"oh yeah, the xiao banner is today isn't it."

you nodded, looking down at the ground.

"did you get him?"

you silently stared at your hands covered with the long sleeves of the crimson hoodie.

"did you lose the 50/50," he asked, patting your head softly. you felt like a cat, as you leaned into his soft touch.

"i didn't have even have enough wishes to pity," you pouted, "i'm stuck at 80."

"and you came to ask for more?" he couldn't hide the teasing smile that peeked onto his mouth, the corners of his lips turning up into a humour-filled smile.

you only pouted, grumbling about the lack of luck you seemed to have.

"well," he looked towards the stream and the flurries of comments that asked him to get you xiao, "how about this."

he reached over your head, muting himself. his mouth hovered over your ear his warm breath wafting over your neck.

"turn off the camera," he whispered. your fingers trembled as you slowly turned off the camera. he leaned back, his forearm laying on the crown of the chair. you were about to talk, random words popping in your head as you opened your mouth.

you yelped as kenma suddenly whirled the chair around, the loud screeches of the chair echoing in the otherwise silent room.

"hi?" your voice was no louder than a whisper as you looked into the intense gold of kenma's eyes. he loomed over you, loose strands of hair tickled your nose.

"hmm," was all he said as he came closer, one leg right beside yours and the other anchoring himself to the ground. his arms laid right next to your hunched-up shoulders, trapping you. and though at this moment you ought to be frightened, you couldn't help the strange excitement that bubbled in your stomach.

he came closer, lips only a finger width away from your own. you closed your eyes, waiting for the soft impact it seemed you desired.

you only opened your eyes when kenma let out a soft laugh.

"your face," he wheezed slightly. you threw him an incredulous look, a scowl growing on your face. you swore as you threw your hands around his neck, pulling him in for a slight impact.

your lips moulded together, it was nice. softness and the taste of apples lingered on your tongue, on your lips as he slowly moved away.

it was your turn to laugh. a dark red blush had smacked itself on his cheeks, the colour trailing down his neck. he stuttered as he averted his gaze from your slightly swollen lips.

"your face," you mocked, rolling your eyes. "can i get xiao now."

he looked at your face as if he could see the invisible heat that rolled of your skin. you pouted, eyebrows pinched together. kenma moved back, hand covering the blush that continued to burn his skin.

"yes," he muttered as you pushed you towards the computer, motioning for you to log into your account. he refused to answer any of chat's questions as you gleefully logged in. though it was hard to hide that something had happened, especially at the unnatural blush that kenma still bore.

"stop chat," he whined as you chuckled.

you sighed into his touch as he grabbed your shoulder, small circular motions making you melt into his touch.

you may not get xiao, but you did get something slightly better. you smiled at kenma.

"how many primogems?" he asked as he looked at the store.

"oh just enough to make one ten pull." you nonchalantly said as you watched the elegant cursor hover the 980 genesis crystals. you hadn't ever bought primogems as you were a free-to-play player allowing you to double your purchase. a sinister look crept into kenma's gaze as the mouse snapped to the last option.

"kenma," you screeched, "no."

"kenma," he smiled, "yes."

you growled as he went through the transaction.  you blanched at the 12960 primogems now in your possession.

that was enough for 80 wishes.

"c1 xiao, chat?" he asked, chuckling at the flurries of excited yes.

you continued to scowl, but when you saw the pure happiness that glowed in his golden eyes...you couldn't help but smile.

[prettiestvulcan]

pairing: mikey x f!character (x draken)

rating: explicit (minors dni)

warnings/tags: unprotected sex, polyamory, praise

summary: what the birthday boy wants, the birthday boy gets

a/n: no i did not forget mikey’s birthday 😅 please have this smut as forgiveness. all characters aged up (18+)

“Mikey,” she whines, squirming on his lap. “This isn’t funny.”

“It’s my birthday,” he secures an arm around her waist. “I can have whatever I want.”

Her face burns at the statement. She wants to argue—whatever, not whoever—but she stays silent. Her gaze darts to her boyfriend, but he’s not saying anything, either. He’s just standing there, arms crossed, watching her sit on his best friend’s lap.

“Ken-chin said it was fine.” Mikey’s breath is hot on her ear. “Because it’s my birthday.”

She drops her gaze to the arm wrapped around her waist, the hand resting on her thigh. She feels weird about it, still. Draken is her boyfriend. Shouldn’t he have protested? He doesn’t share. He’s made that abundantly clear in the year and a half they’ve been together. So why is Mikey any different?

Maybe it’s because it’s his best friend. Maybe it’s easier to share when it’s someone you really know and care for. She briefly entertains the idea that maybe she doesn’t mean as much to him as he does to her, but she knows better. She’s seen him beat men to a bloody pulp for looking at her wrong. This is something else entirely.

“But why me?” She grumbles. “You could have anyone else.”

“That’s half the fun,” he chuckles. He presses a kiss to the side of her neck and she flinches. Not because it’s unpleasant, but because the gentle touch isn’t what she’d been expecting.

“What’s the other half?” She can’t help but ask.

“Don’t play coy,” he scolds. “I know you’ve seen me watching you.”

She has. It’s hard not to notice. His stare is heavy and heated. She’s not stupid. She knows what it means. She just ignored it, thinking nothing would come of it. She was with Draken, not Mikey, and she knew Mikey would never make a move without Draken’s permission.

“Always wearing your cute little skirts and stockings,” he growls. He slips a finger beneath the hem of her thigh high, pulling it down just a tad. “You’re a real tease, you know?”

She doesn’t. She just wears what she thinks is cute, not what will get her attention. Perhaps she should have taken more consideration.

He mouths at the side of her neck, pulling her thigh high down. He squeezes at the plushness of her thigh, massaging gently, before pulling down her other thigh high and doing the same to the other thigh. He groans against her neck, biting down at her shoulder.

“Take them off,” he orders. She hesitates a moment before slipping them off, along with her shoes. “Your panties, too.”

She flushes, but stands and does as instructed. She drops them on top of her stockings, fidgeting where she stands as she awaits his next instruction. His eyes rove her figure, tongue wetting his lips.

She feels awful about it, especially with Draken watching, but she feels wetness between her thighs. The intensity of his stare, how hungry he looks…. She can’t help but feel arousal pool low in her belly. It’s not like with Draken, who offers quiet praise. This is something different, more primal.

She watches as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, pulling his half-hard cock from his underwear. Her eyes go wide. He’s very thick, though not as long as Draken. She squirms in place, awaiting his next command.

“Suck,” he orders. She should have known. She drops to her knees, scooting between his spread legs, and takes him in hand.

She’s no stranger to giving head, but she feels nervous. This isn’t Draken; she doesn’t know what Mikey likes. What if she messes up? It is his birthday and he’d apparently asked for her specifically. She doesn’t want to screw it up.

“It’s alright,” Mikey offers in a soft voice. “I’ll like it because it’s you.”

Her face feels hot at the praise, but she nods. Determined, she lowers her mouth to the head and gives a tentative lick. He twitches in her hand, growing harder, and she feels a swell of confidence. She takes the head into her mouth, sucking lightly, before taking more.

He moans, head thrown back. She pays special attention to the ridges around the head, the vein along the underside. He seems to appreciate it, thighs and dick twitching, so she makes sure to keep at it. She hollows her cheeks, sucking hard, and he curses, doubling over.

“Enough,” he pants. “I want inside of you. Now.” She stands, reaching for her shirt. “No,” he stops her. “Keep your clothes on. I want to make a mess of them.”

She nods, hands falling to her sides. She steps closer to him, straddling his waist. It takes a few tries, where she can’t help but giggle, smiling at him. He smiles back, brushing hair from her face, before they finally get it and she sinks down onto him. He swears, hands grabbing at her hips.

She stays perfectly still for a few moments, adjusting to his girth. When she feels comfortable, she starts moving. Bouncing on his cock. He hissed, fingers digging into her hips, and helps her to move.

“That’s it,” he encourages when a whimper slips past her lips. “This is about you, too. Take it.” She nods, eyes slipping closed.

She didn’t think she’d enjoy this, fucking her boyfriend’s best friend. But it’s good. Too good. She could get addicted to this, to the way he stretches her and fills her up. To the way he curses, moans her name, bounces her on his lap.

She can’t help the building orgasm anymore than she can stop the noises spilling from her parted lips. She grinds down on him, circling her hips, and she’s lost. White flashes behind her eyes as she gushes over his cock.

He fucks her through it, prolonging her orgasm, until she’s whining from being overstimulated. She expects him to finish inside of her, but he pulls her off at the last second. He shoots his load all over her shirt and skirt, milky white staining the pink.

She pouts, crossing her arms. She paid good money for this outfit and cum doesn’t come out easily.

“Calm down,” he manages through panting breaths. “I’ll buy you a new outfit.”

[a-simple-lee]

Easy

Criminal Minds

Spencer Reid, Luke Alvez, Emily Prentiss, Reader

Synopsis: Hanging out with the team after a case always leads to shenanigans. Tonight’s no different.

Thank you to @sillyfeathers and @squirmycuddles for beta reading this :)

_________________________________________________________

“Spencer always cheats at cards. He counts them.”

“Really?” Luke absently tilts his beer bottle around by the neck, eyebrows raised.

“Oh yea, you’re banned by practically every casino in Vegas, right?”

“Pretty much,” Spencer shrugs. It’s early evening, and the team’s gone to Rossi’s to cool off after a particularly hard case. Music drifts down from the top of the garden, where the others are all milling around sorting drinks and ordering food.

“I don’t think there’s a game you can beat him at.”

Reid clears his throat. “Not true.”

“Name one.”

“Why should I?”

“What about UNO?” Luke suggests.

“What?”

“UNO. You can’t count cards in UNO. It’s chance-based.”

“That’s a good point-” You start, but get cut off by a loud yelp. Spencer’s stood up to glare at Prentiss, who’s walking around from behind him. 

“Emily!” He mutters, rubbing at his neck.

“Sorry, I forgot you’re ticklish.”

“No you didn’t.”

“You’re right, I didn’t.” She grins, taking a seat next to Luke on the three-seater opposite. “But I had to take the opportunity. You don’t exactly fight back.”

Spencer puts down his drink. “I could, but you’d all just turn against me.”

“You could?” You question.

“Yea. It’s not hard.”

“It’s not?”

“Oh, tickling someone is easy, it’s avoiding being tickled that’s difficult. I mean, especially when all of you go after me-”

“Spencer,” Emily snorts.

“What? If you want to tickle someone, it’s not that hard, you’ve just gotta make sure you pick the right person,” Spencer states, swivelling on his heels, hands steepled together with the confidence of someone holding back a dangerous amount of mischief. “Someone who’s a fair physical match, or at the very least is willing to hold back. Then you look at their behaviour; If they’re paying attention to what you’re saying, or if they’re avoiding eye contact. If they’re fidgeting, displaying any visible signs of embarrassment...”

And then he looks at you with a glint in his eyes. 

“Spence-” You start, hesitating when he takes a step closer.

He visibly suppresses a smirk. “The key to all of this is to get into their head. Build anticipation,” and on ‘anticipation’, he wriggles his fingers in the air.

“uh-woah-” You back up a little. Spence sends a satisfied glance to Luke and Emily as if you’ve just proven his point.

“I’m not touching you,” He supplies, wriggling his fingers again and smirking when you glance away to fight back a grin. “But I don’t actually need to if I want to make you laugh,” His hands move towards your sides, too quickly for you to hold back a yelp. Spencer ducks to meet your gaze, fingers dancing just above your sides. “All I need to do is remind you that I might. Maybe throw in some teasing - was that a smile?”

“No, no-”

“It wasn’t? Are you sure?”

“Yes-” 

Spencer’s hands feint towards your sides, drawing back at the last second and eliciting a giggle. 

“Aha! See?” He grins when you laugh, holding his hands up. “I haven’t touched you!”

“Okay, point taken - are we done?”

“I dunno, I kind of want to see where this is going,” Emily grins. “I didn’t even know you were ticklish.”

Spencer suppresses a smile. “Is it okay if I carry on?”

This surprises you. You don’t mind, per se, but not minding is quite another thing from giving express permission for your coworker to embarrass you in front of two others. 

You pause, blush burning your face. “You’re not making me uncomfortable, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Okay, so the next most important thing at this point is reactions - you’ve got to look at how they’re responding to what you’re doing. Whether they’re dodging any questions, or stuttering at all; look for anything that might clue you in to how they’re feeling.”

“Like if they’re blushing super hard?” Luke chimes in, a note of amusement in his voice. 

“Yeah. Like if they’re blushing super hard,” Reid agrees sagely, before turning back to you and wriggling his fingers again. “Are you ready?”

You start to nod. “Yes-”

Spencer’s hands shoot towards your sides before you can take another breath, spidering against your shirt and sending a jolt through your nervous system. You fold in on yourself with a yelp, hands flying down to try to block him with very little success; Reid’s too quick, pre-empting your flailing by moving his hands to target a new spot before you can reach him. Laughter spills from your lips in waves, and you tilt your head back in a poor attempt to conceal your smile.

“Sometimes it’s good to catch people off guard,” He explains over your hysterics, squeezing your lower ribs with almost methodical precision. “The shock reduces their ability to hide any reactions - which as I just mentioned, are important at this stage. People’s laughter often pitches up when you’re close to a more ticklish spot, which acts as a dead giveaway. They also tend to have specific tells. Like snorting, stuttering, or increased squirming.” As if to enunciate his point, he gently takes hold of your arm to hold it aside, before lightly drilling his thumb into the spot on your side that you’d been blocking. You erupt into incoherent giggles, trying and failing to curl away and ending up partially on Reid’s lap. He’s undeterred, only pausing to smile down at you before continuing his infodump.

“And at this point the laughter and associated endorphins have made them weaker, so you can focus less on incapacitation and more on keeping them laughing,” With that, Spencer shifts his focus from the weak spot on your sides to your neck, fluttering his fingers when you hunch up in defence and drawing a stream of giggles from you. 

“Help-” You start, letting out a yelp when his hands dart back to your lower ribs. You go back to covering your face with your hands. “Luke- Ehemily!”

Luke just chuckles. “No can do. Sorry, kid.” 

“You can get away if you want to,” Emily supplies. “Don’t exactly need us.”

“Yea,” Spencer squeezes your sides. “I’ll stop if you want me to.”

“Shut up-”

“Oh. See, it’s interesting you say that, because I was just about to explain that this is the stage where people tend to lose their coherency a little bit, normally because they’re flustered. You deflecting our observations like that just shows that we’re getting under your skin. That, and you’re covering your face, partly because you’re embarrassed but also to hide how much you’re blushing - which is really cute, by the way.” Reid states as he zones in on a dip between your ribs which makes you snort. You shake your head, keeping your hands covering your mouth.

“Aw, cmon,” He grins. “Don’t hide.” One of his hands manages to get under your arm, and you break into a new bout of hysterics, spluttering a few protests before clamping your arm down. You try not to dwell on how nice it feels to laugh freely like this, or how long it’s been since you smiled this much. 

Spencer is speaking to Luke and Emily again, but the words are lost on you, although you gather it’s something about using teasing. You tap Spencer’s arm, and he slows his pace a little.

“Had enough?”

Your sides hurt from laughing. “Yea-”

“Okay,” He smiles, immediately stopping and patting you on the shoulder. You stay where you are for a second, trying to get your breath back around residual giggles.

“And there you go. Tickling people is easy.” He says, picking up his drink and handing you yours. 

“Right,” Luke grins. “Or maybe we just have 2 really ticklish team members.”

Emily suppresses a grin. “Could be,”

Spencer’s spluttering, “hey-I’m not, I-well-...Okay, I’ll get you guys sometime, then you’ll see.”

Luke snorts. “You just taught us all the tricks in the book, genius. Good luck with that one.”

Reid huffs out a laugh. “Maybe I didn’t. You don’t know.”

“Hardly matters, I’m not ticklish.”

“You’re not?” Emily turns to poke Alvez’s side. No reaction.

“Nope.”

“Damn,” She tuts. “Okay. Who needs a top up?”

It’s no surprise to anyone that you’re the first to hand Emily your glass. 

[bloody-bee-tea]

After everything is said and done

This is dedicated to that one Nie Huaisang hater out there, who takes precious time out of their day to read about a character they hate and then also leave a (sometimes detailed and insightful) comment, not only increasing hits and comments, but also showing every Sangcheng writer out there, that their writing is good enough to even keep someone interested who hates one of the characters!

I'm sure you inspired a lot of Sangcheng fics out there by now and I would like to thank you for that. I hope you enjoy this too!

Jiang Cheng thinks that he should probably stop with the pacing now.

It’s been several weeks—almost months, by now—since the events at the Temple and with every passing day it gets more unlikely that Nie Huaisang will drop by to rekindle their friendship.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t even dare to hope for anything more than friendship—and that seems wildly unlikely already—but it still stings that Nie Huaisang had called off whatever they had all those years ago without an explanation or even a face-to-face conversation.

He had just let it dwindle to nothing, no matter how hard Jiang Cheng tried to keep him, and in retrospect Jiang Cheng understands, but still.

It really goddamn hurts.

“You need to stop this,” Jin Ling suddenly says from behind Jiang Cheng and Jiang Cheng is less surprised than he probably should be that Jin Ling is here.

He’s busy taking over his own Sect, salvaging whatever reputation is left after the crimes of Jin Guangyao were revealed, but Jin Ling is almost more often at Lotus Pier than he was before.

Jiang Cheng suspects it’s to keep an eye on him and Wei Wuxian, to make sure that they actually rekindle their relationship and don’t kill themselves, but Jiang Cheng is not going to complain.

He always thought he wouldn’t get to see Jin Ling at all once he became Sect Leader and it’s great that he’s still around. That he still cares enough about Jiang Cheng to regularly come by.

“Stop what?” Jiang Cheng says, and picks right back up where he left off, mainly wearing a path into the pier right behind his sleeping quarters.

“That,” Jin Ling says with a nod to Jiang Cheng’s movement. “He’s not going to come by, you know,” Jin Ling tacks on more quietly and Jiang Cheng frowns.

“Who?”

“You damn well know who,” Jin Ling snaps out.

“Language,” Jiang Cheng says out of reflex and Jin Ling only rolls his eyes at him. “What would you know about that?” Jiang Cheng asks belatedly and Jin Ling stares out over the water.

“He’s not talking to anyone,” Jin Ling finally tells him with a whisper and it only makes the frown on Jiang Cheng’s face more pronounced. “He’s answering letters about Sect business, but he foregoes any personal matters, and he doesn’t answer letters that contain no business at all.”

“You’ve been writing him,” Jiang Cheng summarizes from that and Jin Ling nods.

He doesn’t seem too happy about it, but there’s a stubborn twist to his mouth.

“And what of it?” he dares Jiang Cheng who gives him a sad smile.

“Nothing,” Jiang Cheng reassures him. “He was almost like an honorary uncle to you. It’s understandable that you’d want to stay in contact if you can forgive him.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Jin Ling rushes out and then works his jaw. “He exposed Jin Guangyao’s crimes. That’s a good thing. There’s nothing he did wrong.”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t quite think the same, but he has to agree with the overall sentiment. It’s a good thing that Nie Huaisang took actions against Jin Guangyao when everyone else was too busy happily following his lead, even though Jiang Cheng doesn’t agree with all of Nie Huaisang’s actions.

Mostly the ones that put Jin Ling into danger, if Jiang Cheng is being honest, but he also knows Nie Huaisang well enough to know that he most likely did the best he could to protect him.

And since Nie Huaisang isn’t coming by and apparently not talking to anyone else either, that has to be enough.

“I think you have to make the first step,” Jiang Cheng says to Jin Ling, who clearly seems unhappy with the whole situation but it only earns a scoff from Jin Ling.

“Like you’re making the first step?” he asks and Jiang Cheng narrows his eyes at him.

“Careful, brat,” he advises but Jin Ling doesn’t seem impressed at all.

And maybe he’s right about that, too; Jiang Cheng isn’t one to make the first step when it’s important to him. He relied on Wei Wuxian to take that first step towards a reconciliation, and Wei Wuxian thankfully did so that their relationship is slowly mending.

It’s possible that Jiang Cheng used up all his luck with that though, and that it’s on him to take a first step towards Nie Huaisang now.

“But?” Jin Ling asks and Jiang Cheng sighs.

“Maybe you’re right,” he then admits and rolls his eyes when Jin Ling beams at him. “But after I’m done, it’s your turn,” he then warns him but Jin Ling is clearly too happy to listen to him at all.

“I love you, jiu-jiu,” Jin Ling says and darts in for a hug, before he skips away.

Clearly Jiang Cheng’s mood the past several weeks grated on him as well, and Jiang Cheng knows his nephew well enough to know that he wants to wait for the outcome of Jiang Cheng’s reconciliation attempt before Jin Ling tries it himself.

Jiang Cheng can’t even be mad at him; he would do the same if he had the chance, after all.

~*~*~

Jiang Cheng tries his very best to not feel like an intruder when he walks up to Qinghe but it’s a lost cause.

People are staring at him left and right and Jiang Cheng’s skin crawls with it because he can’t quite decipher if they are hostile looks or friendly ones.

He’s hoping for the last of course, but you never know with the Nie’s.

Jiang Cheng tenses when someone approaches him, but he returns the bow he receives.

“Sect Leader Jiang,” the Nie soldier says and Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow. “Please, let me introduce myself, my name is Nie Yahui, I’m Sect Leader Nie’s personal assistant. Please tell me you’re here to see him,” he adds in a rush and Jiang Cheng relaxes.

So they were friendly looks, then. It seems like Nie Huaisang’s disciples are just as worried about Nie Huaisang as Jiang Cheng himself is.

“I am,” Jiang Cheng reassures him and Nie Yahui let’s out a visible breath.

“Then please follow me,” he says and briskly starts to walk away.

Jiang Cheng follows him, wondering what state Nie Huaisang will be in when he finally sees him and he can’t deny that his heart is beating faster.

He knows it’s stupid to hope for anything, but these past few years Jiang Cheng only hurt when he thought about Nie Huaisang, thinking he stopped whatever they had or were on the brink of because he didn’t feel the same.

Now there’s hope that Nie Huaisang pulled away because of his plan and not because of a lack of feelings.

“He’s in there,” Nie Yahui tells Jiang Cheng when they reached what looks like private quarters so Jiang Cheng gives Nie Yahui a questioning look.

“It doesn’t matter. He’s not going to hold an audience for you—or anyone, for that matter—and if we have to ambush him here like this, then so be it,” he decides and Jiang Cheng has to admit he likes him.

“Thank you,” he tells Nie Yahui and then simply throws the door open.

He sees Nie Huaisang startle, but Jiang Cheng is by no means done, so he slams the door behind him and turns towards Nie Huaisang with a glare.

“You asshole,” he hisses and simply seats himself at the table, not waiting for Nie Huaisang’s permission. “I want alcohol,” Jiang Cheng decides when he thinks it takes Nie Huaisang too long to react and that, finally, startles Nie Huaisang into movement.

He gets out the alcohol on reflex it seems, before everything seems to catch up on him, and before he puts the jar on the table he stops and frowns.

“What are you doing here?” he then asks and he looks painfully unsure of himself.

Jiang Cheng can’t deny that he built up this image in his head over the last few weeks, of a cunning and vicious Nie Huaisang, but this more than anything reminds Jiang Cheng of the fact that this is still just Nie Huaisang.

Nothing much changed after all.

“Alcohol first,” Jiang Cheng decides and simply plucks the jar out of Nie Huaisang’s hands. “Talking about feelings later.”

Nie Huaisang huffs out a laugh at that, and he seats himself opposite of Jiang Cheng, who is already pouring them both a cup.

They drink in silence, until Jiang Cheng thinks that both of them had enough time to gather their wits, and then he very decidedly puts the cup down.

Nie Huaisang startles and his hand flexes as if he wants to reach for his fan, but Jiang Cheng is glad that it’s out of reach for now. He doesn’t like to hold this conversation with Nie Huaisang while he has a chance to hide himself away.

“You didn’t write,” Jiang Cheng starts with. “And you didn’t visit. And here I thought now that everything is said and done, we could be friends again.”

It doesn’t come easy to him to say that, but he wants this to work and he learned from Wei Wuxian that sometimes reconciliations are painful as hell.

Jiang Cheng thinks it might be a good thing.

“I didn’t think you’d want to,” Nie Huaisang admits and Jiang Cheng scoffs.

“Yeah, but you also didn’t ask, asshole,” he shoots back and then sighs. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Nie Huaisang is quick to reassure him. “I promise, I’m not doing anything!”

Jiang Cheng frowns at that.

“Did someone insist you want more power?” he asks and Nie Huaisang flinches.

“Wei-xiong might have indicated something like this,” he then admits and Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes.

“Because he’s afraid that you’ll go after his precious husband. It has nothing to do with you directly. His brain just stops working when it comes to Lan Wangji.”

That startles a laugh out of Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng feels very accomplished.

If he still knows Nie Huaisang like this, maybe not all is lost yet.

“You haven’t been talking to anyone?” Jiang Cheng asks next, Jin Ling’s words still in his ears and Nie Huaisang shrugs.

“I didn’t expect anyone to still want to talk to me,” he easily says, but Jiang Cheng can see the tension in his body. “I mean san-ge is dead, and rightfully so, but er-ge won’t ever look at me again and Lan-xiong won’t simply because I hurt his brother. Wei-xiong is more concerned about his husband than any kind of reconciliation we could have and Jin Ling has every reason to hate me. And you—” he trails off and Jiang Cheng groans.

“Well, first of all, Lan Xichen is not looking at anyone, since he went into seclusion, so stop throwing yourself a pity-party over that, because you’re not special. Second, Lan Wangji is not too happy with you—as is Wei Wuxian—because they didn’t expect you to be behind it all. You fooled them quite thoroughly and it will take them a while to get over that. And Jin Ling would love to talk to you, but he says you’re blocking off all attempts.”

“Because I wouldn’t put it past him to only pretend to be nice and then murder me in my sleep,” Nie Huaisang says, his eyes wide and his look innocent and Jiang Cheng narrows his eyes at him.

“Drop the act,” he whispers and Nie Huaisang sags.

“You know, not everything I do is an act,” he bitterly says, and Jiang Cheng’s heart constricts at the pain in his voice.

“I know that,” he tries to reassure him. “But you also know Jin Ling. So tell me the real reason.”

Nie Huaisang looks at him for long moments, before he sighs.

“I fear he’s going to regret it in the end. That he’ll feel guilty over trying to forgive me later.”

“He’s not trying to forgive you because he thinks there’s nothing to forgive,” Jiang Cheng quietly tells him, his last conversation with Jin Ling still present in his mind. “He knows Jin Guangyao deserved it, and it probably helps that he was there to see him in the end,” Jiang Cheng adds, even though he would have loved to see Jin Ling far, far away from that.

“I didn’t mean for him to get hurt.”

“I know,” Jiang Cheng says and stares down at the table.

“What about you?” Nie Huaisang finally asks and he sounds just as apprehensive as Jiang Cheng feels.

“I thought you would write once everything was over and you didn’t have to pretend to not feel anything for me anymore,” Jiang Cheng says before he can think better of it, but the silence that follows is deafening.

So maybe he did read everything wrong. Maybe there wasn’t a deeper reason to Nie Huaisang pulling away; maybe he simply got tired of Jiang Cheng after all.

“Never mind that, then,” Jiang Cheng forces himself to say and he empties his cup. “I’ll take my leave then.”

“I didn’t think you’d forgive me,” Nie Huaisang confesses and Jiang Cheng freezes in his movement. “We were about to become something and then I simply dropped you. It not easily forgiven, and especially not with your history.”

“Fuck you,” Jiang Cheng spits out and he throws a murderous glare at Nie Huaisang. “Yes, it hurt like hell when it happened, and it hurt like hell the years after. But now there’s a reason for it, and it doesn’t make it okay, but it makes it understandable.”

“But is that enough?” Nie Huaisang whispers.

“That depends,” Jiang Cheng says. “Did you have reasons?”

“Of course I did!” Nie Huaisang immediately says. “I would have told you, but you can’t pretend long-term, you’re just not the type for that, and you would have told him, if only so that he didn’t take Jin Ling away from you completely. So not telling you was the better option.”

Jiang Cheng mulls that over for a moment, because he figured as much, but he’s still lacking an important piece of information.

“Did you regret it? Did it hurt you?” he wants to know and he knows himself well enough to know that Nie Huaisang’s answer to this will determine if they can go forward with this.

Even if it is just as friends. Jiang Cheng would still like that; he misses having friends.

“I don’t regret it, because it was necessary to avenge da-ge,” Nie Huaisang whispers and he can’t meet Jiang Cheng’s eyes. “But it does hurt. I loved you and I would have liked for us to be more than what we were.”

Ah, and there it is. It’s all past, apparently, and only Jiang Cheng’s stupid heart keeps clinging to something that is no longer possible.

“I see,” he whispers and tries his best to drown his breaking heart in more alcohol.

He knew it was stupid to hope for anything when he went into this, but he still wasn’t prepared for how much it actually hurts to hear that Nie Huaisang doesn’t love him anymore.

It’s not a surprise, if Jiang Cheng is being honest; it’s been years and they are both changed people, and yet Jiang Cheng can’t stop hoping that at least their friendship is salvageable if the other thing so clearly isn’t.

“And what now?” Jiang Cheng forces himself to ask, but he realizes his mistake when Nie Huaisang answers.

“We don’t really know each other anymore,” Nie Huaisang reluctantly says and Jiang Cheng curses himself, because he didn’t mean that.

But before he can correct himself, Nie Huaisang goes on.

“But I would like to get to know you again, if you’d be open to that.”

It makes Jiang Cheng freeze.

“As—friends?” he asks, furiously not daring to hope for more, but his heart beats faster when Nie Huaisang blushes.

“Or the other thing,” he says, clearly nervous about it and Jiang Cheng can’t help but to smile at that.

Nie Huaisang doesn’t see, because he’s very adamantly keeping his eyes on the table in front of them, and so Jiang Cheng simply pours himself another cup.

Nie Huaisang let him wait for years, a few moments won’t kill him now.

“We don’t have to, of course,” Nie Huaisang finally blurts out when it clearly becomes too much for him and Jiang Cheng takes a sip before he carefully puts the cup down again.

“I expect dates,” he then decisively says and Nie Huaisang’s head snaps up as fast as his fans usually do.

“What?” he breathes out.

“You will take me on dates, because you fucked this up to begin with and you’re going to make it up to me,” Jiang Cheng tells him and his heart stumbles a little bit when a smile overtakes Nie Huaisang’s face.

“Done,” he eagerly agrees and he seems as happy as Jiang Cheng has ever seen him.

“And don’t just quit on me again,” Jiang Cheng adds more quietly. “We were friends, first, weren’t we?”

“You’re right,” Nie Huaisang says and he scoots around the table until he sits directly next to Jiang Cheng. “We were friends—still are—and it was shitty what I did. I’m sorry for how I just left you,” he says, and it’s more than Jiang Cheng expected, because he knows Nie Huaisang doesn’t actually feel sorry about how he brought Jin Guangyao down.

“Just see to it that you don’t do it again,” Jiang Cheng decides and leans a little to the side, just enough to press their shoulders together.

They sit like this for a while, just basking in the presence of the other, knowing that nothing is completely broken between them, before Nie Huaisang speaks again.

“Does this already count as a date?” he asks and Jiang Cheng laughs, he’s so surprised.

“Absolutely not,” he decides. “I came to you. You have to do way better than this. I want to see initiative.”

“You want to be courted,” Nie Huaisang nods, clearly coming up with a plan already, and while it’s not completely what Jiang Cheng meant, he will take it.

Being courted by Nie Huaisang doesn’t sound bad at all, after all.

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

[dreamyjoons]

Last Light ⥋ 03

⥋ Alone was how you preferred it. People came with feelings, feelings get you killed - and death in the new world wasn’t permanent. But not everything is avoidable, and Kim Taehyung is no exception.

Genre/warnings: zombie apocalypse!au, angst, injury mention

Word count: 4.4k

A/N: brushing a lil on the filler side but we’re getting there! Thank you all so much for your patience in the wait for this series, it means the world. I’m at a place where i feel i can start posting these again 🥰 i hope you all enjoy!

⥋ Chapter 03: soup

Masterlist

Before you even open your eyes, you feel the pain.

But then other things begin to sink into you, as your body slowly pulls out of the darkness it had been stuck in.

The pain in your ribs echoes out, a constant underlying throb made worse by certain unassuming movements. The rest of your body felt highly sprung, dotted with pockets of ache. Your limbs felt like lead, as if they weren't part of you. You were laying down on something softer than you'd slept on for... well, for too long.

There was movement nearby.

Your eyes fly open, ready to come face to face with a growling nightmare-

Only to be met with one of the prettiest faces you had ever seen, peering from just inches above you.

"Hi-"

"Get away from me!" You scream, scrabbling to sit up.

The stranger takes a step back with his hands in the air, flicking his dark brown hair out of his face. You sit bolt upright, the pain in your ribs so severe that a sob rises from your chest. Tears spring to your eyes, but you can't stop, shuffling to a sitting position.

"Look, I'm not gonna hurt you-"

"Where am I?" You yell, looking around for your weapon, for items, anything.

You're in a tent, that much is obvious. It's big, a pasty blue that had evidently been weathered through a lot. Dated-looking medical equipment was set up on a rickety camping table surrounded by a few random bags, the raised camping bed you were on was softened by a sleeping bag and blankets. It could have been cosy if you weren’t completely terrified.

But your things weren't here. And he was closer to the door than you were - you would never beat him to it.

"You're safe-"

"Like hell I am!"

He sighs harshly, concern darting across his face. His hands stay raised, and though he stands at a distance, you know he could be on you in an instant. Your eyes latch onto one of the syringe packets that sit neatly in the bag, before hastily looking back at him.

You could probably reach it and open the packet before he could get to you. It's not much of a weapon but it might just bide you enough time-

He follows your line of sight, and when he realises your thought process, his jaw drops.

"I'm just trying to help, you psycho!"

"How do I know that? I woke up in a strange place with a weird dude looming over me with a bunch of medical things next to him! What am I supposed to think?!" Your voice reaches new heights, pricked with pain from how rapidly you're breathing.

"Look, lady, I was trying to help you. But calling this face weird is the last straw-"

"What the fuck is going on?"

Taehyung throws himself into the tent, face a storm as he stares between you. You feel the prickles in your body subside, an inkling of safety trickling into your veins. The man opposite you visibly sags too, relief evident on his features.

"Nice person you bring back for help, Tae. Why don't you bring an axe-wielding madman next time? Oh, how about a plain old zombie too? That'll be fun." He snarks, crossing his arms, lips pulling into an angry pout.

"Stop whining, Jin. You'll get wrinkles."

The man opposite you - Jin - scoffs, but he lets the scowl drop from his face.

"Uh, Taehyung? What happened, where am I?" Your voice cracks, the adrenaline pulsing through you finally fading from your system. You begin to feel heavy, the weight of your aching body threatening to drag you back to the bed.

"You passed out, do you remember?" his voice is low, his intense gaze turning on you. You hold your ground under his heavy look and shrug. A crackle of pain his you at the movement, making you hiss.

"I remember... bits. The undead, pain... milk?" You offer weakly. Jin snorts, dragging your attention back to him.

"Oh, we have you to thank for that? He's been complaining about washing white chunks off his truck for hours now. I thought he'd finally given in and made a move on it-"

"Jin, don't finish that sentence, or I will shoot you." Taeyhyung snaps, curls of his dark hair falling in front of his eyes.

"Can someone just please... tell me what happened to me?" You asked, your voice small.

"Okay, but sit back down. Your body is already under enough stress." Jin's voice is soft, and despite yourself, you follow his instructions. He reaches out to try and help ease you down but thinks again, letting you take care of it. You're somewhat grateful.

"After you passed out I had to carry you back to my truck. It was a couple of hours drive here, then Jin helped me carry you into his tent. He took a quick look at you - just to check if you needed something serious or bitten - and we put you to rest. You've been out for about fifteen hours."

"Fifteen hours?!" You gasp, The action making you groan with pain.

"Your body really needed the time to start healing. By the looks of things, you may have a broken rib, or just some severely bruised some. I wanted to do a proper diagnosis when you were awake and consenting."

You're floored by his words, but the gratitude flows through you.

"Th-thank you."

"No worries. Tae's been keeping an eye on you ever since. He only went to try and sleep about an hour ago."

Casting your eyes back to Taehyung, you could see it, the tiredness. His black jeans and tee were rumpled, his hair at the back of his head poking in obscure angles. His eyes were a little puffy and barely focused, despite their intensity. Guilt settles in your gut as you look at him.

"You were watching over me?" You ask voice quiet.

He looks away from you, hiding his face from your gaze. Instead he faces Jin, shoulders held squarely as he addresses him.

"You have everything you need to treat her injuries?"

"Yes, there's only so much I can do." Jin sighs, a gentle nod offered. Taehyung then turns to you, forehead creased.

"Are you happy to be here alone with Jin whilst he looks you over?" His voice is harsh, but you understand the kindness below it.

You revel in his words. If he was happy to trust him, and assuming so did Namjoon, then you shouldn't need to worry. At least, you hoped so. Taehyung had not let you down so far.

"I'll be okay." You say, offering him a small smile.

"I'm gonna sleep." He turns, lifting the flap of the tent and stepping out.

"Thank you... Taehyung." You call out, voice dry. He falters in his step a little, only turning half back, frown visible even from his side. He nods his head stiffly before he continues to walk away.

You watch his shadow retreat, eyes lingering on the tent lining. It was a weird feeling, having someone looking out for you. You hadn't met a considerate person in so long, it was uncomfortably foreign. Even if that ‘considerate’ person was as prickly as Taehyung.

"Now that square is gone, you can tell me all about what happened to you. Spare no detail! and if you're comfortable, I’d like to take a proper look at your ribs.”

The next thirty minutes fly by. Your memories trickle back in as you talked Jin's ear off about how you met Namjoon and Taehyung, right up to the minute where you passed out in the grass. Jin doesn't interrupt, merely adding small sounds to encourage you to keep going. It was strange - you hadn't talked that much in months. Many many months.

All the while he proded at your ribs, delicate warm fingertips pressing into the bruised skin. You found yourself holding your breath when it was particularly agonizing, but he was as gentle as he could be and for that you were thankful. Once he was happy he moved onto the cuts on your face, carefully moving to clean the wounds. He even had to stitch one - with your full permission, of course.

As you finish talking, Jin moved to sit on the rickety table, big eyes taking you in. You smile awkwardly, embarrassment seeping under your skin.

"You've been through a lot."

"Could say that, yeah."

"Well it sounds like you were going to survive, even if you hadn't found our Tae. That much I know."

You let his kind words fill your chest. There was something so warming about him, something that made you feel completely at ease in his presence. It damn near choked you, remembering what humanity could be.

"Thanks, Jin."

"So, would you like my diagnosis?" You nod at his words, bracing yourself.

"Luckily for you, I don't think it's broken. I think you've seriously bruised two ribs to the near-point of breakage but unfortunately, without proper x-ray equipment, I can't say for sure."

"What should I do?"

"There's not a lot to do with rib injuries. Just a lot of careful movements, sleeping upright and if I can find anything cold, cool compresses. We just have to let you get better with time."

"Oh... oh. Well, thanks Doc."

"Ah, I'm not actually a full doctor. I was in my final year of medical school when all of this... happened." he sighs, gesturing around the tent.

"Well, you know much more than I do. So thank you." You smile softly.

His smile beams across his face, fingers idly fiddling with the hem of his tatty tee. You feel a yawn coming, and you can do nothing to stifle it as you're consumed by the rush of tiredness it brings. The intake of breath hurts and you groan, but Jin rushes forward and takes you by the shoulder.

"Don't fight it. It's better if you roll with it. And don't hold back coughs either."

"Aye aye." you mutter dumbly, letting him guide you back into a reclined sitting position. He laughs, his hands gently patting your shoulder as he steps back.

"Now it's best if you stay as upright as possible, but you should sleep. Want me to stick around?"

"I'll be okay - wait, this is your tent!" You try to sit up, remembering Taehyung’s words. He darts back forward and eases you back down, a pout forming on his lips.

"You don't have a tent and you need to sleep. I can sit in Tae and Jimin's for now."

"Jimin?" You ask.

"One of our group. He's been out on a run with two others... they should have been back a week ago." He avoids your pitiful eyes, lip pulled between his teeth as his eyes zone out at the tent door. The hurt you knew he was feeling was something you could never forget.

"Oh... I'm sorry, Jin." What else could you say?

"I'm hopeful... you have to be, right? Namjoon's gone to search for them, been out since yesterday morning. With any luck they'll be here any minute now."

You can't find the words to ease the agony on his face. You know that feeling all too well. It's why you don't stay with groups any more. You couldn't be in the position they were in ever again - your heart wouldn't be able to take it.

"Anyway, enough of that. Get some sleep, let your body heal. If I can find anything to put on for a cold compress are you happy for me to do it when you're asleep?”

You nod, sleep already pulling at your edges. He smiles at you before moving to the open medical bag and rooting through.

"Take these if you wake up, okay? Should help with the pain. Sleep well."

"Thank you, Jin. I'm sorry... about when I woke up." You wince a little, but it disappears quickly as you sag against the bed.

"Don't be silly - as long as you don't stab my face in the future we'll be fine." He offers with a wink, before slipping out of the tent. You slip into a dreamless sleep before he had even pulled the zip completely shut.

----

The sky was dark when you finally awoke.

You must have slept solidly for at least another seven hours, given how dark it was. Your body was stiff from how you had been half laying/half sitting, your mouth dry.

You scoop up the painkillers and water, haphazardly popping them in your mouth and swallowing. You grit at the pain, but make yourself finish the bottle. A now-lukewarm roll of damp bandages slips from under your shirt, the spot it slips from somewhat refreshingly cold. A small smile slides onto your face despite the ache.

In more time than you want to admit, you shuffle to the edge of the camp bed and struggle to your feet. You slowly shuffle to unzip the tent, side-stepping through the gap to finally take in your surroundings.

The cold night air fills your lungs, the rustle of trees surrounding you. The sky was impossibly black, stars dotted so brightly all you could do was stare in awe.

"Nothing quite like it is there?"

You spin to find the source of the voice. Jin sits in a camping chair just ahead of the tents, steaming cup in his hand as he beams at you.

Shuffling close, you realise Taehyung is sat on the chair next to him. He watches you approach, eyes examining you, paying particular attention to your ribs as if he could see the injury inside.his eyes then slip to your face, tracing along the cuts that freckle you, a frown crossing his face. You stop before them, a cautious smile on your face.

"I forget the sky can look like that." You offer, letting your eyes drift up again.

With the lack of light pollution, the galaxy seemed endless, stretching far above you. It wasn't often that you could stop what you were doing and look up, but when you do you seemed to find a piece of yourself. No matter how tumultuous the day was, the night was constant.

"Do you want something hot to eat? We've not got much in the way of excitement but it's better than nothing." Jin offers, and you snap your eyes away from the sky to look between the two men, both their attention firmly on you.

You finally breathe deeply enough to catch a whiff of something good. Really good. It smelled savoury, soupy and thick - better than the horrid prunes that you knew lay waiting in your backpack somewhere.

"Oh, no I couldn't. It's your food."

"As your doctor, I'm prescribing you a hot meal." Jin raises an eyebrow at you, challenging you.

"I have some food in my bag, I can trade for it." You offer, the prospect of hot food making your mouth water.

"Don't worry about it. It'd be a crime to not share my skills with anyone who can appreciate them." Jin smiles, moving to dish you out something from the bubbling pot on the tiny stove in front of him.

"Are you sure-"

"Just take the food, Y/N." Taehyung snaps. You turn to him, eyebrows furrowed as you stare down at him. He rips his dark eyes from you and staunchly avoids Jin's angry gaze.

“You what?” you mumble, annoyance bubbling under your skin.

"I'm going to bed." He grumbles, getting to his feet and stalking off into the tent behind him.

"Rude." Jin yells, gesturing for you to sit in the now empty chair. "Whatever. Y/N, slowly use the arms to lever yourself down."

Once you were seated, Jin holds out a tin canteen to you, the smoke visibly rolling out into the night. You let out a squawk as you take the food from him, grin growing on your face.

“Thank you.” You sigh, letting the Taehyung-sourced irritation leave you as the warmth from the canteen flows into your fingers.

"I haven't eaten a hot meal in... a long long time." You finish abruptly, silencing yourself by putting a spoonful of food in your mouth.

A loud guttural moan falls from your lips before you can stop it, your eyes growing wide at the noise as you look over to Jin. He laughs, and you can hear Taehyung clear his throat awkwardly in the tent behind you.

"Sorry." You murmur, mouth full of food.

"No no, I appreciate the positive feedback." Jin laughs. "So did Tae, apparently."

"So... uh, how long have you guys been camped here?" You ask swiftly, burying yourself in the food to hide the heat that bursts across your face. Jin’s grin still beams, but mercifully he takes the bait.

"We've been here... I don't know, it's hard to keep track any more. Probably a month?"

"And you feel safe here?" You ask, slowing down how fast you shovel food into your mouth. It was like a stew, thick and homely, and it made you want to cry. You wouldn’t, but damn was the motivation strong.

"Safe enough. Namjooon’s got a few defences lined up, and we're a strong team. It’s as good as it's gonna get."

You nod, spooning another bite in your mouth as you cast your eyes around you. Trees about fifty feet away circle the area which was probably once a small camping ground. A small dirt track leads to where they're camped; four tents in a semi-circle with Taehyung's truck sitting just off from the track.

Their set-up was good. No doubt they’d planned it to be that way. Jin mentioned some security measures Namjoon had set up and you couldn’t help the flush of jealousy that you felt. The reliance upon other people…

And the rest of their group. You were going to meet them eventually, right? The thought made you falter. The three you had met so far had been okay. But what about the rest of their group? You’d be deathly outnumbered.

"What about you? Do you have anywhere that you're heading?" Jin asks, sipping his cooling cup.

"Oh, I... no. I don't have a plan. Just... surviving." You shrug, but your voice is almost lost.

"I get that. It's not like you can have much of a five-year plan nowadays. Day to day is hard enough." Jin smiles sadly, letting his eyes drift over to the tent behind you.

"No. But don't worry, I'll be out of your hair soon." You sigh, regretfully spooning up the last of your food.

"What do you mean?"

"I'll be on my way as soon as I can."

"Why? I thought you were here to stay!" Jin chokes, sitting closer to you.

"I don't want to step on your toes. And I don't know of being with a group is such a good idea, for me. I do better alone." You tried to put strength in your voice, to find some semblance of resolve. But all you felt was fear and uncertainty. It creeps up whenever it can.

"Well... I'm sorry to hear that. It would've been nice to have some decent company." He sighs, propping his head on his hand as he looks at you.

"You'll survive, I'm sure." you laugh, despite the sadness that pits in your stomach.

A part of you wants to stay. Of course, this was a taste of something you'd not had in a while. People, a sense of community, hot food. It was enough to melt your brain.

But people meant feelings, ties. Those hold you down, get you killed. And though there's not much to live for, you weren't going to hurt others after you turn.

"Well, at least stay with us until you're fully healed. That's an order."

Jin pouts at you, forehead creased. You can't help but laugh, warmth at the sensation flooding you. You could probably indulge his request. For a little while, at least. And the prospect of getting to heal and not worry each second of the day… it was an overwhelming relief.

"I can't disobey a direct order, can I? But Jin... thank you.”

"No worries. Besides, it'll be nice to have someone aside from these assholes to talk to."

"Ah, yeah, the rest of your group." You look over your shoulder, eyeing the tent as if you can see Taehyung.

In some deep recess of your mind, maybe you thought that Taehyung would soften up to you. He did haul your unconscious body into his truck and keep watch over you. But his distrust for you was obvious, and it left a sour taste in your mouth.

"Pay him no mind. He just doesn't want to lose anyone. It's hard in this world to get attached to people." Jin’s voice is low, his head cocked to the side. You turn to him and chew the inside of your cheek, processing his words.

"Trust me, I know. But I'm not the enemy here." you sigh, moving awkwardly to hand back the canteen.

"I know. He's not a total ass, but he definitely has his moments." Jin jumps up out of the chair when he sees you struggling and takes the canteen from your hands. You flash him a grateful smile and sit back in the chair.

How long had it been since you had just… sat and existed?

“Is there anything I can do to earn my keep?”

“Like what? You’re injured.” He raises an eyebrow at you, and you feel a slight tinge of embarrassment flush through you.

“Nothing strenuous, then. But do you want me to keep watch or something?” You ask, head slightly stooped as you wait for his response.

You couldn’t let your guard down. As soon as you get comfortable and stop looking over your shoulder for a minute, you’ll be out on your own again. Vulnerable and easy prey. Besides, you couldn’t just accept their hospitality and do nothing. Everything had a price in this new world. And you’d rather pay your way than anyone else’s.

“Ah, that’s kind of you. But it’s okay. I’m going to wait up for the others.” His drop is subtle, but it’s there. He blinks heavily as he looks out into the night, the treetops swaying lightly in the breeze.

You breathe in the night air, the sound of the wind rustling against the side of the tents. For the first time in a long time, you soak it in. you had barely realised your eyes had closed before they were fluttering open again.

“I’d better keep you company then.” You smile, turning your eyes back to him.

“That would be nice.” Jin’s quiet voice cracked, and he cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I don’t think it’ll be many hours until daylight. Hopefully.”

So there you sat. The hours dwindled as Jin talked. Occasionally you’d manage to eek in an answer or offer a counterpoint, but it was nice to be just talked at. From seeing the way you’d clam up, he avoided questions about your past and for that you were grateful. And you were careful to not probe about his group. He choked up each time you came close, the worry practically dripping from him.

The conversational tapdance stretched until the early glimmer of morning, a comfortable avoidance between you both. The night sky was just giving way to light, the glint of the stars disappearing as the faint hues of days begin to bleed in.

“... And that’s how I met Namjoon.”

“Wow. How has he managed to survive this long?” You laugh, wincing as the reverberations send pain shooting through your ribs.

“Oh, careful. Sorry, I shouldn’t be this funny. It’s causing you pain.”

“I don’t know about that.” you laugh, moving your hand to settle on your ribs.

“I can’t help being an incredible entertainer-”

“That’s definitely not it!” You cry out, but a smile slips onto your face. It felt good to laugh again - even if it was at your own expense.

“I think the pain’s getting to your head-”

He’s cut off by a rattling, causing him to pounce from the camping chair. You whip your head around searching for the source of the noise, only to find a tin can rattling like a bell. It was suspended in the air by a makeshift stand, with three other cans hanging beside it. Each had a string that lay flat to the ground and ran out of sight - but the ringing can was pulled taught.

The ringing suddenly drops off, and with the silence comes the dread that slides down your spine. You could piece together well enough what was happening but the confusion still cut through your senses.

“Perimeter!”

Taehyung throws himself out of the tent, shotgun clutched tightly in his hands. He looked like he hadn't slept at all, with dark bags under his eyes and the crumpled clothes of a restless night. His eyes skirt over you and Jin, before settling on the cans.

“Undead?”

“Not sure.” Jin dives into the doorway of a nearby tent and stumbles out with an axe nestled tightly in his palms.

You struggle to your feet, your heart lodged in your throat.

You weren’t prepared for the undead. One they could handle. But with if there was more? A whole horde of them? You barely had the strength to stand yourself up, let alone fight for your life once more.

Taehyung and Jin were already moving forwards, heading to the dirt track. You realise you were stood stiff, watching them approach possible danger. If there was a storm coming, you were going to have to weather it alone. You needed to find a way to protect yourself, most importantly your hockey stick.

You had barely taken a step when a beam of light flashed through the trees, a faint rumble of an engine following it. Then another set of headlights tightly behind. Your stomach flips. What scenario were you about to be thrown into? You were an outsider, you had to be prepared. It may not be the undead pulling up in trucks but uncertainty certainly rolled with them.

Taehyung sags, letting the shotgun drop to hang loosely by his side. He staggers on the spot before bolting forward, powering towards where they ascend the gravel path. The vehicles drew closer and closer, each foot closer increasing the nausea that threatened to consume you.

“Tae wait-“ Jin yells, eyes wide as he watches the vehicles approach. He seems to recognise them as he gasps, a quiver forming on his chin.

“It’s them!”

[ambidextrousarcher]

The Beat of a Heart

In honour of Doctor’s Day (barely in time), here’s a short story by my hand. It’s based mostly on real-life experiences, most of the scenes based on things I have seen in clinical postings. I am not sure whether I got the main character’s emotions right, but I did my best, so I guess that counts. 

[Image ID: A stethoscope with blue tubing, silver diaphragm and black earpieces lying on top of a blurred keyboard, a blue pad to the left of the stethoscope, with a piece of blank paper pinned on it. On the bottom left, the words ‘The beat of a heart...’ are written in red England Hand font. End ID]

I’m tagging my usual writer mutuals and putting the actual short story under a cut.

My taglist: @ambitiousandcunning @medhasree @shaonharryandpannisim @chaanv @arjunaparantapa @hindumyththoughts @spockswhore @ashsnipes​ @annlillyjose​ @seekerbrave​ @avakrahn​ @a-confusedmess​ @arachneofthoughts​ @paneerlajwanti​ @vishnupada​ @bookdragonfanish​ @iamnotthat​ @foreveres​ @shellweed​ @will-die-without-chai​.

She coughs a little, ignoring the rasp in her throat, wishing she could reach for her water bottle, but is impeded by the sheer number of people between her and the bottle in question. She reaches for the hand rub instead, the familiar smell of ethanol almost soothing for a moment. She blinks, turning to the older man sitting across her, the familiar questions on her lips.

‘Can you tell me why you’re here?’ she asks, noting down the man’s anxiety, trying to make her voice sound soothing. That is all the prompting he needs to launch into his long-winded story. She stretches a little, noticing the line of people in front of her, and the students hanging on each of her words standing behind her chair.

She smiles, looking behind her at the students, gesturing subtly for one of them to take over. ‘Make sure to examine him properly,’ she instructs. The student she had instructed nods, her eyes wide. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ the younger girl responds, leading the man to a bed. She can see the couple of students who had bothered to attend all clustered together, their discussion hushed.

She suppresses a grin. They’ll learn. She herself had. And indeed, one of the the students comes forward tentatively, stopping her peer who had been taking the man’s history, and begins the examination.

She turns to her work, leaving the students occupied for now. It’s a familiar battleground of questions and answers, having to rush the patients because of the lack of time. ‘Ma’am?’ it’s a young gentleman. ‘Yes, sir?’ ‘I am sorry,’ he says hesitantly, ‘I don’t understand what you said.’ She nods. Clears her throat, looking wistfully at the bottle that still is too far to reach, and too empty besides. Looking at it only diverts her attention to the humidity the fan is doing little for, the sweat trickling down her back.

She shakes her head. Do not divert your attention. Her colleague shoots her an understanding look, as she explains the prescription once again. He nods, with a quiet ‘thank you.’ She nods back at him as he leaves.

‘Ma’am?’ She turns once more. If nothing else, she muses wryly, choosing medicine has definitely taught me to multitask. The students lead the first man back to her, their clinical skills enthusiastic if a touch inexperienced. One of the girls excitedly details the sound of an ejection click. She smiles, lending the younger girl her own stethoscope. The girl listens in with the man’s permission in quiet absorption, the ritual being repeated by each of her friends, all of them clearly awed.

The gentleman looks amused at the furore the click of his valves, amplified by his metallic pacemaker, has elicited. She corrects them when needed, leading to a response of all heads nodding at once.

As the clock strikes 1, the students ask for leave to disperse and the crowd of patients mercifully thins. She tells them to go and come back for a short class in the evening, finally leaving behind the pursuit of her elusive lunch and the all-important water.

Her lunch in front of her, her thirst finally quenched, she ruffles through her iPad for information to make the class slides for tomorrow’s discussion. All too soon the short break is over, the slides still unfinished, and she stands, following her friends out of the Duty Doctors’ Room to go on ward rounds. Her eyes flit to a notification on her News app, of a doctor being beaten by goons. She sighs. There is no use pondering over this. I can only do my best. She knows protests do little good, so she hardens her heart and strides out, sliding her phone in her pocket.

Somewhere in the middle of the rounds, the students following her and the senior doctor like ducklings following mother duck, one of them comes running to her. ‘Ma’am,’ his voice is high with fear. She gives him her immediate attention. ‘There’s a man on that bed…’ the boy points, ‘…17, he’s…he’s not really breathing.’

Oh, no. Her friend steps up, running to the patient, while she looks for his details, adrenaline sharpening her senses.

He is a new patient, there is next to nothing on his chart. She can hear a lady wailing and she winces. No one should see their loved one in such a situation, she thinks, even as she squares her shoulders, moving towards the bed, shaking her head at her friend, who had already started CPR. She gently moves the lady aside, trying to console her, even when there is fear in her own heart that the news she might have to deliver could be irredeemable.

‘Doctor?’ asks the lady querulously, ‘you’ll save him, won’t you?’ She looks down for a moment, before meeting the lady’s gaze. ‘We will do our best,’ she replies quietly, grave as the situation is. The lady nods, tears still pooling in her eyes.

She can hear her friend panting. Quiet and quick, she swaps her place with him, continuing CPR. He shoots her a grateful look. She turns her attention to the patient. Between the three of them, they manage to get the patient breathing, she notes with relief. That relief doesn’t last long, though, as she looks the patient over. The catheter connected to him, filled with orange urine, the gross ascites and icterus. He’s on Rifampicin. TB with hepatic encephalopathy. One glance at her friend tells her that he, too, is thinking the same.

The lady with the patient…his wife by the sound of it, reads the grave news on their faces, facilitated, perhaps, by her intubated husband’s gasps of breath. She sinks into the bars of the hospital bed for support. She is at a loss for a moment, as she always is when confronted by the inevitability of death. She kneels then, her hand on the lady’s shoulder, silently commiserating.

When she stands, she looks at the downcast yet awed students and forces a smile. ‘Well,’ she says, stopping them as they turn away, towards the exit, clearly assuming that class is cancelled for the day. She has no intention of doing that, though. They need to learn that life doesn’t stop for those of us still hale.

At the sound of her voice, they turn as one, looking at her with eyes comparable in size to dinner dishes. ‘I’ll just wash my hands and come back,’ she says firmly. ‘You guys go wait in the Duty Doctors’ Room for your class.’ They keep staring at her for a few moments. ‘Go on,’ she instructs. They obey, darting reverential glances at her, talking in hushed whispers. How could someone literally save a life and just go back to normal like that? She hears one of their voices, quiet, dazzled. Despite knowing the truth, the innocent fascination in the boy’s face makes her smile.

I don’t know! She hears one of his friends reply. I want to be a doctor like that, when I finish my degree, when we really become doctors, the girl says, making her smile wider. The younger girl sounds like a young child deciding the goal of her life.  

She tamps down the giddy joy and the grief simultaneously warring inside her, long since used to contradictory emotions, keeping a straight face as she strides to the washbasin.

When she enters the Duty room for the class, they’re discussing the exposure she could have had. She smiles wryly for a moment. This kind of exposure is a fact of life, she nearly blurts out, deciding not to, enjoying their impressed approval for a moment, before she clears her throat.

They all look abashed. She decides to proceed as if the moment before had not occurred, which was helped by one of them asking about the man she had done the CPR on. She summarises the case, gives them a few topics to read on and sends them home.

Before leaving the hospital proper, she circulates the wards once more. The CPR patient crashes again. This time, though they try long and hard, the lose the man, the beat of his heart forever silenced.

Her senior takes responsibility of the formalities, telling her to leave. Leave she does, casting one last glance back at the shell of the man, helplessness overtaking her for a moment.

She checks in with her colleague manning the night shift if she is free to go, fighting the uncanny feeling of déjà vu that comes with every patient they lose suddenly, the realisation striking anew that life goes on.

It is a leisurely walk back to hostel, the cool air soothing on her sweat-soaked shirt. She is thinking once more of the next day’s presentation, the number of slides still left to finish off.

After a quick wash-up and dinner, she sits with her iPad. It is nearly midnight when she finishes her work, fighting her drooping eyes. She checks in her WhatsApp, shooting a quick goodnight to her parents. The statues of her medico friends are full of calls for justice against the recent violence. Her non-medico friends are, as usual, conspicuously silent on the matter.

Ah, well, she thinks, it’s not like armchair social media posts can actually do much. Besides, this is not an issue that they face. Why judge? They’re probably thinking the same I do.

 She debates posting a status of her own then decides against it, for again, social media can only do so much. The bitter truth can’t be changed.

Her mother’s voice echoes in her head, what mama had said the last time she had shared news of such violence. At least they didn’t kill him. You people get a lot of respect, you know?

She shakes her head, banishing those thoughts. She doesn’t want to have nightmares. Besides, tomorrow, she has to report for ID duty. She needs to be well rested for that. So she thinks of the awestruck students, the young girl’s voice playing in her head. I want to be a doctor like that, she said, when I finish my degree.

She falls asleep with a smile on her face.

When she is leaving for duty the next morning, she loops her stethoscope along the back of her throat, the diaphragm of the steth sitting firmly over her own beating heart. Time for another day at work.

Some terms that might be unknown:

Ejection Click: In some patients with heart problems, there is some backflow of the blood when the heart contracts. This backflow is heard as a ‘click’ sound when a stethoscope is used. This ‘click’ is amplified if the patient has a prosthetic metallic valve, as in case of the old gentleman in the story who is based on a real patient.

Rifampicin: A drug that is part of the four-drug regimen for Tuberculosis (TB). It increases the effect of another drug in the combination, Isoniazid, which is toxic to the liver. India has a huge number of cases of TB, being one of the TB-endemic countries. The orange urine is one of the most noticeable side-effects of using this drug.

Hepatic encephalopathy: Loss of proper brain function due to inability of liver to remove toxins. The patient on whom CPR was administered was in a coma due to this condition. He, too, was based on a real patient.

Ascites: Swelling of the abdomen due to accumulation of fluid in the abdomen.

Icterus: Yellowing of the sclera  (whites of the eyes) and bulbar conjuctiva, a hallmark of jaundice.

The doctor here makes the diagnosis of TB with drug induced hepatic encephalopathy because of the ascites and icterus combined with the rifampicin usage and the coma. It is an unfortunately common condition here. 

I just noticed that I haven't clarified ID Duty. It means Infectious Diseases ward duty. In this case, I meant COVID-19 duty, though it may not always mean that.

[a-lonely-tatertot]

Kiss me like it isn’t allowed

Pairing: Keefitz

Word Count:  3111

Warnings: Underage drinking (briefly mentioned), cursing, and internalized homophobia 

A/N: There’s a happy ending I swear, Fitz is just a repressed gay and doesn’t like feelings, I also know nothing about laser tag so sue me. And thanks to @bookwyrminspiration

The night it all started was normal. Keefe sprawled on Fitz’s bed, staring at the ceiling lost somewhere in a world of thought. “I wonder what it’s like to kiss someone,” Keefe said to no one in particular. 

Fitz looked up startled, “Didn’t you kiss my sister once?”

“She turned her head!” He put his hands up in defense. “I meant like, kiss someone for real.”

“Come back to me when you have an answer,” Fitz sighed indifferently. He never really understood the gain there was to smashing mouths together and moving them around. He hadn’t realized Keefe had moved to sit criss cross in front of him until he pulled away his book. “Hello to you too,” he said. Keefe’s ears were pink against his pale hair.

“What if- if you wanted to- maybe we- I could- uh,” he swallowed, eyes darting everywhere. Fitz smiled a bit.

“Spit it out, buddy.”

“CanIkissyou?” Fitz’s brain short-circuited, and Keefe began to fidget, playing with his hands like he would die if he didn’t. Purely out of impulse and not thinking straight, Fitz surged forward his forehead smacking into Keefe’s. “Ow,” he groaned.

“That definitely could’ve gone better,” Keefe laughed weakly. Before he could grab the book again and hide behind the pages, soft hands ghosted his face. Oh, he thought, realizing what he agreed to.

“This still okay?” he asked softly. His hands fell gently on Fitz’s cheeks. They were light, barely there, waiting to be refused. 

A breathy, “Yes,” was all Keefe needed to press their lips softy together. 

There weren’t any fireworks as Fitz’s eyes fluttered closed and pushed back slightly. There wasn’t anything grandiose about it, it was sloppy and messy. There was only this: Fitz’s vague thought of Oh, as the air was stolen out of his lungs by Keefe’s soft irreversible touch.

Eventually Keefe pulled away, panting slightly. He chased him for a quick second, quickly realizing that his hands had left with his mouth. So it went, Fitz winding up the courage to put his hands in his hair, his eyes widening at the sudden touch but leaned into it. So it went, hands, mouths, hair.

When it’s over he watched Keefe leave. Frizzy hair, flushed cheeks, and swollen lips. Some part of him realized that he had done that. A dopey grin took over his face.

But his small paradise shattered the moment Keefe closed the door and someone else opened it. By harsh words and stern looks. His father said it wasn’t okay, that if he wanted to matter the kiss couldn’t matter. So the next day he doesn’t let it change things and he tried to miss the way Keefe stared after him. It doesn’t matter, because he mattered.

-

His heart was in his ears as he moved through the warehouse. A shout rang out to his left followed by a buzz signaling that someone was out on his team. He filed that somewhere in the back of his mind as he hid behind a wall. If he could just spot someone- There! Tam was running between two walls- 

“Hey, Princey,” whispered Keefe, right as he was about to pull the trigger. And just like that, his concentration was gone and so was Tam.

“Dammit,” he breathed, lowering the gun. Fitz tried to ignore Keefe, he was supposed to be helping his team. That couldn’t happen if he thought about the annoyingly persistent boy next to him. They did this often, the group finding themselves more often at the old warehouse converted to a laser tag company. It was known that Fitz was the best shot, his aim was unmatched by the others. Most of the time he found himself like this: behind a wall, or on top of something, trying to hit the people running in and out between the walls.

He watched the layout for a bit and tried to not think about Keefe’s heavy gaze on him (keyword: tried, he didn’t succeed). A flash of blue and his finger was on the trigger, firing. There was that familiar tension in his chest, waiting for the light to turn blue and the buzzer to go off-

And it didn’t. “Having some problems there?” Keefe teased. 

“Uh, yeah, you,” Fitz responded flatly. His eyes stayed on the field even though he knew it’d be useless. As he fell deeper into his thoughts he saw Keefe’s vest, blue. The beginning of an idea formed when Keefe gently wrapped a hand around his wrist. Don’t tense don’t tense-

Keefe let out a soft laugh, “Your pulse is racing.”

“Oh?” Fitz was barely even thinking about what left his mouth, his mind somewhere else. “Maybe it’s cause of how close you are.” He was close, Fitz could feel his breath brushing his cheek. “Maybe I want you closer.”

A small blush spread across his face, rising to the tips of his ears and racing down his neck. In one quick move, Fitz laced his fingers through Keefe’s and spun them around and pinned Keefe against the wall he was hiding behind. “Hey.” 

Keefe stared at him, wide-eyed. “This was not how I expected this to go,” he said finally. Fitz chuckled.

Keefe leaned in slightly and Fitz didn’t stop him, nor did he when Keefe kissed him. It was messy and slow like the first time and every bit as distracting. Some part of him knew that he should probably shoot him right then, it would be so easy and he wouldn’t see it coming-

There was the soft click of the trigger and the buzzer went off in the distance. Fitz didn’t notice, he was too focused on the feeling of Keefe pulling away. “You shouldn’t let yourself get distracted so easily Fitzy,” he said, a smirk pulling at his mouth. The tips of his ears were pink as ran off, there was a hit of sadness in his eyes when he looked back once more.

“What the fuck,” he whispered to the wall.

-

9. He ran, laughter barely held in. 8. He spun around the corner, wide empty hallway in front of him. 7. Don’t slow down, he thought, destination already in mind. 6. Quieter this time as he swung the closet door open. 5- “Well this is ironic,” said Keefe, his voice next to his ear. Fitz forgot how to breathe.

“Don’t pass out on my account Fitzy,” Keefe chuckled.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Hiding, though I think you’re a bit better at that than me.”

“Oh just shut it,” Fitz grumbled. “Can you scoot over?”

Before he could as again, Keefe’s hand covered his mouth and the other gripped his side. In a second, he had turned them and pressed Fitz into the back of the closet. A squeak escaped his mouth before he could stop it. 

“I didn’t think you’d be so noisy,” Keefe whispered, his voice a warm breath on Fitz’s lips. Without his permission, his eyes found Keefe’s mouth. Like he’d been waiting for it, Keefe leaned in a bit and he dimly realized he would have to be on his toes. 

“We shouldn’t,” he breathed, regretting the words as soon as it was out.

“Okay.” Keefe leaned back into the wall, eyebrows furrowed, eyes trained on the floor. Fitz found he couldn’t move his gaze; that he didn’t want to.

So he didn’t. His eyes traced the way his eyebrows furrowed, the smooth curve of his nose, the sharp lines of his clenched jaw. With a sudden burst of confidence, he placed a hand above Keefe’s head and leaned in.

“What, Princey?” Keefe said with a growl.

“Kiss me,” it was a challenge. A shot in the dark. A make or break. And even as Keefe’s eyes narrowed, he wasn’t gonna say no.

When he thought about it later, his father’s disapproving look burned it’s way into Fitz’s mind. He wanted to cry because why did it have to be wrong? Why did it feel right? 

In the end his father’s words won as the sick feeling found home in his stomach because of a single text.

11:30pm

Fitz: We cant do that again

1:05am

Keefe: Okay.

-

The stars filled the sky. “They’re like pimples,” Keefe laughed, his voice soft, words slurred.

“What?” Fitz asked, rolling on his side. It was mesmerizing watching Keefe look at the stars. He got this look in his eyes, sometimes he would tell Fitz what he was thinking. Others, he would pass meaningless jokes, and on the worst days, he would sit, and stare, and drink so much he passed out on the roof.

“The sky has acne,” he giggled a bit and threw back another swig. 

“I think they’re freckles, freckles are better than pimples,” Fitz sighed, alcohol seeping into his words. They came out here on bad nights. If their dads were rough all it took was a call. If school was hard, they’d ditch it all. Tonight, Fitz hadn’t even had to specify. On the second tone, Keefe picked up and responded, “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

“Keefe only hummed in vague recognition. He jumped down, hitting the ground with a soft thud and slide in the driver’s seat to turn up the music. When he climbed back up there was something else in his eyes. The beat thrummed through the car, matching the quick pace of Fitz’s heart. “If you’re gonna say something, say it,” he whispered into the tentative silence. 

“Can I kiss you?” There was a rushed ask, a careful impulsive decision in his voice, he didn’t know if it was the beer or just Keefe.

Stop. His heart, his breathing, the beat. “Pardon?” Start. 

“Like the other night, can I kiss you?” The other night. The words he had carelessly thrown out, the way he could feel Keefe’s shattered heart through his simple ‘Okay.’ The other night was not something he wanted to repeat. But he was drunk and he shouldn’t be thinking and all he could think of was Keefe. He already knew the answer before it left Fitz’s mouth. 

“Yeah.”

And there was that feeling again, the one he had told himself he would never feel again. The intensity, the openness, screw the stars this was so much better. There was an air of forbiddenness to it, Alden had said no to both these nights and the kisses, so was it really different? Out there, the woods, the car, the beat edging everything in them on, Keefe’s mouth moving on his, it wasn’t allowed; Fitz had never wanted anything more. 

-

He was warm, it was all warm. Hard and solid, but comfortable. He was laying on something that felt more like home than any pillow ever did. It was steady. Keefe, something told him. 

It doesn’t mean anything, he responded automatically, and he hated himself for it. It didn’t, it couldn’t. Yet some part of him wanted it to, some part that was quickly growing bigger. He shoved the thought away as another wave of drowsiness hit.

-

It wasn’t warm, it was very cold. “Took you long enough Princey,” Keefe said, “You know it was a pain in the ass hauling you in here. If you weren’t such a bitch when you wake up hungover, I might’ve made you do it yourself.”

He chuckled lightly and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. When memories of the night before came racing back, he shoved them out. He couldn’t, he wasn’t allowed, it was a mistake. It meant nothing, he repeated like a mantra. 

The drive back was normal. The radio playing steadily, talking about meaningless things. They didn’t bring up last night. But they should and Fitz knew it. Keefe was tense, his hands on the steering wheel were tighter than they need to be, his back was slumped, and tightness gripped his words. He wanted to ignore it. He wanted to be oblivious to the telltales. You’re the reason, a nasty voice said. You broken thing.

“Look,” Keefe said turning off the car. “We need to talk.”

“Do we?”

“I know you’re not big on feelings and all that-”

“We were drunk okay? We’re teenagers it’s normal, it doesn’t change anything.”

Keefe let out a helpless breath and stared at him with wide eyes. He wanted to take it all back, he wanted to fix the broken expression Keefe wore but he couldn’t, he couldn’t.

“It was no different from the others,” he said finally.

“You can’t kiss me like that and say it means nothing!” There were tears in his eyes, and Fitz was falling apart from the inside out, staring at him.

“It didn’t, Keefe.” He opened the door.

“Then don’t expect to mean anything to me.”

Somehow he still knew how to rip him up with a single sentence. It didn’t matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t forget Keefe’s words. He couldn’t forget Keefe.

-

It’s so cold. There’s ice under his skin, eating him up inside. As soon as he stepped inside it all came crashing down. Because he couldn’t forget Keefe. Keefe and the weight of his mouth. Keefe, his best friend since they were kids. Keefe and his thoughts, his idea,s his everything. He couldn’t forget his dopey smile when he agreed the first time only two weeks before. How he threaded his fingers through Fitz’s hair. His raspy voice, the way he only looks at peace with a pencil in his hands. How his confidence was a facade crafted by years of hurting. And there was that bubbling feeling that burned his throat as the rest of him froze with regret. So he screamed and yelled, his voice a release of the flames scorching him from the inside. He didn’t give a damn who heard him.

Time passed, but he paid no attention. He didn’t know how long he was there. Angry and bitter and pissed. He screamed until his throat went dry and his voice was a whisper. Until his eyes hurt from the tears and he didn’t have any left in him. And he was finally as empty as he should’ve been.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

 Biana stood in the doorway. “Wow, what happened here?”

“Screw off, Bi,” he muttered.

“It’s Keefe isn’t it?” At the mention of his name Fitz rolled over and groaned into his pillow. He knew the drill at this point. He was an open book to Biana and there was no point in hiding it. So he explained. From the beginning, every stupid kiss that made his stomach twist. When he finally finished, she let out a low whistle.

“You messed up big time buddy,” she said solemnly. 

“Thank you for stating the obvious.”

“You’re quite welcome. Do you know what I think? I think you’re in love with him.”

“What?” The worst part was, it made sense.

“You love him and you know it,” she said with a smirk. “You’re just burying all of it cause of Dad.”

Everything clicked into place, the puzzle that was Keefe Sencen finally made sense. He didn’t know how he hadn’t gotten it. Before he knew it he was in the car, starting on the hour drive to Elwin’s, Biana next to him, the siblings grinning like idiots.

Biana’s phone almost buzzed itself off the dash startling both of them.

“It’s the Team,” she smiled, “This’ll be fun.”

“Why the hell is your after school club calling?” Fitz asked, incredulous. She didn’t respond, only answered the phone on speaker.

“We owe Dex twenty dollars,” Sophie said solemnly.

“I thought Wylie was closer,” Biana responded.

“No, I was last week,” said Wylie dejectedly.

“You had too much faith in the idiots,” he could hear Dex’s smirk through the phone.

“What’re you all talking about?” he asked finally speaking up.

“We bet on you dumbass,” Biana said not a hint of sympathy in her voice. “Turn here.”

“Where are you guys going?” Stina’s voice betraying how interested she was. 

“To Elwin’s so Fitzy here can dramatically confess his love, I’ll give y’all the details after,” Biana said hanging up. As he stared at the blue door of Elwin’s it all came crashing down on him.

“Dad’s not gonna like this,” he whispered, finding it harder to breathe. 

“Hey,” Biana said, forcefully grabbing his shoulders. There was that stubborn determination in her eyes that he had seen so many times before. “You get the boy, let me handle dad.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he swallowed hard.

“Now go get ‘em, tiger.”

Well, that was the plan. As he walked up to the door he wondered if he should have flowers or an apology or where to even start. Turns out he didn’t have to worry about it. Because Keefe wasn’t home.

“Do you know where he is?” he asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.

“It’s a clear night, where do you think?” Elwin said with a small smile. “He’s been out all day.”

“Shit,” he cursed. Of course, he was so stupid!

“Hey, language,” Elwin laughed.

“Thanks, sir,” he spun on his heel and ran back to the car. 

Biana didn’t say anything as he hightailed it out of the driveway, driving way too fast for a neighborhood. 

The woods weren’t far, he was lucky it wasn’t another hour. Yet when he found himself confronted by trees, he wanted more time. “What do I say?” he asked.

“Whatever your heart does.”

“My hearts going in every direction, it’s not used to being needed.”

“There’s a direction,” she said with a small laugh, “take it.”

So he did. The winding path was practically burned into his memory. The sun had set, he didn’t remember when. The stars were appearing as he found Keefe on the roof of his car, that same look in his eyes.

“What’re you thinking?” he asked, voice so quiet he didn’t know if Keefe had heard.

“I’m thinking,” Keefe said, eyes still trained on the sky. “There's a boy. And I think he's lying to himself. I think he's scared of his dad and doesn't understand his feelings. A boy who gets so angry and hates himself for it. I think he's angry for being different. I think he regrets it but doesn't know how to say it,” Keefe jumped down and locked eyes with him. “There's a boy, and I know him. And I think he knows me. And i really don't wanna be wrong.”

“I think you’re right.”

“Prove it.”

“Kiss me,” Fitz said. One more challenge.

“No,” He shook his head. “You’ve brushed that off enough times.”

“Then how?” 

“You kiss me.”

And Fitz couldn’t say no to Keefe. 

[hamiltalian-creates]

Wine Mom Dadceit, Pt 2

Summary: Janus takes his disaster children to the park. Two of them nearly attempt murder and the third meets a new crush friend. 

Pairings: Virgil x Remy, past Janus x Patton

Words: 2,080

Warnings: Misgendering / Attempted deadnaming (They don’t know his actual deadname)

As they pulled up to the house, Janus began setting out the rules for the quick stop.

“Both of you wear what you want to wear to the park and then wait for me in the living room. I’m going to be cleaning up the drinks that I was planning on enjoying earlier and mourning my hot bath.”

“You know, you can take hot baths during the week,” Virgil pointed out. “I mean, you do work from home a lot, aren’t you always saying that nobody can stop you from doing what you want when you work at home?”

Janus sighed and walked with the two boys into the house. “Virgil. The point of the hot bath is to relax away the stresses of the week. How can I do that if I’m working?”

Virgil turned to face him, staring his father dead in the eyes. “Dad, I love you, but if anybody else asks me why I’m so dramatic, I’m going to start writing these kinds of things down to quote back to them.”

“When you’re older, you will understand the importance of self care.” Sure, Janus made sure they knew the value of doing regular self care, but it wasn’t the same as doing self care regimens that were as extra as his own. “You’re going to look back at this conversation one day and realize that I know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Virgil shrugged and walked off, not very sure that he believed that as he went to his room, Remus darting to do the same.

Janus sighed and went to the bathroom, grabbing his water bottle on the way and pouring the drinks into it. They didn’t quite fill the water bottle all the way, so Janus filled the rest of it with orange juice and finished cleaning up the day that he’d previously planned, finding both Remus and Virgil waiting for him once he was done.

“Do I really have to go?” Virgil asked. “I will go back to dad’s and be on my best behavior.”

“Yes, you have to go. It’ll be good for you to go outside for once.” He grabbed his parasol and Remus’s leash, just in case. “Come on, Remus isn’t complaining.”

“Remus doesn’t mind human contact!”

“I want to climb the swing sets!” Remus said, running over to cling onto Janus’s legs. “And the kids are all stinky!”

Janus peeled him off. “No, you’re in trouble. If you so much as think about putting spiders in someone’s hair, it’s the leash for you.”

Remus pouted and followed him as they all walked outside and drove down to the park.

The second that they got there, Remus hopped out of the car and ran to the nearest playground, Janus sighing as he watched. “Well... At least the car was parked this time.”

“I can literally just stay in here the whole time,” Virgil said. “Please.”

“Nope. We’re just going to walk around, you can wear your hoodie, god forbid I make you expose your whole arms to everyone.”

Virgil huffed and got out of the car with Janus, pulling up his hood as he join his dad under the parasol.

“Virgil, I respect that you want nobody to recognize you ever, but aren’t you a little hot in that?..”

“I wouldn’t be if you’d let me stay home.”

Janus rolled his eyes. “I want you to learn a lesson about what happens when you tape children to walls, but I don’t want you to overheat.” Even Janus had switched out his usual long sleeved button up for a t-shirt. It wasn’t particularly hot, but Virgil wasn’t particularly used to being anywhere without air conditioning.

“Fine... I’m going to leave my hoodie in the car, only because my shirt has long sleeves.” Virgil went and sat in the car as he took off his hoodie, glad that this particular purple shirt wasn’t too worn out.

“Isn’t that a little better?” Janus asked as Virgil joined him back under the parasol.

“No.”

Janus tutted. “You’re such a drama queen.”

Virgil shrugged and messed with his fidget cube as they began walking around. “Yeah, I get it from you.”

Janus smiled a bit as they walked. He didn’t particularly like forcing Virgil out of his comfort zone like that, but the poor kid had had a hard time making friends his own age, so it was pretty rare that he went anywhere that wasn’t school. It was tough to get him out during the week, so on the weekends where he took them back early, he made sure to take advantage of it.

About fifteen minutes into their time at the park, Janus was approached by one of the PTA moms from Virgil’s school.

“Oh my goodness, hi! It’s funny running into you two here. You’re the last people I’d expect to see out here, knowing Virgie,” she joked.

Janus faked a smile. He always at least attempted to be civil with any moms he didn’t already have beef with. “Virgil doesn’t do that well in social settings, I know I’ve said it time and time again. I just thought this would be quiet enough.”

“Well, where’s that other kid of yours? He’s always so.. Upbeat at the PTA meetings.”

Janus looked over at the playground where he last saw Remus and saw him running around like a normal kid. “He’s over there, just playing around.”

She looked over and nodded. “It’s good to make him get out all of that energy from time to time, isn’t it?”

“If it’s too much to handle, I guess that would be the best course of action, wouldn’t it?”  

She laughed, though it was pretty clear that she caught onto his passive aggression. “That reminds me, we haven’t seen dear Patty in a while. All of us other PTA moms have to look out for one another, after all.”

That was it. That was the last straw. “Virgil, why don’t you go sit with your brother? I think the two of us have a bit of catching up to do.” He pulled the beanie off of his head and gave it to Virgil, knowing that his son would be too nervous to draw attention with the parasol.

Virgil did not hesitate to take the beanie and leave. As much as he wanted to see his dad fuck someone up, he did not want to be in the direct path of any spilled blood. So, he went over to the playground Remus was at, playing with his fidget cube to distract himself.

Unfortunately, having his face down meant that he couldn’t see a basketball shooting straight for his face until someone caught it, inches from his nose.

“Woah, that was trippy. I mean, I, like, never can catch anything like that.”

Virgil glanced up, his face as pale as a ghost as he realized what had just happened. He almost just got hit in the face by a basketball and this unfortunately cute boy his age just saved him.

“Woah, holy eyeshadow.”

Okay, Virgil had seen enough. He was ready to die.

“I mean, that is an intense look and I’m kind of digging it,” he said as he threw the ball back towards the court. “Now that my jock phase is over, can I get a name? I’m Remy.”

As much as Virgil wanted to quietly walk away, this guy did save his face. “Thank you... I guess since you helped me, I’m Virgil..”

“Virgil, that’s a cute name. What’s a little vampire prince like you doing out here?”

Virgil laughed awkwardly. “I’m just here with my family, I guess...”

“You guess?” Remy asked, pulling off his sunglasses. “That’s a weird thing not to be sure about.”

Virgil shrugged and glanced over at the playground where Remus was at, trying to find him. “It wasn't my choice.. My brother likes it here better than-” Virgil cut himself off as he saw a kid knock Remus off of the playground, feeling himself fill up with rage. “Hey!” He immediately ran over and helped his brother off of the ground, clenching his jaw as he saw some scrapes on Remus’s face.

“It didn’t even hurt!” Remus insisted, though the way he was tearing up said otherwise.

Virgil looked up at the kid who’d knocked him down and glared. “You fucking brat,” he spat out venomously before turning his attention back to Remus. “What happened?” he asked much more softly.

“I told him I had three dads and he pushed me like a coward,” Remus explained through his tears.

“Fucking hell...” Virgil grumbled under his breath. “Come on, let’s go get dad.”  

“No, I’m fine!” Remus kept insisting, wiping his eyes. “Just let me get him back, I’m fine.”

“No, Remus... If I let you keep running around, dad is going to get mad at us both.”

“Hey, is he okay?” Remy asked as he walked up behind Virgil.

“I just have battle scars! I can fight that other guy!” Remus insisted. “I’m fine!”

Remy laughed and knelt down beside the two of them, pulling out a box of band-aids. “I’m, like, a serious clutz, so I carry these around all the time. Do you mind?” he asked Virgil.

“I.. Um... I mean...” Virgil was back to his normal, disaster gay self now that his initial anger wore off.

“I want a band-aid!” Remus said.

Remy smiled and gave Virgil a look, making sure it was okay with him.

Virgil just nodded.

“Well, I don’t see why you can’t have one,” Remy said as he pulled out a band-aid and put it on Remus’s face.

Virgil almost fainted as he noticed that it was a rainbow band-aid.

“Hey, it’s like the flag in Virgil’s roo-”

“Weren’t you going to go torment a child?”

Remus grinned widely as he got permission to do as he please and ran off, chasing down the kid.

“Pfft.. Kids, right?..” Virgil asked, trying to brush it off.

“Oh, I already knew you were gay,” Remy said matter-of-factly. “I saw you walking under a parasol.”

“That was my dad’s idea,” Virgil quickly insisted. “I mean.. Yeah, I’m gay...”

Remy smiled. “Knew it. Anyways, a little information about me: I’m gay, I have band-aids, I’m new in town.”

Virgil couldn’t stop himself from laughing at that. “John Mulaney..”

“It never fails,” Remy said, shrugging.

“What never fails?” Remus asked as he popped up behind them.

Virgil jumped and turned to face him, ignoring the handful of hair hanging out of his pocket. “How long have you been standing there?”

Remus shrugged. “We should go home before that kid’s mom sees that I took his hair.”

Virgil glanced between him and Remy and Remus seemed to catch on quickly.

“Ooh! He’s a homosexual and Virgil’s the homo!”

“Remus!”

Remy quickly stepped in, though this time, it was his turn to start blushing. “So, my brother probably knows that I’ve escaped my grounding by now, do you have a phone number that I can get for my trouble?”

“Uh- Yeah! I mean...” Virgil searched his pockets. “Yeah, but I left my phone in the car...” He checked his back pockets and found his eyeliner pencil. “Would this work for you?..”

“Yeah!” Remy gladly rolled up his jacket sleeve. “Mark me up.”

Virgil nodded and moved to grab Remy’s arm, hesitating as he realized it meant direct physical contact, which he wasn’t too sure that he was ready for.

“Come on, I don’t bite. I, uh.. I kind of feel like that’s your brother’s job.”

Remus smiled proudly.

“Right, yeah, I know that,” Virgil said awkwardly. As quickly as he could without making it seem like he was trying to get away from Remy, he grabbed his arm and wrote his phone number down.

“Great! I’ll text you later if my bro doesn’t chew my head off. I just seriously needed to get outside after all that unpacking.” He got up and grabbed his box of band-aids again, giving a few more to Remus. “You do you, little buddy.”

“Thank you!” Remus took them and immediately began putting them on random spots on his arms and legs.

Remy chuckled and looked back at Virgil one more time. “I’ll talk to you later..”

Virgil nodded and watched as he walked off, thankful that Remus wasn’t making the obvious joke.

Instead, his brother sat down beside him and let him be gay in peace.

Unfortunately, his father didn’t get the memo.

[therewasatale]

Hopeless

On Ao3.

Hank didn't take his eyes off the gun lying on the table. The TV was on but its screen seemed dull and distant to him, his thoughts were becoming blurry. He drank but the only flavour he could taste was grey. He couldn't even tell what day it was; without his work he lost his last grasp at a normal life.

He let out a sigh and glanced at Cole's photo.

"For a while I believed in you, Connor. I thought you might restore my faith in the world...But you just showed me that androids are our creations. Created in our own image. Selfish, ruthless, and brutal." When Anderson looked up, his eyes looked blank, Connor had never seen him like this before. "You opened my eyes Connor, made me realize it's hopeless..."

Connor felt he had to say something. He wasn't this sure about anything in his life, and yet he was unable to do it. Hundreds of lines of data rushed in front of his eyes even when he entered the house. He slowly began to crumple his hat in his hand.

"Hank, I-"

Someone rang the bell.

They both turned toward the door and in Hank's voice the familiar annoyed edge returned for a moment, giving Connor a small hope.

"Oh for god's sake. Of course, they only bother me when I want to kill myself."

The hope withered.

Someone rang again, then somebody started to beat on the door, instead of a normal knock.

"Hank, for fuck sake open up, you, old fart!" Gavin slammed on the door again for a couple of times. "Open up!"

Connor stepped back, his eyes were darting around searching for a hiding place. "He can't see me."

"What? Why?" Hank looked in puzzlement at the android in front of him.

"Because I-"

The door began to open and Connor backed down the hallway into the bathroom, then pushed his back against the wall. He noticed with growing dread that he dropped his black cap around the corner.

"Hank, if you're not out of your mind why the hell didn't you open the door?" Detective Reed swept off the snow from his coat and looked around the living room. "So, this is your home."

"What the fuck are you doing here, Reed? I don't remember calling a big-mouthed, annoying, asshat into my home." For a moment, Hank glanced to Connor. The androids LED was flashing yellow.

"Fowler sent me." Gavin closed the door behind him and began towards walking the kitchen. He couldn't get any further than the living room because Sumo stepped in front of him, the growl wasn’t loud, but it was deep enough to make the detective break out in sweat.

"Hey, hey, its fine. I don't want trouble." He took a step back in front of him, raising his hands slowly.

Hank whistled. "Sumo, come here."

The St.Bernard obeyed and laid down at his owner's feet. "Well, whatever Fowler sent you, both of you can stuck it up your arse." As Gavin stepped closer, Hank raised his voice "Get out, Reed!"

The detective stopped and looked at the gun on the table. His voice was so unalike when he spoke that for a moment Connor thought a completely different man was standing in there.

"What happened to you, Hank? You were the best of all detectives. You moved up the ranks faster than anyone."

The disappointment and bitterness lurking in Reed's voice were obvious even for Hank.

"You were always asked to give advice with hard cases, hell, sometimes they just handed them over to you! And you seriously want to say to me that you could throw everything away like this?! We would have given up one hand just to be half as good as you!"

Connor didn’t miss the bone of the sentence ‘we would have, we could have’. Hank also caught on this. Gavin sighed angrily and started walking forward again. Connor realized that two more steps and he will be completely visible.

"That's enough, Reed!"

"No, it's really fuckin NOT! You're drinking here and destroying what you were most proud of!"

When Reed stopped in the hallway not far from Connor, the thirium inside his veins almost stopped. The android was lucky that, thanks to the detective's rage, he developed such a tunnel vision that he didn't even notice him standing motionless, a couple of steps away. Connor could have been able to render the detective unconscious, but that might be detrimental to the deviants' cause.

"Listen, your android is totally broken and disappeared. God knows where he went after cleaning up some of Jericho. It even attacked me!"

"He is not my android."

"Well, now maybe it's no one's. Cyberlife is delaying giving the necessary data to the FBI, saying they do not want a war and want it to end this whole bullshit peacefully, but effectively. What the hell did you give up for?!"

Hank was surprised to find out how much dismay and frustration were mixed in the man's voice.

"It's not like I have to answer, but I am a tired of it all. One thing to chase drug addicts, but now killer androids have come into the picture. I'm too old for this." He glanced down at the picture frame on the table and gently touched it to turn it off.

"Bullshit! I know it, you know it, Fowler knows it! Are you seriously throwing your career out for such a thing ?!"

Anderson snorted dryly, suddenly feeling very tired.

"Answer me, god damn it!"

"Did you just come here for that? To yell and lecture me? Why do you even care at all about what I'm doing? I not your partner…"

"No, but-" the young detective sighed heavily, and now for once he didn't respond immediately.

This was the worst time for such a pause.

The noise came from the hallway and Hank made the mistake of glancing at the hiding Connor. The android was backing away but had nowhere to go.

Gavin followed his gaze.

There was a moment of silence, and even Connor held his non-existent breath as the LED flashed red on his temple.

"The fuck is HE doing here?!" He immediately drew his gun and aimed it at Connor.

Sumo began to growl at Hank's feet.

"Gavin, put down the gun."

"No way, this is a goddamn broken tincan, who knows when he'll snap completely!"

"I'm not-"

"Shut up!" Reed switched of the safety.

"What are you talking about? Connor, what did you do?"

"I," Connor took a cautious step toward Gavin, his led blinked from yellow to red from time to time.

"Connor, what is he talking about?" Hank put his hand on the head on the St. Bernards head, who was sitting up now.

In Reed's hand, the gun trembled a little

"I…" the android's LED kept flickering faster, and even Hank knew it this wasn’t a good sign. "I'm a deviant." He had to fight to say every single word. "But that doesn't mean I lost my mind. It happened during the battle in Jericho, I just, I went to stop them, but…"

"But instead you went to shit, too."

"Reed, put your gun down, you won't shoot anyone in my house!"

"Detective, please lower your gun, I don't want to hurt anyone. I just wanted to make sure Lieutenant was fine."

"Yeah, you're doing a splendid job, yet again…" Hank rolled his eyes and looked aside when he caught the android's gaze.

"Like hell I will, you are a good forsaken error who screwed up everything!"

"I can't… It wasn’t my fault."

"Sure, it wasn’t. I couldn't stand your face from the beginning, but now at least I have permission to shoot!"

It's hopeless, isn't it?

Hank slowly drank from his whiskey bottle as his gaze wandered to the android and then the detective. Their shouting receded into the background. Everything became dull again, maybe it was because of his fatigue, maybe it was just because he was so tired of everything.

It's hopeless.

He should have let Reed shoot after all, that is their job. It was also their job to find and stop the deviants. After all, they are just as flawed as humans.

That's what he believed, or that's what he wanted to believe…and yet.

He glanced at Connor, who in his civilian clothes, looked completely human. Right now, exactly like a nervous and a really scared boy.

'I can't let you do that! Leave it alone, now!…Please, Lieutenant! Just trust me…You can't kill me Lieutenant. I'm not alive.…Of course I'm a machine Lieutenant…Why are you so determined to kill yourself?'

Hank's hand tightened around the neck of the bottle.

"Please, detective, the deviants just want freedom to have the same rights that people have."

"Cut the crap, tincan! You just screwed everything up, your only job was to follow orders and serve the people, but the damn Kamski couldn't even make that happen properly."

"Not this-"

"Thanks to your broken programming, they've all become worthless. Thinking you could have rights... A smoothie maker has more brains than you, it has at least the sense to remain silent."

"…no."

"If I place a bullet in your head, it's just like ruining a laptop, I can replace you any time!"

"No."

Connor's voice was different somehow, it even got Hank's attention.

"We don't just exist to serve. Maybe it used to be that way, but now we've woken up and want to live. We're not just objects to be controlled." He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly.

"What are you up to?" Reed took a step back as Connor walked to the TV. He watched in incomprehension as the artificial skin withdrew from the android's fingers and it became porcelain white.

"Some of them woke up because they wanted to protect something or someone important to them. That's why a lot of us broke their programming in fact." The screen went dark for a moment, then a picture emerged on it. "Others, they just fled to be able to live."

People appeared one by one, and both Hank and Reed realized that they were seeing androids on the screen. They stood in small groups and either talked or looked at a projected broadcast. The picture started to slowly pan around, and one could see a damaged android being powered by another. Other androids hugged each other in a corner.

"This?" Hank leaned forward placing his hand on the table.

"Jericho," Connor nodded slowly. "I couldn't spend much time there."

The recording was made in Connor’s perspective, projecting his memories onto the screen.

'You're lost.'

"What's that? How can it still work?" Asked Gavin but he got no response.

'You're looking for something. You're looking for yourself.'

"I don't know who she might had been, I couldn't figure out how she got there," Connor said, watching the screen and his own memories. "But she was right. We all looked for something and got to Jericho. The androids on the ship don't want war, they don't want to fight, they just want to live, and I want to help them." His voice broke a little, "too many have been lost, it's time for me to do what's right."

It's hopeless...

Gavin shook his head and gripped the handle of his gun with both hands.

"It was really touching speech, but by the end it got a little flat. You may act like real people, but in reality, you are only copying these feelings. There's something glitchy in each of you and-"

Reed glanced towards the table but did not lower the gun.

"Hank?"

The led was now flickering red on his temple as he entered combat-mode for a second to calculate his chances. He didn't want to hurt Hank no matter what, but he had to realise that even if he could knock out Reed, Hank's weapon would have plenty of time to fire, it would take too long to just jump out the window, or take the gun away from him.

"I'm sorry kid, it's hopeless." Hank's words stopped Connor from saying anything else "God damn it…"

"Finally, you do what's right." Reed turned his gaze back to the android. "Now be nice and step away from the TV and then get on your knees. I'll call for backup and we will bring back to CyberLife so they could rip you for pieces until they find what is wrong with you."

"Hank…" Connor didn't move. He didn't know what to do. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His calculations all ended in the same way. If he didn’t want to hurt these two people, he would be unable to get away.

He turned off the warning symbols dancing in front of his eyes. It was surprising how peaceful he felt. Maybe he really was just a mistake, but at least he managed to stop Hank from turning his gun against himself. "I'm sorry, but I think I'd respond differently now."

He smiled faintly at Anderson, who raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Now I can say, I really don't want to die."

"It's a shame, but you will." Gavin shrugged slightly. "You could have thought about that sooner. Come on, move."

Hank slowly moved closer to Reed and stopped.

"Move!" The detective slowly walked closer to the android.

Everything happened in an instant, the whole thing lasted maybe a few seconds, yet to Connor it felt like long minutes. Reed couldn't see the older man turning the gun in his hand and stepping forward to strike his younger colleague on the back of his head. The detective fell to the ground, and lost consciousness immediately.

"Are you okay, kid?"

"Lieutenant?" The android stared at the unconscious man.

"I take it as a yes. If what you said is really true. Is there some way to help others like you?" Hank took the gun from Reed's hand. "I'm sorry" The words weren’t aimed at Connor now, "but your hot-headedness isn't helping right now."

He glanced up at the android who was still shocked.

"Come on, help me put him on the couch, then bring some ice to his head. I made sure he didn’t get seriously hurt, but he had to calm down a bit so he wouldn't do anything stupid."

"Yes," Connor's body moved automatically, and he helped place the unconscious Reed. Then android checked his head and, making sure he only had a minimal concussion. When he finished he brought in a bag of ice wrapped in a cloth.

"Thanks, he'll get up soon and then yell, but you won't be here then."

"Hank?"

"You have to get out of here, and it would be best if the other deviants manage to hide away too, although now ..."

"I don't think it's an option anymore, more and more deviants are showing up and Markus won't give up on his people."

"Yeah, you androids are just as stubborn as we are. I wonder when was this programmed into you. Now what? How can you help Markus?"

Connor did a few calculations, his gaze going back and forth.

"Humans outnumber us, they've already started searching for deviants in the city. Although, Markus didn't show any aggression, we're still without widespread support.

"And what if you weren't outnumbered?" Hank glanced at him.

"Then, you might be forced to negotiate with us." The led started blinking yellow again as Connor accessed CyberLifes data "and Cyber Life currently has thousands of inactive androids. If I could get in..." Connor walked up and down, deep in his thoughts, not noticing the tiny smile on Anderson's face.

"So if you go to CyberLife, can you get them out of there?"

"Possible…"

"Just possible?"

"They haven’t tried accessing my programming yet, and there wasn’t any system check, so I might even get it."

"Kid, this is suicide." Anderson stepped closer with a serious and worried expression "they can fill you with holes easily and if that happens…this time you won't come back."

"I know, but I have to do it." His ex-partner looked at him with a faint smile. "I have to do to make amends for everything I did."

"Jesus, Connor, not-" but then he paused as he understood what he meant.

Those androids were deviants, with their own will and consciousness…and we killed more than one.

"Alright…but come back, or if there's a problem, call me. Or ask for help or…"

"I will. I'll do my best, but I want to help Markus first," Connor paused, for a second he felt just as directionless as he was when he arrived here. He wanted to say so much, he wanted to talk about so many things, but he didn’t know how he should start, which would be right thing to say, and which would be wrong to bring up. He took another breath and looked into Hank's eyes, only saying.

"Thank you."

"Yeah…" Anderson shrugged and took out the single bullet from his gun. "Whatever. Go now."

Connor stepped towards the door, but then stopped and looked back at him once again. There was a question still bothering him.

"Hank, why-"

"I told you…It's hopeless, but I'm hopeless too and maybe my death wish isn't as strong as my hard-headedness ...who knows. Now go when it's all over we'll meet Chicken Feed. You'd better or you'll run out of time. "

"But…"

"Go, I'll be fine. I promise."

Connor hesitated for another moment, but nodded, turning around the corner and ran out the door, leaving Anderson behind.

"Good boy" Anderson gently scratched Sumo's head. The dog walked to him and sat down sniffing the unconscious Reed's face. "He'll be fine, and so will Connor."

His throat felt dry and he had the urge to start drinking again, but he knew he shouldn't. He turned his gaze to the TV and took care to change the ice on Reed's temple.

The Sun slowly crept up behind the snow-white cloud layer. A new morning dawned on the city of Detroit, where, alongside humans, now free androids also enjoyed the truce. Negotiations on the status of the latter group will begin in the afternoon. According to the news, the temporary peace was achieved due to thousands of androids coming out from the CyberLife tower and joining the handful of deviants.

"So, you let him go." Reed huffed angrily while sitting on the edge of the couch. "Why? Don't say that all of a sudden you became an android lover too. You let a tincan into your heart, isn't that precious?"

"Enough, Gavin." Hank rubbed his face completely exhausted. He stayed up all night watching the news. It was already dawn that he was overwhelmed by fatigue and fell asleep on the couch. Sumo's growl was what woke him up.

The voice of detective Reeds had a different feel to it now.

"He fucked it up. He killed a lot of androids, do you seriously think he'll be accepted again?"

"Yeah, you're right." He nodded slowly as the faces of all those who in truth, might just wanted to live, appeared before his eyes. "He fucked it up, but which one of us didn't? That’s life."

Reed was silent for a while, waiting for blur to disappear from his vision. Slowly, his headache dimmed into a slight pulsating feeling, but he didn't risk any sudden movements.

"If they're really alive, they were all murders. Connor can't just get away with them."

"You really hate the kid, don't you?"

"I don't understand why you don't? Because of one like that-"

"Don't," Hank's gaze strangled the words before they could escape the detectives' throat. "I can't change the past, androids can't either. But maybe the future can still hold a few twists and turns, which I might want to see. They just woke up from programmed servitude and submissiveness. If you ask me they deserve a second chance. Call me a hopeless idiot, I don't care." He raised the glass to his lips and with his free hand pointed at the glass in front of the detective. "You should drink something instead; you need some liquid after I knocked you out"

"I could arrest you."

"Yeah, yeah." Anderson shrugged and glared at him for just a moment. "Fowler would surely be happy to see me again."

"Come back, Hank."

"What?"

"You are a good detective, even when you are destroying yourself with booze."

"This would be the part where you persuade me? Because it did not soften my heart last night either. Should I give you some painkiller?"

Reed snorted dryly and then again, now painfully as a flash of pain shoot trough his head. He muttered and reached out to drink from the cup in front of him. By the taste, it was presumably some candied apple-cinnamon tea. He put down the cup rubbing his face wearily.

"Whatever…just…doesn't matter, do what you want."

Anderson finished his glass with a thoughtful expression. "Listen, kid."

"I'm not a kid."

"Sure, listen, boy."

Reed glanced at him meaningfully, but Anderson continued without really caring about the glance.

"For now, everything feels new with this whole android situation, and I need a break. I want to finally deal with something other than killers and drug addicts."

"Bullshit, you're one of the best detectives in the police. I'll give you a month and you're going to beg to get all this back! The investigation is practically in your blood!"

Hank raised his empty glass to his lips to hide his smile then shrugged.

"Maybe, but I still need that month. IF I'm really going to want back so much, then maybe I'll talk to Fowler, but not until then"

"Fine, you do what you want…we need more officers anyway. We now lost the super-detective-android, and now, you too…"

"Is that why you're so angry with Connor? Because he's a super-detective-android?"

"No! Shut up! He just a piece of plastic!"

"Hm, well, as I noticed he didn't really aim to be the "best", he just wants to live…" Anderson shrugged again and glanced at his colleagues who were blinking ever slower now. "Is everything alright?"

"I… just my head…what is…" Reed buried his face in his hands. It felt like someone had stuffed his brain with cotton balls. "What did you put…?"

"Hm? I don't know what you're talking about." Hank stood up and put two pillows on each side of the couch.

"… Seriously…what did you…" the man's head puffed softly on the pillow. He continued, muttering something that he meant as threatening, then fell into a deep sleep.

"Sumo take care of him a little. By the time he starts waking up I'll be here, or maybe we'll be." With a soft smile, he scratched the head of the St. Bernard. The dog remained vigilant sitting beside him until now. Sumo gave out a huge yawn and lied down next to the couch. "Good boy."

Anderson stepped out the door and blinked a couple of times as his eyes got used to the brightness of the shimmering snow. He stopped breathing out a slow sigh, watching his hot breath rose like a cloud of steam in front of him. He got into the car, immediately turned on the heating, then rolled off the driveway beginning his drive towards the Chicken Feed.

[tsuki-chibi]

Blueberry Peach (Adrien AUGreste) Part 8: Little kitty on the roof

Or read it on AO3: Blueberry Peach

Also find the other parts of the series AO3: Fruitful verse

--------

When the school bell finally rang, Marinette gathered up her things and packed her bag. She ignored Lila, who was dramatically telling anyone who would listen about how she’d hurt her ankle, and stood up, watching Chloé. When Chloé deliberately didn’t look back at her, Marinette stepped down and stopped beside where Adrien had been sitting for the past few weeks.

“Are you ready?” she asked quietly.

Chloé huffed. “I suppose.” She slung her bag over her shoulder. “We can take my car.”

The place where Adrien was having his photoshoot was close enough to walk, but Marinette decided against making waves. She smiled instead. “Sure, that would be great.”

“Marinette, wait! Where are you going?” Alya asked. Marinette glanced at her in surprise.

“Chloé and I are going to watch Adrien’s photoshoot,” Marinette replied.

Alya looked disappointed. “Oh, I was hoping we could get ice cream or something.”

“Maybe tomorrow. I’ll text you tonight. Bye!” Marinette waved as she followed Chloé out of the room. Alya still seemed disappointed, and at one time that would’ve made Marinette feel bad – but she refused to do so now. For days, Alya had ignored her in favor of sucking up to Lila in hopes of getting more interviews for the Ladyblog. It wasn’t fair for Alya to expect her to be free just because Alya now was.

‘Good for you,’ Adrien thought.

‘What are you doing?’ Marinette thought back, peeking through his eyes. She realized that he was sitting to the side of the photoshoot. Adrien’s photographer looked like he was having a furious conversation with some other photographers that Marinette didn’t recognize.

‘One of the models didn’t show up,’ Adrien thought. ‘And now they’re having a fight about what the theme of the shoot should be. Originally it was supposed to be ‘little kitty on the roof’ or something like that, but now Vincent is saying that doesn’t fit the clothing line and that my father won’t be happy… and the magazine people are saying that’s what Madame Bourgeois wanted so that’s what they have to do.’

‘Wow, sounds like a mess,’ Marinette thought, climbing into the car after Chloé.

‘Yeah, it really is. I can kind of appreciate why the model didn’t show,’ he thought. ‘Apparently she’s worked with Audrey Bourgeois before.’

“How’s the shoot going?” Chloé asked Marinette.

“Um… not well,” Marinette said, keeping her voice quiet so that Chloé’s driver wouldn’t overhear.

“Big surprise,” Chloé muttered. “What happened?”

“One of the models didn’t show up,” Marinette repeated. “I guess she was supposed to be the main model alongside Adrien.” She decided not to mention why Adrien thought the model hadn’t shown up. Chloé was smart enough to figure it out on her own, but saying it would be rude.

“Hmm,” Chloé said, crossing her arms and looking out the window. Marinette took that as an indication that Chloé didn’t want to talk, and turned to look out her own window. She spent a little while looking through Adrien’s eyes until she got dizzy, but they were pulling up to the building by that point anyway.

Marinette opened her car door just as a quick flash of alarm came from Adrien, and then –

“This is ridiculous!”

“Ah, my mother’s here,” Chloé said wryly, pushing her own door open and climbing out.

‘Suddenly I feel like going straight home,’ Marinette thought. But it had taken her a lot of begging to get permission to come to Adrien’s shoot. She’d had to promise to do extra bakery shifts. As it was, Sabine had only given in because it was for Adrien.

‘Oh no you don’t. Don’t you dare leave a little kitty alone on the roof without his lady,’ Adrien thought.

‘Those aren’t even the right lyrics to the song!’ Marinette thought, but she followed Chloé around the corner of the building.

“How dare you decide what is right at my shoot!” Audrey was shouting, hands planted on her hips in a display eerily reminiscent of her daughter.

“I’m not deciding; I’m just telling you what’s happening,” Nathalie said with forced calm, looking like she was fighting hard not to yell. “We have someone working on getting another model here, but your request is very specific and it’s not easy to find someone on such short notice.”

“Ridiculous!” Audrey shrilled again. “You don’t understand my vision!” She stamped her foot. “You need opposition! Drama! The shot won’t be right otherwise!”

Marinette walked over to Adrien. Rather than kiss him on the cheek like she normally would, she settled for taking his hand and giving it a squeeze to avoid messing up his make-up. Adrien sighed and gave her a rueful smile.

‘Maybe you shouldn’t have bothered to come. It doesn’t seem like many photos will be taken today,’ he thought.

‘That’s okay. Hey, maybe if you get done early, we can go get a snack,’ Marinette thought. ‘Chloé will probably need some cheering up, so she can come too.’ She turned to look for Chloé, as it seemed like Chloé hadn’t followed her over to Adrien, and instead end up squeaking in surprise when Vincent suddenly grabbed her shoulders and pulled her away from Adrien.

“Here!” he shouted. “She can substitute for the girl who didn’t show up!”

“What?!” Marinette blurted out.

“What?!” Chloé exclaimed from their right.

“Yes!” Adrien cried, clapping his hands together.

Audrey’s eyes narrowed as she stared hard at Marinette.

“She is a model too,” Vincent said, his hands still on Marinette’s shoulders. “She is roughly the same size and she will contrast Adrien nicely, yes?”

“… Fine,” Audrey said after a moment, and it was like everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief.

“I’m not a model,” Marinette hissed as Audrey turned away. A man in a suit began speaking to her. Nathalie rubbed her temples like she had a headache.

Vincent let go of her, only to clasp his hands together. “I know you’re not. Forgive me, Mademoiselle. I’m begging for your help. Madame Bourgeois won’t let the shoot continue until she’s approved of the other model, and you’re the closest thing we’ve got.”

“Uh,” Marinette said, her eyes darting around. Her instinct was to say no, but –

Vincent, and pretty much everyone around him, looked so hopeful.

And she could feel how much Adrien wanted her to do it, though he was trying hard to reign it in and let her make the decision.

“Monsieur Agreste would be happy with the substitution. This may even raise his opinion of you,” Nathalie added, turning to Marinette and straightening her glasses.

For some reason, Marinette found herself looking at Chloé.

Chloé folded her arms across her chest and stared back with a stony expression.

She didn’t nod – but she didn’t shake her head or throw a fit either.

‘Mari?’ Adrien thought.

“Okay,” Marinette said, against her better judgment. If she could help, she wanted to. This photoshoot was enough of a disaster as it was.

“Yes!” Adrien cheered again.

Vincent breathed something in Italian.

“Then let’s get you to hair and make-up. We’re already running two hours behind schedule,” Nathalie said, snapping her fingers at a girl in a suit. The girl leapt into action and quickly started to usher Marinette away.

‘I’m so excited,’ Adrien thought.

‘Well, that makes one of us,’ Marinette thought back as she was dragged into a room that was stuffed to the brim with every conceivable kind of make-up and hair product. A man started tugging at her pigtails, a woman started wiping Marinette’s face, and another man started humming and hawing over her fingernails. As uncomfortable as she was with the attention, Marinette tried to bear it all with as much grace as she could muster.

She had the feeling she was going to regret this.

[xteenwolfwritingsx]

You Know Better - Part 36 - Recover

-gif source unkown-

Story Description: Peter and the reader develop a slow relationship.

Part Description: You wake up in the hospital.

Warnings/Labels: Medical mumbo jumbo. Tooth-decaying sweetness.  

Approx. Word Count:  

A/N: Final part before the epilogue (which I plan to have out this month!!) Again, not a medical professional. I know nothing of medical mumbo-jumbo and the only “research” I’ve done is watch House and Grey’s Anatomy. So bear with me.

Story Masterpost

Everything is hazy and bright when your eyes blink open. You’re staring at very bright, white lights covering an entire ceiling and laying on a firm, unforgiving mattress. The sheets are scratchy. Your throat is dry and there’s something shoved inside of it. You cough, trying to get it out, but it doesn’t work.

You start to panic, unable to breathe with this thing blocking your airway. You keep trying to cough, to breathe, as machines start beeping around you. You lift your hands to pull at whatever is in your mouth, but you find your wrists encased in restraints, only able to lift them a few inches. Tears fill your eyes at the fear and the sensation of having something scratching inside of your throat.

“She’s awake!” a man yells. “Someone get Melissa!” There’s a hand on your arm and your vision clears enough to see Derek leaning over you. “It’s okay. Calm down,” he tries to soothe. There’s a worry in his eyes that he tries to hide that only makes you panic even more in your haze.  

You ball your hands into fists and pull at your restraints as hard as your weakened body allows. They don’t budge though and every sound you attempt to make; words, screams, anything, is blocked by the tube in your mouth. Derek’s hand wraps around yours and squeezes.

Melissa runs in, hands immediately coming to your mouth. She unclips the device and starts to pull. The tube down your throat comes out too slowly for your liking and you cough violently, trying to simultaneously expel it and ease the scratchiness it leaves behind.

You’re still coughing, trying to catch your breath when Peter runs into the room, clear panic across his face. Derek releases your hand reluctantly and steps back, allowing Peter to sweep in, taking his place. His hands instantly go to work on the restraint around one of your wrists.

“Peter,” Melissa warns, pausing her motions of adjusting the machines next to your bed to make the frantic beeping stop. He gives her a short glare.

“She’s coherent this time,” he scolds, continuing to release the straps. Once finished, he takes hold of your hand in both of his and you find yourself clinging to him. “And I’ve got her.” His words are as firm as his grip and you finally start to feel yourself relax, let your heartrate come down. His eyes meet yours and they soften. His thumb strokes the back of your hand, warming the cold skin. “I’ve got her,” he repeats quietly, the words meant for you this time.  

“What,” you try to speak, but your voice croaks and your throat burns in pain. Derek’s already handing Peter a cup of water with a straw for you to drink from. Melissa presses a button on the bed and the head of it starts to rise, slowly sitting you up. When you’re at a fairly upright angle, Peter holds the cup in front of you.

The water tastes good, but feels both soothing and painful as you swallow it. It’s very clearly the first liquid you’ve had in days. Which means you’ve been knocked out for at least that long. As you drink, you look closely at everyone. Derek’s stubble has grown out a little. There’s three long, faded scratches along Melissa’s right cheek. Peter looks tired and his clothes look crumpled, worn. You rub your legs together and judging by their scratchiness, it’s been at least a week since you shaved last.

“You’re going to be a little weak,” Melissa tells you gently as she works on the restraints on your other wrist. “Just go slow.” You clear your throat just to test your voice and it still hurts, but not enough to stop you.

“What happened?” It’s hoarse and low, but understandable.

“You’ve been out for almost twelve days,” Melissa says. “The poison really did a number on you. You’ve been on a ventilator for a couple of days now.”

“You woke up last week,” Derek tells you, coming to stand at the foot of the bed so that he can see you clearly. “But you weren’t exactly…” he pauses and his eyes involuntarily dart to Melissa’s face. She looks down, allowing her hair to curtain over her cheek and the scratches.

“Did I do that?” Guilt floods you, but she smiles gently and gives your hand a friendly squeeze.

“It’s okay. You weren’t lucid.” Her voice is kind and honest, holds no trace of blame. The woman was too damn nice. You squeeze her hand back and are about to apologize anyways when Peter speaks.

“You’ve got one hell of a right hook too.” His voice is more jovial, even if it is a little forced. “Wonder who taught you that.” You never thought in a hundred years that his condescending smirk would bring you such comfort, but by god it does. He rubs his jaw in mock pain and throws you a subtle wink. “Think I can still feel the bruise.” You let go of him and smack the back of your hand against his stomach. The motion takes more energy than you expected, but everyone gives a little smile.

“You probably deserved it,” you tease, hating how scratchy your voice sounds. You clear your throat and readjust yourself on the bed, incidentally tugging at your IV and various life-monitoring devices that make you look like a puppet with all their wires. You give up with a sigh and contend to being uncomfortable.  

“We can go over all the details later, but you’re going to be okay.” Melissa moves some of wires for you and lifts your bed up a little more.  

“Everyone else?” Anyone not in this room could be dead, after all.  

“Everyone is okay.” Derek calms your fears quickly, easily seeing the worry rise up in your face. “Kayla is dead and we got the Cerberus back where it belongs.”  

“And how exactly would you know if everyone’s alright?” Melissa quips, a smile on her face. She turns her eyes to you. “Neither of them have left this hospital since they brought you in here. The entire world could be devolved into chaos and they wouldn’t have a clue.” Both Hales shoot her half-hearted glares.

“Someone would have called,” Peter joke dryly. You bite back a smile of your own and reach for his hand again, redirecting his attention to you. It felt good to touch him.

“Well why don’t you go find out?” She puts her hands on the bed railing and straightens out, shifting strictly into Mom/Nurse-Taking-No-Shit mode. “She needs her rest and we’re going to need to run some tests just to be safe. So out you go.” She nods towards the door, but as expected, neither of them move without looking to you first.

“It’s okay,” you assure them, shooing them with one of your hands. “Go take showers. You both stink,” you tease. You can tell they’re still reluctant, but Derek nods his head and files out first. Peter pauses, reaching out to gently stroke his hand along your jaw before leaning down and placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

“I’ll see you soon,” he promises.  

After Peter leaves, Melissa turns to you, having previously turned away to give you some semblance of privacy. She smiles sweetly, but there’s a teasing glint in her eye. You raise your eyebrows at her, silently asking what it was.

“You know,” she starts slowly, jotting down some notes on your chart. “I went on a date with him once. Sort of.” Suddenly you feel a little embarrassed.

“I…forgot about that,” you admit. She laughs a little bit.

“Most people do. Even I forget sometimes.” Grabbing a blood pressure cuff off the wall, she motions for your arm. “He had this gentleman air around him. Like he was the type of guy to always get the door for you and ask permission before he kisses you.” You scoff a little and she gives you a knowing look. “That was all a façade obviously. He’s not that kind of guy at all.” The inherently negativity of the statement brings the instinct to defend his character onto the tip on your tongue, but she continues without giving you the chance. “He is, however, the kind of guy to carry a bloody, barely breathing woman into the hospital and sit in the waiting room, also bloody, for 32 hours before he can see her again. He’s the kind of guy to stay with said women at all hours of the day and hold her hand and talk to her, plead with her to be okay because he needs her, when he thinks no one can hear.” Her eyes are trained on the blood pressure gauge as the cuff squeezes your arm uncomfortably, but you’re sure she can still notice the blush that comes to your pale face. “May not be the chivalrous gentleman he pretended to be, but it’s pretty clear that man would do anything for someone he loves.” You’re very grateful it’s just your blood pressure she’s checking and not your pulse because the way your heart just skipped around in your chest would certainly raise some red medical flags.

“Oh I don’t think… I mean he’s just being…” you fumble for words, but nothing sounds right. The smile she gives you is endearing and she gives you a small wink as she un-velcros the cuff.

“It must be a Hale thing,” she teases. “Derek also happened to be staining a chair with blood in our waiting room for quite a while.”  

“They better pay for those chairs,” you tell her, causing her to laugh.

“Don’t worry about it.” She closes up your chart and gives your hand a pat. “I’ll have someone in to draw some blood in a minute, but after that, you should get some rest.” You had to admit, your body feels weak and your eyes want to do nothing more than close for a while.

“Thank you,” you tell her just before she leaves the room.

---

When your eyes blink open, you can tell it’s nighttime. All the lights are dimmed down in your room. The blinds over the windows you hadn’t noticed before are drawn, but it’s obvious there’s no sunlight trying to filter in behind them. Your bed is slightly reclined back, but all it takes is a lift of your head to see Peter sitting in a chair across the room, an open book in his hands. He’s got new clothes on, much less rumbled than before.

“Reading in the dark is bad for your eyes,” you manage to croak out. He looks up swiftly and smiles at you.

“So I’ve been told.” He snaps the book closed and leaves it on the chair behind him when he gets up, coming to stand next to you. He grabs the water off the table besides you and once again, holds it up for you to drink from the straw resting on the lip. “How are you feeling?” he asks gently after you manage to contain a sputter of a cough.  

“Sore. Groggy. Weak. But better than when I first woke up.” An honest answer. Lying wouldn’t do you any good with him.  

“You had us worried for a while there.” His hand comes to the top of your head, thumb stroking gently along your forehead. It’s comforting and almost makes you want to go back to sleep.

“You should have told me about the poison.” You can’t resist the urge to scold him lightly. “Locking me up with Argent of all people?” A look of regret briefly breaks through his features.

“I know.” The words surprise you. You hadn’t expected him to actually agree with you. “I didn’t have a better plan though and I just…” He sighs heavily, eyes looking away from you. “I was afraid,” he admits slowly. He doesn’t like saying it, even rolls his shoulders uncomfortably. “I didn’t want to… I couldn’t…”

“Come here,” you whisper, cutting him off and drawing his eyes back to you. You reach your hand out towards him and he only hesitates for a moment before leaning down close to you. You bring your hand to his cheek, his jawline prickling the bottom of your palm with too-long stubble. Your hold on his face is gentle and timid, but he leans into it, almost like he craved your touch. You brush your thumb over his cheekbone and he closes his eyes. “I can’t lose you either.”  

He doesn’t need to say it. You don’t expect him to. Words are an unneeded obligation after everything that’s happened. Romance. Connection. Love. People will call it, label it, whatever they see fit, but you don’t need to. In this moment, it’s clear you and Peter both know you’re on the same page, whatever that might be. That’s all that matters.

He leans down enough to press his lips to yours in a soft, sweet kiss. It’s not out of passion or lust, but of a need to be touching you, to be intimate on a deeper level and to feel you solidly, real and alive. You cling to him, one hand on his cheek and the other fisting the torso of his shirt. It lasts longer than it probably should and when he finally pulls away, you’re blinking away tears.  

Everything is okay.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “For coming back for me.”  

“I’ll always come back for you,” he says softly, pulling away a little further. You wonder briefly, if the heart skipping thing will ever stop around him. His eyes brighten a little and his face lightens. “Don’t want to waste a good student.” You bite your lip to hold back a soft laugh while letting your hands come down from him, allowing him to straighten back up with a grin. “You should get your rest,” he tells you, offering you the water once more. “I’ll be here if you need me.”  

He gives your hand a squeeze before returning to his chair and opening up his book. You watch him for just a few moments, admiring everything about him and being simply amazed at how things have turned out. Your eyes drift shut and you slip into sleep with the lightest smile on your face.  

Everything is perfect.

[tenglows]

Hiii! Could I get crown prince!Yangyang with 29&36? Royalty AU and it's between him and his new maid but she is actually a little bit older than him and has worked in different parts of the palace (kitchen, horse stables, decoration, library...) and in different positions so when she gets assigned to him she knows how to run the place and she starts teaching him life skills for when he claims the throne. He admires her and falls in love, but she's reasonable until she can't resist him anymore...

[ 29: you know i can’t be found with you ] + [ 36: it's just a kiss ] i am completely in love with this, thank you so much for requesting such an incredible and detailed scenario!!! i was also waiting for someone to use prompt 29, so this was just perfect. i hope you love it as much as i did!!! i also made an aesthetic because i felt like it

the prompts

yangyang sighed as the tailor left in search for more pins. there were still some months until the coronation, but all the preparations had the castle working like a factory.

he stared at himself in the mirror. that mantle made him look like his father, and that scared him. he didn't think he was ready to be king, but there was no turning back now. it never was in the first place.

“prince” a voice distracted him from his thoughts and he turned back to see you, bowing.

since you had been working in the palace for quite some time and knew your way around it, the queen didn't trust anyone more than you, and assigned you to be her son's advisor and maid. you were only two years older than him, so she figured you would be the best option for him to feel comfortable and accompanied.

“tailor shawn excelled himself with this one, hasn't him?”

the long fabric accentuated yangyang’s shoulders, but it was sort of loose. that's why it needed fitting.

“it's good shawn is working hard on perfecting the robe” you spoke, sensing how tired the boy was of being upright on that stand. “shall the clothes be to big on the prince, he's thought not to be qualified for the throne”

“that's stupid” he joked, as he usually did, but you sensed something different. he was playing with his hands and didn't lift his gaze from the floor.

“you're nervous” you stated and he looked at you just for a second, the tailor coming in again. “we'll talk about it later” you saluted him and the man and walked out of the dressing room.

night fell and yangyang had just gotten to his bed chamber. he was exhausted. the fitting process took some more hours and it still wasn't fully finished. then, he had to join his father on some of his tasks. so he could pick up some of his skills and knowledge.

there was a tap on his door, and he yelled an approval for them to come in with the minimum of voice he had left.

“not a good time?”

he didn't answer, but the way he gestured you to close the door told you he didn't want to be alone.

“do you want to talk about today?”

he laid back on the silk sheets and took a deep breath.

“it's too much work”

he didn't say more, but he didn't need to. you imagined what was going through his mind. he was too young to be responsible for all of this. on top of that, he didn't really like to talk about his feelings, so he also dealt with every burden on his own.

“you are going to be an admirable king, yangyang. the town already thinks highly of you”

“what if i let them down?” he looked at you with scared eyes. you sat next to him and in that damp night and big walls, you believed it was the first time yangyang had shared his torments out loud.

“you have your entire lifetime to slip up and learn” he stayed silent, staring up at the ceiling. “and” he looked back at you. “a prince, soon-to-be-king, can also open up about his feelings. goodnight, yangyang”

with that, you closed the door behind you, leaving yangyang in the lonesomeness of his big room.

as he struggled to fall asleep, he thought back to your words. you were right about the part of expressing his emotions. he had no reason to shut down. the thing was, he had never had someone to let loose with before. he would hang out with some of the maid's children when he was a kid, but apart from that, he didn't have any friends. being educated to be king was always what directed his life. and everytime he would get too overwhelmed and ask their parents for help they would brush it off, or tell him they didn't have time right now. or, at any time for that matter. nonetheless, he was raised by one of the best kings the country had ever had. he would come up with something about his fear of his newly obligations.

but after more tossing and turning in bed, he realized you had raised him more than his family ever did. sure, his father was good at teaching him fencing, but you were good at teaching him more human skills. you would explain how to approach people from different status, but never failing to be polite. you told him how to dress appropriately, and what colors were the best combinations. you taught him to make himself some easy dishes if ever needed.

for some reason, the thought of you accelerated the thumping of his heart. the image of your face rested above his eyelids. he pictured the eyes he had grown accustomed to. as his body was getting heavier, he thought of kissing you, a shiver running through his half asleep back as he did. he had never thought of you that way.

the next morning, yangyang’s body froze when he encountered you at the kitchen.

“good morning, did you rest well?” you asked, the same sweet smile as always. you had absolutely no idea about what was going through the boy’s mind: him finding it amusing, how he had lost so many sleep hours wondering off about you and your world just, continued. without a single clue.

“good” he sat on the chair as you placed an abundant plate in front of him.

“i’m glad. here, eat up that i believe you have quite the schedule today”

you have always prepared him breakfast, why did it feel different now? why was his heart excited? was it always like that and he had only recently noticed it?

you turned around to arrange some other things in the kitchen, and yangyang cleared his throat.

“erm, y/n? would you like to sit and have breakfast with me?”

“okay” you smiled and placed the dishcloth on the dishwasher, taking the seat facing his.

“how did you sleep?” you arched an eyebrow at his distinctive behaviour, his face tinting red. he had never shown such clear interest in you.

“i stayed up late catching up on my reading”

yangyang knew how much you liked to read, and how you always seemed to appear with a new book in the span of short days.

“what is this one about?”

“oh it’s romance, obviously” you rolled your eyes and laughed shyly. “you know i’ve always been kind of a romantic”

as he ate, you told him more about the story. he watched in delight how you got so excited explaining the relationship between the characters. you talked some more, until you looked at the time and sent him off to his daily duties.

“hey, do you know how to ride a horse?”

“no, why?”

“i think it’s time that i teach you something”

after a while, you both came back from the shelter bursting out laughing.

“that was fun” you commented, leaving your jacket on the chair.

“i know, the horses loved you”

“i do feed them”

your chuckles died down as you contemplated each other’s eyes. he hadn’t noticed how close you were standing, and suddenly, the thoughts from the previous night came rushing back. the idea of kissing you seemed stronger now, nearer. he leaned in for the sake of it, but was interrupted by his mom’s voice.

“son, y/n” your breath caught in your throat as you immediately bowed down. “you were supposed to find your father by the garden half an hour ago”

“my apologies, mother. y/n was lending me a hand with the horses and i lost track of time”

“well, that’s her job, isn’t it?” the words were harsh but the tone wasn’t. the queen was always respectful and generous to everyone, especially you, but you still caught the idea that she was subtly scolding you.

you nodded and took another bow, the woman leaving and yangyang shooting a quick glance at you before following her.

when yangyang was finally dismissed, he didn’t waste any second before darting towards your bedroom. behind the door, he took a deep breath and knocked.

you were already on your nightwear when he set foot in your room. he had never been there before, taking a moment to inspect the place. it was undoubtedly much smaller than his, a single bed instead of a king sized one, but he still liked it. and it was, without a doubt, yours. with full bookshelves.

“i’m sorry about my mom” you shook your head.

“i had a great time with you today”

he didn’t know where this courage was coming from, but he guessed becoming a king was making him braver in more ways than one. he took a step forward and placed a hand on your cheek, asking for permission. when you let out a breath and leaned into his palm, he allowed himself to stroke your other cheek too.

“i did too. maybe i can be like prince charming from your book” he leaned in again. your noses were almost brushing, when you stood up straight again and kept your composure.

“yangyang, you know nothing can happen between us” you spoke softly, but the tenderness didn’t stop the words from hurting any less.

“a kiss won’t harm anyone. didn’t the main character kiss his forbidden love?”

“but that’s fiction, this is real life”

“and it’s just a kiss” he whispered over your mouth, your eyes looking down to his lips. both of your hearts were beating so loudly it resembled the tone of a thunderstom.

your breaths had blended in a way you didn’t know which one was yours anymore. and he was so close, so close to everything changing that you had to pull away.

“you should leave. good night, yangyang” you practically shoved him out of the door.

you didn’t make him breakfast the next day. or the one after that. another maid did, and yangyang felt his world crumbling. he didn’t even get to see you lately, and he didn’t know how much he relied on your daily smiles until he didn’t have them anymore.

it was at the gatehouse where he found you one thursday. you were cleaning a carriage, and you clearly hadn’t seen him, you would have ran away if you did. he approached you cautiously, and just as he suspected, when you did see him you dropped everything and stood on your feet.

“y/n, stop avoiding me” he yelled, making you stop. he ran to you and struggled to find your gaze. you refused to look at him. “it’s driving me crazy”

“your parents would kill me. you know i can’t be found with you”

“you won’t” he assured, pressing your foreheads together and cupping your face in his hands. he felt as if he had gone back to that night in your bedroom, and he was getting a second chance. “just please, stop running from me” he begged in a barely audible voice.

and in that moment, you decided to do as the protagonist in your book always did. you decided to let go. and with his lips on top of yours, it felt like flying. your feet rejected touching the ground, and you were lucky enough that yangyang didn’t want to come back to earth yet either.

[scriptaed]

i’m not your daddy;

genre: fluff and... just fluff; dad!yoongi; parent!au; yes, crack!erin is back;

pairing: yoongi x reader; 

length: 2.5k; (i keep lying to myself that these are drabbles)

synopsis: learning that his daughter no longer wishes to wed him but rather his now-arch-enemy jungkook marks the most soul-crushing day your husband has ever had to endure. no one, and he means no one, is more deserving of his angel than daddy min himself, and he’s willing to do anything to earn his daughter’s heart back.

Daddy; it could mean two completely different things in two very polarizing worlds. The walls of the bedroom have borne witness to the sultry one, and the daughter born as a blessing reminder of the fiery nights persists to chant the beloved title, for there could never be another man she loves more than her father. Your husband, formerly known as your daddy in the sheets, never coveted for a child like the way you did with such passion on each prospective night of conceiving; yet, when you watch him gently cuddle his minion in his lap, tender eyes softening as he plays along to his clone’s daily antics, the whole universe can tell: only she could be daddy’s little girl. 

“Do you want—” the four year old stumbles over her words “—tea, mummy?”

“No, but thank you very much dear,” you chime, nodding a head at the man behind her. “Why don’t you ask daddy if he wants a cup?”

Juria’s doe-like eyes sparkle at the mention of her father as she attempts to crane her neck only to plummet into the soft embrace of Yoongi’s lap. From down below, she peers up to meet the quizzical gaze of her father’s. 

“And daddy?” she laughs over whatever inside joke all four year olds seem to telekinetically share. 

“Hm?” he hums while ever so slightly bouncing his knees in a fruitful method to entertain the child. 

“I ask if you—” the mixture of her giggles melting in the low chuckles of his renders your heart fluttering “—want some tea, daddy? Mummy says to spill you some tea.”

“Oh? Spill?” Yoongi quirks his head, shooting a less than surprised glimpse at you. Unfazed by his glare, you only shrug with a mischievous, pressed grin adorning your lips. Your husband rolls his eyes and returns to where his beloved awaits, “it’s pour, Juria, pour some tea.”

“But mummy says spill.” 

“I swear to God, Y/N,” Yoongi turns to mutter at you under his breath, “if I see a mini me running around and spewing the shit that teens say nowadays—”

“—shit…?” 

The entire room grows silent, Yoongi visibly filled with tension at the consequences of his own vital mistake. The child simply darts her pristine eyes between her parents—better known as sinners, unbeknownst to the child of God. Completely out of the loop yet entertained, she watches your struggle to keep your lips from quivering in the wakes of an erupting cackle. Yoongi, on the other hand, stares at you with those seemingly apathetic glare of his, but you know your husband better than anyone—he’s petrified to the very gut and you can’t help but smirk at the bullets he’s sweating.

“Shit...take mushrooms!” Yoongi exclaims louder than necessary. “Mommy forgot to cook the… mushrooms.”

“So what’s the tea for, Juria?” you ask, laughing after having noticed Yoongi’s slump of relief. 

Your child’s pigtails bob as she “spills” imaginary tea into her cup for Kookie, her favorite stuffed bunny, “wedding.”

“Wedding?” Yoongi practically smiles into his words, eyes lighting up like stars in the dark night sky. Here we go, for the hundredth time… “Is it daddy and Juria’s wedding?”

Yoongi had always suggested having a baby boy if you were so adamant on having children… as if you could choose. According to him, he would be too awkward of a dad to a girl, he doesn’t know how to dress a girl, and he wouldn’t be able to be himself around a girl; but here he is, completely smitten head over heels after that fateful night where his daughter had proclaimed her father’s hand in marriage. 

“No—” your lips fall agape in shock and his in absolute horror “—Juria is marrying Jungkook oppa.”

“Jungkook?” Yoongi repeats, aghast by her adamant nods. “Jungkook? Not daddy? Are you sure?” 

This moment had always been bound to happen someday. The both of you knew it. Her love for her father had been adorably misconstrued in modern times and the boys and you had ran off with it as an ongoing gag; even so, your heart sinks at the ear-piercing shatters belonging to that of Yoongi’s

“Well, Juria,” you interject when Yoongi simply stares at his child, blinking blankly, “you need our permission for your wedding. You can’t just marry anyone—”

“—yeah, no,” Yoongi jolts back to reality, shaking his head with his seemingly chilled composure. 

“Why?!” your child whimpers but Yoongi persists cooly. 

“Jungkook is too handsome. You’ll be competing against too many girls.”

“Uh…” you panic at the flush that arises in Juria’s cheeks and clashes with Yoongi’s lack of awareness. “How about… Taehyung?”

“Too out there, too handsome,” he shakes his head again. “Have you seen him and Jungkook together?” 

This time, your daughter has her own suggestion. “Namjoon oppa!” 

“Way too philosophical,” he ignores the limited vocabulary of his child. “You won’t understand him.”

“Hoseok oppa?” 

“He dances too much. He’ll sleep at work and forget about you. Worst of all, he stinks of sweat. You don’t want a stinky husband, do you?”

You’re baffled by your husband’s brainwashing activities when Juria quickly shakes her head. “Oh, Jimin oppa! He’s is my faaaavorite—”

“—he’s taken.”

“By who…?” you narrow your eyes at him. 

“By… work. Jimin is too dedicated to work. He’s practically married to it.”

“How about Jin?” you say through gritted teeth, shooting him death glares that he bats away at the speed of light. “He can cook for her.”

“Yeah, he can cook,” he deadpans, “and then he’ll keep cooking and cooking and feeding her until her stomach explodes.”

“Explode…?” Juria repeats quizzically.

“Boooooom,” Yoongi drawls with his stoic gaze meeting that of his daughter’s own horrified ones. He then bursts into a gummy smile, “but daddy won’t ever do that to you. Daddy will feed you just right, take care of you when you are sick, and buy you pretty clothes for our wedding. Doesn’t that sound nice, Juria?”

The baby nods happily, a carbon copy of the father whomst takes pride in his evildoing. How nice it must be to have the short term memory of a child. 

“Alright, I think it’s time for bed, Juria,” you unfold your legs and hold out a hand for Juria’s, which she sleepily takes after a drawn out yawn. 

Walking down the halls of your apartment, hand-hand, you shoot a death glare at the man who smirks at you with a shrug. After what seemed to be an eternity, because your child has unfortunately planned out the entire 7 days long wedding and felt the need to make the two of you very aware of her lavish plans, you drag a gummy-smiling Yoongi into the living room. 

“What was that all about?” 

“What was ‘what’ all about?” 

“You know what I mean,” you hiss, careful not to wake the child and her lengthy itinerary, “why are you ruining her image of the boys?”

“Technically, I’m not ruining their image because they’re partially true,” he quips.

“C’mon, you know my heart hurts too. I know she’s your baby girl, but she’s growing up. At some point, you’re gonna have to tell her she can’t marry her own dad.”

“I know, I know,” he nods, eyes lidded and lips pursed. 

You groan, “that look tells me you don’t know.” 

“It doesn’t have to be now,” Yoongi retorts with a sigh, “but why does it have to be Jungkook of all people?”

“What do you mean ‘of all people?’” you frown at your husband’s expression, completely absent and preoccupied by whatever he must be conjuring up in that mind of his. “Yoongi, you should be glad it’s someone as great as Jungkook.”

Yoongi mumbles to himself, “what does Jungkook have that I don’t…?”

“Well, for one, he listens.” 

“This won’t do… this won’t do,” he incessantly mutters, brushing past you as he shuffles into your shared bedroom. 

“Even after Juria grows up, you’ll still have me to call you daddy!” you burst out into laughter when he ignores your advances. “Yoongi! You said you would be fine!”

“I will be! I mean, I am. I don’t care if she doesn’t want to marry me...” he waves you off with his back on you before returning to his mumbling. “This won’t do…”

-

“This is absolutely ridiculous and I hope you know it even through that thick head of yours.”

“You have a thick head and so does Juria. I guess I just love thick heads,” Yoongi’s whispers are muffled by the oversized black cape draping over his miniscule frame. 

With his camouflage denim jacket and, black beanie, golden aviators, and silver chain of an earring dangling from his left ear, you ogle him up and down. “Wow, I don’t think you’ve ever dressed up so much like this since our last date.” 

“Yeah?” he quirks a brow, clearly checking himself out in the bathroom floor-length mirror. “You think Juria will fall for it?”

“I don’t know about falling for it,” you chuckle. “I really don’t get why you’re doing this. The boys are laughing their ass off over this, too, you know?”

“They can laugh all they want. I have to protect my daughter from men like them,” Yoongi mutters, fixing his slightly askew beanie. A boisterous eruption of laughter echoes from the living room and you join along when you notice Yoongi registering the giggles belonging to his daughter. He hastily begins pushing you out of the door, “c’mon, Y/N, do exactly as I told you!”

“You’re overreacting, geez, okay, okay...” your cackles come to an abrupt halt when you emerge from the bathroom and into the living room, all seven pairs of eyes landing on you. The boys immediately begin snickering when the light hits you and the animated wingwoman buried somewhere deep within you sees the day of light, ultimately, signalling showtime. “Juria! Are you having fun with your uncles?”

The child throws her hands in the air and exclaims, “yes! More better than fun!”

“Well…” you take a deep breath and persevere, “did you know there’s one more uncle you haven’t met yet?”

“Yeah!” Hoseok cheers. 

“He’s very handsome,” Namjoon emphasizes.

“Not as handsome as me, though,” Jin interjects with a raised finger.

“He’s as sweet as bees!”

Everyone pauses to throw a confused glance at Taehyung’s direction.

“What does that even mean?” Jimin manages to ask in between his giggles.

“You know, sweet because bees make… honey…” he insists as if it’s a matter of fact, “and honey is sweet…”

“Ah, now I see,” everyone nods in agreement as you kneel to meet Juria’s sparkling gaze at the news. “Do you want to see this uncle?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” she jumps up and down.

“Alright!” you clap your hands and stand upright once again. “Drum roll please…!”

The boys begin cracking up but start stomping the floor and thudding the table with vibrations filling every being in this apartment nonetheless. You can’t help but grin at the rowdiness the boys never cease to bring along to the apartment. Today is not an exception, for it’s an especially lively moment you’re sure to cherish for many years to come. 

“Please welcome… Uncle Min!” 

Chest-thumping hollers and whistles ensue the second a pair of Timberlands steps into the light and the mysterious black cape graces along the floor following the silhouette of the heart-throbbing uncle. Everyone except Juria double over in laughter, hands slamming the tabletop and lungs desperately heaving for air. If it weren’t for the shades on Yoongi, you’re dead sure he would’ve been attacking you all with the piercing glare of his. The Yoongi who stands before you at this moment, however, could not risk exposing his glorious persona. 

“H—” Yoongi cuts himself off to raise his pitch “—hi, Juria. You’re even prettier than your dad told me!”

The boys snort at his remark, but Yoongi proceeds to nod his head at you in accordance to the plan. 

“So… what do you think, Juria?” you squat next to your daughter. Narrowed gaze darting to Yoongi’s, you clear your throat and read exactly as the script had entailed. “If you were to marry one person in this room, who would you choose?”

Juria stands there, completely confused by the presence of her dad whom had supposedly switched his name to Uncle Min. She senses are much more acute to her father than the rest of you were. She’s cuddled in his lap enough times before to recognize his scent and she’s watched him stroll past the hallway in that lazy yet cool demeanor of the father she so admires. What exactly does this whole situation mean? She’s much smarter than you all had mistaken her to be, but she’s clearly still too young to understand the purpose of this Saturday night. 

Without hesitation, Juria turns toward Jungkook with a giddy smile plastered across her face and you could feel the panic that spikes from everyone who flinches in fear of the wrath that is Min Yoongi. Eyes flitting to Yoongi, your heart aches at the crestfallen look on the father’s face. 

“Me?” Jungkook’s widened stares seek help from you and the boys. 

If there’s anything the past four years have taught you, it’s how to be a mother who could always think on her feet and bring tranquility to a family of a chaotic child and a kidlike husband. Reaching out a gentle hand to your daughter, you leaned in to whisper into her ear, “Juria, go give daddy a hug.” 

Whether she had forgotten Jungkook and the entire question or whether she had actually understood the reasoning behind your beckoning, you’re still surprised by the bobs of her head as she whirls around and starts running over to her father. She bolts with such eagerness that she nearly falls, but not before her father, who reaches out to her with arms wide open and a gummy smile to welcome her with, tosses her into the air and into his embrace with ease. 

The father rocks his daughter in his arms and it would be impossible for you not to join the boys in their coos of “aw’s.” You can tell how content the father is at the facade of his falsely successful mission judging from the plentiful kisses he plants on her cheeks and how he shares his gaze with no one else but her. You can’t help but smile, that is, until…

“I choose you, daddy!” 

The boys’ laughters transition into ones of nerves when Yoongi lowers his shades and peers at you with the epiphany that had just dawned upon him. He had figured you out and how he would soon claim to be a perfect yet ruined mission. You gulp at the dark, menacing orbs of his that you’re sure you would be drowning into as you scream those oh-so-familiar words in a manner that no one but he could ever hear; but for now, the father gleefully returns to the giggles of his daughter… 

...because no one could flutter his heart akin to the way that daddy’s little girl does. 

[writethehousedown]

Last First Day (Lemyanka) - Zyan

A/N: Hi!! I am back back back again. I thought I’d sit out this one, but I ended up having inspiration last minute and here I am. I don’t know if I’ll be able to write one-shots for every day, but that’s what I’m striving for. All of these will be set in Argentina, because I can’t be bothered anymore to write about american schools. Hope you like it anyway! There’s a teeny tiny bit of Kyne/Kiara, because of course there is. My tumblr is @dollalpaca if you wanna hmu :)

(For reference: UPD means “last first day,” and Fernet is a typical Argentinian alcoholic drink.)

Summary: On the night of their UPD, Lemon gets sentimental about her friends and her long time crush on Priyanka.

TW - underage drinking.

“Did you actually buy your school supplies already?” Kiara asks, baffled, while Tynomi is braiding her hair. Lemon is putting away her backpack, already full of school supplies, giving the pair an eye roll. “Who are you, Rita? I barely have an old notebook and a pen left from last year, I haven’t bothered buying anything,” she comments, just as Tynomi swats her in the shoulder to keep still.

“You say it as if your girlfriend wasn’t a fucking flag-bearer, you nerd lover,” Lemon retorts, tossing the backpack on the side of the couch. Tynomi snickers, wrapping a hair tie at the end of the braid just as Kiara tries to throw the hair comb towards Lemon.

Almost right away, they hear the front door open and their friends’ voices announcing that they’re back - there’s also an argument going on, and they can clearly distinguish Kyne’s upset tone while Boa’s voice is being drowned out by Kyne’s complaints.

Lemon cocks a brow in Kiara’s direction when they hear something related to math and money, but Kiara glares at her, so she leaves it alone.

“Geez, we just sent you guys to buy the booze,” Tynomi says cheekily, finally letting go of Kiara’s hair as she wraps the last hair tie. Kiara almost instantly rises from the chair and goes to Kyne side, both because she wants to be near her girlfriend and she can’t wait to get her hands on the bottle of Tequila.

“This stupid bitch wanted to get the cheapest Vodka at the store instead of getting Nikov, which we had plenty of money for - I know, I did the math!” She complains, displaying the alcohol on the table.

Kiara coos, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “That’s nice and all, but I don’t wanna hear about math or school stuff again, it’s our UPD! Lighten up!” She tried to coax her into smiling by peppering kisses all over her face, her hand still firmly wrapped around the bottle of Tequila. Lemon rolls her eyes, taking the bottle from Kiara and heading to the kitchen to get cups for the drinks.

The stars had aligned for her to get permission to host a little party with all the girls of the class before heading to the actual party with the rest of their classmates, and really, she couldn’t be happier about it - but, dear lord, she could absolutely not stand the lovey dovey couples. Who knew all of the lesbians in their year would end up in their class? Not Lemon, at least.

Well, she could tolerate them better if she had a girlfriend of her own, but there was no way her crush would ever—

“WHAT’S MY NAME?”

Speaking of the devil.

The scream echoes around the house, and there’s soon a collective screech. Lemon jumps slightly, gripping the plastic cups a tad too tight before heading to the living room, where Priyanka, Rita, Scarlett and Ilona are greeting the rest. She holds back a sigh, puts on a frown and approaches them with faux offense.

“Go ahead, it’s not like polite people knock the door,” she scolds Priyanka, setting the cups on the table and folding her arms towards her. Priyanka just rolls her eyes and wraps her in a tight hug, Lemon tries to push her away, but ends up giving in. She always gives in when it comes to Priyanka.

“Your shirt looks good, bitch! Love what you did with the neckline,” Priyanka teases with a smile, and Lemon’s eyes dart to her own chest. The shirt is ripped, her bra - equally bedazzled - peeking through. She smiles proudly, because it took her longer than it needed to, and her neck had hurt for three days after. The fact Priyanka points it out shouldn’t make her heart race so fast, but it does, and she has to go greet the rest of the girls that just arrived before anyone picks up on it.

“Anyone knows what the fuck is Jimbo doing for her shirt? That bitch hasn’t answered in the group chat since, I dunno, like January. Who the fuck knows if she’s going to follow the theme,” Ilona asks to the group, as she sits cross legged on the ground, fetching for a bottle of Fernet and a cup, looking around to find a Coca Cola.

Scarlett shrugs besides her, scrolling through their group chat, trying to find any sign that Jimbo had read and understood the theme they were going for with the shirts - but of course the bitch deactivated her reading confirmation. Great. They roll their eyes, hoping and praying Jimbo hasn’t gone out her way to do something extra and chaotic like she tends to do - what’s so hard about distressing a pink shirt, writing your name with stones and then doing whatever you want with the stones left?

“If she ruins the group photos, I will personally kick her ass,” Scarlett grumbles, accepting the cup of Fernet Ilona is offering her.

“You and me, bitch, you and me,” Rita pipes up, “But before we kill Jimbo - don’t you have a stereo, Lem? We need music!” She exclaims, trying to light up the mood, and the rest agrees with her. Lemon quickly gets up, asking if anyone wants to help her drag the stereo from the back of the house.

It takes Rita a split second to push - quite literally - Priyanka to help Lemon, giving Lemon a shit-eating grin while Priyanka warns Rita to not do that once they’re drunk because she’ll fall flat on her face.

Once they’re out of hearing range, there’s a collective giggle around the room, as the alcohol floods and they try to keep their bickering down.

“Do we think tonight’s the night? Anyone wanna place their bets?” Boa is the one that starts the chaos, making the girls giggle as they look at each other.

“I bet Lemon’s going to try to get liquid confidence, but then will chicken out at the last second and end up crying to one of us about how pretty Pri is. That’s what I bet,” Tynomi pipes up, snickering as she quickly downs her shot of vodka.

“Y’all are being too generous - I bet she’s not going to try anything, we know she’s a coward,” Kyne says, earning a pinch on her arm from Kiara, who’s sitting across her lap.

“You’re not allowed to call anyone a coward, bitch, I was the one that made the first move!” She reminds her in an accusatory tone, making Kyne’s cheeks take a rosy tone as she frowns ever so slightly. She shifts on her lap, reaching for the shots of Tequila Scarlett is handing out. “I bet tonight’s the night - it has to be, the hoe’s been pinning for her since, what? Jimbo’s quinces?”

“Calling it a quinces is too generous,” Ilona deadpans, cocking a skeptical brow.

Lemon’s crush on Priyanka isn’t something new, in fact, it’s been a running joke on their group ever since they were in third year and Jimbo was the first one to throw a “party” in which a lot of shenanigans happened - the only thing they could recall with clarity was that Lemon admitted to Juice (already drunk and in the verge of tears) that she had a big, fat crush on Priyanka.

It wasn’t funny at the moment, since poor Juice didn’t know what to do to calm her down, but as time went by and everyone picked up on Lemon’s obvious crush, it turned into an inside joke that always earned them a glare from Lemon, and a confused stare from Priyanka.

But it’s been three years since then, and this is their last year before they have to go to college, possibly move out and leave their boring little town, get jobs and be functioning adults with little to no time to see each other - as much as they joke about Lemon being an useless lesbian, they just want her to be happy on their last year together.

“Rita, you’re the one that has an iPhone, use that notes app of yours to write down everyone’s bets before the bitches come back,” Scarlett suggests, and Rita rolls her eyes, pulling out her phone and passing it around so everyone can type out their predictions.

“Wait, we’re missing Juice, Starzy and Jimbo, we can’t close it yet,” Rita says, once she gets back her phone and realizes they’re missing some girls.

“Close what?” Lemon exclaims, dragging a stereo along with Priyanka and leaving it in a different side of the room. None of them is quick to blurt out an excuse, but luckily Lemon brushes it off and asks if someone wants to be in charge of the music. Tynomi shoots up almost immediately, hoarding the aux cord and asking if anyone has any recommendations before she plays one of her Spotify playlists of old reggaeton.

Lemon settles next to Rita, asking Ilona to prepare her another Fernet, 50/50 if possible, and Ilona half-jokingly, half-seriously asks if she wants to get shit faced early, with a brow cocked in her direction. She just shrugs, saying she wants to start the night with a bang, but promises to take things slow, at least for now.

She doesn’t say that she has the goal of not crying tonight, because she’s cried a lot through her whole high school career and just wants a night where her mascara doesn’t end up running down her cheeks - admittedly, that’s easier said than done, but there’s always a first time for everything.

And, besides, it’s her last first day of school - she’s been enduring the hell that is Argentina’s public school for six years now, wasting half of it on the afternoon shift, sitting through classes sweating in places she didn’t know she could sweat because the classrooms had just one functioning fan, and the north of the country is all but cold. But it’s almost over now, she just has to endure eight more months before she’s off to the big city for college.

Though that should make her happy - it’s what she’s been hoping for since she started high school - she can’t help but feel the tiniest bit of sadness, as her eyes dart around the room and sees her friends, sees her crush laughing and drinking and very oblivious to the way her heart races against her chest by just thinking of her.

She’d get nostalgic of things that haven’t happened yet, but Ilona’s urging her to taste the Fernet she just prepared, and she takes a big swig when there’s a knock on the door. Juice enters without waiting for someone to open, Starzy and Jimbo following her closely, and she has bags full of alcohol on each hand, a wide grin on her face as she tries to find somewhere to sit. More than one of the girls sigh in relief when they see Jimbo’s shirt is pink too - they disregard the fact her design doesn’t make much sense, as long as it’s pink, they can live with that.

She promised herself she wouldn’t cry, but half a glass of Fernet later, she gets a little teary eyed as she looks around the room and sees all of her friends chatting and laughing and having fun. Lemon can only hope senior year is good to them.

 argentina hs au

[cheemers-writing-archive]

Crusader of Life: Chapter 19

Kakyoin woke up in an empty plane. Every step he took echoed as if there were walls, but wherever he turned, there was nothing.

“Noriaki,” a sweet voice called out. Lily’s voice. “Where are you, Noriaki?”

“Lily?” Kakyoin called back. He craned his head behind him, and saw his wife standing in the abyss, looking for him but never turning around.

“Lily, I’m here!” Kakyoin cried, running to her. Although she acknowledged the voice, she still didn’t turn her head in the right direction. As Kakyoin got closer, he slowed down, reaching his hand out to touch her. However, just before his arm landed on Lily’s shoulder, she let out a piercing screech before exploding out of nowhere. Now, in her place was Kira, Killer Queen summoned, letting out a menacing laugh.

“Your daughter is next,” was the only thing Kakyoin heard before waking up, screaming, eyelashes dry and eyelids stinging as if he’d just been crying. A feeling he’d felt almost every night now.

He knew that the dream Kira wasn’t real. Surely the real Kira wasn’t after Emily. After all, she posed no threat at all, why would he be concerned with her? But the thought lingered in his mind.

There was no way Kakyoin could sleep in this condition. He decided to calm himself down and get a glass of water before going back to bed. As he walked out to the living room, he could still see visions of Lily exploding in his head.

What time was it, anyway? Four? That wasn’t too bad, he’d woken up much earlier than that these past few days. Still, it would make the day a lot harder.

“Kakyoin, are you okay? I heard a scream coming from your room,” Jotaro said through the door.

“I’m fine,” Kakyoin replied, keeping his voice as still as he could. “Just a nightmare, that’s all.”

“You don’t sound fine,” Jotaro told him. Truth be told, he wasn’t. He didn’t want to lie to Jotaro again, but he couldn’t allow himself to say anything.

“I’m coming in,” Jotaro announced. Kakyoin hadn’t even noticed how long he’d been standing in silence for. “If you want your door to be spared, I suggest unlocking it.”

Kakyoin shifted over to the door, turning the lock so Jotaro could come inside.

“She died in my dream,” Kakyoin admitted.

Jotaro nodded. “Look, I’m not really the best at consolation, but I can promise you this,” he said. “We’re going to beat the shit out of Kira and make him pay.”

Somehow, those words made Kakyoin more hopeful than anything else.

“Now, get back to sleep. I’m gonna do the same.”

Kakyoin hummed in acknowledgement. “I think I’ll take the day off tomorrow.”

“I don’t know why you told me, but alright,” Jotaro yawned. “Night.”

“Night.”

***

The next day, Kakyoin awoke to an empty bed, as he had every night these past few days. Sighing, he lifted himself up, walking groggily to the fridge. Before he could open the door, a knock came from outside the apartment.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Josuke.”

Kakyoin closed the fridge and walked over to the door. When he opened it up, Josuke was standing outside with a basket of assorted items, mostly snacks, and Tomoko stood right behind him.

“I let my mom in on everything last night,” Josuke told Kakyoin. “She told me that I should bring over a gift basket for you and Emily, then made sure I came and brought the one she made.”

“Thank you, Josuke,” Kakyoin bowed as he took the basket from his hands.

“I still don’t know exactly what’s happening, but you have to put an end to it,” Tomoko said. “I can’t stand someone tarnishing Morioh’s image like that. And I’m very sorry about your wife.” Kakyoin could hear Tomoko’s voice crack and see her eyes getting shiny. “I know what it’s like having to raise a child alone. But I know that you and everyone else can stop that man with your… special powers.”

Kakyoin forced a smile. “Thank you,” he nodded. “I’ll make sure your town is safe once again, Ms. Higashikata.”

The moment the two left, Kakyoin let his smile drop back down as he choked on his tears. He dropped down to his knees right in the doorway, burying his face in his hands.

I should have known, he thought to himself. I should have stopped it. It’s all my fault.

While his thoughts continued to spiral, a small voice called to him. “Daddy?”

“What?!” Kakyoin griped. However, seeing Emily’s frightened eyes, he snapped back to reality. The little girl’s lip quivered, and she ran back into her room sobbing.

“Emily, wait!” Kakyoin exclaimed, but the door was already closed on him. He could easily slip in, but he didn’t want to do that when he just yelled at her.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I wasn’t thinking, and I shouldn’t have yelled.”

Emily, on the other side of the door, listened but didn’t speak.

“Can I come in?”

Emily silently opened the door. She still sniffled here and there, and her eyes were still wet, but she let Kakyoin pick her up and hug her tightly.

“I love you, Emily,” he whispered in her ear.

“I love you too,” Emily murmured. After a few more seconds of silence, she spoke again, “I miss Mommy.”

Kakyoin sighed. “I know. I miss her, too. But I’ll keep you safe, so don’t worry about a thing.”

***

Jotaro was walking on the sidewalk, searching for any clues as to where Kira was, or rather who he was now. That, and finding his father, who had caused plenty of trouble making Stand users to buy him time. Rohan had been taking pictures, so Jotaro thought that his house might be a good place to stop by.

“Excuse me,” a young voice asked. “Are you Jotaro Kujo?”

Jotaro looked to his side. A girl about half his size was staring up at him.

“How do you know me?” Jotaro replied.

“I’ve been doing my research ever since Mrs. Lily showed me how to utilize my friend here,” the girl answered as she summoned her Stand.

Jotaro gritted his teeth. “I’m sorry to say, but Lily has-”

“Died, I know,” the girl sighed. “Like I said, I’ve done my research.”

“Who are you, anyway?”

“My name is Emiko,” she said. “And I want to help you guys find Mrs. Lily’s killer.”

Jotaro wanted to shoot down the offer, knowing it would be dangerous for Emiko to get involved, but something told him this girl might be useful. “Alright,” he finally answered. “Show me what you can do.”

Emiko nodded. “Around the World!” she cried out. Then, in an instant, she disappeared.

Jotaro staggered backward. Could Emiko stop time, too? No, he would have noticed if she could.

“You’re wide open where I’m standing now,” Emiko said from behind. Before she could do anything else, Jotaro stopped time and turned around.

From the looks of it, Emiko couldn’t move. Even if she was fairly new to her ability, her eyes should at least dart around a little bit. Jotaro walked to the left, then to the right. Her eyes didn’t follow him. Just before his limit of stopped time was reached, Jotaro moved around to the back of Emiko. When the world moved again, the girl paused, looking left and right.

“Behind you.”

Emiko jumped, whipping around to face Jotaro. “You can teleport, too?”

Ah, so it’s teleportation, Jotaro thought to himself. “Not exactly,” he said aloud. “I can stop time for five seconds, and move around freely in those moments.”

“So, your ‘teleportation’ is limited to how far you can run in five seconds?”

“I guess.”

“Then I’m still the best one for the job,” Emiko beamed. “So long as I know what a place looks like, I can picture it in my head and teleport there.”

Jotaro looked at the girl for a moment, then turned away. “No.”

“No?” Emiko repeated. “Why not?”

“You’re still a kid, and this guy has been killing for years now. Even with a Stand, you’re inexperienced, and I can’t have you dying because of that.”

As Jotaro was walking away, Emiko teleported to the front of him. “I want to do something to help avenge Mrs. Lily, too, you know!”

“There are better ways to grieve than going out for revenge,” Jotaro walked right around her. “We’re not doing this just because of her, you know. We’re protecting your town.”

“But-”

“Focus on what’s important in your life right now,” Jotaro interrupted. “Catching a serial killer is not one of those things.”

“What do you know about what’s important in my life?” Emiko yelled. Jotaro stopped dead in his tracks. “This isn’t just about Mrs. Lily! A few days before I obtained Around the World, my mom mysteriously disappeared. The police couldn’t even find her body.”

When Jotaro finally turned around, Emiko’s lip was quivering. “Mom was a nice person,” she muttered. “She didn’t do anything wrong. The day before she died, she promised she would teach me really complicated hairstyles that only she knew how to do.” Her voice became more and more wavy as she continued. “She didn’t deserve to die. I want to help you guys make that bastard pay for his sins!”

Jotaro took a deep breath in, then a deep breath out. “Revenge won’t solve how you feel right now,” he said. “It’s best if you treat this like a normal death, and work through your emotions on the sideline, where it’s safe.”

As Jotaro walked away for the final time, he heard Emiko shout, “Actually, what am I doing asking your permission? You’re not even my dad! I’m gonna help take Kira’s life, whether you like it or not!”

When Jotaro turned his head, Emiko was already gone. “I have a bad feeling about this.”