#Fluorescent Light Panels
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stuck (s. jy)
pairing: older ceo!jake x employee!reader (f)
genre: smut.
warnings: explicit smut, dominant jakey, profanity, cheating, oral (m receiving), minor mouth play, unprotected sex🥸, minors DNI !
wc: 4.4k
🎵now playing: slow down by chase atlantic
.。.:*:.:**:.☆*.。.:*:.:*.。.:*:.:**:.☆*.。.:*:.:*
As the clock ticked toward 6:00pm, the office was slowly beginning to clear out, the only noises heard being the soft whirring of computers and a few stragglers murmuring soft goodbyes as they packed their things. However, here you were, furiously wracking your brain on how you were going to manage to get through the piles of paperwork, which had been dumped on your desk during your shift, in the span of the next half an hour when all you could focus on was the night ahead of you. After a long and grueling week, a peaceful night with your boyfriend, Soobin, was just what you needed. You smiled to yourself, already imagining his easy laugh and the way he always reaches for your hand without even thinking. You loved your boyfriend, obviously…. “Fuck this” you thought as you gathered your belongings, eager to leave and push the rest of your work responsibilities to the back of your mind. That’s a Monday job.
You adjusted the strap on your purse as you stepped into the elevator, mind too preoccupied to notice the hand quickly jamming between the doors just before they could slide closed. They opened again with a soft chime and you were pulled out of your daydream by the sight of your boss, Mr Jake Sim, standing on the other side. His tall frame, clad in a perfectly tailored suit, was almost the caricature of corporate authority. Of course, he was still here. He was always the last to leave, the type who believed in leading by example, even if it meant setting an impossibly high bar. You’d grown to admire his work ethic, even if it made the rest of you look a little lazy by comparison. “Heading out?”
“Yes, just about to.” You replied, trying to mask the slight annoyance in your tone. The last thing you wanted was to get trapped in a conversation about quarterly reports when you were this close to freedom. You shifted awkwardly as he stepped in. The silence between the two of you was loud, the only noise being the hum of the elevator as it began its descent, the small space amplifying the tension between you. It wasn’t that you disliked Jake; it was just… you two had history and he had a way of making everyone feel like they were being judged. His presence was a stark reminder that, in the hierarchy of the corporate world, you were just another cog in the machine.
12…11…10…9… You glanced at your watch, willing the elevator to move faster. You were eager to get out of the building, away from the sterile fluorescent lights and the endless stream of emails that had plagued you all day. You thought about texting Soobin, who was probably waiting in the car park for you right now, to let him know that you were on your way down. 8…7… But as if in response to your thoughts, the elevator jolted to a sudden halt. The lights flickered before the emergency lighting kicked in, leaving a dim and eerie glow over the two of you.
“Did we just…?” You murmured, looking up at the ceiling.
Jake moved quickly, pressing the buttons on the panel, but received no response from them. He pulled his phone out before sighing, the first sign of irritation breaking through his composed exterior “No signal.”
“No… no no this can’t be happening-“ You groan, panic evident in your faltering tone.
Jake responded with a short nod, his expression unreadable. “It looks like we might be in here for a while.”
As the minutes dragged on, you tried not the think about how long you were going to be stuck like this, or how it was ruining your plans with Soobin and how you didn’t have signal to let him know. Instead, you focused on staying calm, hoping someone would come to your rescue soon. But with every passing second, the shiny metal walls of began to close in on you. The silence between you and Jake grew heavier… and it wasn’t just the discomfort of being trapped. There was an unspoken tension between the two of you that neither had fully addressed but were both painfully aware of.
A year ago, things had been different. You had been one of Jakes top performers, a rising star in the department. You were quick, innovative, and always willing to go the extra mile. Jake had recognized your potential early on, and he had taken you under his wing, mentoring you and giving you opportunities to shine. You had spent long hours working together on projects, strategizing late into the night. You had respected his keen business acumen, and he had appreciated your fresh perspective and dedication.
It was during those late nights that something had shifted between you both. At first, it was just a shared glance that lingered a little too long, or a casual touch—a hand on your back as he guided you into a meeting room, or the brush of fingers as you passed papers to each other. Neither of you acknowledged it but it was intoxicating, this mix of professional respect and undeniable attraction. Both of you knew it was dangerous. He was your boss, nearly a decade older, with a reputation to maintain. You were becoming a crucial member in the company, with too much at stake to risk your career over something that could never be. Yet, the attraction was there, undeniable and electric, simmering just beneath the surface of your interactions. Not to mention your relationship.
But everything changed six months ago. You had been working on a major client pitch—one that could secure a crucial contract for the company. You had poured everything into it, sacrificing weekends and late nights, and Jake had been there every step of the way, guiding you, challenging you to push harder. There was an unspoken understanding between both of you, a mutual trust. The late nights grew longer, and the tension between you more palpable. There were moments when you were alone in his office, when knees would bump and the conversation would drift away from work, and for just a second, you would both forget who they were supposed to be. The lines blurred, and the unspoken attraction nearly spilled over into something neither could take back.
Then, just days before the presentation, he had unexpectedly pulled her from the project. No explanation, no discussion—just a curt email informing you that the project would be handed over to another colleague. You had been blindsided. You tried to ask him why, to understand what had gone wrong, but he had become cold and distant, shutting down every attempt you made to discuss it. Rumours circulated that the decision had come from higher up, that Jake had been pressured by senior management, but he never confirmed or denied them.
The fallout had been swift. You felt humiliated, betrayed by someone you had looked up to. You distanced yourself, retreating into your work, but the easy camaraderie you once shared was gone. You could barely look him in the eye during meetings, and your interactions became strictly professional, devoid of the warmth and mutual respect the two of you once had.
For you, being this close to him again brought back all the confusion, the hurt, but also the desire that had never fully gone away. The small space seemed to amplify the awkwardness, each moment stretching into an eternity as you both grappled with the weight of your unspoken history. Neither knew how to bridge the gap, or if it was even possible anymore.
Jake leaned against the wall of the elevator, his eyes flickering over to you every so often. You could tell he was uncomfortable too, if not more than you, but his poker face gave nothing away. He looked away, clearing his throat.
“You still seeing whats-his-name?” His voice was casual, but laced with an underlying curiosity
“Soobin?” You shifted awkwardly, playing with your fingers “Uh, yeah. I am.”
He nods slowly, as if he expected the answer, but still felt a pang of… jealousy? “Serious, huh?” He almost scoffed, feigning nonchalance.
“Yeah. We are.” I shrug, making Jakes eyes narrow slightly.
“Why him?” The question was blunt, almost blunt enough to be rude. He couldn’t help himself though, the thought of you with someone else, especially someone as carefree and easy going as Soobin, rankled him in a way that he couldn’t admit.
I scoff lightly. “Are you really going to do this now Mr Sim?”
“Oh, so its ‘Mr Sim’ now, is it?” He retorts, a familiar irritation settling in. “What happened to ‘Jakey’?”
“I’m pretty sure you made it clear that you wanted us to be strictly professional when you dropped me from that project.” You grit, the memory still a sore spot between the two of you.
He bristles at the reminder. “That wasn’t my decision,” he sighs, the excuse sounding weak now, especially in the confinement of the elevator. He turns to look at you properly. “And that was different. That was work. This… this is something else.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit, don’t act like that.” He takes a step closer towards you, invading your personal space “Like you don’t remember the late nights, the tension, or have you conveniently forgotten all about that part?”
“Mr Sim don’t do this. Not now.” You finally meet his gaze, your patience warring thin.
“Why not?” He counters with a bitter laugh. “Seems like as good a time as any to have this conversation.”
“There is no conversation to be had,” You swallow harshly as he steps closer, his tall frame looming over you “it was a mistake.��
“A mistake?” His jaw clenches, the air thicker than it was. “Is that really what you think it was?”
You couldn’t deny that you knew full well what it was. You liked Jake, as much as you wouldn’t admit. The worst part being, he was everything your boyfriend wasn’t. He was everything you longed for your boyfriend to be. You felt awful, in fact, the knowledge of your feelings towards Jake had been eating away at you everyday since the day they started. The late nights working side by side, the discreet touching, it was more than a simple attraction; it was completely wrong. But that just made you want it even more.
The proximity was almost intoxicating, the familiar heat of his body igniting a fire in you that you had tried so hard to smother. You could smell his cologne, the same scent that you would spend hours trying to rid yourself of before going home after late nights spent with him at work. The memory hit you like a physical blow, and you found yourself holding your breath. You cursed your body’s betrayal, the way it ached for his touch, even as your brain screamed in protest.
Jakes gaze darkened, the last shred of his patience and self-control hanging by a thread. He lifted his hand, his fingers hovering a mere inch away from your face. It would be so easy. So easy for him to claim what he had been yearning for, to forget the boundaries he had placed between you.
“Would this be a mistake too?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Jakey…”
His resolved shattered. He surged forwards, his hands gripping your waist and pulling you hard against his chest, crashing his lips onto yours in a passionate, desperate kiss. The months of pent-up desire, the longing, the uncertainty, it all exploded in that moment. You opened your mouth to protest, but his tongue delved deep, silencing any words. He pushed you back against the wall, pinning you there as his lips claimed you with an intensity that was almost animalistic.
One of his hands reached to tangle in your hair, tugging it back to give him access to your neck as he began to suck and nip at the sensitive flesh. You gasp, almost whining, and he relished in the sound, his other hand gripping your thigh and hoisting it up to hold against his hip.
“Jake we can’t- not here.” You protest.
“Don’t care,” he retorted, his lips trailing to your collarbone. He nicked softly at the skin, his teeth grazing the flesh and leaving small marks “I’m tired of pretending I don’t want you.” He ground his hips against yours, making his intentions and arousal blatantly obvious. His hand caressed your thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. “You don’t understand how torturous it’s been, seeing you every day and knowing I can’t touch you.”
His hand slid under your blouse, his touch igniting sparks across your skin. It was wrong, so wrong, and yet it felt so right. He pulled the fabric taunt, his large hand splaying over your stomach. You arched into his touch, begging for more.
Jake smirks at your reaction; the small sighs and whines that leave your pretty lips as you subtly arch your back. He knows you want it as badly as he does, your body giving you away. His hand slides up your ribcage, his fingertips brushing the sensitive skin below your bra.
“See?” He murmurs, his hand cupping your breast through the thin lacy fabric that he loved so much. “I knew you wanted this; wanted me.” His voice was gravelly, rough with desire. You knew he was right. Youd fought against it for so long, denying your feelings and convincing yourself you were happy with your relationship. But now, here, with jakes body pressed against yours like this, all your justifications seemed hollow. He tilted your head up, forcing you to meet his heavy gaze. His eyes were dark, almost predatory, and they pierced right through you.
“Say it.” He commanded and his hand kneaded your breast gently “Say you want me.”
“I want you Mr Sim.” You whimper without any hesitation.
“That’s what I thought.” His mouth was back on your neck, his tongue licking a hot, wet trail down the column of your throat. His teeth sink into your pulse point, sucking the skin into his mouth. You could feel his hand sliding lower, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your trousers. He was driving you insane, reducing you to nothing but a whining mess as he slowly unbuttons your blouse. He pops one button at a time, kissing and biting the skin in between each one.
You moan, tilting your head back to give him complete access to the sensitive skin on your neck whilst one of your hands reaches to tangle in his hair. He responds to your touch with a deep, guttural sound, somewhere between a growl and a purr. He pushed your breasts together, pulling away from your neck to purse his lips. You watched as a glob of spit falls from his lips and lands on one of your nipples before rolling down the crevice.
Jake moaned loudly, immediately ducking his head to smear his lips around your boobs, nipping and sucking at them. You moan louder, arching your breasts further into his mouth and allowing his to suck them properly. He devours your tits, each falling out of his mouth with a satisfying 'pop'. His mouth returned to yours, his tongue delving between your lips to devour you entirely. He catches your lip between his teeth, biting down gently.
“On your knees.” He ordered, and you obeyed immediately.
He inhaled sharply as he watched you sinking to your knees before him, his hands instinctively going to your hair. “Look at you, doll,” He muttered. He ran a thumb over your bottom lip, smearing any lipstick that remained. “I’m sure your boyfriend wouldn’t approve of this.”
You whine, the mere idea of your boyfriend having completely slipped your mind. But you were too far gone to care, opening your mouth slightly, just enough for him to slip his thumb past your teeth. His eye darkened further, the digit sliding further into your mouth.
“You like sucking on my fingers, don’t you?” He chuckled; his voice thick with need. “Bet you like your boyfriends just as much.”
“No sir.” You shake your head meekly. “Like your fingers so much more.”
“Is that so?” His voice was a little raspier now, desperate for something more than just this back and forth teasing. “Then show me how much you like them.”
You take index and middle finger whole, gagging and swirling your tongue around the thick digits. Jake groaned, his eyes widening as he watches you take him so easily. He tightened his grip on your hair, pulling slightly. “That’s it.”
His unoccupied hand moves to the front of his trousers, undoing his belt and top button in one fluid motion. He was achingly hard, and the slight of you like this in front of him was thinning his patience. You pull your mouth from his fingers, reaching up in a desperate attempt to help him undress. He let out a hiss as your fingers make contact with his strained pants. “Yeah, unzip me then.”
The sound of his zipper being drawn echoed in the quiet elevator. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, your wet lips, the way your fingers fumble with his pants, the flush on your cheeks that gave away your mounting excitement. God, he was desperate.
You get his pants down, whining as he tugs your hair forward to press your cheek flush against his thick bulge. The feeling of you face against his clothed dick make him shiver, his hips canting forward involuntarily; seeking more contact. “You like that, don’t you? God your so dirty. Are you this dirty for your pathetic boyfriend too?”
“No sir, only you.”
“Good,” He groaned again, pulling on your hair again. “I don’t share.”
Your finger hook underneath his boxers waistband, tugging on the elastic and letting it snap back against his skin before pulling them down completely. He helped you, kicking the boxers down until the pooled at his ankles with his trousers He stood there, his lower half completely exposed to you, but he held your chin in his face, keeping you gaze on his.
“You see how much you affect me, doll?” He smirked predatorily as your eyes fixed on his cock, hard and flushed against his stomach. “But you’re gonna take care of this for me, aren’t you?”
Your tongue darted out, licking a tentative stripe up the underside of his boner. He let out a shuddered breath, his hand clenching reflectively in your hair. He guided your head closer, encouraging you to take him properly. You run your tongue over his slit before closing your lips around the head. He groaned, his body arching towards you and silently bidding you to keep going.
“Look at me when you suck my dick baby.” He ordered. Your eyes immediately catch his gaze; his half-lidded eyes that perfectly complimented his bottom lip caught between his teeth. The sight encouraged you, holding his gaze as you take him whole and wrapping your lips around his base. Jakes head rolls back, a deep, guttural moan escaping his throat. He pants as you begin bobbing your head at his base, your nose nudging against his lower abdomen with a soft gag. “Fuck, just like that.”
You speed up, taking him even deeper - if that was possible, desperate to take as much of him as you possibly could. His muscles clenched in response, his abs flexing as he drew in a gasping breath. He finally looks down at you again, eager to see what you look like taking him so far down your throat like this; and you didn’t disappoint. You looked at him through your eyelashes, sucking him so deliciously with a teary expression. He couldn’t look away; he didn’t dare. It was too perfect, so erotic and beautiful.
“You can’t look at me like that, YN,” He moans. “I won’t last.”
You immediately double down, bobbing and swirling your tongue like your life depended on it. You had a different purpose now; this was no longer about him, this was about you. You and your desperation to taste him. His hands twist in your hair, his grip border lining on painful.
“Holy fuck-“ He choked, his stomach coiled like a spring. He was so close to cumming, but he didn’t want to. Not yet, not like this. He moved your mouth off him, pulling you up to your feet and pushing you back against the wall. “Turn around. Now.”
As soon as your back is turned to him, his hands are on you in an instant. His fingers run up the clothed skin of your thighs before reaching around the unbutton your trousers. He undid the button and zipper with a swift, practiced motion, each tooth separating echoing in the cramped space. He pushed the material down, the cold air hitting your soaked core immediately. His hands glide slowly over the newly exposed skin, teasing you.
“So smooth,” He mused, his voice almost a soft whine. “I knew you’d be.”
He pushes your thighs together, rutting his dick between them. You moan in unison, his tip bumping against your clit. He just couldn’t help himself, seeing you so wet and puffy for him was making him borderline insane.
“Don’t tease me, Jakey.” You whine as he holds your thighs closer together. He chuckled at your pleading, the old nickname making his spine shiver. He ruts between your thighs one more time before abruptly slipping into your pussy. You gasp loudly as he pushes in, grasping onto the hand-railing in front of you as you adjust to his size.
“Shit, you’re so tight,” He groans as he grips your hips, pulling you back to take him fully as he finally begins to rock into you. “Does your boyfriend even fuck you?”
You were too lost in the moment, the feel of him, the way he held you, the sound of his voice, that you could barely form a coherent thought, let alone speak. But when he mentioned your boyfriend, a pang of guilt stabs at your chest.
“No?” He assumed, scoffing loudly. “I bet he doesn’t even know how to.”
His arm tightened around your waist, pulling your back against his chest. His hips speed up, making your head fall back against his shoulder with a loud moan.
“You need someone who can take care of you,” he told you, his breathing becoming a little ragged. “Someone who knows what you want, what you need.”
The only thing that can be heard in the confined elevator now is skin slapping, combined moans and your body hitting the metal wall with each deep thrust. You respond with a whine, pushing your hips back to encourage him. He catches your signal, slamming his hips against yours.
“That’s it, baby,” He hisses, his fingers digging into your hips desperately. “Take what you need.”
You could feel every inch of him. Every inch of his thick, veiny length as he filled you up perfectly with each thrust. It made your head spin as you moaned and cried desperately. There was no you could go back to your boyfriend after this, not now that you knew what real dick felt like. And he seemed to sense your realisation, the way your body arches against him, the way your eyes rolled back so beautifully. You were his now.
He increased his pace, his tip bumping against your g-spot with every harsh blow. The pleasure was mounting between you, both of your stomachs coiled like springs. But neither of you dared to say anything, too desperate to prolong this moment for as long as possible.
He could feel you getting tighter, your pussy clamping down on him like a vice; like you never wanted him to pull away. Jake moans, a needy whine in his throat. Every movement, every breath, moan – it was all for you. He was entirely wrapped up in you.
“I’m so close baby.” His hips bucked forwards more, aiming to get as deep as he possibly could.
The sound of his moans, the way he was falling apart because of you, it only served to push you closer to the edge. You could feel his eagerness and it made you want him even more. “Me too!”
“You gonna make a mess on my dick?” He pants, his tip continuing to slam against your g-spot. "Gonna make a mess like a good slut?"
“Yes!” You moan loudly. His hips stutter at your admission, his rhythm growing erratic and sloppy. “Wanna cum with you.”
“Please let me come in your sweet pussy, baby” He whines, desperately nudging his nose against you neck before attacking the spot with bites.
“Fill me up sir!” You push back against him again. But it wasn’t enough for him, he needed you to cum.
“Cum for me. Be a good girl and cum on this dick.” And that was all it took for your walls to clamp down on him and for your juices to explode down your thighs with a loud cry. His head dropped to your shoulder, his breathe catching in his throat, the feeling and sound of you pushing him headfirst into pure ecstasy.
“Fuuck, doll!” He came, filling you up perfectly with a loud whine as his arms wrapped around you in a vice-like grip. He stayed like that for a moment, panting into your neck. He didn’t want to move, his body taut with exhaustion. “You look so pretty when you fall apart like that. So pretty.”
He slowly pulls out of you, almost hardening again when he watches his cum drip down your thighs in thick globs. You flinch as you turn around, a ball of clothes hitting you in the face. Your fingers grasp the clothing, pulling them down from your face to glare at him. “Yeah, real classy.”
As if on cue, the elevator jolted, beginning its decent again. You sigh, relieved that you could finally escape the humid box you had been trapped in for the past 20 minutes. You both put your clothes back on, smoothing the fabric and fixing each other hair. The elevator finally reaches the ground floor, both of stepping out together.
“See you Monday?” He smirks.
“See you Monday.” You roll your eyes as you turn on your heels. You walk away from him and out into the car park, desperately hoping Soobin hadn’t left yet. Jake watched as you retreat out of his view, thanking god.
Thanking god that you didn’t notice him push the emergency stop.
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@ hvseung, 2024. do not repost or reuse in anyway. thankyou :)
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#enhypen#kpop#fanfic#fanfiction#sim jaeyun#sim jake#kpop smut#kpop fanfic#enhypen smut#enha#enhypen fanfiction
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blue ribbon | s.r.
in which you and Spencer dedicate yourselves to helping your daughter with the best baking soda volcano the science fair has ever seen
margovember
who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: chemist!reader, misuse of lab equipment i don't care, their daughter is very girly, glitter word count: 1.46k a/n: ending the post margotober drought with the very first margovember request!!! i promise i'm working on masterlists but for some reason they're exhausting.
“Why do I have to walk backward?” You grumble while trying to balance the end of the plywood on your knee, pulling at your badge reel to unlock the lab door.
Spencer nods his head in the direction of the keypad, “That would be why.”
Rolling your eyes, you push the door handle down with your elbow before pushing the door open with your foot, shuffling your feet. “Honey, can you turn the lights on?”
Lifting herself up on her tiptoes, your daughter flips all of the switches on the panel, cringing at the bright fluorescent lights.
Together, you and Spencer hoist the science project onto one of the lab tables, careful not to knock anything over as the papier-mâché volcano rests in your professional lab.
You and Leah had stayed up until eleven last night finishing the last coat of paint, even entertaining a visit from her Aunt Penelope so that the finished project could have a fine dusting of glitter all over it. Your dining room was now permanently sparkly, but the look on your daughter’s face when she saw the finished project made the mess entirely worth it.
Spencer steps to grab your jugs of white vinegar from the car, propping the door open so he can bring the supplies for the baking soda volcano in.
Obviously, you weren’t going to use the full-size volcano now, but Leah had refused to travel without it and Spencer believes that saying no to her is an impossible task. “Mommy?” The little girl pipes up, playing with the stirring rod that you had just set in front of her.
“What’s up?” You ask, leaning your hip against the counter, gently reaching out and adjusting the bows adorning her pigtails that you’d put in her hair that morning.
She looks over at the wall, minding each of the posters that line your laboratory, “What is that?”
You follow her finger to see what she’s pointing at, smiling softly, “It’s the periodic table.”
Humming thoughtfully, Leah sets the stirring rod down and walks over to the poster, “It looks like the one at home.”
Nodding, you get a step stool out for her to stand on, “They’re the same poster, the one we have at home is just a lot smaller than the one I keep at work.” You explain to her, knowing she’s talking about the poster you keep in your home office. “Come on baby, let’s go get you a lab coat.”
Setting a hand on her shoulder, you guide her to the storeroom, “Woah,” she breathes. It’s not a positive reaction, her eyes flitter all around the room, a mess of lab coats and goggles.
“Okay,” you say, shoving your way through the space until you find your locker, pulling out your lab coat, as well as safety glasses for the whole family. Holding a coat up to her and having her pull it on, you put your own lab coat on before looking back to find your five-year-old drowning in polyester. Laughing slightly, you adjust the lapels of her jacket, “How does it feel?”
Leah looks down at herself, “Cool!” She exclaims beaming up at you and giving you two thumbs up. She skips out of the closet and heads back to her volcano, almost tripping over the extra fabric of the lab coat, but Spencer grabs her arm before her knees can hit the linoleum.
He smiles at her, “Are you okay?” Helping her adjust her coat, he kneels down to her.
“Daddy,” she cheers, completely ignoring his question for the sake of being five years old, “Look at my coat!”
Smoothing her hair back, Spencer’s eyes briefly meet yours before he looks back to Leah, “You look like mommy.”
In a fit of giggles, he scoops her up in his arms in an attempt to avoid a tripping hazard, but she just thinks it’s fun. He sets her down feet-first on the step stool you had gotten out for her.
“Here,” you say, handing him a lab coat for him to wear and setting the safety goggles you’d gathered on the countertop.
When your daughter came home in tears because she felt like she had been assigned the ‘most boringest’ project for the science fair, you and Spencer quickly decided that you’d try everything to make her baking soda volcano exciting. At the very least, you’d work together to make sure she has fun.
Leah puts her goggles on and looks up at you for her next instruction, watching you divide the baking soda and white vinegar into separate beakers, “So, what will happen when we add these two together?” Spencer quizzes, watching you make careful portions.
“It’s gonna fizz up!” She responds correctly, bouncing on her feet while you gently push the first two dishes in front of her.
You nod, “You can pour the white vinegar into the baking soda,” You nudge her gently, knowing that you measured just enough to reach the top of the beaker, but not enough to flow onto the counter.
She uses both hands to grip the beaker and pour the liquid out, and the immediate reaction surprises her so much that Spencer holds an arm out to keep her upright. He trains his eyes on her amazement as the foam dissipates and the water and sodium acetate are left in the glass. “Can I drink it?” She asks, frowning up at her dad.
“No,” you both answer immediately, a sort of parental reflex. If you don’t answer quickly enough, odds are she’d pick it up and try anyway.
Disappointed, her frown remains on her face while her eyes return to the countertop, timidly, she tugs on Spencer’s lab coat, prompting him to crouch down to her eye level, “What’s wrong, lovey?”
Her eyes nervously look around the lab, eyeing some of the cabinets before she takes a deep breath, “Can we make it pink?”
“The foam?” Spencer says curiously, eyes flickering up at you while you nod frantically, already thinking up options so that you could further individualize your daughter’s glitter volcano.
She rocks back and forth, “Can we?”
As soon as Spencer says yes, it’s like a hold on you has been released, unlocking some of the cabinets so you can grab more supplies from around the lab, you return to the station with an armful of things to try, and Spencer mutters something to Leah about you being a mad scientist, leading you to maturely stick your tongue out at him.
You set up four options, taking photos as you go so you can paste them onto her presentation board. The first one is just baking soda, but you added a touch of dish soap to the vinegar. The increase in bubbles seems to greatly please Leah, so you decide as a team that the final product should have dish soap in it.
The second one has manganese sulfate mixed into the baking soda, and if the pink salt altered the color of the foam at all, it doesn’t impress your perfectionist daughter.
The third one includes phenolphthalein, which you think has some real potential, based on the way Leah’s eyes widen at the sight of it combined with the vinegar. The liquid was almost a fuchsia color, and she gasps when she pours it in to find that the foam is white, “It’s gone?”
You nod, “The phenolphthalein when it’s in the vinegar is pink because it’s an acid, but as soon as you add the baking soda it becomes a basic solution, so…” Your voice trails off when Spencer starts shaking his head, and you look down to find that you have completely lost Leah’s attention. Instead of listening, she’s trying to pronounce phenolphthalein, tracing the letters on the black countertop.
“What do you have next?” Spencer asks, eyeing the tiny dropper bottle in front of you.
Picking it up, you drop some of it into the vinegar and hand it to Leah, “It’s food coloring.”
His eyebrows furrow, “Why do you have food coloring in the lab?”
You wrinkle your nose at him, the expression makes Leah giggle, “Mind your business.”
As a family, you watch the chemical reaction, the white of the foam mixing with the red food coloring to create the desired pink lava. “Oh,” your daughter says softly, “Thank you, mommy!”
Beaming down at her, you place your hands on your hips and sigh, “If you’d like, we can add glitter to the baking soda too.”
Wide eyes look up at you in amazement, brown eyes inherited from her father, “I love science,” she whispers.
Behind her back, you hold your hand out for Spencer, exchanging a silent fist bump—a quiet celebration between two scientists.
#criminal minds#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds fanfic#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fluff#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid x you#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds fluff#spencer reid fic#criminal minds fic#spencer reid x fem!reader#written by margot#chemist!reader#margovember
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Sunlamp Controller
Disclaimer: this isn't an April fool's joke lol
This little control panel makes all lights located in the same room with it work like sunlamps.
The controller is only needed for lights that aren't actual sunlamps. This mod by Sophie-David is incorporated, so the cheaper fluorescent lamp and custom lights with orig GUID 0x6CC90706 are recognized as sunlamps.
For other kinds of lamps, you'll need a control panel for each room you want extra sunlight in. They work in greenhouses and outdoors as well, on all lot types.
I didn't want it to be too cheaty, so the controller costs 1.5x the price of one fluorescent lamp.
☀️ Download (SFS) (alternate)
The files are compressed. Conflicts with Sophie-David's sunlamp mod, just delete it before adding these.
Update 18.10.2024: The screen is now separately recolorable. I added a few options for the screen and two new wooden recolors for the console.
Credits to Sophie-David for their mod, Living Dead Girl for the panel mesh, and @shastakiss for the metal texture I blended for the recolor.
#ts2#ts2cc#sims 2#s2cc#the sims 2#the sims 2 download#dl mods#dl buy#one of the best ideas i've ever had#those who play with plantsims get it
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How About a Nuke?
Part I / Part II / Part III
The ghoul x fem!reader A/N: Part three is going to be when it gets juicy, this is just them becoming reacquainted. You’ll get the good angst in the next parts. Summary: Your dreams of stardom and fame have been blown away. Your old life is lost to the sands of this new world and you find yourself utterly confused. There’s a man who looks an awful lot like Cooper yelling at you, but it’s not the man you remember loving. Not anymore.
For two days he’s been following the sound of sirens. With no new bounties, he hasn’t got much else to do with his time. Plus, he’s hoping that maybe if he figures out what’s been causing all this noise he can shut it the fuck up. Didn’t matter how far he walked, the blaring wail was echoing across the whole damn wasteland.
A cough started up in his chest, itching into his throat and rattling his whole body as it ripped its way out of him. He tried to walk through the discomfort but it wouldn’t let him. He leaned over, hands braced on his knees, and coughed so hard he could feel ass jerky coming back up from his “dinner” last night. He clamped a hand over his mouth and forced the bile down. Frantic hands dug through the bag on his side, shaking as he ripped the box open and grabbed his inhaler.
It took a minute before the drugs had the desired effect, and even then he was still fighting back nausea. He’s got to find a new dealer, that bitch in Filly was watering down her supply and he knew it. Not just that, she was overcharging too, on account of his being a ghoul.
Even in the apocalypse money still managed to rule the world. Even if it was in the form of Nuka caps. He walked a little further before leaning against a boulder for a break. He wiped spittle off his lips and surveyed his surroundings.
There was a faded old billboard sunken into the sand, only half of it sticking out. The paper was curled and browned from age and the sun, but he could make it out well enough. Quench Your Thirst, it wasn’t one of hers, though. It was the girl they’d replaced her with. He contemplated shooting it, just so he wouldn’t have to stare at the girl anymore, but it was a waste of bullets.
Instead, he pushed off the rock and forced himself to keep going. The noise was unbearable now, rattling around his brain and making his ears bleed the closer he got. He must be right on it, only a little while longer and he’d finally turn the damn thing off.
He lifted a leathered hand to block the sun out of his eyes. He kept squinting, disbelieving in the sight before him. Vault 111 was sitting pretty among the skeletons and dunes of sand. It’s big white numbers upside down as the door was slid open, alarms ringing out and red flashing lights dancing around within the vault.
He couldn’t believe it. Vault dwellers were practically extinct in the Wastelands, nevermind actually getting into their vaults. But here this one sat, open and ready for the taking. Normally, he wouldn’t risk it, even just to turn off those fucking alarms. But he had just used his last vial and if he didn’t get his hands on some good shit soon, well, best not to imagine it.
Hand on his holster he started forward, eyes darting back and forth to make sure this wasn’t some sort of trap set by raiders. He didn’t imagine they were smart enough to do that, but apparently Muldaver’s been on the move, this could be her people’s doing. He’d rather not have to listen to someone whining on about a better life and a kind society.
He’d believe it when he saw it. All people were capable of was greed and lust, it’s been the same before the bombs and it will be the same after.
He stepped inside, eyes pained as they adjusted to the stark contrast of the glaring sun outside and the soft fluorescent lights within the vault. He spotted a big red button and slammed his palm down on it. The sirens, thank fuck, shut off, but the lights kept going.
There was a gap between his platform and the next. The control panel clearly needed a Pip-Boy to be operated but he didn’t see any nearby. He sighed and took a running leap, just barely making it to the other side.
He took another suspicious look around, still not quite sure he was completely safe. His chest tightened with the irritating feeling of an oncoming coughing fit. “Fuck it,” he muttered, starting through the open doorway without a glance back.
Whatever had happened in here had been messy and recent. He kneeled down next to a puddle of blood and dipped an ungloved finger in, still warm. He popped open his holster and tugged out the gun, better to be safe than dead.
He had been following the direction the lights had been pointing this whole time, hoping maybe he’d stumble across an infirmary. These vault fucks had to have left at least one bag of radaway behind. So far, though, he didn’t have high hopes. Everything was ransacked. The bodies that were left behind had been stripped naked and beaten to unidentifiable pulps.
So far, the vaults had at least been air conditioned. If nothing else he was getting a break from the sweltering heat that trailed him on the surface. He’d already tested out one of the sinks down here, their water was still functioning. Maybe he could get some of the blood caked under his nails cleaned out.
While the air conditioning had been nice, the breeze that was coming from the door across the way would have had goosebumps rising on him if he was still capable of that. His head tilted in contemplation as he stared at it. Above every door was meant to be an indicator of what went on in there.
There wasn’t for this one, though. And despite knowing better, he had to admit, he was pretty curious. He strode forward, tucking the gun back in his holster and slamming the button on the right side of the door. The second it slid open, whatever had been sealing the noise inside broke.
He flinched away from the sounds of sirens and covered his ears, cussing up a storm as he slammed the button once more. It clicked uselessly but didn’t send the door down again. “Fuck,” he hissed, stepping inside and grunting as the cold bore down on him ten times worse than before.
Cryogenics, well, the temperature made sense now.
He stared at each of the pods, the windows frosted over with cold and making it impossible to see the people within. He took his time examining them, trying his best to see if anyone he knew was in one of them. Despite it all, he held a little hope that he might see Janey, maybe even Barb.
Without any luck he headed towards the terminal, he could probably get the sirens to shut the fuck up this way. Or maybe just get this door closed again.
In neon green a warning sign flashed over and over across the screen.
LIFE SUPPORT: CRITICAL FAILURE.
He glanced back over his shoulder and scoffed. Rich fucks hadn’t thought to have a back up, or did they really think their buddy Vault-Tec would keep them safe? He shook his head and clicked away the warning. He peered through the list of commands but couldn’t find anything except a list of who was in the pods.
He figured he might as well see if he spotted a familiar name. If they were alive he might be able to get some information off of them. It wasn’t until the bottom of the list that he saw anything helpful. Your name stood out bright and bold and beside it the message:
LIFE SUPPORT FAILING
RISK OF ASPHYXIATION:
The colon blinked a few times and he drummed his finger impatiently on the sides of the terminal. Finally the risk analysis loaded and he let out a rough exhale.
RISK OF ASPHYXIATION: IMMINENT
REMOVE SUBJECT IMMEDIATELY
His eyes widened and without thinking he clicked the little button. A moment later he heard something creak open, the seal of the pod broken as air rushed out. He turned around and faced your pod, of course it was the one right beside him.
He ran forward, catching you just as you slumped out of the seat. Your skin was like ice, your lips blue and face purple from choking. It was all swollen, like you’d been struggling to get air in for a while before he came. He frowned down at your limp form, shaking you slightly as he waited for you to take in a breath.
“Hey,” he brought a rough hand down on your cheek, the leather striking loudly against your skin.
Your lips parted and you took in a deep breath, gasping as your hands flew up to your throat. You turned over, falling out of his arms and landing roughly on the metal grates of the floor. He took a step back, watching as you hacked yourself back to life, your lungs nearly coming out with how hard you were coughing.
His head tilted as he observed you. You looked damn near the same as the last time he saw you. The only real difference being the slutty little black slip you had on. He scoffed and shook his head. So that’s where you’d disappeared to, sold yourself out to Vault-Tec for some apocalyptic protection.
Lot of good that did you.
You clawed at your throat, air feeling like razor blades as you greedily inhaled. You’re not sure where you are, you can barely feel your extremities, you’ve got an uncomfortable draft on your backside. You wince as you sit up, wiping your blurry eyes in the hopes they’ll clear up, metal digs into your skin as you do.
It’s like when you get too cold during winter and your eyes frost over a little bit. Except, this doesn’t feel like a little bit. You can’t even see your own hand right now. All you can make out is faint outlines of everything, blurry little clouds of color.
“Hello?” Someone was here, you could tell that much. You just didn’t know who. Metal creaked in front of you and you scrambled back. They weren’t saying anything. Why weren’t they saying anything?
You wracked your brain for the last thing you could remember and felt tears building along your lashes. Oh god. “Tom?” You called out hesitantly. Maybe they’d changed their minds. Maybe the men who’d grabbed you had dumped you off somewhere.
You didn’t want to think about what they’d done while you were asleep. You were slowly becoming more aware of your surroundings and very aware of the skimpy slip you had on right now. Not even close to what you’d been wearing when they grabbed you. You wrapped your arms around yourself in a meager attempt at comfort.
“That who you fucked, sweetheart?”
Your brows turned down. “Cooper?” He sounded a little rough, his accent more pronounced, but you’d know his voice anywhere. It was as familiar to you as your own. “Cooper, where am I?” The tears were spilling freely now the longer he stared at you in silence. At least crying was starting to thaw out your eyes.
You could more clearly make out his form now, looming overtop of you like some sort of dark omen. You always felt safe with Coop. When someone pushed you too much or got a little too aggressive, you could go to him.
Right now, though, you felt like prey in front of a wolf. There was no kindness in his words and only a cruel accusation in his tone. Dear god, where were you? And why would he think you would ever fool around with any of these sick fucks behind his back?
“Cooper, please, what happened?”
He barked out a laugh and you flinched back, “What happened? Well, lets see what the fuck happened.” You heard more than saw him pace across the metal floors, the spurs on his boots clanking loudly. Had he been at a party and come looking for you?
“You told me you’d be back for lunch and I didn’t see you for another two hundred years.”
Your stomach dropped to the floor, “What?” You whispered.
He knelt down in front of you. “Your eyes still foggy?” You nodded your head mutely. “Well,” he chuckled but it wasn’t the one you knew. This was something mean and sharp. “When those clear up, I’m not gonna look like you remember me, darling. Should probably get out of here before you realize what you’re talking to.”
He made to get up but you shot forward, blindly groping at the dark form of his torso until you latched onto his duster. “Cooper, please, I’m confused. I-” you looked around blindly, hoping to find something to explain how the last thing you remembered was eating pancakes with him. There’s no way in hell it’s been two hundred years.
“I went to Tom’s to get the script. He made me come in for drinks. There- there were all these men there, they grabbed me and I don’t remember anything after that. Cooper, please, I wasn’t wearing this when they snatched me. What the hell happened to me?”
There was a moment of silence before he let out a sigh. “You didn’t leave to find some safety in Vault-Tec?”
You frowned and let him go, shoving him away from you with as much force as your frozen muscles could muster up. “Fuck you, you think I’d do that to you? How little do you think of me?”
You reached out for the pod beside you, using it to get to your feet. You felt about as graceful as a newborn foal right now, all gangly limbs and stilted movements. You leaned over, catching your breath as you tried to walk forward.
“If I were you, I’d get back in that pod and let the world rot away. You’re not gonna do well on your own out here, honey.”
You heard his spurs moving past you and then made out his form as he walked through the doors of the room. “Cooper?” You called out, but you knew it was pointless. He was gone. The man you knew was gone and you had no clue what the fuck had happened.
He managed to finally find the infirmary, lucky enough that a few bags of Rad-Away had been left behind. They’d only had IV bags, so he’d spent a while trying to find a spot where his skin wasn’t so tough a needle could actually get through.
She had to be lying.
He felt himself trying to look at the door, like she’d step through, and forced his head down. He flicked at the IV bag, hoping that maybe it would speed it the fuck up. He needed to get out of here. The longer he stayed, the more he wanted to talk to her.
He’d changed a lot since they’d last seen each other. Whatever he had once felt for her was gone. The man he had once been was dead. There was no point in hurting the girl by giving her false hope. He sighed and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes and trying to relax some.
He’d finish this bag, pack the others, and then he’d leave this vault behind. She could figure out what she wanted to do on her own. He didn’t have time for strays or old flames.
You stumbled around for a while before you finally got your bearings. You managed to make your way into what looked like an office and sat behind a curved desk. A terminal on top sat blinking bright green letters at you. You went through each of the logs, your dread only getting worse the longer you read.
Tom wasn’t in this vault, that’s for sure. The other names you only recognized from the credits of some movies you’d watched a while back. The men who had taken you from Tom’s house.
According to the scientist using this terminal, they’d wanted to ensure they had some fun before they went underground.
You weren’t the only one Tom had sold out. Your entire cryogenic chamber had been filled with other women, each of them dead because of a life support failure. You were meant to be their entertainment while they waited for the world to be ready for the taking.
You took a break, forcing your eyes away from the screen and staring down at your hands.
Well, Cooper hadn’t been lying at least. Two hundred years you’d been frozen, you hadn’t even known it. It was bizarre, what felt like only a few hours ago was over two millennia. You’d only just kissed Cooper goodbye and now he was acting like some asshole who wouldn’t even stay to help you to your feet.
Feeling yourself getting angry and panicked you went back to reading. There was nothing you could do. You’d been screwed over by someone you trusted, you were stuck here. No point in pouting about it.
The scientist wrote more about the men’s intentions and you forced the bile down as you read. Then he got to what Vault-Tec’s real intentions were. Something about experimenting with cryogenics, seeing how long a body could last, what all it could preserve. You didn’t understand most of it, the language far above your education.
The men were just guinea pigs, same as you. It brought you a modicum of satisfaction. Barely, though.
The lead of the whole project gets more cryptic and paranoid the further he writes. Something about Vault-Tec never sending the all clear signal to get the fuck out of here. Security was getting antsy the longer they stayed and supplies were running low.
It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together when you looked at the blood splattered walls and the white coated corpse across the room.
Underneath the last entry was a fail safe. In case the experiment was going wrong and there were no other options but to abandon it.
TERMINATE?
The green pointer blinked as you stared at the question. Your mind traveled to the way they’d swarmed you. How ruthlessly they’d taken you like you were nothing more than cattle. The other women they did it to. You could only imagine what had happened while you’d been knocked out.
That familiar feeling of anger, disgust, and shame welled up in you. You had always been typecast. The sexy bombshell with nothing else going for her. It bled into other aspects of your life, people treating you like you were nothing more than a walking doll, for their enjoyment and nothing else.
You’d be damned if you let these men survive what the other women couldn’t.
You hit the button and listened as the sirens quieted down the hall, the hiss of oxygen as the pods killed their inhabitants. You didn’t allow yourself to linger on what you’d just done for very long, you went clicking through the rest of the terminal.
Most of it was password locked, you only gleamed enough information to figure out what had been going on while you slept. Bombs dropped, the world went to shit, just like you always thought it would. You’d never considered that you might survive it.
Maybe those men had done you a slight favor, just barely.
He sighed as he ripped the needle out of his arm, pulling his sleeve down he moved away from the wall he’d been leaning on. He’d definitely been getting cheated out of his caps. Next time he saw that bitch Ma June, he’d show her what he thought about her watered down bullshit.
A shadow passed by the doorway and his hand drifted down to his holster. He slipped out of the room and took a peek around the corner. She had her back to him, but he’d recognize her anywhere, even with that ridiculous vault suit on.
“Hey!”
She jumped and whirled around on him. For a moment he forgot that this was a completely new reality for her. She didn’t know what a ghoul was, she’d never seen one before. Her last memory of him had been his prime. When he’d had a fucking nose.
Her eyes widened and his grew cold while he waited for the inevitable disgust. He was used to it by now, but he was pretty sick and tired of hearing about it. Especially when the few people who managed to get their hands on his old movies would recognize him.
The disgust never came, just obvious shock and disbelief. She took a few hesitant steps closer, her eyes darting across his face while she did. He nearly missed her hand coming up, like she wanted to touch him. He caught it at the last second, bringing his hand up to swat hers down.
She winced and backed up a step, the wonder on her face gone and replaced with hurt. “Cooper-”
He darted forward and snatched her chin in between his gloved fingers. “Now, darling, I’m gonna need you to get this through your fucking head,” he hissed, eyes boring into her terrified ones. “That’s not my name anymore, I’m nothing but a ghoul. I’m not the man you know and I’m never going to be. Let it go and if you know what’s good for you, move the fuck on.”
He could see the tears welling up in her eyes and grinned, she had always been pretty when she cried. “Understand?” When she didn’t respond fast enough for his liking he shook her roughly, “Speak!”
“Yes,” she shouted, clawing at his arm and wincing when her nails scraped across the leather of his skin. “I understand.” He took a moment, looking into her eyes, before he nodded and released her.
She stumbled back, choking on a sob and glaring up at him. “So, what? Am I just supposed to call you an asshole?” He scoffed, barely laughing. Everything that happened to her today and she could still get a fucking attitude. It was nearly impressive, if not stupid. She didn’t watch who she spoke to and she was going to get killed before the day was up.
“You’re not gonna call me anything. We’re not working together, you’re on your own.”
She glared at him and rubbed her jaw where he’d grabbed her. Her cheeks were already changing colors, bruises blooming where he’d snatched her. His eyes darted away from her hands and back to her. “Why’d you stop me then?”
He looked her up and down and grinned at the way she shivered, seemed he hadn’t lost all his charm just yet. “That tight little suit of yours is gonna get you killed. People up there don’t take too kindly to people from down here.”
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, glaring at him. “So, what? I’d be safer walking around in what they had me in?”
He shook his head and started walking back towards the door of the vault. “No.”
He heard her huff and race after him. “You’re fucking infuriating, you know that? What the hell am I supposed to do, Co-” He shot her a warning glare but she’d clamped her mouth shut before she could finish the sentence. She still had that stupid hurt look on her face, like he’d kicked her puppy. It kind of made him want to just shoot her.
“I don’t have any supplies, all I have is this stupid suit. Please, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
He sighed and stopped. She stumbled forward, nearly ramming into his back in the process. “Go to Filly, I’m sure you’ll find something there.”
“I’m supposed to just know where that is?”
He didn’t bother responding to her, there was no point in it. She would be dead soon, anyway. This world wasn’t made for pretty girls like her, especially not on her own. If she was smart she’d just starve herself down here, at least she’d have running water.
You watched him walk off and felt like your chest was going to cave in. You couldn’t handle this, he was just Cooper an hour ago. Making you breakfast and kissing you goodbye. And despite the odd deformities, you could still see him. Sure, he was missing a nose, but he was still there. Your Cooper.
Except he wasn’t.
You couldn’t quite believe he would be so cruel earlier. He was always mean when he was hurt. You figured maybe he was still sitting with the fact that you hadn’t actually left him behind for Vault-Tec. But his eyes gave him away.
They were cold, devoid of anything you used to know. The man you had known was no longer there. And if he was, he was buried far deeper than you were interested in digging. You watched him walk away and felt your chest squeezing painfully.
This was not the fucking time to start panicking. If the carnage around you was anything to go by, then the surface had to be so much fucking worse. Cooper seemed to think vaults were safer, but right now you were staring into the gouged eyes of a corpse who’d been killed by a friend. Clearly, nowhere was safe.
You couldn’t afford to pity yourself or cry. You’d have to keep moving, process it all later. You pushed off the wall and leapt over the corpses blocking your path. Cooper must’ve stepped in a pile of blood because you could clearly make out his footprints. He seemed like he was going to leave, you bet if you followed him you would find the way out.
You followed the prints up a set of stairs, but they had faded out completely by the time you got up to the vault door. You winced, blocking your eyes from the bright glare of the sun. Barely a second out of the vault and you felt like your skin might already be peeling.
Whatever had happened while you were out, this was not the world you remembered. The sun seemed bigger, brighter, more violent. If the skeletons littered throughout the sand were anything to go by, everything was more violent now.
You tripped over a particularly deformed skull of a beast and scrambled up to your feet. You glanced around, spotting a figure in the distance and ran after it. You hoped it was Cooper you were following, but he was already so far ahead of you that he was barely a dot on the horizon.
You followed the footsteps he left in the sand and prayed he didn’t notice you trailing him. You couldn’t very well stay down there with all of those corpses. There had been no supplies to protect yourself with except a bloodied scalpel. You wouldn’t make it down there on your own and you certainly wouldn’t make it up here.
You planned to just follow Cooper until you found something resembling civilization. He didn’t want you around him and you got the message, you’re not exactly eager to share his company. He’s a stranger, the only part of him you recognize is his name, and you’re not even allowed to use that.
You kept your distance as long as you could. Keeping him as far away as possible so if he turned around he wouldn’t be able to realize he was being followed. But you’re already struggling. He’s not showing any signs of slowing anytime soon and you can barely see anymore.
Your lips are peeling, throat raw and aching for water. Your eyes are completely coated in sand and being damaged by the sun. You wished you had been better prepared for this but it’s been at least four hours and you’re about to keel over.
You wheeze, dragging yourself over to a fallen billboard and slumping against it. You’re not paying enough attention to your surroundings, or you just don’t care anymore. You find yourself drifting off and you don’t stop it. You’d prefer if the heat stroke took you while you were asleep, at least then you wouldn’t be aware of it.
Your eyes drift closed and your head slumps forward, the sun bearing down on your neck and burning away at the skin there.
You cough and splutter, frantically brushing sand off your face and spitting it out of your mouth. Cooper’s standing over you, frowning and glaring, which seems to be his go to expression now. You glance down at his outstretched foot and realize he kicked the sand in your face. “What the fuck?”
“You know,” he tilts his head and rests a hand on his holster, grinning at the way you shrink away from his gun. “I thought you would have lasted at least another hour.”
You wipe your face off and struggle back onto your feet, nearly teetering over as you did. “You knew I was following you?” You groused, glaring up at him. You’re not sure your anger translates well, though. You can barely hear your own voice, your throat too dry to produce any proper words.
���‘Course I did, sweetheart. I’d be a pretty shit bounty hunter if I didn’t recognize when someone was trailing me.”
You finally manage to get to your feet and glare at him. “Congratulations, you want a prize?”
His smile drops and he darts forward before you can move away. His hand clamps around your arm and he drags you behind him. You’re stumbling, barely able to keep in stride with him. Mercifully, you notice the sky is starting to turn pink in the distance. Soon, the sun will be down and you’ll get a moment's reprieve.
“Where are you taking me?” You demand, tripping over a rock and wincing as he jerks you back to your feet. He turns around to glare at you like he isn’t the one dragging you around.
“Filly,” he grunts. He finally comes to a stop, you ram into his back wincing as your nose slams into him painfully. He doesn’t even flinch and you wonder if he felt it. If he can feel anything with how crisped his skin is.
“I thought you weren’t going to help me.” Maybe you shouldn’t be pushing your luck. If he is helping you, and that’s a pretty hesitant if, you’re sure he’ll be quick to change his mind. Still, you can’t help but push him. You’ve always had that problem, except before he took it in stride and teased you right back.
Now, your eyes dart down to his gun, you’re not sure he wouldn’t just put a new hole in you.
“Changed my mind.”
You huffed and rolled your eyes, “Yeah, I’m aware. I’m asking why,” you cut yourself off sharply, mouth clamping shut because you almost called him Coop again. Your jaw is still aching from the last “warning” he gave you. You’re not looking for another.
He whirled around on you and you didn’t even realize his gun was in his hand until it was digging into your throat. “Why don’t you stop asking me so many fucking questions, hm.” He sneered and you winced at the sight of his yellowed teeth. Finally you nodded and backed away from him, he kept his eyes on yours for a moment before he holstered his gun again. “Let’s go,” he started walking and you couldn’t do anything but follow him.
At least this time you weren’t trying to track a dot in the distance.
The sky was getting dark quick and the temperature was dropping even faster. You hunched into yourself and ran your hands up and down your arms to try and keep warm. It seemed everything was done in the extremes now, even the damn weather.
Cooper whistled and you hurried to catch up with him. He stood in front of a decaying old house, nearly all of the roof gone. The walls looked like they might cave in soon and it had clearly been unoccupied for a very long time. He opened up the door and walked inside, letting it slam back into your face.
You caught it and huffed. You followed after him and saw that he was already setting up his spot for the night. He leaned against the half-rotted couch, his hat over his eyes and his arms tucked under his coat. You glanced around for a clean spot to curl up and laid down on the ground. You winced at all the dirt on the floor but figured it was better than sleeping out in the sand.
Despite your oh-so comfortable sleeping arrangement, you found it hard to pass out. Maybe it’s because you’d just taken a two hundred year nap or the man across from you. Your eyes refused to stay shut and you couldn’t stop staring at him.
You told yourself you would process your emotions later but apparently your mind had decided now would be the best time. You could feel the tears trickling down your cheeks again and you tried to wipe them away.
Too much had happened for them to be so easily dismissed. You were struggling with the thoughts of what those men did to you. You’re certain your imagination is worse than anything that happened, but not knowing was killing you. You felt violated, just being knocked out like that and being left vulnerable to them.
And Cooper.
Cooper was practically dead as far as you both were concerned. You felt like you were grieving for someone who was lying right across from you. You were staring right at him and he was just out of your reach.
You sniffled and wiped your nose. A loud sigh came from the man in front of you and he spoke without bothering to tilt his hat back up. “I’m gonna take you to Filly and you’re gonna help me with some business there and then we’ll go our separate ways.”
“What?” Your voice was an embarrassing croak and you winced.
“They don’t take too kindly to my folk down there-”
“You mean zombies,” you interrupted, propping your head up on your hand.
He finally lifted his hat up and glared, though it was half-hearted at best. “It’s ‘ghouls,’ sweetheart. Never knew you to be racist.” You rolled your eyes and he dropped his hat back down again. “You’ll get me what I need and I’ll have delivered you to, well, not safety, but as close as you can get out here.” He leaned forward, arm outstretched and grinning at you. “Deal?”
Well, it wasn't like you had any other options. You leaned forward, grasping his gloved hand in yours and shaking, “Deal.”
SERIES TAGLIST: @pixelatedprofilepic @o0mellowdramatic0o @bisasterbisexual @julianmarie @v3n1x @weakling-grace
end. — I do not own the characters or the game/show Fallout, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
#the ghoul x reader#cooper howard x reader#The ghoul#fallout x reader#cooper howard#fallout tv series
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for her, i’d endure
pairing: emily prentiss x reader
rating: t
word count: 7.6k
genre: angst, hurt/comfort
warnings: torture, descriptions of blood/injuries, drugs
summary: When you and Emily are kidnapped by The Chameleon, an elusive unsub that team had been tracking for years, you’re forced to watch her endure torture at his hands. In the hospital, you reel from your own injuries and the guilt of not being able to stop anything from happening to her. Angst and hurt/comfort with a happy end.
It’s hard to keep them open from the pain it causes you to try. You can’t help the slow drowsy blinking that follows. If they’re closed it doesn’t hurt as bad. Maybe this is a dream. Yeah, a dream. Just close your eyes and go to sleep, you tell yourself. You’ll feel fine in the morning.
Someone harshly whispers your name. You stir, but ignore it. Closing your eyes, you murmur something that isn’t quite a response, and try to welcome the darkness to take over. You just want to sleep whatever this is off…you try to at least. The harsh rasping whisper returns. There’s your name two, three times.
“Huh?” is all you can muster as you crack your eyes open once more. There’s a fluorescent light somewhere to your left, casting strange shadows over your field of vision. Your eyes burn. You want to close them again.
“Yes, that’s it!” cries the whisperer, “stay with me!” There’s an urgency in their voice, and as you take a few measured breaths, you gain more and more control over your senses. “Are you hurt?”
Emily. That’s Emily’s voice.
“My head,” you complain about the throbbing in your temples. “I think I hit my head.” You move to touch the side of your skull to assess the damage when your wrists don’t follow through with the command from your brain.
“What the—” There’s a sudden clarity that takes over as you hear the clatter of metal against metal. Your wrists are bound behind your back. You kick your legs out, or at least you try to. They’re bound too with zip ties to the legs of a metal chair that’s bolted to the floor.
“Don’t panic.”
“Emily?”
Fingers brush against yours from behind your back and you cling to them, though it’s awkward as you try to reach them. You’d know the feel of her hands anywhere. He’s got you and her back to back.
“I’m here,” she says soothingly, despite the edge in her voice.
“What happened?” you ask as your field of vision begins to clear and the picture of where you’re being held begins to form. It's dark save the fluorescent light you noticed earlier. There’s a few panels in the ceiling still flickering to life, though most are dark. Wires and cables hang haphazardly from the ceiling and water drips from a cracked pipe that stretches over the width of the room. The floor beneath your feet is concrete. You can’t see a door and the only windows are two small rectangles high near the ceiling. You’re underground. “Where are we?”
“The Chameleon,” Emily says after a short while.
Your heart skips a beat and you have to take a few measured breaths to keep the panic from creeping in. “You’re sure?”
The Chameleon, nicknamed such by the local media, is a serial killer that you and the team had been chasing across the East Coast for the last two years.You and the team didn’t care much for these nicknames as they often sensationalize the killer and detract from the victims, but it the name was fitting due to his nature to blend in to every environment he’s been a part of. This is largely due to how he is able to gain his victims' trust. Some of his known ruses include posing as law enforcement, a member of the clergy, other first responders, caretaker for a “lost” elderly patient, and more. He’d feign a scenario that caused the victims to unlock their doors, stop their cars, or otherwise pull their focus under the guise of safety. Once their guard was down, that was all he needed to ensnare them in his trap. Victims were initially blitz attacked, as evident by the bruising to their heads and faces, but as he evolved he began to dose them with heavy sedatives before taking them to a secondary location where he’d hold them for twenty four hours. During this time, he tortured his victims indiscriminately; sometimes cutting, sometimes burning, sometimes removing pieces of them or utilizing a combination of all three before ultimately succumbing to his need to kill. He favored a knife, often slitting the throats of his victims once he’d grown tired of playing with them. Despite his ability to blend in and kidnap his victims undetected, everything else originally pointed to someone just starting out, unsure of their preferences. However, this unsub evolved quickly. Victimology stopped differing and he’d settled on a pattern for women in their thirties, dark features, and often in roles that provided some sort of power. Though methods of torture varied, the rotation or combination of torture implicated states similar enough to create a pattern. He stuck to the routine, though. One woman every three months for the last two years. That was until recently. Now, a woman had been going missing weekly, suggesting a major deviation. Something had changed for this unsub, increasing his need to kill quicker and more often. Emily fits the victimology, but taking you too? It didn’t make sense? He’d never taken in pairs before.
“Fuck,” you mutter. You pull at the cuffs around your wrists, but they’re clamped too tightly. They don’t budge. “How long was I out?” you ask.
“Hours,” Emily responds. She sounds tired. “I don’t know how many.”
You blindly reach for her fingers again, this time with your other hand. When you brush against them, they’re slick with something.
“Emily?” you ask, concern edging into your voice. “What’s he done to you?”
“Cutting,” Emily answers clinically. “Left arm, chest, and right leg. They’re superficial.”
Red clouds your vision knowing he’d hurt the woman you love, and that you’d not been conscious enough to at least try to do anything about it. When you get your hands around this bastard’s neck…you yank hard against your restraints and hiss when all it does is cause the metal to dig deeper into your wrists.
“Baby, stop,” Emily whispers, keeping her voice low in case The Chameleon can hear. “We’ve been closing in on this guy. We just have to hope the team recognizes we’re gone before…” her voice trails off as a door opens.
Your heart stops and then starts, it’s usually steady beat now pumping erratically against your chest. You remind yourself to breathe, to take measured breaths to slow your heart and fight off the instinct to panic. The body’s natural inclination for self-preservation is astounding, but you couldn’t just think about yourself right now. You needed to be alert and look for anyway to wriggle into this guy’s psyche, anything to keep him from hurting Emily any further.
There’s a metallic clank as whatever door that’s out of your eye line slams shut. Heavy footsteps echo in the space and you count. Twenty four. There’s twenty four steps. You can’t fight the way your body tenses as a silhouette begins to emerge from the shadows. As the figure comes into focus, your eyes widen in surprise.
“Surprised to see me?” the man says, a twisted smile curving on his
“You know him?” Emily asks as she attempts to crane her neck to look at him.
You take in the man before you: white, mid-30s, average build, dark curly hair, and blue eyes wild with evil intent. You don’t know his name, but you've seen him before. You all had. Your mind flashes to each body dump where the team had investigated and gathered initial evidence to further flesh out the profile. You close your eyes and let your mind’s eye expand your field of vision to include the gathering crowd of onlookers. As you mentally guide yourself through each crime scene, you can clearly see him.
“You were there the whole time,” you say with a surprisingly level of calm as you open your eyes and meet his gaze directly.
He extends his arms to either side, a look-at-all-i-have-accomplished gesture, though there’s no audience save the two of you to take in his performance. “What can I say?” he says. “The media named me for my ability to blend in anywhere I go. I like the nickname, I do.” He points his finger at you as he begins to circle around you and Emily like you’re an injured seal in shark infested waters. “Though you profilers don’t like when these major news outlets do that. It sensationalizes the killer while taking away from victims.” He stops in front of you and bends at the waist to look you in the eye. You muster as much contempt into your gaze as possible.
“Good,” he snarls. “Those sluts aren’t worth remembering anyway. Any thoughts on that, agent?”
You nod. “Yeah, actually, I think I’m pretty tired of listening to you whine about your mommy issues.” A fire ignites in his eyes as you say this. You smirk. “Ooo, that did something. Did that strike a nerve?”
His lip curls as he takes a shuddering breath.
“I think I did, didn’t I?”
His knuckles collide with your face and there’s an explosion of stars behind your eyes as you feel your lip split in two. Emily calls your name and curses the unsub’s. There’s a buzzing in your ears as you blink the fog away. You sit up as best as you can and spit blood onto the floor. If his attention is on you, it’s not on Emily.
“Is that the best you can do?” you say, leveling your gaze back on The Chameleon. “You had to hit me from behind the first time. Are you scared to face a woman head on? Too much of a coward to face them? Or are you just too weak?” You incline your head toward your lap. “After all, you’ve got us tied up. Untie me and we’ll see just how well you do one on one.”
The Chameleon seethes, nostrils flaring as his rage blossoms. “You know nothing!” he bites.
“We know, everything.” You answer. He may not have been on the team’s radar, but you’ve seen this type before; a man that’s been forced into a submissive role and emasculated his entire life finally snaps and turns the tables on innocent women to make up for the lack of care he missed out on from a mother figure his entire life. He blames them because he can’t take his anger out on the person he wants to most. Mommy.
“Do you?” he sneers and you don’t flinch away from his hot breath on your neck.
“You’re easier to read than a children’s nursery rhyme,” you taunt.
The Chameleon snarls and this time his knuckles collide with the center of your face and there’s a sickening crunch. Blood pours from your broken nose onto the front of your shirt.
“Enough!” Emily shouts. “She’s not the one you want.”
You blink through the haze and blaring pain. Emily’s name is garbled as you try to say it, but there’s too much blood in your mouth. Just like the flickering gaze of a reptile, his eyes shift instantly to her. The desire that alights his face makes you want to throw up. She’s the one that fits the victimology. She’s the surrogate, the object of desire in his twisted fantasy.
“I think,” he says slowly, and you’re surprised you don’t see a serpentine tongue flicker between his lips. “That this next part will be more fun with an audience.”
Your vision shifts in and out of focus as you follow his movements. He shuffles just out of view of your peripheral vision and trying to force your eyes to see farther than they can exacerbates the splitting pain in your skull and face. Everything throbs. You can hardly see straight.
He returns with a syringe in hand. He holds it up for you to see. “Maybe I am weak,” he says bitterly. “But I’m the one in control and there’s nothing you can do about it.” He pushes the syringe into your arm and a slow, metallic heat creeps through your veins. Your limbs quickly grow heavy and your senses begin to dull.
Behind you, Emily pulls at her restraints. “Hey! What are you giving her? Leave her alone. You don’t want her, you want me.”
A choked laugh escapes the unsub as he cuts the zip ties at your ankles. You want to kick out at him and knock that smug look off of his face but the signals from your brain are cut off. Your body won’t follow the command your mind is ordering due to the drugs scrambling your system. Your eyelids are heavy. You want to close them. The unsub recognizes this and slaps at your face. “No, no. You can’t close your eyes, now. You’ve got a show to watch.” His lips twist into a sickeningly delighted smile. He slips a key from his pocket and undoes both sets of cuffs keeping you bound to the chair. You slump forward against him and he catches your weight easily. He wraps his arms around your waist and grunts as he hoists you over his shoulder. There’s static coursing through your limbs and despite every wish and desire to lift even a finger, your limbs don’t cooperate.
You slide off of him like rain down a windowpane, though instead of coming to a gentle stop you hit the ground like a stone thrown into a pond; all of your weight crashing down. Your head rattles against the wall and stars explode across your vision once more.
Emily calls your name and you try to focus on that. You blink and her form comes into focus. She’s bound in the same manner that you were in a chair exactly like yours. There’s blood staining her clothes, her blouse cut to ribbons and her pant leg tattered from where he slit it open with a knife; the same knife he used to cut into skin. Blood drips onto the floor.
She smiles at you and her gaze is so tender as her eyes meet yours. “Whatever he does to me, it is not your fault.” She’s soothing you. She’s about to endure more torture and she’s trying to comfort you.
You want to speak, to tell her you’re sorry, that you love her. You want to stand, to untie her and take her to safety. Most of all you want to put that unsub in the ground. A single tear leaks from your eye as The Chameleon wheels a tray table near Emily. The soft eyes she reserved for you steel upon seeing him.
He picks up a scalpel, his fingers gentle as he curls them around it; a stark contrast to the violence he inflicts with it. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
Emily licks her lips and raises her chin to look him in the eye, defiant in the face of danger. “I’ve already come back from the dead once before. At least if you’re successful, I know whose ass I’m haunting first.” She narrows her brown eyes to slits. “Come on, lizard boy. Let’s dance.”
•
Tears leak down your cheeks as you’re forced to watch what he does to her. She continues to taunt him, but her voice has grown weak. She’s losing too much blood.
“I wonder,” Emily says, her breathing labored. She lifts her gaze to meet the unsub’s. “You love that knife.” She inclines her chin toward the blade in his hand and his fingers twitch. “Tell me, is it because you can’t get up? Are our mommy issues too severe?”
A wild scream tears from his throat as he backhands her. A sharp grunt of pain leaves her lips but no scream. She sheds no tears for him. She’ll show no fear to him and allow him to feed off of her emotions like he did with his other victims, but he knows she must be feeling the weight of the torture, of the exhaustion settling in.
Her voice is tired, but her words are dagger tipped. “You’re not a man,” she spits blood on the ground, her teeth stained with it as she bares them at him. “You’re just a coward, a little boy missing mommy’s hand to guide him through your pathetic, wayward life.” Each word is sharp and articulated, a needle digging a little deeper and deeper into his flesh with each cutting syllable.
“Enough!” he bellows, spittle flying from his mouth as he lifts his arm. In one swift downward motion, he plunges the scalpel into her thigh.
She screams, her voice ragged and raw. A panicked sound bubbles in your throat, but the drugs overpower your ability to call out to her. Your fingers twitch as you try to summon any amount of strength to them, but to no avail. You can’t move them anymore that. You try to wiggle your toes and only feel a tinge of movement from them. Tears leak down your cheeks and drip off of your chin. The tear stains left behind are cold overtop of the dried blood smeared across your face from your broken nose, still throbbing with pain.
Emily sits hunched over, her shoulders heave with shuddering breaths. She’s breathing. She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive. The thought plays on repeat in your mind. If she dies, there is no place this slimy, spineless creature can hide where you wouldn’t be able to find him.
A strangled moan rumbles from behind your lips as The Chameleon approaches Emily. There’s a smirk on his lips as he brushes his fingers along her jawline. Just as quickly as the smirk appears, it dissipates as he shoves her face away from him, disgust twisting his features.
“I think I’ve had enough of you,” he grits through clenched teeth. “You’re all the same. There is no place for women like you. I’m doing the world a favor by getting rid of you.” He picks up another knife off the tray table and moves to stand behind Emily, knife poised beneath her throat. His shifting eyes fall on you and his smile returns. “I hope you’ve enjoyed the show.”
You feel your brow pinch as a wash of emotion floods through you. Your hand twitches and you manage to ball it into a fist, but you can’t force much more than that.
“Emi—” your tongue lolls inside your mouth and you can’t get her name out but it’s enough to get her attention. Her wavering brown eyes fall on yours and you hope she can feel your full apology and profession of love in your eyes as you await the inevitable.
“I love you,” she mouths and a sob shudders free from your own.
A single gunshot cracks through the air like a whip.
As the unsub slumps to the ground, Derek’s hulking frame comes into view. “He’s down!” He calls as he holsters his weapon and rushes to Emily. His hand moves to the knife in her leg.
“Don’t!” Emily warns. “Let the medics handle it. The keys to the cuffs are in his pocket.”
As Derek squats beside the unsub Hotch and Spencer clamber down the stairs, spilling into the room.
“We need medics,” Derek says to them, eyes filled with concern. “We need them now.”
“Copy that,” Spencer states as he presses against his earpiece and relays the information.
Hotch holsters his gun and rushes to your side. Crouching down, his hands smooth your hair back from your face to inspect the damage.
“Can you hear me?” he says. You blink heavily as his face comes in and out of focus. He repeats the question and says your name. He’s asking you to talk to him, but you can’t.
“He injected her with something,” Emily says weakly as Derek works to uncuff her. “A sedative or a paralytic, I don’t know. She can’t move. She can’t, she can’t—” Emily’s eyes flutter and roll back in her head. Your eyes widen as she slumps forward. Derek catches her before she can face plant the concrete and risk dislodging the scalpel sticking out of her thigh before the medics can do their job to ensure she’s not at risk of bleeding out, if she wasn’t already.
Your hand twitches, fingers jerking against your palm as a sound of desperation eeks past your still lips. Hotch presses his hand into yours and squeezes. His hard eyes meet yours and there’s pain and understanding in them. He’s born witness to seeing the love of his life killed by an unsub. It was something he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. He had to hope that Emily would survive what she’d endured here tonight. He squeezes all of that hope into your palm as the medics crash down the steps, backboards and kits at the ready.
“She’ll be okay,” Hotch promises, though there’s a hint of doubt on the edge of his words. “You’ll be okay.”
As the medics make way and his hand slips free from yours, you can only hope and pray that what he says is true.
•
A gentle beeping is the first thing you hear as your senses slowly creep back to life. The sound is soft, but each punctuated tone sends a pulse of pain to the space behind your eyes.
Your eyes crack open and you squeeze them shut again as the bright white of the fluorescent lighting blinds you.
“Shit,” you hiss. Your voice is hoarse.
“Hey, you!” greets a female voice. Penelope’s voice.
“Too bright,” you grumble.
“Oh! Hold on!” Her heels click against the tile of the hospital floor, a switch flicks, and the light behind your eyelids darkens. You feel the relief immediately though the bruising around your eyes and throbbing pain reverberating through your nose and cheeks starts to overwhelm your senses as you become more alert.
You crack one eye and Penelope’s bright face comes into view. Her pink cat eared headband matches her glasses frames and lipstick. Her smile reaches her eyes and that only just eases some of the anxiety that floods your system, the only other thing you’re able to feel besides the pain. If Emily was dead, Penelope wouldn’t be able to look you in the eye right now.
“I need to see her,” you say, sitting up and immediately regretting it. The room spins and your hand flies to your head, fingers pressed against your temple in a poor attempt to stop the whirling sensation.
“Sweetie, oh my God, don’t—” she stands up and crosses the room, but you’re already pushing the sheets back.
You curse as you rip the IV from your arm, the tape holding it in place ripping out the hairs on your arm. Garcia tries to take hold of your hands, but you bury them inside the folds of the hospital gown as your fingers feel for the numerous electrodes tacked to your chest. Hooking the tips of your fingers around the wire once you find a place to bunch them together, one swift tug is all it takes to dislodge them. The machine beside the bed flat lines as it no longer receives your heart rate.
“Honey please don’t make me—” Her face scrunches as you move to stand. She sticks her arms out to block you from doing so “Oh, you’re going to make me, ok— Derek! Hotch!”
Her shouts are like a drill through your skull. You blink and black spots your vision as it blurs. The pain in your face is so intense, but you have to push through it. If Emily could endure what she did, you can push through this to get to wherever the hell they were keeping her in this goddamn hospital.
Hotch and Derek burst into the room, eyes frantic and scanning the scene. Morgan swiftly cuts through the space, swerving in front of Penelope and taking you by the arms. Garcia may have hesitated to stop you in your tracks but Derek has no reservations whatsoever.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asks sternly.
Two nurses rush into the room and Hotch placates them with a gesture implying things are under control . He says something to them in a low voice and they glance your way once before nodding and leaving the space.
“I need to see her,” you say as you push against Derek, but in your current state you may as well be trying to push the Leaning Tower of Pisa upright.
His grip around your wrists is firm, but gentle; his hands placed just above the bandages from where the cuffs had bitten into your skin.
“She’s not awake yet,” Derek says. His features soften as he looks into your panic filled eyes. “She’s stable. She’ll be okay, and I promise you that the minute she wakes up I will take you to see her.”
“But Derek—”
He clicks his tongue. “No buts. You’re no use to her if you’re not well. You nearly overdosed on the drugs that man gave you. He broke your nose so badly, they had to re-break it to set it correctly. You have a concussion. Are you hearing me? You need to get your ass back in that bed.”
“Honey, listen to him.” Garcia adds, her voice equal parts soothing and concerned. “You can barely stand.”
You squeeze your eyes shut as hot tears well in your eyes. They slip down your cheeks and seep into the medical tape plastered to your face and nose. You draw in a shuddering breath as Derek guides you back into the bed. He presses a warm hand to your shoulder before stepping back and putting an arm around Garcia.
“Come on, mama, let’s go get a coffee while the nurses get her hooked back in.”
Penelope’s mouth drops into an o-shape as if she’s about to protest.
“I’ll stay with her,” Hotch assures her. “Go. I’ll call if anything changes.” That comforts her enough to let Derek steer her out of the room and into the hallway.
As the sound of their footsteps fade away, Hotch exhales a heavy sigh. The heels of his loafers click against the tile as he crosses the room and takes the chair Penelope had been occupying at your bedside.
“How are you feeling?” he asks as he reaches over and presses the call button to summon the nurses.
“Like someone cracked me in the face with a sledgehammer.”
A hint of a smile passes over your supervisor’s lips and a ghost of a laugh passes your own. You wince as the motion sends a new wave of pain rippling throughout your face.
“How bad is it?” you ask.
“The doctors say it should heal fine. They’re baffled that the break didn’t do any damage to your septum. The bruising will take time but you won’t need surgery so—”
You lift your eyes to meet his. “Not me, Hotch.”
His lips press into a firm line. “She lost a lot of blood,” he says after a moment. “In total, he cut her about fifteen times before stabbing her. She was right to tell Morgan not to pull the scalpel out. It was dangerously close to her femoral artery. The unsub was either incredibly calculated in avoiding it or it was dumb luck that saved her.”
Your brow pinches as his words sink in. “What was his name?”
Hotch’s chin dips in response to your question. “Carson Peters. He was a Vet Tech on the perimeter of the geographic profile. We never even interviewed him.”
“The whole time we never knew his name,” you breathe.
“If I know Emily, I’m sure she came up with a few,” Hotch remarks, trying to lighten the mood.
Your lips twitch, but a smile doesn’t take shape. There is an entire slew of names you’d wanted to hurl at the unsub, to say anything that would have taken his attention off of Emily for even a second but you couldn’t because of the drugs he’d pumped into you. You squeeze your eyes shut as an image of him cutting Emily flashes through your mind.
Hotch says your name. You hear the deep tenor of his voice, but it’s as though you’re underwater. Emily’s cries of anguish echo in your ears.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper as a tear leaks from the corner of your eyes. “Emily, I’m sorry.”
A firm hand slips into yours and you gasp, flinching from the contact. The image distorts and vanishes. You open your eyes and take a deep breath, dropping your gaze onto the hand in yours. You lift your eyes to meet Hotch’s hard stare. His fingers squeeze around yours and he nods.
“You’re safe,” he assures you. “Carson Peters is dead. He can’t hurt you, Emily, or anyone else ever again.”
Your fingers twitch around his as you blink back the onslaught of tears that want to pour out of you. “I couldn’t do anything.”
Hotch’s features soften. “I know.”
“I couldn’t stop him.”
“There’s nothing you could’ve done.”
You swallow the growing lump in your throat. Hotch squeezes your hand again, intentionally doing so to keep your mind from wandering. He’s keeping you grounded.
Your voice cracks when you speak. “I felt so helpless.”
“I know,” Hotch states as he levels his gaze on hours. His brown eyes waver as he speaks. “Witnessing a loved one’s abuse and not being able to do anything about it is a torture all its own. In our positions we have the authority to do something about it and in most cases, we can. When we can’t,” he pauses and takes a deep breath. “It’s natural to play it over and over again, to wonder where you went wrong, to think that somewhere along the line you could’ve done something, anything, to change the outcome.” His brow lifts toward his hairline. “We will kill ourselves ruminating on the what ifs and what could have beens.”
We. He’s not just talking about you anymore. He’s talking about his past when the unsub George Foyet killed his wife, Haley. You’d joined the team several years after her murder, but you’d been briefed fully on the case. It was well known to everyone in the BAU.
It’s your turn to squeeze his hand and you realize how out of the ordinary this exchange is. You’re as close to Hotch as anyone else on the team, but he’s not usually the touchy-feely type; the occasional half hug or handshake sure, but this level of vulnerability is uncommon.
A nurse walks into the room and Hotch stands to greet her. He shakes her hand and introduces himself formally; name, rank, and title. Establishing credibility for what, you wonder. He speaks in low tones and after a moment the nurse looks at you before looking back at him. She nods her head and he thanks her before she exits the room.
“What was that about?” you ask.
“A favor,” he answers as the nurse guides a wheelchair into the room.
“Five minutes,” the nurse says, aiming a pointed look at Hotch.
“Understood.”
The nurse leaves and Hotch pushes the chair up to the edge of the bed. He slips a hand behind your back to help stabilize you as he extends his other hand for you to grab hold of.
“Where are we going?” you ask as you take the proffered hand. You groan as you sit up and your head spins. You swear you can feel every bone in your face throbbing as pain threatens to split you in two.
“To see Emily.”
Your heart swells. You look at Hotch, eyes widening. “I thought—”
“I told the nurse you’d stay put and allow them to do their jobs and help you if you were allowed to see her. Hence, the five minutes.”
“Five minutes,” you repeat, nodding your head.
Hotch smiles reassuringly. “Five minutes.”
Slowly, Hotch assists with the transition from bed to chair. The shift exhausts you and it sinks in just how weak you are. However, the prospect of seeing Emily keeps you alert enough to push through.
The trip to Emily’s hospital room is short. She’s two right turns and one long hallway away from yours. The door to her room is cracked when you arrive and JJ opens it as Hotch reaches for the door.
“Sweetie!” JJ smiles brightly at you, though her eyes are tired. She leans down to pull you in a gentle hug, minding your face as she does so.
Her eyes flit between you and Hotch. “She’s in and out of consciousness. They’ve got her on some pretty strong painkillers, but she’s going to be alright.”
“Are you ready?” Hotch asks.
Your heart hammers in your ears, but you nod your head and whisper, “Yes.”
JJ steps out of the way so Hotch can wheel you inside the room. You raise your chin to peer over the threshold and whimper upon seeing Emily, hand moving to cover your trembling lips. She lies still beneath the sheets, which are pulled up over her lap. Her arms sit atop the sheet, her left arm bandaged from above the elbow to her wrist. Bandages peek out from beneath her hospital gown. An oxygen cannula is fitted under her nose and butterfly bandages hold close the split in her eyebrow. Hotch puts the brake in place after wheeling you right up to her bedside. He places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “JJ and I will be right outside. Five minutes,” he says.
Your eyes don’t leave Emily. “I understand.”
When the door clicks shut you let the floodgates open. You take Emily’s hand in yours, minding the IV jutting out from it, and cradle it to your cheek. “I’m so sorry,” you sob. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t do anything to stop what he was doing to you.”
You blink away the stars that dot your vision as each sob sends an intense wave of pain through the break in your nose and bruising under your eyes.
Emily’s thumb sweeps slowly across your cheek. You take a shuddering breath and swallow your tears as you turn your attention to her. Her eyes crack open and a small smile ghosts her lips.
You gasp and choke back a sob. The smile that splits your face sends a burst of pain through your bones, but you don’t care. It doesn’t matter. You’d feel this pain and all that she endured to see her warm, brown eyes on yours like they are now. Her smile, despite the pain meds dulling her senses, reaches her eyes and they’re so bright. As you look into them, for a moment you’re no longer in the hospital. You’re on a bench overlooking the Potomac and the sun is setting; its golden rays falling over Emily’s face and her eyes changed from brown to liquid gold. It was then you knew you’d never love looking into someone’s eyes as much as you loved looking into hers, that you’d never love anyone as much as you loved her.
You blink once and you’re back in the hospital. “I’m so sorry,” you blubber and clutch her hand to your chest. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”
Her voice is hoarse when she speaks, but the way she says your name is as soothing as ever. She shushes you and presses her fingers into your skin as she grips your hand. “Shh, baby, honey, look at me.”
You swallow and try your best to still your quivering lip as you raise your eyes to hers. Hers are focused as she looks at you. Her perfectly manicured eyebrows arch toward her hairline as she inclines her head toward you. “There is nothing that you could’ve done that would’ve prevented this, and that is okay.”
You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head in refusal.
“Hey,” Emily says, pulling you back in. “Look at me.”
You sniff and take a deep breath as you open your eyes. “If anything,” she adds. “Your being there saved my life. He drew out the torture because he had an audience. If you hadn’t been there, there’s a chance he would’ve killed me before the team got to him. Do you understand?”
Your gut response tells you that she’s right, and you have to fight the part of your brain that’s telling you otherwise.
Her hand slips out of yours and reaches to cup your face, keeping her palm along your jawline to avoid your injuries.
She smiles and gestures to herself with her other hand. “Most of this is superficial anyway. The knife he jammed into my thigh will scar and take a while to heal, but that’s the worst that was done to me. I was,” she presses her lips together as tears glisten in her eyes. “I was so worried about you.”
Something between a laugh and a sob escapes your lips. “We make quite a pair, don’t we?”
Emily laughs in turn, the sound enough to make your heart swell three times over. “At least we’ll be able to spend our recovery together,” she says hopefully.
You smirk and tilt your head, considering. “My place or yours?”
Just then the door creaks open and Hotch steps inside. He smiles. “Sorry to cut the reunion short, but if I don’t get you back, I think the charge nurse will have my gun and badge.”
You all share a laugh. As he fixes the brake on the wheelchair, Emily tugs your hand toward her mouth and places a soft kiss to the backs of your knuckles. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”
You smile and nod as the tight feeling in your chest from before ebbs away. “Okay.”
As Hotch exits the room with you in tow, JJ hands you two cups of coffee. “For you and your watchdog,” she says with a nod towards Hotch.
You thank her and as Hotch pushes you back towards your room, you finally feel like things will be okay.
•
Two weeks later, you’re still on medical leave, but you feel as though you're getting back to normal. You’d been released from the hospital first and a few days later, Emily. Her apartment was bigger, so you’d gone to yours and with help from Penelope packed a bag. It was easier for you two to be in the same place knowing how often the team would be checking in.
Garcia had stayed over with you, helping you keep track of the medications the doctors had prescribed. She helped take care of Sergio too. The little guy had been all too happy to see you, weaving in between your legs and rubbing his furry head against your calves. When Emily returned home a few days later he couldn’t stop meowing. When she rested, he’d fall asleep beside her or curled up in her lap.
Just as expected, members of the team had been through in pairs, on their own, or as a whole. Penelope stopped in daily with coffees and pastries from the shop next to Emily’s building. Derek came by every other day, occasionally with Savannah when her work schedule allowed. She’d checked Emily’s wounds a few times from your insisting as you were worried about infection. Savannah assured you each time that Emily was and would continue to be fine so long as she kept up with changing her bandages and taking the antibiotics she’d been prescribed. Hotch had only visited once, which was unnecessary but still so kind of him. You knew he often stayed late working to ensure everyone else could go home on time. He did this all while balancing his responsibility as a father and the fact that he sacrificed a little bit more of his personal time just to check in on you two meant so much. Rossi had sent homemade Italian with Penelope or Derek. This week you’d been given enough carbonara to feed an army.
You’re fixing two bowls now for you and Emily, a late dinner as you’d both fallen asleep around 3pm and napped until 7pm no thanks to the pain medicines that kept you two on relatively similar sleep schedules. You shred some parmesan and sprinkle it over the top before sticking a fork into each.
“I’ve got dinner!” you call as you make your way back to the bedroom.
“Thank god, I’m starving.” You push open the door with your hip and place the bowls on Emily’s bedside table.
You lean down and kiss her, wincing slightly. The bruising around your eyes and cheekbones has gone down dramatically, but your nose was still bound and held in place by a splint and medical tape. The doctors say in about a week or so, it should be healed completely but to still exercise caution with day to day activities.
Emily rests on top of the covers. Her hair is up and out of her face in a loose ponytail, pieces of which had fallen out while sleeping and now stick to and around her face in various places. You try your best to smooth them down before cupping her chin in your hand. You smile and stroke your fingers along the smooth skin of her jaw before dropping your hands to pull the throw blanket down off of her waist, exposing her legs, bare except for the plaid pajama shorts she wears and bandages wrapped around her thigh.
She shivers in response to the air against her legs. “Sheesh, give a girl some warning!” she protests and you throw her a cheeky grin.
You open the bedside drawer and retrieve the supplies to clean and dress her wound. “We should finish the rest of that movie,” you suggest as you climb onto the bed to kneel beside her. Using a small pair of scissors, you carefully snip away the bandages to reveal the square gauze pad covering the wound. “I want to know how it ends and we keep falling asleep.”
Emily snorts. “That’ll happen when we both take narcotics before bed thinking we’ll make it to the end.”
“Yeah, but,” you remove the gauze and inspect the incision, searching for any signs of infection around the twelve carefully placed stitches. As you squeeze a bit of the antibacterial ointment onto your finger and gently rub it over the spiky black threads of the sutures, you can’t help but think of how much it resembles the caterpillars that used to invade the trees in your backyard as a kid, a story Emily did not care for your retelling when you first did this. “It shouldn’t be so hard to make it through a two hour movie.”
“I still can’t believe you’ve never seen The Parent Trap,” Emily says, bristling as your fingers rub over a particularly sensitive area.
You apologize as you lay a fresh gauze pad over the wound. Your fingers move quickly as you unroll and wind a new roll of bandages to keep the gauze in place. When you finish, you wipe your hands off and gently massage the skin around her thigh knowing it helps to stimulate blood flow to the area.
Emily moans in response to the treatment. Her head lolls to the side and she peeks at you from behind long lashes. “I can’t wait to show you how grateful I am for your incredible nursing skills.”
You arch a brow at her as a smile quirks at the corner of your mouth. “Down girl,” you tease playfully.
Emily bends her opposite leg, raising her heel to curve around your body. She pokes her toes up under your tee shirt and your back stiffens as they touch your skin. You reach behind your back and grab her by the ankle, chastising her as you laugh and place it back on the mattress. “Emily!”
“What??” she asks, laughter tumbling from her full lips.
“We’ve not been cleared yet for that!”
She pouts in response and you clamber over her, carefully, so as not to disturb the injuries of her leg. You straddle her waist and lean down to place a soft kiss along the curve of her jaw. “Trust me, I want to get back to that as much as you do.” Your eyes drop to the swell of her breasts, her nipples poking through the thin fabric of her camisole. “But you and I both know neither one of us are capable of having gentle sex, and I don’t think our doctors would be happy if we did anything to make this take any longer than it already is.”
Emily groans in frustration. “Stupid doctors and their stupid orders.”
You laugh as you lean down to grab your dinners off her nightstand. Carefully, you lift your leg and roll over her body to your side of the bed; passing Emily her bowl as you do so. You reach down and pull the throw blanket up over both of you as you snuggle into the uninjured half of her body. She turns and places a kiss on your temple as she grabs the remote and clicks on the tv.
As she twirls pasta around on her fork, she turns to you and smiles. “I’m glad you’re here with me,” she says, eyes twinkling.
You smile in turn. “I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be than with you here, right now, at this moment in time.”
“I love you,” she says.
“Not as much as I love you,” you answer.
“Impossible,” Emily promises.
#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fic#aaron hotchner criminal minds#emily prentiss x you#emily prentiss fic#emily prentiss fanfiction#emily prentiss x reader#emily prentiss x y/n#bau reader#the bau team#emily prentiss x female reader#fem!reader#emily prentiss angst#emily prentiss hurt/comfort#emily prentiss drabble#soft!aaron hotchner#soft!emily prentiss#aaron hotchner#emily prentiss#aaron hotch fanfiction#derek morgan#penelope garcia#bau!reader#female reader#criminal minds angst#criminal minds hurt/comfort#emily prentiss headcannons#bau team#bau family
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The Early Bird Gets The Worm - Chapter 2
The Early Bird Gets The Worm
Chapter 2 - A Bird, a Babe, and a Butler All Walk Into a Cave
Written by @agent-sushi-fbi & myself uwu
Read it on AO3 here!
Masterpost | Chapter One | Chapter Three
When Danny had first ventured into the darkened alleyways of this dirty city, he didn’t expect to run into some weirdo in a skin-tight black and blue suit. Fellow dumpster divers? Yeah, sure. He figured that fighting off a family of possums was normal when scrounging around for any scrap of something to fill his stomach.
He didn’t even know where he ended up honestly. Danny got a headache anytime he thought too hard about the details of where he was or how he got there or even who he was. He knew his name was Danny. He knew he was small (he had looked in a mirror, thank you, but it felt wrong somehow, like a funhouse mirror upside down) and he was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to be small. But thinking about stuff like that hurt a lot–kind of like a metal fist bashing into his skull.
Danny wasn’t really sure how he knows what that feels like, yet he was sure that was the best comparison.
What he certainly wasn’t expecting at tonight's garbage dump feast was being kidnapped by a vigilante. Was it really kidnapping though if he kind of went along willingly out of pure curiosity?
Although, man, was he glad (not that he'd ever admit it out loud) that this random vigilante decided to kidnap him tonight. After Nightwing had bundled Danny up onto his motorcycle once their meet-up with Batman was done and peeled out of the inner city of Gotham, the bird-themed hero brought him to a hidden entrance in the hills that led to a literal cave. He had watched when they pulled up as a reinforced steel panel lifted into the rocks above their head, leaving a gaping maw that Nightwing just zoomed into. Lights activated with motion sensors as they sped into a huge room that was full to the brim with gadgets and computers that lit up at their arrival. Danny could only stare in awe of how awesome and improbable it all seemed.
Seriously, how crazy were these Fruit Loops?
The man had started explaining some boring stuff about the cave when they arrived, but the massive freaking T-rex had immediately caught Danny’s eye and he stopped paying attention to Nightwing. It was like a switch was flipped, his cautious suspicion he’d been holding onto was thrown out the window, and now all that he could think about was flying himself up to the giant dinosaur and touching it. Danny was sure if you looked at his face at that moment, there was no other thought behind his eyes beyond must touch right freaking now.
Nightwing must have sensed the gremlin energy pouring off of him because next thing Danny knew, the collar of his jacket was being grabbed before he could move from his spot at the entrance. He pouted up at the man, demanding with his eyes that Nightwing let go so he could play on the dinosaur like he was a kid. But wait, maybe he should say because he’s a kid? He is a kid right, being all small? But he still wasn’t sure if that was correct. He mentally shrugged and thought: Eh, who cares? All Danny could see was shiny scales glinting in the fluorescent lights lining the cave.
And Danny? Danny was but a simple man (boy…maybe a crow?). He sees a shiny thing and must have the shiny thing.
“Danny, don't even think about it,” Nightwing intoned. He gripped Danny's jacket a little tighter and pulled him closer to the man's side. He totally did not pout at being squished into the vigilante. One hundred percent, no siree. No pouting here.
“Think about what? What are you thinking that I'm thinking?” Danny shrugged, acting casual while his eyes flitted back and forth between the vigilante and dinosaur. “There's no thoughts going on up here, I can promise you that.” He knocked on the side of his head to prove his point, but Nightwing looked unimpressed.
“Master Nightwing, I presume you brought this child back to the cave for medical attention?” Danny's nose bunched in confusion as he heard another, older and British, voice enter the chat. He turned his head around, looking for the source and spotted an older guy in a butler outfit paired with a mask, much like Nightwing’s, appear around the corner.
“Agent A! Good timing!” Nightwing jovially responded, yanking Danny around like he weighed nothing (shut up, he was a BIG MAN!) and presented him like a scrungly, dumpster-infested gift to Agent A. Danny crossed his arms and attempted to sit criss-cross while hovering in the air in response. He hoped it showed both men how displeased he was being carried around like a kitten.
Agent A only raised a single eyebrow, humming as he set down the tray he had been holding on a nearby table. Danny felt a little awkward at the look, like the man was able to be disappointed in him for nearly trying to be a brat and was waiting for Danny himself to realize it.
“Hmm, well Master Nightwing, would you be so kind as to introduce the young Mister to me?” Agent A's attention (thankfully) shifted to Nightwing and Danny huffed a near silent breath in relief.
Danny shifted uneasily, eyeing the new person. “How do I know you’re not some sort of government spy trying to steal my spleen?”
Nightwing let out a tired sigh, patting Danny’s greasy hair with his free hand. “This is Danny, he’s in need of some medical attention like you said. Starting with an attitude adjustment, I think.”
The young boy spluttered, smacking away Nightwing’s gloved hands. His feet dropped to the ground as he glared up at the vigilante who had finally decided to let him go. “I am perfectly fine, thank you very much! You’re the one who kidnapped me, so what kind of attitude should I have in the first place?”
“You came with me willingly!” Nightwing cried out, throwing his arms over his head in exasperation.
“You bribed me with sandwiches! I see no sandwiches here!” Danny rebutted, tilting his chin up and moving around like he was towering over Nightwing (he decided it was best to ignore his current height).
“Danny, you’ll get your sandwiches after Agent A and I check you over--”
“You’re a dirty liar and I hope you know that I will haunt you in your nightmares.” He squinted his eyes at Nightwing and Danny made a mental promise to himself to follow through with the threat…whether he knew how to do it or not. He would figure it out though if he didn't get the food he was supposed to be shoving in his mouth right about now.
Nightwing just sighed, bringing a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose. “Okay, kiddo. Whatever you say, I'm too tired to argue.” Danny pumped a little fist in the air at his win.
A small cough caught the quarreling black-haired duo’s attention. They both shifted their gazes back to where Agent A was watching them bicker. Danny resolutely ignored how they acted in sync and shifted a few inches away.
“If it may please you, Mister Danny, while Nightwing gets you set up in the medical bay I can make you a few simple sandwiches.” The older man turned a pointed look towards the youngest present. “Are there any allergies or preferences that I should be aware of?” When Danny shook his head negatively, Agent A turned to leave for…wherever he had spawned from before.
“Thank you, A.” The vigilante called to his retreating back before starting to herd Danny over to a well-lit corner of the literal freaking cave with actual bats. He still couldn’t get over it.
Danny glared up at Nightwing, eyebrows scrunched in a face of pure childish pout. “I would like to state that I am doing this under heavy protest.”
“Duly noted.”
The medical bay was stocked full of random bits and bobs of probably important looking equipment. From IV lines to a full x-ray machine, Danny had to take a moment and question just how loaded these guys must be to have this stuff at the ready. None of this looked second-hand or even well-used to his untrained eyes, though he couldn't remember if he really had much of a reference for this stuff. As he was ushered onto a cot, Danny couldn’t help the shiver of fear involuntarily creeping up his spine as he sat down.
Watching Nightwing move around brought a thin feeling of panic racing through his veins. The sterile smell, brightly unadorned walls, and the constant hum of devices plugged into every outlet. There was a mayo cart near the end of the cot he sat on, not much on it but Danny couldn’t tear his eyes away from the larger-than-they-should be tweezers and the forceps peeking out from under the sheet covering it.
“Alright, Danno, we’re just gonna check you over real quick,” Nightwing told him, bustling around the small space comfortably. Danny felt like he couldn't breathe at the nickname for some reason he couldn’t recall. But that wasn't right? Because he was pretty sure he didn't have to breathe, which is wrong because a human should be breathing, right? He raised a shaky hand to his chest and yep, it was definitely not moving. Danny had stopped breathing at some point without realizing and it wasn’t affecting him, which was weird. But he still hadn't stopped watching the gleaming silver taunting him as though the instruments would start moving on their own towards him. So, he couldn’t bring himself to care about his own unnaturalness. “Now, I'm not the one with a history of medical care and knowledge. I know more than most. but I’ve only got enough in this old noggin for some basic first aid. Agent A will be the one actually looking you over in a bit.”
Nightwing continued to chatter on, but Danny couldn't bring himself to focus on his words until the man stepped in front of the instruments, blocking them from Danny’s line of sight. He sucked in a sharp breath for the first time in minutes, but Nightwing didn’t act like he heard him as he reached over to remove Danny's jacket.
“Now, real quick I'm just going to do a surface check,” Nightwing rubbed Danny’s hands between his own rapidly. “Jeez kid, you're like an ice cube! We'll get you some warm clothes after we make sure you don't have any injuries. I'm gonna look for any bruises or cuts or anything broken so I can bring it to A's attention. Okay?”
Danny didn't respond. His eyes had started scanning the room and landed on a tiny centrifuge on the counter a few feet away. It looked off, it wasn't spinning at least, but the sight of it caused questions to blur in his mind. Were they going to take his blood? Why would they do that? Lots of reasons he knew, but couldn't name a single one. Why couldn’t he think of them? Would anything happen if they did take his blood? Why was he worried? Was there something that Danny should know, should remember, that he just couldn't? It was important, it had to be important! They were important, they were terrifying, they were his everything, they were his end–!
He felt his mind screech to a sudden halt, narrowing in on the blinking red light of the power button. The centrifuge just taunted him innocently as his mind panicked. Danny felt his chest going up and down, but his lungs still felt empty while his heart beat so fast he could feel it in his throat. He could hear his own heart beating.
What if he was some kind of monster behind his memories? What if Nightwing and Batman arrested him, handed him over to someone? No, no, no! He couldn't let them! He couldn't go back, not to that place or to them--they hurt him, there was no way he'd go back! Danny refused to be sent back to the—!
Suddenly his thoughts stopped. Danny felt light-headed, all of his questions still swimming in his mind, but not as loud. He felt…calmer, but not at the same time? Who was he thinking of? What was he about to remember?
“Danny? Danny, bud, you alright there? It's not normal for you to be so quiet.” A voice spoke next to him, low and anxious but Danny's mind didn't really register it was Nightwing. He just sat there, his limbs heavy and eyelids sinking in exhaustion. He's not sure why he's suddenly so tired, but he felt his mind drift to the thought of flying through the skies with a blue shape holding onto him tightly–laughter chasing them in the wind.
********************************
To say Dick was panicking would be an understatement…He was absolutely losing his shit. One minute, Danny was perfectly fine (if a little bit nervous) but the next he was dissociating and hyperventilating! But without the very important part where he breathes! His little chest was moving up and down rapidly, but there didn't seem to be any air coming in or out of the boy.
“Danny? Danny, bud, you alright there?” Dick smiled, hoping it was a bit comforting. “It's not like you to be so quiet.” He spoke in hushed tones, but hoped that his goading brought the boy back to his former spunk for even a moment and snap him out of his altered mental state. When he got no response out of it though, which worried Dick even more.
When Danny’s eyes had rolled back into his head and he passed out, just as Dick was reaching out for him? He felt his heart stop. But when Dick barely managed to catch the small boy before he fell off the cot? That was the final straw. He quickly cradled Danny in his arms and faced the main portion of the cave.
“Agent A! I need your help, come quick!”
A hurrying of footsteps alerted him to Alfred arriving, but after calling out for assistance, Dick's eyes never left Danny’s face. There was a clatter as Alfred hastily dropped the sandwich tray he had been carrying onto the counter, the older man stopping next to Dick with a distraught expression. “What has happened here?”
“I don’t know, one second he seemed fine and then he just stopped talking!” Dick reached a hand up to gently cradle Danny’s small face, turning his head up to look at his pseudo-grandfather. “I tried asking him a question and he just passed out all of a sudden.”
With a quick nod, Alfred took Danny from his arms and laid him down on his side. Dick couldn’t help but notice just how small the boy looked laying on the adult sized cot. His breathing was short and shallow–nothing like how it was supposed to be when someone was sleeping restfully.
“Get the oximeter set up on him, lad. We’ll need to take his temperature and get a baseline.” With a determined nod, the young man set off to do just that. As he clipped the small, child-sized plastic equipment Bruce kept in the med bay for whatever reason, Dick couldn’t help but run through what had happened prior to him absconding with Danny to the top of Wayne Tower. Did he notice anything wrong with the kid besides the obvious? Did Danny act like he was protecting a wound of any kind while they spoke? He had no idea, but he sure was some detective for not noticing. Dick scoffed at his own thoughts and rushed back to Alfred.
“Was there anything that might have happened to cause any kind of head injury to the young lad?” Alfred questioned as he slipped a thermometer under the unconscious boy’s tongue. He held it there, never looking away from his patient as he questioned Dick. “Any symptoms of a fever or cough that may indicate he is sick or suffering from an underlying issue?”
Dick shook his head, impatiently waiting for the oximeter to give him something. When it continued to show nothing, he felt his heart sink. “Not anything I was there for. The kid was dumpster diving when I found him…looking for food.” He closed his eyes, trying to recall what exactly had happened earlier that night. “He kept swaying around when I got close to him though, like he was exhausted or something but trying not to show it.”
Alfred hummed, pulling the thermometer from Danny’s mouth as it beeped a cheery tune. “His temperature is not where it should be, but not out of the question with the weather and how thinly he is dressed.” The butler gave a sharp nod, depositing the used thermometer off to the side and moving towards the blood draw station. “We’ll need to perform a blood panel on Mister Danny, it’s a very high possibility that his blood sugar is low, as well.”
Dick felt his shoulders deflate, glancing helplessly between the kid he knew he was getting attached way too fast to and his grandfather. “And what if his blood sugar isn't the problem we're having here? What if something else is going on?”
Alfred's eyes softened a little around the edges, his steps a little less hurried, though still confident nonetheless. “Then that is simply one diagnosis we will be able to remove from the realm of possibility. Now, please help me get Mister Danny cleaned up a bit. I daresay, we cannot have the child catching an infection from the street grime finding its way into an injection site.”
“Got it–okay.” Dick pushed his shaking hands to still as he hurried over to one of the cabinets alongside the walls. He opened the drawer housing the many rags they use in these types of situations, a box of alcohol wipes, and a small bucket he filled with water at the sink to take over to Danny’s bedside. Setting them all on the nearby mayo cart, he started gently scrubbing away the thick layer of filth coating the young boy’s arm until the skin turned near pink. Doing his best to not think about just what was happening, the vigilante cleaned up the young boy with Bat-trained efficiency.
“He’s ready,” Dick announced as he swiped an alcohol wipe repeatedly over the now-cleaned flesh. Alfred hummed as the older man wrapped a latex band around Danny’s upper arm, watching as the young boy’s veins slowly thickened with blood swelling. With a gentle precision, Alfred prodded around before reaching a hand out to press lightly above the tourniquet. Instinctively, Dick passed over a needle and syringe to him, keeping the empty tiger tubes in his palm until Alfred asked for them.
Just as the cool metal of the needle began to poke into Danny’s veins, the boy’s fist snapped out, almost knocking the empty tubes out of Dick’s hands. They were shocked enough by the response–both men startled more than they expected–that Dick found himself taking a half step back and Alfred was pulling the needle away from Danny's arm to ensure he didn't poke the boy in the wrong spot by accident.
“Danny?” Dick called out, his surprise hurriedly making way for relief. “Oh my, Danny! You scared me–” Snarling greeted his approach and instantly stopped Dick in his tracks. His arms were held up in an aborted hug as he watched Danny inch upwards and lean forward so his weight was supported by his wrists. It couldn't have been comfortable, but Dick wasn't sure if Danny even realized as his eyes remained tightly shut–lines appearing around them that made him seem so much older than his young age was.
Danny’s noises intensified when Alfred began to move again, the needle still held tightly within his right hand. Although they didn't open during all of this, Danny's eyes were trained on the gleaming silver as though it personally offended him. Dick’s gaze flitted between the two others for a moment before he had an idea.
Lowering himself a little so he wasn't too tall in this moment, settling into a crouched position that put him eye level with Danny, Dick took a deep breath. “Alfie, I need you to take a step back for me.”
The old butler raised a brow and did not move, keeping his eyes on Danny with continuous aborted attempts to reach the child. “Master Dick, I do not know what you are planning–”
“Sorry Alf, I just need you to trust me,” he held a hand out, interrupting the butler and accepting his consequences for later. “I've got an idea, but I need you to step back a little first.”
Alfred tsked in disapproval, but did as Dick asked and the young man watched as a little bit of tension left Danny's face. “Okay okay, now I need you to slowly lower the hand that’s holding the needle.”
“Now, really Master Dick.” Alfred didn't complain, but he made his displeasure known. “This young man is now my patient, so I must treat him. Would you please allow me?”
Dick resisted the urge to sigh. He felt like right now was not the best time to be arguing, it could only lead to Danny running from them, from him. Dick didn't know how he knew that probability, but he felt it in his very bones. Every second they wasted, he knew that it would lead to Danny running as fast as his small legs would take him.
“Alfred, please, I'm asking you to trust me right now,” he begged. Waving a hand at Danny’s current state as though to prove his point. “There's something happening, and I think that we need to follow Danny's lead here. If I know grunts and growls from B, then this is an angry or scared one. We have to step back, ok?”
Alfred glanced away from Danny long enough to stare into Dick's eyes and sigh under his breath (Dick didn't actually hear the noise, but he knew it happened). But without argument, he moved his arm down slowly, never letting go of the needle–but rather just removing it from Danny's direct line of sight. The snarls didn't completely disappear, but they lowered enough in volume that he could almost say the kid sounded like an old fridge humming to life for the first time in years.
Turning to the (obviously freaked out) child in front of him, Dick put on his best showman's smile for him. “Danno, it's okay, no one will hurt you.” There was no response, not that Dick thought there would be. “No one will ever touch you again without your okay on it, is that alright?”
A blank stare was the only reply Dick received, making his worry increase. He did his best to not show it, his smile steady and sure as he kept gently talking to the scared boy in front of him. “What’s got you all worked up? Must not like needles, huh, bud?” With the utmost caution, Dick slowly reached out a hand. When Danny’s snarling continued as before without raising in volume, the vigilante kept creeping closer and closer. “Needles are pretty scary. I used to hate getting shots, y’know? Batman would have to bribe me with ice cream to get me to do it.” Dick dropped his voice to a stage whisper as he gently touched Danny’s shaking arm. “He still has to bribe me, even if I’m not scared anymore. It gets me free ice cream, how could I say no to that?”
Alfred chuckled despite himself at Dick's words, no doubt remembering all the times he had to quell Dick's tantrums when he had to get all of his vaccinations after moving in. “It is true, Mister Danny. Master Nightwing was quite the rambunctious child and the main aggressor in Batman's multitude of gray hairs coming in early.”
Dick frowned at Alfred. He wasn't that bad growing up! But before he could protest his angelic childhood nature, he heard a quiet snort. Whipping his head back around from where he was about to defend himself to Alfred, Dick watched as the lines on Danny's face receded a bit and there was a tiny quirk to his lips.
Deciding sometimes it's better to join them than try and beat them, Dick moved forward. “Oh yeah, for sure, I was a total monster! There was this one time where Batman told me I couldn't go on patrol with him after I kept playing with Poison Ivy's plants,” Dick started in a hushed whisper, as though he were telling a secret. Danny leaned forward, his eyes still closed but not as tightly and he thought he could almost make out a sliver of color from them. “Well, I couldn't stand for that, of course! I was all of eight-years-old and totally knew better than Batman himself, so I went out anyway but in the opposite direction of his patrol. I figured if he didn't see me, he wouldn't know.” Dick shrugged casually, leaning back a bit with a faux-cocky smirk.
“How, pray tell, did that end up working out for you, Master Nightwing?” Alfred was smirking. That was never a good sign for any of them.
Dick looked away from the old butler, keeping Danny in his peripheral as he muttered. “I slipped on some ice that Mr Freeze had left on the ground and slid into the middle of traffic. Batman got a call from Gordon about ‘an extra traffic light the city didn't authorize’ and told him to come get me.” Dick pouted remembering how Bab's’ Dad kept chuckling at him the whole time Bruce gave him a silent lecture on the police station roof. “I was grounded from everything, not just patrol, for a month. A whole month!”
A small huff of laughter caught Dick’s attention, and he could see Danny’s shoulders lower from their tense position. Dick gave a quick glance over him, checking for anything wrong, and just seeing that the little boy was much more relaxed. Within seconds his little head was lolling around like it weighed more than he could handle. Dick jumped up and grabbed hold of Danny's shoulders before he could slump over and fall off the cot. With the same amount of caution one would use to approach a rabid dog, Dick slowly laid the once again unconscious child back down. He stayed still for a few tense moments, waiting for Danny to react negatively at the change in position. When there was no aggressive movement, he breathed a sigh of relief. Turning his head to face Alfred, he spoke in a hushed tone. “Maybe we don’t draw the kid’s blood just yet.”
“Master Nightwing, we need to find out what’s wrong with the young lad.” The old butler set the needle down on a nearby table, locking covered eyes with Dick’s own. “It could be something that needs immediate treatment.”
“Is there any way we could get that information without drawing a panicked child’s blood?” Dick hissed.
Eyes narrowing in displeasure, Alfred spoke with a sharp tone. “Master Nightwing, it would do you well to remember the manners Batman and I taught you.”
Dick sheepishly looked at the ground, mumbling out an apology. “But, A, c’mon. He clearly doesn’t like needles for some reason. Why don’t we just wake him up, or do some tests that don’t involve drawing his blood?”
Alfred twisted his lips in a way only the man himself could, eyes trained on Dick who was anxiously rubbing his hands together, waiting for an answer. When Bruce wasn't here, Alfred was in charge. (Aw, who was he kidding? Alfred was always in charge, but when Bruce isn't here the arguments are a lot easier).
“As you wish, I will view Mister Danny's current status without the transfer of biological tissue of any kind,” Alfred agreed easily, moving past Dick to properly dispose of the needle he had opened. “But I tell you this now sir, if there is an underlying health issue then I won't be able to do anything if his condition worsens in this situation. So I suggest coming up with an idea for when the young sir awakens.”
Dick nodded while feeling like groaning in misery. He barely knew the kid–how was he supposed to act as a health surrogate for this tiny child right now? The vigilante put his hands on his hips as he watched Alfred work, removing Danny's dirty outer clothing. Alfred’s facade broke for a second as he made a face at the two filthy, thin jackets covering the boy’s still covered arm and the ripped flannel around his waist. The old butler methodically cleaned every part of Danny's arms and face that were covered in dirt, and Dick watched in awe as the most adorable freckles appeared on his round baby cheeks. He needed to squish them and coo at the little boy right that second, having to use every ounce of Bat-trained restraint to not coddle the tiny human.
“Nightwing,” Dick took in a sharp breath, instinctually standing up straight. He hadn’t been expecting Bruce to be back to the Cave so soon, normally the man would stay out as late as possible on patrol. “Report, now.” Bruce's voice garnered no argument, a tone demanding answers. Dick knew that he probably had some kind of traumatic response reasoning or whatever for needing to know literally everything for a sense of control. But Dick had a traumatic response to fight at every turn when being spoken down to.
“Not now B, if you can’t tell there’s something going right now we’re a bit busy with,” Dick grit his teeth as he responded, unable to tear his eyes away from the laceration on the back of Danny’s left arm that Alfred had just uncovered. What could have made that? A kitchen knife perhaps? Dick wanted to get a closer look, but he knew he’d just be in Alfred’s way right now. “So if you could kindly fuck off until later, that would be great.”
“Language, young sir,” Alfred admonished him absently.
Dick felt his cheeks heat up, but didn’t move from his position in the doorway where he was watching everything that happened. He didn’t want Bruce coming close to Danny. “Sorry A, my bad.”
“Nightwing,” Bruce–no, Batman–intoned. Dick wanted to ignore the man. God, did he want to just flat out pretend he wasn’t there and focus on this tiny bundle of cuteness that filled him with a strong urge to protect said bundle from any and all harm.
But Batman was someone that couldn’t be easily ignored.
“What part of ‘not now’ do you not understand?” The younger vigilante quipped, trying to play the part of happy-go-lucky-Dick-Grayson everyone always seemed to expect from him. It was exhausting most of the time these days, but somehow easier to just fall into his assigned role than live with the anger brewing in his chest bit by bit.
“I don't have time for your remarks, Nightwing,” Batman scolded. At this point in his life, Dick can tell Bruce's frowns apart as well as he could the grunts. This was an ‘you are lucky you're my kid, otherwise I'd sock you in the jaw’ kind of frown. He didn't earn those too often, surprisingly. “You let an underaged civilian into the Cave without consulting me first. Explain your actions, now.”
Dick’s lips curled, snarling at Batman. “What I did was bring a scared, hurt little boy to a place that I knew would give him half-decent medical attention. It’s better than dropping him off at, I don’t know, Ma Gunn’s?” With an ugly type of satisfaction, he watched as the blow hit its mark. He could read Batman’s body language well enough by now to see the half-hidden wince, the slightest uptick of his shoulders. Hopefully it was enough to make Batman be Bruce for half a minute so they could have an actual conversation, rather than a screaming match.
“You're out of line, Nightwing,” Batman frowned, the creases in his mask deepening as he stalked towards Dick. A dark feeling wormed its way through Dick's chest. It was an awful thing that made him feel like a shit son for being cruel to the man who raised him, but also felt glad he could inflict just a little suffering back at Bruce for his emotionally constipated actions over the years. Dick felt sick at the words that just came out of him. “I suggest you stop now, and let me move past you.”
Dick jutted out his chin, shifting on his feet to broaden his stance and better block off the entry to the medical bay. “Absolutely not.”
The two stared each other down for a moment. Dick didn't move from his post, crossing his arms defiantly as Bruce tried to stand up to his annoyingly taller height in an act of intimidation. Too bad for him, it stopped working after the last time he betrayed Dick's trust, right before he abandoned the mantle of Robin that he had built.
“Nightwing, that was not a request but an order. Move now.” Bruce made to shoulder his way around Dick, but the younger’s lithe form moved to block him.
“I don’t care. I’m not letting you take a kid–who just fainted–out of this cave! He needs medical attention and Alfred’s the best of the best.” Dick argued defiantly. Maybe a little childishly too, if he had to admit it. Dick knew that Danny would do well to be treated properly in a hospital, but after what he witnessed in that room with hardly the basics in medical care? He wasn't letting that kid anywhere near a hospital without his consent right now.
“Alfred, while skilled, is not comparable to a trained doctor who can treat this child and get them the help he needs.” Bruce put his hand on Dick's shoulder and he roughly shoved it off, feeling the skin burn despite layers of kevlar and spandex separating them. “You are acting irrationally right now–”
“I don’t care, Bruce!” Dick shouted, shaking with a barely-contained rage. He felt his chest burning with it, unable to hold the words in and since there were no younger siblings or small children around (and awake), so he didn't stop them. “I don’t care that Alfred’s not a trained doctor. I don’t care that you’re so against this! What I care about is the fact that this little kid trusted me enough to bring him here, to get him help, when he very clearly does not trust anybody!” Dick moved, getting up in Bruce’s face as he went on his tangent. He was so fired up, he couldn't even notice Bruce's dominos widening in shock. “You should know better than anyone what it’s like to have a kid dropped right in front of you and know that you need to help! Hell, how many orphans have come through here, again?”
Dick huffed loudly, his breaths causing a slight mist in the damp cave as he watched Bruce process his words for a moment. The man barely moved the whole time Dick was ranting and he was honestly shocked he got out what he did without Bruce shutting him up. Or Alfred complaining about how they were disturbing his patient.
“Exactly, Dick,” Bruce agreed. But his voice was low and dangerous, the tone he saved for when he was incredibly angry. Dick only ever heard it when the man was facing Joker or The Riddler after their antics affected large groups of people and led to deaths. “I have seen multiple orphans walk through this manor and through this cave. I have watched as you were consumed by rage and tried to avenge your family with your small hands, still growing as you filled these halls with so much sorrow it couldn't fit in a tiny body.” Bruce's fists clenched at his sides. “I watched as you followed in my footsteps, becoming Robin and channeling your anger before just leaving everything behind. I couldn't stop you.”
Bruce jutted his chin out, the vein in his neck popping as he remembered Dick's younger years. “I watched as…as Jason, so filled with hatred and rage entered the manor. He hid his food and tried to protect himself even when no one was coming after him, and then he took over Robin. He was the happiest I had seen him in those days,” Bruce's voice quieted some, but the steel in his tone grew sharper. “Then I watched as he died. He died because he was Robin, because I took him in.”
Bruce pointed at Dick suddenly, and the accusatory finger felt so strong he took a step back in surprise. “Tim was not one I expected, and I tried to push him away for his own good. He'd have been better off not being Robin for his own sake. Even a life lived like his could have become better than the one he has now, risking his life on the streets when he could be at home developing film or skateboarding with friends. A normal life, without the mission,” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Dick, I know what it's like to see an orphan child and want to help them, of course I do. But sometimes, even with good intentions, there are people who want to help but in hindsight probably shouldn't. They could end up making the child's life even worse, completely without trying.”
The guilt that Dick had been feeling washed out in a seething tsunami of fury. All throughout Bruce’s speech, the acrobat felt regretful over what he said to Bruce. Maybe the man actually understood how fucked up his relationships with his kids were? He was mentally debating how to apologize to him for what was said and move forward, maybe turn this into an actual conversation for once. Yet, Bruce's words at the end gave him pause. He made some points Dick could find himself agreeing to in other circumstances, but to say that he shouldn’t be around Danny? Because he would make the kid’s life worse? That's just catastrophizing and projecting his own guilt onto Dick!
“I want you to think about how old you were when you took me in, Bruce.” Dick said, slowly and clearly as he stalked closer to his father-figure. “You were only twenty-two. Fresh out of traveling the world, leaving behind all your responsibilities to start out on your own quest to avenge your parents. To lead a one-man crusade against all the bad things this screwed up city has to offer.” The younger man glared up at Bruce, hoping that he was communicating just how royally pissed off he was. “I’m two years older than you were. I have a full-time job as well as having a normal life outside of the suit. I have decent relationships with my co-workers and I have not only successfully led teams, but I have been fighting towards The Mission for most of my life. I have friends inside and out of being a vigilante who would be more than happy to help me if I asked them to. And, unlike someone I know, I would actually ask.”
Dick shook his head bitterly. He felt the insane urge to laugh right now, but none of this was funny. He knew that.
“I know I can take Danny under my wing and raise him well. I have a great example of what not to do, after all. But, what happened to the one kid you ever bothered to actually adopt, Bruce? Where is he now? Would you say that being under your care made his life even worse?” They both knew he was talking about himself, but Dick wanted Bruce to say the words he was always afraid to admit out loud about their relationship.
Dick felt a sick sort of satisfaction still though at seeing Bruce's shoulders shake minutely. There was not a lot that could rattle the man, but bringing up the mistakes he made raising his kids would always do it--you just had to know what signs to look for. If Jason had been here for this, or even Tim, they probably would have tried to stop their fight before it got to this point. His brothers never enjoyed being around him and Bruce at times like these, but it still made him feel awful in a way to speak to Bruce like this. But he was so upset at the situation he couldn't bring himself to care.
He barely managed to dodge the swing Bruce tossed his way, ducking down to his haunches as the man pushed his weight forwards. Sliding around his legs, Dick hooked himself around Bruce's ankle to bring the bigger vigilante down, but Bruce only stumbled a bit. Dick tumbled a few feet away and popped back up, lowering himself into a half-crouched stance in case Bruce came towards him again. But he didn't, Bruce just stood in the entry of the doorway, huffing like an angry bull as he whipped his cowl off and turned burning blue eyes onto Dick.
He peeked around the man's wide shoulders at Alfred, who stood in the background like a sentinel over Danny's quiet form resting on the bed. Somehow the kid was still asleep through all of the noise. If he weren't facing Bruce, Dick would laugh at the sight of the kid’s slack jaw and an ever growing puddle of drool under his chin.
“You have no right to talk about situations you don't understand, Dick,” Bruce ground out, his voice gravelly with the emotions he never let out. “The choices I made were–”
“Really shitty?” Dick quipped as he rose from his crouch. “Because, yes. They were, I agree.”
“They were the best choices I could make at the time,” Bruce corrected, lines deepening on his face and aging the man even more. “I was young and I had a child dropped into my lap–”
“More like yoinked from the cops, but go on.” Dick shrugged at the man, body language loose but his nerves were shot now that he was further from Danny. “Keep digging that hole B, maybe soon it'll be big enough to fit you.”
“Nightwing, stop this now–” Bruce started to lecture. But the step backwards he made caused Dick to snap. He was too close to Danny and Dick was too far. He had to protect!
“No! This isn't Batman and Nightwing time B,” Dick began marching forward, fists trembling in front of him with each step. “This is Dick and Bruce, man and ward time. You and I are talking, it is not you giving me orders!”
Stopping in front of his father-figure, Dick looked him dead in the eyes. Blue met blue. Frown met frown. He stood up to Batman who was keeping him from the child his heart had already claimed.
“So how about we talk, old man?”
#dp x dc#dc x dp#dpxdc#dcxdp#danny phantom#dick grayson#batman#nightwing#bruce wayne#danny fenton#dick adopts danny#deaged danny#deaged danny fenton#batfam#MMMM DRAMA!!!#ANGST!!!#COME GET UR ANGST PSPSPSP#sorry for the cliffhanger#(im really not LOL)#((SUFFFEEERRRRR))
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I'm worried about electronic waste, e-waste recycling, and such loss of resources.
That's real. For what it's worth, I think it's something we're going to get a LOT better at. The raw materials - and even partially depleted materials that can be downcycled - are too valuable to be left forever.
Tip for anyone worried about e-waste or looking to be more environmentally conscious: Whenever I have something electronic that dies (this includes batteries, power cords, string lights, and vapes), I stick it in an out-of-the-way drawer, and then once every year or two, I bring it all to either an e-waste recycling place or an e-waste disposal place (which, my understanding is most e-waste disposal places do a lot of materials reclamation as well, though if I'm wrong someone please correct me). I just look online to find a place.
Sometimes it's a bit of a drive, but it's so worth it. I encourage others to do the same!
Anyway, here's some headlines about e-waste to hopefully lift your spirits:
^That's Western Australia, not Washington state.
#dyingpleasehelp#ewaste#e waste#waste disposal#electronics#recycling#batteries#lithium#rare earth metals#good news#hope#united states#australia#rwanda
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right here waiting | f.o
finnic odair x fem!reader
summary: after the quarter quell you vanish, no sign, no trace. you left behind your boyfriend, finnick, who could just not wrap his head around your disappearance. what happened?
warnings: typical hunger games violence, blood, torture, strong language, descriptions of wounds.
a/n: this fic is a long time coming. i love finnick and is one of my favorite characters but i can never find the right storyline for his character. it’s also been a hot minute since i’ve watched the movies so if there are any inaccuracies just look away lmao. hopefully, i can continue to write for him. i hope you guys enjoy this one !! feedback is appreciated ! also since i haven’t written in a very long time this came out shorter than i wanted it too. sorry about that.
requests open
not proofread
Copyright © 2023 bartxnhood. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.
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“run!!” your voice echoed, the dome was collapsing. “finnick, run!” you turned around, grabbing his wrist to pull you along. the arena was exploding as you tried your best to dodge the debris. katniss had used one of her arrows and shot the border of the arena causing it to collapse. now, all the victors began to spread out to take cover from the panels.
“holy shit, y/n, look out!!” finnick was ripped from your grasp as the ground below you rumbled and sent you falling.
"y/n!? “y/n!" you could hear someone calling your name in the distance, it was a panicked finnick searching the forest floor for your body. you opened your eyes trying to search for him but your vision was too blurry. everything was spinning. "finnick."
in seconds you were back on the ground and eyes falling back, slipping into unconsciousness.
it had been weeks since your disappearance, at first most people just assumed you had died that day in the arena. either by debris or the capital, but finnick knew that you were still out there somewhere.
for finnick, it was a nightmare. he barely left his room. every day that you stayed missing he slowly began to lose hope that he’d find you again. so, he began to mourn.
he was almost unrecognizable. finnick was letting himself go. he began to neglect his health, he refused to eat, he couldn’t sleep, and he was killing himself.
guilt heavy on his shoulders after losing you, even though the people around him had assured him that your disappearance wasn’t his fault. but finnick thought that had he held on to your hand just a little tighter you would’ve made it out.
katniss came to him one day, finding him lying on his bed staring at the ceiling like any other day. “this isn’t like you.” she stated. finnicks eyes found her, standing at the edge of his bed. the girl sighed, crossing her arms. “you’re killing yourself.” he shrugged. “what else am i supposed to do?” “fight for her?” “how?” katniss fell silent, she wasn’t sure how to proceed with the news she had just received. slowly, she moved to his side and sat down. “she’s alive.”
everything froze, he was sure he even stopped breathing. finnick sat up slowly so he could face katniss. “what?” “she’s in the capitol. with peeta.”
the bright fluorescent light of the hospital room burned your eyes, you brought your hand over your eyes to adjust to the light. once your eyes adjusted to the light you scanned your surroundings. you looked at your hand, you had an iv in, and you heard the faint beeping of the monitor next to you.
what happened? how did you get out? where were you? you barely remembered what happened in the capitol, it was all a blur. you began to panic, searching around the room wondering if you could get out.
the door opened, and you looked to your left and saw someone entering. “kat?” your voice was scratchy and hoarse. she now stood at your bedside holding your hand. she hummed, “hi, y/n/n”. “thank god” you breathed, tears welling in your eyes. “i thought id never see you again” katniss hushed your cries, wiping away the tears falling from your eyes. “shh, it’s okay. you’re okay” she smiled. caressing your cheek.
you had lost a lot of weight at this point, your face was sunken in. your body thinner than it had ever been, and you were beyond exhausted both physically and mentally. “oh, honey” she coaxed. you held onto her hand tightly, “there’s someone here who wants to see you.” she gently escaped from your grasp, walking to the exit.
"fin. you breathed, watching him enter the room. it felt like a dream you had wanted to see him for so long. it felt like an eternity. the one you loved so dearly, the one who has saved your life multiple times. "y/n" he walked over to your bedside. he was hesitant at first, but when you held your hand out for him he gained confidence.
"you're here." you weakly smiled, reaching for his hand. he found himself on the edge of your bed, holding you
“of course i am, sweets. where else would i be?" he chuckled softly, and you hummed. you brought your hand to his cheek. you examined his face and he placed his hands on yours. finnick studied you, making sure to soak in every detail.
"you'll never have to go through that again, y/n. i promise i'll do anything to keep you safe." he kissed the top of your head.
you smiled as he pulled back, and tears fell from your eyes again. "i know, fin" you said softly. "you look tired, love" he sighed. it had been such a long time since you'd been in his embrace, you missed everything about him. his jokes, snarky comments, his grin. he was your everything. "i am." you hummed, while he sat holding your hand. “rest, i’ll be right here when you wake up.”
#finnick odair fluff#finnick x you#finnick odair x reader#finnick x reader#finnick imagine#thg finnick#finnick odair#finnick x y/n#hunger games finnick#finnick odair x you#thg imagine#thg fanfic#the hunger games
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sick days ! gojo x reader ‧˚ - take a soda break…!
the rain outside your window is incessant.
it slides down the foggy glass panes in small rivulets that merge together and break apart, like the people outside on different paths of life. a sea of umbrellas moves like liquid in the streets below; a school of fish in a rainy city, under those fluorescent neons that shine like vibrant coral in the puddles of rain on the concrete.
there’s beauty even in the humid showers of tokyo, reflected in the broken lights and flickering signs; those food stalls full of warm life and fancy clothing stores that you always go in just to not buy anything, and best of all— the vending machines that dot the map.
watching raindrops race was one of your favorite hobbies as a kid. even now, you find yourself absentmindedly tracking the movements; the erratic nature of the blurry droplets as they slide down the glass makes you wonder if there’s hidden ridges on the panels that guide those watery paths.
your train of thought is rudely interrupted by another bout of coughing; that dry, itching feeling in your throat that you just can’t get rid of. drinking water to quell the cough has the same effect as telling your study buddy to stay focused for longer than five minutes. gojo is playing something on his phone again; a rhythm game, by the way he curses under his breath every time his fingers stutter and miss a beat.
you cover your mouth with your elbow, trying to expel the ghost dust that makes your breath hitch every time you try to speak, and he glances up at you, shifting in his seat. his lanky legs are cramped beneath the desktop; his frame doesn’t fit in your room. he has to duck when he enters, lest he hit his head like the first time he came over. like you, he has his head resting in his elbows. unlike you, he isn't ill with a fever so hot it burns cold and the stuffiness in your voice, and he also isn't studying.
"you sure you still wanna be reviewing? this exam doesn't really matter, y'know." gojo remarks, peering up at you from his arm pillow. "you should probably take a break, ’cus you look like shit."
he grins cheekily, pushing a pile of his papers and notes to the edge of the desk, where eraser shavings and broken bits of lead from when he couldn't solve a math problem are crammed. there's scratches and ink stains on the desk, a reminder of how you'd accidentally scribbled past the page’s edge in a sickness induced delirium. it’ll leave permanent marks; at this point you’re convinced you’re writing yourself a secret letter to the future. have you confessed to gojo yet? that’s what it’ll say. right now, it just says something unintelligible.
hopefully you’re still literate in the future, but you’re half-convinced you’re getting dumber every moment you spend caged in with this dunce of a genius.
you lean back in your chair, pulling your knee up to your chest. your pencil falls to the desk with a faint clack, soft yellow lamplight washing your faces warm as gojo scoots closer and peers over your shoulder at your progress. he has a pandora’s box of knowledge in that blue-tinted brain of his; he just refuses to apply it. it’s cocky, spoiled ego in the finest. you should hate him for it.
he snickers. "you're dumb."
"you missed forty-three notes." you countered, shooting him a glare as you point at the disappointed looking character next to a review of the stats from the song he was playing on his phone. gojo grimaces, pulling back like a sad little dog, floppy white hair covering his eyes.
"i was playing with my thumbs."
you ignore him, leaning against the wooden desk before hiding your face in your elbows again and letting out a long sigh. your hot breath curls up in the confines of your body, making you recoil slightly; uncomfortably. heat is the last thing you need with the fever you’re pretty sure you’re running.
"i hate being sick. and i hate studying. can we please give up?" you complained, glancing up at him out of the corner of your eye. your hair obscures your vision, so you can only see a faint glint of amusement in his azure irises as he studies you for a moment before scooting his chair back and standing up. without another word, he leaves the room.
wow. okay.
a moment of silence passes as you sit there, lamenting over your runny nose and the way you sound like you're about to cough a lung up every time you breathe, until you hear the soft sounds of his feet padding on the floorboards coupled with what you presume is ice clinking against glass, signaling his return. you lift your head, blinking blearily. each time you breathe in through your nose, your nostrils burn like dry ice pressed against your skin, only adding to your misery. the dreary weather outside isn't helping much, either.
the cold glass leaves a dark stain on the table, an uneven circle of condensation that soothes the aching in your fingers when your sick skin makes contact. gojo pops the can open, and you watch as he picks the glass up, tilting it to the side to pour the soda in.
“why are you holding it like that?” you asked curiously, a small yawn escaping your lips as you lean against the table. he glances down at you, a cheeky, tiny smile gracing his lips. the sound of bubbles fizzling and popping fills the cozy, cramped room; that cool, sweet liquid seems like the only thing that’ll cure your nasty cough.
“pouring it like this prevents the bubbles from escaping. you like it fizzy, don’t you?” he grins.
condensation clings to his fingers like morning dew upon flower petals as he sets the glass down. you watch the ice cubes bobble about in the soda, clinking against the cup like a mini wind chime. you’re sore from sitting in the same place with terrible posture for three hours, and there’s an ache between your fingers from gripping your pencil tight while you write.
you take a sip from the glass, letting out a contented sigh as the refreshing liquid drains down your scratchy throat. it’s not lemon honey tea for a cold, but it certainly helps. next to you, gojo takes his seat again, grabbing the throw blanket on your bed and tossing it over his legs before he grabs his pencil again. he’s using one of those short pencils, shaved down to a stub from months of use. you always offer him a mechanical pencil, but he refuses.
you sit there, waiting for him to get back to work before you realize he’s staring at you, legs crossed beneath the fuzzy blanket.
you frowned, shifting to face him as you lean against the desk. “what?”
“you’ll take care of me if i get sick too, right?” he tilts his head, like a curious bird.
“why would you get sick?”
you’re too relate to react when he makes a mad grab for your glass of soda, holding it out of your reach. a few droplets spill out and spatter onto your notebook, forcing a sigh from your lips.
“gojo…” you groaned, rubbing your temple with your fingers and praying for strength.
he just smirks, taking a lengthy sip. you watch his adam’s apple bob as a bit of condensation builds on his chin and trickles down his throat.
“you know what? i dont feel like studying either.” he announces, setting the glass back down on the wooden table with a loud thunk.
“so? what do you wanna do?” you huffed petulantly.
“download project sekai, and we can do a co-op live.”
“…you’re kidding.”
#billet-doux#satoru gojo x reader#jjk x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru#gojo x you#satoru gojo#jjk gojo#satoru x reader#gojo fluff#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen
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Home designed by Donald L. Maxcy (1990)
"A below-grade handball court turned "Raiders of the Lost Ark" temple—all things are possible with the sorcery of designer Donald Maxcy. A three-story structure in Pebble Beach, California was built on the site to include gymnasium, pool table, video room and nightclub. By day, sunlight warms the "temple" stairwell; by night, this same space is treated to theatrical lighting, conjuring up a sunset or shadows of jungle leaves. In the seating area, high color-rendering fluorescent lighting is artfully combined with planting in pockets of space built into the room. Mirrors back these alcoves, letting the eye wander into a grove of reflected trees. The coffee table conceals movie-theater-quality sound equipment to coordinate with the TV monitor hidden behind the filigree panel. Craftsmen in faux turned this unit to apparent stone. Their decorative archaeology includes sandstone cast rosettes and a subtle bas-relief of a foreign god." —Molly Siple
Description and photos scanned from a 1991 issue of Designer's West Magazine, additional photos scanned from the book Residential Lighting by Randall Whitehead
#90s#80s#interior design#interiors#temple#global village coffeehouse#stone#relief#architecture#my scans#plants#ruins#1990s#lighting#design#home decor
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stuck (s. jy) - teaser !
release date: monday, august 19th. 8pm BST.
when the elevator at your office breaks down unexpectedly, your trapped in a confined space with your boss and ex-fling, Mr Sim.
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pairing: older ceo!jake x employee!reader (f)
genre: smut
warnings: explicit smut, dominant jakey, profanity, cheating, oral (m receiving), minor mouth play, unprotected sex🥸, minors DNI !
wc: 4.4k
🎵now playing: slow down by chase atlantic
.。.:*:.:**:.☆*.。.:*:.:*.。.:*:.:**:.☆*.。.:*:.:*
As the clock ticked toward 6:00pm, the office was slowly beginning to clear out, the only noises heard being the soft whirring of computers and a few stragglers murmuring soft goodbyes as they packed their things. However, here you were, furiously wracking your brain on how you were going to manage to get through the piles of paperwork, which had been dumped on your desk during your shift, in the span of the next half an hour when all you could focus on was the night ahead of you. After a long and grueling week, a peaceful night with your boyfriend, Soobin, was just what you needed. You smiled to yourself, already imagining his easy laugh and the way he always reaches for your hand without even thinking. You loved your boyfriend, obviously…. “Fuck this” you thought as you gathered your belongings, eager to leave and push the rest of your work responsibilities to the back of your mind. That’s a Monday job.
You adjusted the strap on your purse as you stepped into the elevator, mind too preoccupied to notice the hand quickly jamming between the doors just before they could slide closed. They opened again with a soft chime and you were pulled out of your daydream by the sight of your boss, Mr Jake Sim, standing on the other side. His tall frame, clad in a perfectly tailored suit, was almost the caricature of corporate authority. Of course, he was still here. He was always the last to leave, the type who believed in leading by example, even if it meant setting an impossibly high bar. You’d grown to admire his work ethic, even if it made the rest of you look a little lazy by comparison. “Heading out?”
“Yes, just about to.” You replied, trying to mask the slight annoyance in your tone. The last thing you wanted was to get trapped in a conversation about quarterly reports when you were this close to freedom. You shifted awkwardly as he stepped in. The silence between the two of you was loud, the only noise being the hum of the elevator as it began its descent, the small space amplifying the tension between you. It wasn’t that you disliked Jake; it was just… you two had history and he had a way of making everyone feel like they were being judged. His presence was a stark reminder that, in the hierarchy of the corporate world, you were just another cog in the machine.
12…11…10…9… You glanced at your watch, willing the elevator to move faster. You were eager to get out of the building, away from the sterile fluorescent lights and the endless stream of emails that had plagued you all day. You thought about texting Soobin, who was probably waiting in the car park for you right now, to let him know that you were on your way down. 8…7… But as if in response to your thoughts, the elevator jolted to a sudden halt. The lights flickered before the emergency lighting kicked in, leaving a dim and eerie glow over the two of you.
“Did we just…?” You murmured, looking up at the ceiling.
Jake moved quickly, pressing the buttons on the panel, but received no response from them. He pulled his phone out before sighing, the first sign of irritation breaking through his composed exterior “No signal.”
“No… no no this can’t be happening-“ You groan, panic evident in your faltering tone.
Jake responded with a short nod, his expression unreadable. “It looks like we might be in here for a while.”
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@ hvseung, 2024. do not repost or reuse in anyway. thankyou :)
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#enhypen#kpop#fanfic#fanfiction#sim jaeyun#sim jake#kpop smut#kpop fanfic#enhypen smut#enha#jake enhypen
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Skinner POV on post-S5 MSR. I trust this to no hands but yours, empress.
It was in Baltimore. Kidnapping victim, some Congressman’s girlfriend dredged from the Harbor and up they all went, silent and shifty in a big Bureau Suburban.
***
He’s been touching Scully obscenely for years, Mulder has, but what’s always shocked Skinner is that Scully lets him. Her femme-fatale looks and her clear willingness to pistol whip the disrespectful have left him a bit at sea with her tolerance for Mulder’s wayward hands and gazes.
Mulder, like a half-trained Weimaraner. Mulder endlessly sprawling and sniffing and hunting and brilliant and exhausting.
Scully, like a tortoiseshell cat. Scully with half-lidded topaz eyes and eternal, quiet patience.
***
They’re dockside at the USS Constellation, Scully squinting with her hand curved along her brow. Mulder’s obnoxious black Burberry trench flapping like some kind of bespoke fruit bat. Mulder’s rich-kid arrogance.
Scully crouches over the weighted net the girl was wrapped in. There’s a clump of hair snarled in the mesh; it has been cut away to release the body. The girl floats upwards like a mermaid in a nightmare, crab-gnawed and a marbled green.
Mulder wrinkles his nose.
Scully’s hair more stylish now, Scully’s suits trimmer and her blouses more fitted. Everything about her is sleeker and shinier and more polished. She is beautiful, astonishingly beautiful, and it startles him sometimes that she should choose such a small life. That she should choose Mulder, frankly.
Mulder kneels beside her like a dark guardian angel. He skims a hand over her head nearly too fast to see. He thumbs her scrimshaw clavicles, her fine jaw.
Skinner knows, in an abstract sense, that Mulder is beautiful too; that Scully is justified. He still, in his deepest heart, does not feel that Mulder is justified.
He’d traded himself for her life that once because he was a Marine, because she is a rare creature, because he and Mulder had made her thus. Because, on more than one lonely night, he’d flashed on her white throat and bee-stung mouth behind his clenched lids.
Shamed, looks away from them, into the west.
***
He’s in love with Scully in a chivalric way. He’d lay his coat over a mud puddle for her ridiculous shoes. He’d challenge someone to a duel for her honor. But he couldn’t do what Mulder does; he couldn’t love her properly while she weeps and bleeds and dies of a thousand tiny cuts.
Couldn’t bury her daughter and keep sane.
Scully sighs, thumbs half a Subway bag from the corpse’s melting face.
***
The ME’s office at Penn and Pratt, because rank beats jurisdiction, because Skinner commandeered the decomp room when Scully asked. Scully’s regal face like the prow of that ship, Scully’s hair like Diogenes’s lantern.
Her hands like pale garden spiders moving lightly over the body, her steady voice speaking as he and Mulder watched and listened.
The girl was pregnant. Of course she was pregnant, of course she -
Mulder’s hand at Scully’s Bettie Page waist, somehow sinuous even in those boxy scrubs. Scully flinches, breathes, proceeds.
Scully dying, hypovolemic, hating him. Scully translucent as the votive candles she surely lights in her dark church, pale and flickering and full of temporary light.
Skinner looks upwards, at the cheap paneled ceiling, at the bad fluorescent light. He looks at the way Mulder’s hand is spread across her back with only support and not an ounce of possessiveness. He realizes, then, that it has never occurred to Mulder that Scully could belong to anyone else.
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A Burning Hill
construction worker/underground fighter simon riley x waitress
mood board
song of the chapter is How To Disappear Completely by Radiohead
tws: death of a parent, suicidal ideation, abuse/harassment, self inflicted burn (sh), trauma
chapter 1
word count: 1.2k
Even when you were nestled in your mother's warm belly, coddled by her own blood and flesh, you could tell you were a burden. A miracle, the doctors said when you were born. Your mother's heart stopped beating for 4 minutes while in labor—vital to a fetus and its host. The miracle was the baby bathed in blood and mucus, not the lifeless mother, puckered and pearl.
You didn’t cry when you were born, too occupied trying to get your walnut-sized heart to betray you, set you free of the hell you’d just begun.
You were never a child who cried for attention. Instead, you swallowed your sounds, held your breath, and watched the world through the lens of someone who wasn’t meant to stay. The hole in the shape of a woman you never met was always there, a mark left in the silence—a picture on the wood-paneled wall. Belly swollen, smile wide. No stories to tell, no lullabies, no warmth from the one person who was supposed to make you feel like you belonged.
Instead, it was just the quiet hum of a broken home, where nothing was ever whole enough to be considered sound.
The nurses said you were a fighter, wrapped in white cotton and a pink cap. You survived the nightmare. You were strong.
But strength doesn’t mean survival, does it? It just means you keep waking up. And waking up—day after day—feels more like a punishment.
You spilled coffee down your shirt today. It seared into your skin and left it hot and freckled. Ronny coughed a whiskey-smelling bark into your face when you stammered into the kitchen with water in your eyes and a half-empty coffee pot trembling in your hand. You felt the pull, the familiar flicker in your neck—small but sharp, like a wire snapping in your spine. It tugged your head to the side before you could stop it. Ronny’s face twisted, his lip curling around the cigarette as though your body’s rebellion were some kind of offense. You watched through blurred vision as he slapped a damp rag against your chest and snarled Clean yourself up, bitch through his cigarette before brushing past you, too close to be accidental. You keep your eyes on the streaked linoleum and mutter an apology.
“Blue, honey,” Olive gasped through the doorway, rushing in and plucking the pot from your shaking hand as though it might shatter, “Are you alright?”
You nodded, shallowing back shards of glass. If you tried to speak, you knew it would come out warbly and wet. The buzz radiated under the damp rag like it wanted to remind you it was there, that you were here. Alive, maybe. Existing, at least.
She steered you into the employee bathroom, the fluorescent light hissing overhead like an unwelcome witness. Perched on the cold, cracked toilet seat, you felt her fingers hastily unbuttoning the top four pins of your blouse. When she saw the angry red blooming across your collarbone and down to your breasts, she winced as if the burn had somehow reached out and burned her too.
Twenty-five minutes and half a roll of gauze later, you were back on your heels, tray in hand, weaving through the diner like a ghost. Grease clung in the air, mixing with the sting of antiseptic rising from your skin. You didn’t glance at Ronny as you passed, but the weight of his eyes was enough of a reminder that he was there.
By 11, the diner was mostly empty, its silence broken only by the occasional clatter of a spoon against porcelain. Three regulars slouched over the bar like wilted plants, nursing their coffees and bacon, while two new faces lingered in the shadows of the back corner.
Olive had locked out at 8, leaving the newcomers to your care. Their eyes snapped to the bandages the moment you approached, their stares like tiny spotlights burning through your sticky skin.
You tugged at the puppet strings of your face, drawing your lips into a smile that felt brittle enough to crack. “Hi. What can I get for you guys?”
Their dirtied hands moved in unison, flipping through the laminated menus with a sound like shuffling paper. Both men hummed, low and indecisive, until the one with the prickly, dark mohawk spoke first.
“I’ll tek ah ham n’ cheese toastie, and some orange juice, bonnie,” he chirped, his voice thick with a Scottish accent, coarse as gravel. His crooked smile curled like a frayed ribbon across his chapped lips, his eyes lingering on your bandages for a beat too long before snapping back to the menu.
“And I’ll jus’ ‘ave a cuppa, light an’ sweet,” the blond huffed in a British accent, his dirt-covered palms sliding the menus across the counter.
“Those will be right out for you,” you say with a small smile before retreating to the back to put in their orders.
Rain taps a steady rhythm on the metal roof as you wait for Tony, the cook, to finish. Glancing out the window, you watch the downpour drench the empty lot. The walk home is going to suck. Of course, you don’t even have an umbrella.
The food bell rings and you're quickly balancing a plate in one hand and their drinks in another. The toastie sizzled on the plate as you slid it in front of the mohawk man—Johnny, you decided, based on the stitched patch on his jacket. The mug landed gently in front of the blond, whose tag says Riley. His eyes flickered up at you as if weighing something, but he said nothing. Johnny didn’t bother hiding his stare.
“Yer chest,” he started, jerking his chin toward the gauze peeking from your blouse. “Looks nasty. Burn?”
Your hand hovered on the edge of the table, fingers tightening around the curve like it might anchor you. For a moment, the words sat heavily on your tongue, like pills you were too afraid to swallow.
“Just an accident,” you muttered, the smile on your lips wilting at the edges.
“That so?” Johnny leaned back, his yellow construction jacket creaking as he shifted. His accent softened, as though he was testing the weight of your lie. “Guess this place gets rougher than it looks, eh?”
You huff out a laugh that makes your sternum stutter like a kindergartner on the first day of school.
Riley—the blond—stirred sugar into his coffee with slow, deliberate motions. His gaze is like a dagger, the blade barely nicking your skin. Johnny’s stare doesn't let go either. He’s waiting for more, expecting more—like it’s not enough. You can feel the tick of the words in your neck, the way they press against your skin like a bruise.
Before you can stop it, you feel the familiar flicker—a twitch, a sharp pull that catches your breath. Your head jerks sideways, and you hear the strange, strangled sound of a laugh—an involuntary, sharp noise escaping you, even though it isn’t funny. You want to shove it back down and swallow it back inside you, but it’s out there, splintered in the air between you.
Riley doesn’t seem surprised. His eyes flicker between you and Johnny, an unreadable expression passing over his face. You know he’s noticed. They both have.
But then the tension, thick and bruising, is broken by the shuffle of feet behind you as another customer slides into a booth. You feel the burn of their stares fade just as quickly as it came, but the heat in your cheeks doesn’t fade. Still, your hands shake as you back away, your smile a brittle thing you have to patch together before you disappear back into the shadows of the diner, pleading for Tony to hand them the check
#cod fanfic#simon ghost x reader#cod modern warfare#cod mw2#simon ghost riley#simon riley cod#simon riley fanfic#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#cod mw3#cod mwii#tw sui ideation#tw sh implied#tw self destruction#simon riley#cod x reader#cod oc#cod ghost#ghost cod#cod#ghost x reader#ghost
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Bimbocaine Part 2
Lydia's eyes narrowed as she studied the pouch of pink powder she had found in her friend's abandoned apartment. It was an unusual artifact amidst the clutter of forgotten textbooks and half-used makeup products. The material felt foreign to her, almost alive, as it shifted in her palm. She had brought it to the university's science lab, eager to understand the mystery it held.
Her curiosity piqued, Lydia carefully poured a small amount onto a slide. She had to admit, the color was quite lovely—like the inside of a seashell or a delicate shade of bubblegum. The fine, shimmering particles danced under the fluorescent lights as she carried the slide over to the microscope. The anticipation of discovery made her heart flutter, a sensation she hadn't felt in a long time.
Just as she was about to peer into the eyepiece, the lab door swung open, and a gaggle of her eager students spilled in. They surrounded her, bombarding her with questions about the upcoming exam and their latest projects. She held up a hand, the slide still in her other, and tried to explain that she was busy, but they were having none of it.
One particularly clumsy student named Jenna reached out to touch the pouch, her eyes wide with curiosity. "What's that, Professor?" she asked, her voice a high-pitched squeal that seemed to echo through the room.
Lydia sighed, but before she could respond, the pouch slipped from Jenna's grasp and hit the floor with a soft thud. The seal gave way, and a cloud of pink glittery smoke erupted, enveloping the entire room. The students shrieked, and Lydia's heart skipped a beat as she realized what had just happened. The smoke smelled faintly of strawberries and vanilla, a scent that seemed to tickle her nostrils and make her head swim.
As the cloud began to dissipate, she noticed something peculiar. Each of the girls, one by one, started to transform. Their breasts ballooned to impossible sizes, pushing against their shirts like overfilled water balloons. Their asses inflated, stretching their pants until the fabric looked ready to tear. Their hair grew longer, a cascade of platinum blonde waves that flowed down their backs like a river of spun silk.
Their nails grew at an alarming rate, turning into sharp talons that clicked against the lab benches as they moved. Their faces took on a bitchy perfection, their lips curling into a perpetual snarl that seemed to dare the world to mess with them. The transformation was as mesmerizing as it was disturbing, and Lydia could do nothing but watch in shocked silence.
As the pink haze cleared, she looked down at her own body and felt a strange sensation. Her own breasts began to swell, pushing against her lab coat, and she gasped as her hips widened and her waist cinched in. Her reflection in the gleaming microscope showed a woman she hardly recognized: her once-professional attire now clung to a figure that was the epitome of a bimbo's dream. She felt lighter, more... confident, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders and replaced with a newfound sense of allure.
The giggles from her students grew louder, and she realized that they were all going through the same metamorphosis. They stumbled around the room, their eyes wide with excitement and disbelief as they examined their new figures in the glass panels of the lab cabinets. Each of them was now a mirror image of the other—platinum blondes with hourglass shapes that defied logic and gravity.
The room was filled with the sound of zippers being yanked down and buttons popping off as they struggled to free themselves from their suddenly-too-small clothing. The fabric tore away, revealing skin that gleamed with a glossy sheen under the harsh lights. The pink smoke had left a faint sparkle on their bodies, making them look as if they were dusted with the finest glitter.
Their laughter grew more manic, each giggle escalating into a full-throated cackle that echoed through the lab. The air was thick with a cocktail of the strawberry-vanilla scent and the heady perfume of their newfound sexuality. It was intoxicating, and even Lydia found herself smiling as she watched the young women prance around, their movements now more seductive than she had ever seen.
With a collective decision that seemed to resonate through the air, the group of busty bimbos made their way out of the lab and towards the university's exit. The hallways were a blur of pink smoke and glittery footsteps as they sashayed down the corridor, leaving a trail of bewildered onlookers in their wake. The transformation was complete, and the need to show off their new selves was palpable. They were drawn to the mall like moths to a flame, each step carrying them closer to a place where they could truly embrace their newfound bitchiness.
Once at the mall, they descended upon the first cosmetic counter they saw. The poor salesgirls didn't stand a chance against the onslaught of glammed-up scientists. They demanded the works: smoky eyes, lush lashes, and lips painted a shade of pink that matched the powder's explosive origin. The once-studious young women now moved with the grace of seasoned models, their hips swaying as they discussed the merits of different foundations and eyeliners.
Each bimbo picked out an outfit that screamed "look at me" from the racks of a high-end boutique. The clothes were tight and revealing, leaving little to the imagination. They paraded around in their new attire, their every move calculated to attract the maximum amount of male attention. And it worked. Heads turned, jaws dropped, and whispers followed them as they strutted down the mall's gleaming corridors.
Their transformations were complete, and they reveled in the power of their newfound sexuality. They were like a pack of lionesses on the prowl, each one more stunning than the last. Lydia felt a strange kinship with these young women she had once taught, now her sisters in glamour.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, they turned their sights to the club, a place that had once been a bastion of their youthful innocence. Now, it beckoned to them like a siren's call, promising a night of indulgence and debauchery. The bouncer's eyes widened as he took in the spectacle of six busty blondes dressed to kill, and with a nod of his head, they were granted entry without a second glance.
Inside, the bass thumped like a heartbeat, and strobe lights painted the walls in a chaotic dance of color. The air was thick with the scent of cologne and cheap perfume, a stark contrast to the delicate fragrance of strawberries and vanilla that lingered on their skin. The crowd parted for them like the Red Sea, all eyes drawn to their voluptuous figures and the aura of confidence that surrounded them like an invisible force field.
The club was a candy-coated wonderland of temptation, and they were the sweetest treat on display. The bartender, a young man with spiked hair and a smug smile, couldn't resist the allure of their new forms. He slipped them drinks, each one a little stronger than the last, and they giggled and flirted in return. Their laughter was like a siren song, drawing in a flock of eager men, all eager to taste the sweetness they exuded.
The first to approach was a businessman in a tailored suit, his eyes glazed over with a mix of lust and bewilderment. He stumbled over his words as he tried to charm them, his hand lingering a bit too long on Lydia's newly rounded hip. She felt a thrill at the touch, the fabric of her dress sticking to her skin as his hand slid away. The other girls were similarly accosted, each man's grip a little more daring than the last.
A beautiful blonde bimbo at the back of the club caught their attention, her outfit even more outrageous than their own. She beckoned them over with a wave of her hand, her nails glinting like diamonds in the disco lights. As they approached, Lydia noticed the name tag on her glittery top—it read "Barbie." The woman's smile was wide and welcoming, a knowing twinkle in her eyes that sent a shiver down Lydia's spine.
It was Anna, her friend from university who had once been a brooding goth with a penchant for dark poetry and a love for the macabre. The transformation was unmistakable yet unsettling. Anna's raven locks had been replaced with the same platinum waves as the rest of them, and her once solemn demeanor was now a caricature of cheerfulness.
"Welcome, my fellow bimbos," Anna purred, her voice now a breathy whisper that seemed to float on the air. "You're just in time for the main event."
Her words sent a ripple of excitement through the group. They huddled closer, eager to hear what she had to say. Anna leaned in, her massive breasts threatening to spill out of her tight dress as she whispered the details of their new lives. It seemed that the pink powder was not just a one-time transformation but a gateway to a world where beauty and brains were a potent cocktail of power.
Lydia felt a twinge of doubt, but it was quickly drowned out by the pulsing music and the electric energy of the club. The pink smoke had not only changed their appearances but also their personalities. They were no longer the shy, studious girls they once were. They had become creatures of the night, hungry for attention and validation from the men around them.
The night passed in a blur of flashing lights and groping hands. Each bimbo took turns disappearing into the crowded bathroom, returning with flushed cheeks and swollen lips. The scent of cheap cologne and sex hung heavy in the air, mingling with the sugary sweetness of the pink dust that still clung to them.
Lydia found herself in a dimly lit corner with a man who couldn't keep his hands off her new, voluptuous body. His touch was rough, but she didn't mind. It was as if she had been waiting for this moment her entire life. The feel of his calloused fingers on her skin sent shockwaves of pleasure through her. She leaned into his touch, her body moving instinctively to the rhythm of the music.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Jenna, who had found a partner of her own. The young man looked like he had just won the lottery as he struggled to contain his excitement, his eyes ogling her newfound assets. Jenna giggled, her voice now a sultry purr that seemed to ooze confidence and sexuality. She leaned in close to Lydia, whispering into her ear, "Let's go, I know just the place."
The group of bimbos followed Jenna, their hips swaying in unison like a line of synchronized swimmers. The music grew louder, the lights brighter, and the men more brazen. Each girl was claimed by a different suitor, and they disappeared into the throbbing mass of bodies like droplets of water in a storm. Lydia felt a strange mix of excitement and trepidation as she was led away by her chosen man.
In the cramped backseat of a sports car, Lydia's mind raced. This wasn't her usual scene—far from it. But as the man's hand found her thigh, she couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement. His touch was firm, possessive, and she found herself leaning into it. The pink dust had transformed her into someone new, someone who didn't need to think about the consequences of her actions.
The car pulled up to a sleek, modern mansion that looked like it had been plucked from the pages of a high-fashion magazine. The party inside was already in full swing, a cacophony of laughter and bass that vibrated through the walls. The air was thick with the scent of wealth and desire, and as they stepped out of the car, the other bimbos were immediately drawn to it.
They strutted up the driveway, their heels clicking like a chorus line of dominatrixes. The door swung open, revealing a grand foyer with a sweeping staircase that beckoned them to ascend into the heart of the debauchery. They were greeted by a sea of men in suits, their eyes devouring the bimbos like hungry wolves spotting fresh prey.
The mansion was a playground of opulence, each room more decadent than the last. Red velvet couches, gleaming chandeliers, and walls lined with gold-framed mirrors reflected the pink glow of their skin. It was a place where inhibitions were left at the door, and the only currency was beauty and desire.
Lydia and her bimbo entourage were led upstairs to a suite that looked like a set from a music video. A king-sized bed, big enough to accommodate their inflated forms, sat in the center, surrounded by plush pillows and silk sheets. A bottle of champagne chilled in an ice bucket, and the air was heavy with the scent of more pink dust, hinting at the night's true intentions.
The man who had claimed her wasted no time, his hands roaming her new body with a sense of entitlement that sent a shiver of excitement down her spine. His touch was rough, his intentions clear, but she found herself craving the validation it brought. The other couples paired off around the room, the sounds of passion and pleasure rising like a symphony of lust.
The bimbos were in their element, their every move calculated to ensnare the men around them. The mansion was a fortress of sin, each room a testament to the power of their newfound sexuality. They were the queens of this domain, and the men were their willing subjects.
As the night progressed, the transformations grew more pronounced. The pink dust had not only altered their physical forms but had also imbued them with an irresistible allure that seemed to corrupt everyone they touched. The men who had brought them here were now under their spell, eager to do their bidding, to give them anything they desired.
The next morning, the bimbos woke up feeling more alive than ever. They looked at themselves in the mirrors that adorned the walls of the suite, admiring their new figures and the glint of power in their eyes. The town was their oyster, and they were the pearls inside, ready to be discovered.
#corruption#dumb thicc#phat ass white girl#dumbification#bimboification#brainwashed#mind conditioning#bimbo doll#cheating sex#cheating woman#bimbo dreams#cnc drugging
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iff you want could you maybe continue this? this ask is a request ofc and idk if you do continuation, so if you don't want to then it's okay!! ^_^
Hey y’all! Apologies for the long absence, but I’m back in town and have finally come up with a continuation of my Hero Domestic Violence/Abuse snippet.
I have had many requests to continue this one so I spent a lot of time trying to make it good!
As before, there are very heavy mentions of such topics stated above in this snippet as well as mentions of violence, emotional abuse and choking. Please be safe my darlings! I love y’all!
Part 1
Hero must have blacked out or entered into some sort of daze, because the next thing they knew Hero was sitting on an exam table in what must have been one of Villain's many bases.
Though the room itself was no doubt a medical facility, Hero knew this by the various medical equipment and smell of antiseptic, but there was a certain ambiance about the room which did not match any hospital or medical offices Hero had been to before…and Hero had been to many.
If Hero only ever went to one, people would catch on. So Spouse was always sure to bring Hero to a different facility every time.
Everytime.
God, this was a mess.
This room wasn’t lit like typical exam rooms. Rather than harsh fluorescents of busy ER rooms the lights held a warm sunlit-type glow. Welcoming, yet still bright enough to see. Instead of the stupid grey-white walls which everyone had switched to in the early 2000’s, it was bright wood paneling. Oak of some kind, Hero guessed. It complimented the warm glow quite nicely.
And it was warm! So warm! Villain must have had the heat up to at least 75 and Hero was basking in it!
At home, Spouse kept the heating down to 65, due to their powers causing them to run hot. Hero didn’t mind of course, they understood, but it did cause Hero to feel cold constantly. They had never had much in the bodyfat department and there was more than one night when Hero would go and take a bath just to unclench their frozen muscles.
Until Spouse complained about the water bill that is.
Taking stock once more of the room they were in, Hero noticed that the main door had been left open by a crack. Not that they could have gotten up and run out, not with their side, but they wondered if Villain had done this to make them feel more comfortable.
Speaking of Villain, they had yet to reappear. Villain and Henchman had helped Hero to a car after the rather embarrassing display on the rooftop and once they had made it to this base, deposited Hero here and left. That had been about twenty minutes ago.
Maybe they were planning something nefarious? What if this was a kidnapping? Honestly, this was the weakest Hero had ever been in front of Villain. It would be easy, tricking them into willingly walking into a trap with the promise of medical help…Hero had been a mess after all. Supervillain wouldn’t have hesitated in killing Hero on the spot.
But then again, Villain was not Supervillain. Hero had seen Villain display acts of humanity on several occasions. Sure, they broke the law and believed their government to be the ultimate evil, but they never went in for harming those who didn’t deserve it.
Didn’t deserve it? God, Hero was starting to think like Villain. No one deserved to be hurt. That was Hero’s motto.
Things really were confusing right now.
Maybe they should just go home. Surely, Spouse would understand why they didn’t answer their texts for the past few hours. An hour of yelling tops and then Spouse would see the error of their ways and apologize and try to make up for the original fight in the first place by a heated night of…
Hero stopped that train of thought. No, this had to stop. Hero had to get out of the relationship and start thinking straight again…but, then again, Spouse held all the cards. The apartment and car were in Spouse’s name, their bank account was joint, the phone plan was set up by Spouse because they could negotiate better on cellular deals…not to mention, Spouse was more powerful than Hero. Much more powerful than Hero. Even back at the Academy Hero had never won at hand to hand against them. It was what made them seem so strong and confident and…perfect at the time.
Hero suddenly realized what they were doing and how it would not end well. There was no way Villain could hold against Spouse when it really came down to it. Spouse was constantly bragging about how if Villain had been assigned to them and not Hero, the problem would have been resolved years ago. Hero didn’t want that on their conscience.
Perhaps they should look at the texts…just to assess the situation. Damage control.
They picked up their phone.
As the screen lit up a voice interrupted Hero before they could look at the no doubt anger fueled words.
“Hero,” Villain stood in the doorway holding gauze, antiseptic, a board of some kind and an ice pack. “Sorry, had a hard time finding an ice pack that was the right size. We’ve gotta get that swelling down on your neck or else you’ll never be able to harass me with those classic witty comebacks again.”
Though it was said jovially, Hero could sense the hardness behind the tone. Not to mention the look of hatred as Villain glanced at the phone.
Wanting to respond, but not being able to, Hero nodded once.
“Great!” Villain strode over and placed everything on the side table. Picking up the board, Hero saw it was a dry erase. Villain handed it to them along with a red marker.
“Henchman uses this to put up daily reminders for everyone. They thought it would serve for you to tell us what ails you.” Villain glanced back at the door, “They wanted to come in and help, but I didn’t know if you would want that. Figured I’d ask first.”
Hero couldn’t help the small smile. They had always liked Henchman. Like Villain, they certainly had committed their fair share of crimes and violence, but they also seemed to live by a code. Unlike Supervillain.
If it hadn’t been for Henchman, Hero was sure they would have passed out on that rooftop and who knows who would have found them if that happened. Hero uncapped the marker.
Henchman can come in.
Villain smiled, “Anyone ever tell you your penmanship is crazy good? God, it’s like looking at Victorian script.”
They turned towards the doorway once more, “They said it’s fine Henchman!”
In an instant Henchman was walking through the door. They must have been just waiting on the other side.
“Hey Hero,” they said. “Hope you’re doing better.”
Hero nodded at Henchman.
“Good,” Henchman looked between Hero and Villain for a moment, it looked like they were debating who to talk to next. They settled on both of them. “Looks like it’s just going to be us. Doctor said they couldn’t make it until morning. Still at that conference.”
Villain nodded as if they knew this was going to be the case and addressed Hero.
“Anything serious? Or are you okay to wait for the Doc?”
Hero thought for a moment. Their neck should be fine with the ice, their jaw had certainly been hit harder, but their side…
I think everything is fine, but I’m not sure about my side. Hero wrote. They gestured to their left side as Villain and Henchman read the script.
“Alright, let's take a look then. Shirt off.” Villain ordered.
Hero hesitated. Oh, right. To look at their side, Villain would have to have their shirt off. And to take off their shirt was to expose the…history written across their chest, back and torso.
Hero was shy about their body. Sure, there was the occasional scar made by Spouse, but most of them were from past fights while Hero had been off hero-ing. They knew it was an occupational hazard, but they also knew it wasn’t great to look at. God only knew the many times Spouse had commented on their unsightly appearance during their intimate times.
Villain seemed to notice the hesitation and said, “What? It’s not like I haven’t seen it all in this line of work. You should have seen Henchman last month. Supervillain’s Henchman got ‘em pretty bad.”
Henchman nodded, “Not pretty. Gained me a few cool new scars though.”
Cool new scars, huh? Perhaps it won’t be so bad.
Hero took off their shirt slowly. It was difficult and painful at first, as it zipped in the back, but Henchman wordlessly walked to the other side of the bed and helped. Villain supporting Hero’s side as they undid the clasp and unzipped.
“Want to take off the mask as well?” Henchman asked.
Hero made a face.
“We’ve already seen your face. Remember? Three months ago it fell off while we were grappling in the snow.” Villain smirked.
Hero peeled the mask off. They had forgotten about that. The snow had made the normally sticky mask slide off. It was something they had never told Spouse.
Once deprived of their shirt and mask, Villain took a step back and surveyed the damage. Hero tried not to squirm under the gaze.
Hero expected Villain and Henchman to make disgusted noises or grunts of anger at their bruised up side and swollen jaw, along with their neck, but instead Villain looked calculating. A slight hint of irritation coming though with their twitching eyebrow.
“Alright, I’ll have to feel those ribs. They don’t look broken, but it’s best to make sure.”
Hero nodded their permission to Villain and tried to sit straight.
“No, no, don’t straighten up yet,” Villain flew to their side. They placed one hand on hero’s back while the other poked and prodded their ribs.
Everytime Hero hissed or flinched, Villain apologized and would move onto another part. It was strange. This whole night was strange. Hero had never seen Villain act this way before. Sure they had their own scruples, but Villain was never…gentle.
Henchman stood off to the side looking rather anxious as Villain examined Hero. That was another strange thing. Why did they both seem to care?
“Well, good news, they’re not broken. Bad news, I’ll still have to wrap them.”
Henchman immediately grabbed some wrappings from the cupboard behind them and handed them to Villain.
“So, Hero,” Villain began as they tightly wrapped their ribs. “Want to tell us how this happened? We need to know if we’re going to treat your injuries effectively.”
Once again Hero could tell Villain was stating things conversationally for their benefit. Hero made no move for the marker board.
“We already know who did it, all I want to know is how,” Villain continued.
Hero thought back. It had seemed like a haze when it happened. All the adrenaline and fear. The normal evening that went from good to horrific. The slight mess up on Hero’s part, the yelling, the grabbing, the throwing…the hands. The hands on their person…the hands on their neck…
Hero felt tears slip past their eyes once more, the sadness and fear coming back. Their jaw shook with unshed sobs.
They felt the marker and board being pressed into their hands.
“You don’t need to push yourself. I just need to know what to check on you,” Villain’s voice was soothing and once again uncharacteristically gentle.
Hero shook as they wrote; the script that Villain had complimented earlier suffered for it.
It’s never been this bad. Hero wrote.
They knew it was a cliche response, but they also needed Villain and Henchman to know that it had never gone this far before. Henchman made a noise in the back of their throat as they read the words.
“How bad?” Villain prodded.
Before, Hero hesitated in writing. How could they word this?
Before I could always justify it as my fault. I mess up alot. I’m not so good at relationships.
They waited for them to read this before erasing for more room. Villain had their jaw set and Henchman’s cheeks were getting red.
I know it’s stupid. I know it’s bad. I just wanted to pretend it away. That was easier. I’m not stupid, I know what’s happening.
Villain nodded at the words. Hero didn’t know why they were starting out like this. There was just a part of them that needed Villain and Henchman to know that they were still competent. Despite putting themselves in this situation, they weren’t stupid. There was just so much more going on.
“I don’t think you’re stupid Hero. I never have. I meant it when I said you’re the best this city’s ever seen,” Villain said this while not breaking eye contact or blinking. As if the stare itself would get the words into Hero’s brain.
Hero nodded with a small smile. They needed that.
They’ve never gone so far before. The other times, I knew I would recover. But this time…Hero stopped writing again. Once again looking for words. They let Villain and Henchman read.
“What happened this time?” Henchman asked softly. Hero couldn’t tell if the softness was for comfort or if they were so angry they couldn’t raise their voice higher.
This time, Hero spelled, I really thought they’d kill me.
Their hands shook terribly now and they had to stop and take a breath.
Villain looked up at the ceiling for a moment while Henchman turned around. It seemed this news really affected them.
“How?” Villain once again looked Hero in the eyes. They didn’t even try to hide the anger now.
I can’t remember everything. I know I was thrown into our coffee table. Spouse hit me in the face, Hero paused and let them read while gesturing to their jaw.
Villain nodded for them to continue.
They’ve never tried to choke me before… Hero couldn’t seem to finish that one.
“I understand,” Villain said. “Anything else?”
Hero thought for a moment and then shook their head. That had been the most of it. The violence itself had only lasted a couple minutes, but it had been the most painful couple minutes of their life. Not only physically, but emotionally. They had never felt so betrayed.
“Are you going to leave them?” Henchman asked. Hero looked at them and noticed fear in their eyes. Henchman was very concerned with Hero’s answer. Villain made a gesture at Henchman, but they were undeterred.
“Are you going to leave them?” Henchman repeated.
Hero uncapped the marker again.
I want to.
“But you feel you can’t,” Villain finished the sentence for Hero.
Hero nodded.
It never ends well. I know I need to, but they hold all the cards. Hero shrugged sadly.
“Who cares?” Henchman said angrily. “So they have your money or whatever? That’s not worth you!”
Hero was touched by the sentiment, but felt the need to explain.
It’s not only that. They’re more powerful than me. More powerful than anyone really. I shouldn’t even be here. The last time someone tried to help…it was bad.
Villain felt their blood freeze, “What do you mean more powerful?”
It was hard to think of anyone more powerful than Hero. Except themselves of course.
“Who tried to help?” Henchman asked at the same time.
Hero grimaced,
Do you remember Other Hero?
“Oh god,” Henchman whispered.
“Your Spouse did that?” Villain asked, shocked.
Hero nodded.
I don’t know what they will do to anyone else, or the city itself if I’m not there. I hate it, but it’s the only way I know to protect everyone.
They looked at Hero to continue.
I knew it was bad not long after our second anniversary, but by then Spouse was too dangerous. They need to be in jail, not only for me, but for everyone else they’ve hurt. I just don’t know anyone who can take them.
Villain made a noise, but Hero raised a hand to silence them while they wrote more.
In a way this is my ultimate sacrifice to protect my city.
“Hero,” Villain breathed.
Henchman looked like they had tears in their eyes, “Hero, I’m going to hug you now if that’s alright.”
Hero looked at Henchman quizzically, but nodded.
Henchman wrapped their arms around Hero carefully and squeezed with a force that was both powerful, yet calming.
“You really are the best the city’s ever seen,” Henchman spoke against Hero’s hair. “All this time you’ve been living in hell and it was to protect all of us.”
Hero released more tears. They patted Henchman awkwardly on the back.
“They’ve always been a hugger,” Villain chuckled as they watched the scene. “If you can’t tell, Henchman has been a fan of yours for a while.”
Henchman released them with an undignified HEY at Villain. Villain shrugged and turned their attention back to Hero.
“Hero, I don’t care what danger it might put us in. I knew this was going to be messy the moment I saw you on the roof. Anyone who can take you on is going to be a threat. I knew that and helped you anyway.”
Hero nodded at Villain’s words.
“But what I need to know now is who Spouse really is. I don’t think I’m far off in thinking that they’re a part of the hero agency?”
Hero nodded, there was hesitation in their eyes.
“And they’re more powerful than the other heroes.”
Hero looked down, but nodded again.
“And you two went to the academy at the same time didn’t you?”
Hero winced and nodded.
“And came to the city at the same time.”
Hero closed their eyes and nodded.
“Villain, what are you getting at?” Henchman asked slowly. In their voice Hero could tell they were on the same train of thought, but didn’t want to believe it.
“Hero,” Villain waited for Hero ‘s red rimmed eyes to look up and meet their gaze. “You’re married to Superhero aren't you?”
Hero nodded.
“Shit.” Henchman said.
Hero nodded their agreement.
There was silence while everyone processed the news, Villain and Henchman the knowledge and Hero for sharing it. Finally Villain broke it.
“Well,” they clapped their hands together, “Here’s what we’re going to do. Tonight we do nothing.”
“Hero, tonight I want you to focus on yourself. I know you want to look at your phone, but maybe hold off until tomorrow morning, yeah?” Hero made to protest, but Villain continued.
“Look at it like this. You said this is how you protect the city. Now I don’t doubt that, especially knowing who Spouse is; but I want you to picture it like you're on a sinking ship. Lots of people need saving, but you can’t exactly help them into the lifeboats if you yourself are still in the water.”
Hero wrinkled their eyebrows.
“You’ve got to climb into the lifeboat first before you can pull anyone else in.”
Hero was taken aback. That was…that was…really good advice.
Villain smiled, “So for tonight, leave the phone and get some rest. We can make a plan tomorrow about what to do. You’re no longer in this alone. I don’t want someone like Spouse protecting my city.”
“You’re not alone in this anymore,” Villain reiterated.
Hero couldn’t help the smile on their lips or the hope in their chest. They weren’t alone in this. Perhaps this time, Superhero really could be caught. Hero could stop pretending. They suddenly felt so tired.
Seeing this, Henchman helped Hero lay down and placed the thin, long ice pack on their bruised neck.
“I’ll stay here a while, there’s an all night Friends marathon on right now,” Henchman nodded to the TV on the wall, “I always fall asleep during that show.”
Hero knew Henchman just wanted to keep an eye on them in case their throat swelled anymore, but they appreciated the company. It had been a while since they had people around them that knew everything and still wanted to be with them. They nodded.
“Great,” Henchman walked over to the television to get it started. Villain followed them.
“Once they fall asleep initiate plan orange,” Villain whispered so Hero wouldn’t hear. Henchman kept flipping through channels, but Villain saw their eyes harden a moment.
“Are you sure?” They whispered back.
Villain nodded as they looked at the channel guide.“Yes. Tell Supervillain we have a mutual enemy,” Villain glanced back at Hero, “And the key to defeat them. Once and for all.”
#writers#creative writing#writing community#writing promt#character creation#creadigol#heros and villains#original writing#villains and heroes#dialogue prompt#not a prompt#hero x villain community#hero and villain#hero x villain#hero x hero#villain protagonist#villain x hero#henchman 21#villain x henchman#abuse mention#heroes and villains#hero and villain community#heroes and villains community#short writing#writerscommunity#writers on tumblr
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Xingfeng Knockoff HGUC 1/144 P-Bandai E.F.G.F Specialized Mobile Suit RGM-79S "GM Spartan"
GM Spartan is a really cool looking kit, with a a lot of cool details and an excellent set of extras. Unfortunately it's also a P-Bandai realease, and for once I couldn't be convinced to shell out the $100 or so for the actual kit. Luckily a friend from my uni's model club let me know the Xingfend knockoff clone of this kit was only $6 - a price so low I'd be stupid to say no.
So how was the Xingfeng kit? It's essentially a one to one clone. I'm not sure how they got the moulds, but they've pretty much exactly replicated the sprues from the actual kit, although they've had to separate the multicolored "A" runner into three separate pieces to maintain colour separation. The only issue was the kit being a more yellow-tan and brown rather than the JGSDF Green that the actual kit is supposed to be, although I just headcanon this kit as being a desert variant.
There was a little bit of flashing and some mould lines, but nothing worse than older HG Bandai from the early 2010s. Overall a surprisingly good experience. In fact, it had some perks over the official kit - it includes a perfect clone of the EVO Waterslide decal set and by god they're miles better in quality than Bandai's official decals. They're thin, strong, and only need a little bit of water to come off the sheet, and look super vibrant on the plastic.
I ended up using the digital camo as a base layer and placing the marking decals on top, which gives it a super gritty, realistic look.
So how is the actual gunpla then?
The GM Spartan is a super detailed kit. The legs and arms are full of panel lines, and there's some great detail on the feet with little claws and treads, which I've painted grey. There's a large reactor backpack, which has a pop-up Minovsky Particle dispenser, really cool vents detailed in both grey and brown to emphasize depth, and a pulse knife/MS combat knife.
The kit also comes with a shoulder mounted set of wire-guided missiles, a forearm mountable beam saber rack with two beam sabers and two beam effects (The Xingfeng KO effects are hard plastic and UV reactive, as is the visor), and a really cool minigun.
The minigun targeting sensor can flip down sideways or remain upright. The magazine can fold to the side to allow an extra magazine to be added to the top, or the spare box mag can be stored on the back skirts. There's also a foregrip-mounted beam handgun with its own E-CAP magazine in the handle. The handle swings freely allowing for super easy posing.
The kit comes with one left open hand, a right and left pistol grip hand, and a right and left open fist hand.
The beam saber rack can be easily relocated to either forearm, or swapped with the shoulder missiles and attached to the right shoulder, or left shoulder if you remove a part. Beam effects can be added while stored, or the sabers can be removed and posed normally.
The GM Spartan's MS Combat Knife is my favorite part of this kit. The knife actually goes into the sheath on the backpack, and can be held nicely by the open fists either upright or backhanded.
This kit does use some polycaps, but it's still overall a very well articulated and solid kit. It's not floppy or lose at all, doubly surprisingly since I'm working with a knockoff.
A neat feature of this knockoff is the dual-effect visor. It fluoresces blue under UV light, but it also glows green in the dark. Bandai wishes it had features like this.
Overall, if you can get your hands on the Xingfeng knockoff you should really give it a chance. It's a really fun kit, and at a fraction of the official kit's price.
#gunpla#my gunpla#hg gunpla#ko gunpla#gundam#model building#plamo#mobile suit gundam#mobile suit variations#rgm-79s#gm spartan#xingfeng#gm
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