#Wake Up The Dead. FELLAS.

[sforzesco]

Cato the Younger, early days.

he is. a weird guy. I've always read about him in association to brutus, but ever since kicking it back a generation, I've been reading more about him and I gotta say: eerie! usually I'd go, oh necromancy. but this is more like sticking your tongue into the intercostal space of a thing that should've decayed a long time ago and wearing it's death mask. arguably worse, because doing that is like tapping open an entombed space that will never be closed.

eventually he'll look less like an old design I had for brutus (or. hghg. lucius junius brutus, because I realized after I finished this that this is a parallel composition to when I drew lucius, only no dead sons) as I draw him more, but. ehguh. had some thoughts! wanted to excise them from my mind so I can go to sleep!! what a guy!

Cato the Younger: Life and Death at the end of the Roman Republic, Fred K. Drogula

bsky ⭐ pixiv ⭐ pillowfort ⭐ cohost

[caelanglang]

Excerpt from the Tales of the Dead Apple

page 101.

[sw33t-oubliette]

there are lesbians in my headgame (2018) !!

[hoshifighting]

       hoshi + wet dream(z)

— “teacher, please, don't make me stand up” hoshi thinks when he just realized he had a wet dream about you, his roomate, at class.

WARNINGS: +18, smut, inspired by ''wet dreamz'' by j.cole (just a hint of it), oral (f. & m. receiving), dry humping, cock riding, mentions of handjobs and jerk off.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

soonyoung���s dead to the world, head down, cheek smushed against his arm, that dumbass hoodie string sticking to his lips. honestly, you’re surprised he hasn’t drooled yet. professor kim’s yelling about some kid in the front row not having their project finished on time,

but soonyoung? yeah, man’s out cold. he probably crashed after staying up too late again, messing around, doing who knows what. typical. you try to take notes while glancing at him every few minutes, but then something shifts—his leg jerks under the desk, his face scrunching up like he’s in serious trouble.

and that’s when you notice his fingers flex, the furrowed eyebrows, the faintest shift of breath slipping through his lips like he’s...no, no way. your eyes narrow, and you kick the side of his foot, just to check. the dude grumbles in his sleep, biting his lip hard.

oh god, this idiot’s having a wet dream. right here. in class. you’re both gonna get expelled.

meanwhile, in soonyoung’s head? oh, it's something else. it’s you, of course. you’re wearing that tight little top, the one with the low cut that gives him a peek every time you lean over his bed to wake him up for his dance recitals. and you’re smiling at him, all innocent and sweet, but your hand is somewhere down his stomach, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of his sweats, tugging him closer, stroking his cock, making him moan your name in this barely-there voice.

and just like that, you tap him on the shoulder, your voice cutting through his dream like a slap to the face, “soonyoung, you good? you looked like you were having a nightmare or something.” trying to keep it lowkey so the whole class doesn’t start looking over. your hand's still resting on his shoulder when you see his eyes snap open, like he’s been hit with a lightning bolt.

nightmare? nah, he wishes. he blinks up at you, disoriented as hell, blinking twice to focus. the way your boobs are hanging in front of him in that low-cut shirt? shit. it’s like his dream didn’t even end. he can barely breathe, eyes glued to you as you lean in, not even noticing the way his gaze drops right to your chest.

he shifts again, pressing his thighs together under the desk, praying to whatever god is out there that professor kim doesn't make him stand up, because, fuck—he’s so hard it’s practically poking through his jeans. if he stands up right now? boner’s definitely gonna slap someone in the face. maybe the fella sitting in front of him.

he panics, trying to will it down, but nah, not when he remembers the way your tits jiggle when you run to catch the bus with him, or how you’ve always been so nice to him, helping him clean up his absolute wreck of a dorm room like you actually care. you’re so fucking nice. and hot. being sweet like that makes you even hotter.

“dude, what the hell?” you frown, and he feels guilty for all of a second, ‘cause you’re just looking out for him, being a good roommate and all, and here he is, thinking about how badly he wants to—

“uh, no—no, i’m fine,” he stammers, swallowing hard, forcing himself to look anywhere but at your cleavage. jesus, how are you real? you’re too fucking hot for your own good. “just—uh—tired, y’know?” his voice cracks, and it’s a miracle you don’t ask why he’s shifting so awkwardly in his seat, arms crossed tight like he’s hiding something.

you blink, clearly not convinced but too busy to care. “okay, well, maybe you should get some sleep tonight instead of staying up watching dumb youtube videos.”

he laughs nervously, shifting in his chair, again, trying not to let his boner ruin both of your lives. “yeah. yeah, totally.”

but honestly, he’s praying the class ends soon, ‘cause if professor kim makes him stand up, his whole life's over.

the class ends, and the signal bell’s barely even faded before soonyoung’s out of his seat. like, out. he snatches his backpack and casually—well, tries to be casual—slides it in front of him, covering the situation in his pants like his life depends on it. which, yeah, it kinda does. you watch as he bolts for the exit, practically crashing into the doorframe on his way out. you’re left blinking, a little confused.

“where tf are you going? we still have p.e,” you type, texting him quickly as you pack up your own stuff.

a few seconds later, your phone buzzes.

soonyoung: dorm.

what the fuck? you stare at the screen, baffled. you know this man loves dodgeball more than life itself—hell, he’s usually the one pelting people with those foam balls like it’s the olympics. but now? he’s bailing on p.e.?

you shoot off another text. “??? bro, dodgeball’s about to start, what’s your deal?”

his response comes in almost instantly, a little too fast.

soonyoung: not coming. sick.

right. you raise an eyebrow, but whatever. his loss. maybe he really is coming down with something, ‘cause skipping p.e. is like skipping oxygen for this guy. but, as you head down to the gym, you can’t help but wonder if something’s off. especially the way he bolted earlier.

halfway through dodgeball, it clicks—oh shit. it’s gotta be you. he’s been weird since you woke him up in class, and now, you’re running around in your sports bra and high-waisted shorts, the same ones you always wear. that might explain it. he’s probably freaking out over that damn wet dream, too embarrassed to face you.

good. let him sweat it out for a bit. serves him right for ditching.

by the time you make it back to the dorm, you’re drenched in sweat, breathing a little heavy from running around like a maniac all period. the heat from dodgeball is still clinging to your skin, and all you want is a cold shower. you toss your bag onto the couch and kick off your shoes, stretching out your arms as you step into the kitchen.

soonyoung’s there, standing awkwardly by the counter with a glass of water, his eyes flicking up to meet yours for like, a second before darting away. something’s definitely up. he’s acting weird.

“yo,” you call out, wiping a hand over your forehead, “where the hell did you go? you missed dodgeball, man. you feeling alright?”

he shrugs, not looking at you. his face is all tight, like he’s focusing way too hard on drinking his water. “yeah, just… didn’t feel like it.”

“didn’t feel like it?” you echo, narrowing your eyes at him. “you love dodgeball.”

he just grunts, and you catch him glancing at you, real quick, before his gaze shoots right back to the floor. you follow his eyes and—oh. oh. right. your sports top’s soaked through, sticking to your skin, and you can literally feel his eyes tracing every damn inch of it. it’s not like you’re trying to be a tease, but something about the way he’s avoiding you makes you want to push him a little. just to see how much more uncomfortable he can get.

“you sure you’re okay?” you ask, stepping closer, watching his ears turn red. “you’ve been acting weird since class. did something happen?”

he shakes his head so fast you think he’s about to give himself whiplash. “no, nothing happened. i’m fine.”

yeah, right. you chuckle to yourself, brushing past him toward the hallway, but not before you notice the way his eyes drop again, glued to the sweat clinging to your back, the way your skin’s gleaming in the low kitchen light.

“whatever, weirdo. i’m taking a shower.”

you leave him standing there, all fidgety and red-faced, as you disappear into the bathroom. you close the door behind you and smirk, wondering just how long he’s going to keep up this act.

you step out of the bathroom, towel slung over your shoulders, hair damp and sticking to your neck. the warmth from the shower did little to wash away the tension in your head, the lingering feeling that something was off. soonyoung hadn’t said more than three words since you got back to the dorm, and it’s weird. too weird. normally, he’s all over you, making dumb jokes, bugging you about something, throwing himself onto your bed like it’s his second home—with wet hair to freak you out. only for him now be holed up in his room, glued to his phone, avoiding you like the plague.

and for some reason, you hate it. the silence. the way he’s brushing you off. you’d rather have him drenched in rainwater, messing up your sheets like always than whatever the hell this was.

hair dripping slightly onto your t-shirt, you pad over to his room. the door’s half-open, and there he is—soonyoung, sprawled on his bed, phone in hand, scrolling like he’s actually interested in whatever’s on the screen.

you don’t say anything at first, just step into the room and sit beside him, sulking as you grab onto his arm. your fingers squeeze lightly, and you glance at him, expecting some smartass remark or at least something. but all you get is a quick look from him, eyes darting from you to the phone. nothing more. then he turns back to the screen like you’re not even there.

“seriously?” you mumble, rolling your eyes. his silence is starting to get to you now, and your frustration boils over. fuck this. you reach over and snatch the phone right out of his hand, holding it up in the air, out of his reach.

“what the hell—” soonyoung tsks, sounding more annoyed than anything. annoyed, yeah right. he sits up quickly, leaning in close as he reaches for it, but you keep it out of his grasp, grinning despite yourself.

“tsk. give it back,” he grumbles, his hand wrapping around your wrist, but you refuse to budge. his eyes flash up to yours. “seriously, y/n. stop.”

you tilt your head, eyes locking onto his, something playful and challenging bubbling up in your chest. “not until you stop being a weirdo. what’s your problem? you’ve been acting like i’ve got the plague since class.”

he tugs at your arm again, trying to reach the phone, but you just hold it higher, raising your eyebrows at him. your other hand grabs onto his shoulder to steady yourself, and you’re both so close now that you can feel his breath on your neck.

you want him to say it first. to admit whatever the hell’s been going on in his head.

“come on, soonyoung, just talk to me.” your voice softens a little, though there’s still a teasing edge to it. “you’re not really pissed, are you? what, did i embarrass you in class or something?”

he huffs, falling back against the bed again, hands covering his face in frustration. he mumbles something, but it’s too muffled to understand.

“what was that?” you press, your hand still gripping the phone. you lean in closer, hovering over him, trying to peek through his fingers.

he groans, louder this time, and lets his hands drop to his sides, staring up at the ceiling like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. “just… forget it, okay? you’re making it worse.”

“worse? worse how?” you shift, sitting cross-legged on the bed now, leaning over him with your phone still clutched in your hand. your knee brushes against his hip, and you see his jaw tighten for a second. “soonyoung, come on, talk to me. why are you acting so fucking weird?”

he lets out a long breath, rubbing his palms over his face like he’s trying to scrub the answer out of himself. his lips press together, eyes squeezing shut before he finally mutters, “i didn’t want you to see… that.”

“see what?” your voice drops lower, curious now, your hand letting the phone slip down beside you. you’re so close to him now that your hair is starting to drip on his shoulder, but neither of you moves away. you watch the muscle in his neck tense as he swallows hard, lips parting slightly.

“you,” he finally breathes out, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. his cheeks are flushed now, the embarrassment clear in every line of his body, but he doesn’t look away from the ceiling, not even once. “i—fuck, i was dreaming about you. okay? in class. and then you woke me up, and i—shit, i couldn’t stop thinking about it. about… you.”

you smirk a little, shaking your head. “so… wait, you’ve been avoiding me because of a dream?”

he groans, hands covering his face again. “it wasn’t just a dream, okay? it was—god, this is so fucking embarrassing. you were… you know.”

“no, i don’t know,” you tease, shifting your weight slightly so you’re leaning in even closer. “why don’t you tell me?”

he glances at you then.

“you were all over me,” he mutters finally, his voice low, “in this tight shirt, and you wouldn’t stop touching me. it was fucking killing me, okay? i woke up and—god, i just couldn’t look at you. i’ve never seen you like that before, and it… fuck, it messed with my head.”

you raise an eyebrow, not quite expecting that level of honesty. but something in you can’t resist pushing him a little more. “so that’s it? you were just… turned on, and now you’re too embarrassed to even be around me?”

he groans again, this time louder, pressing his hands into his eyes. “yes! fuck. yes. happy now?”

“actually?” you grin, leaning back slightly. “yeah, kinda.”

he looks at you, “you’re the worst.”

“yep.” you sit back up, holding his phone just out of reach. “but i’m also not giving you your phone back until you stop acting like i’ve got cooties or something.”

he rolls his eyes, sitting up again, this time without the fake annoyance. there’s a look on his face you can’t quite read, somewhere between embarrassment and frustration, and it makes your stomach flip. maybe there’s more to this than just a dream.

“you’re really not gonna let this go, are you?” he asks, voice softer now.

“nope,” you say, smiling. “not a chance.”

he sighs, shaking his head. “fine. just… don’t make this any weirder than it already is, okay?”

you glance down at his lips, and something inside you shifts. you tilt your head slightly, eyes locking with his as you whisper, “trust me, i won’t.”

and before he can react, you lean in, pressing your lips against his. it’s soft at first, a hesitant brush of mouths, but then you feel him melt into it, his lips parting as his breath hitches. the kiss deepens, and soon enough, you’re straddling him, your thighs pressing into his hips, and his hands—hesitant at first—grasp onto your waist, unsure but needy.

the second you feel his grip tighten, you take control. your hands snake around his neck, pulling him closer as you grind down against him, making you feel the hard length of his cock, even through the fabric of his sweats. his breath catches, a quiet groan escaping from his throat as your hips rock against his.

soonyoung’s head falls back against the pillow, eyes half-lidded as his fingers sink into your skin, he doesn’t know what to do with himself—he’s trying to keep up, but you’re driving him crazy. his hips jerk up to meet yours, but it’s too much, too fast. he’s never been this turned on from just kissing before, and it’s almost awkward how quick his body responds to you.

“slow—fuck—slow down,” he gasps, hands slipping to your hips, trying to hold you still, but you only smirk, grinding down harder.

“sensitive already?” you tease, your breath hot against his ear, your fingers trailing down his chest, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

“yeah,” he breathes, his voice shaky. “fuck—sensitive. really sensitive.”

you pause, frowning a little as you tilt your head to look at him. “why?”

he doesn’t answer right away, his hands still gripping your waist, trying to keep you from moving. he just looks at you, his eyes full of something that feels like shame, waiting for you to piece it together.

and then it hits you. oh.

“did you…?” you ask softly, your voice dropping a little as you lean in, your lips brushing against his jaw. “did you have to touch yourself after the dream?”

soonyoung swallows hard, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he nods, barely. “yeah,” he mutters, almost like he’s admitting some deep, dark secret. “i couldn’t… i couldn’t stop thinking about it. about you.”

for a second, you just stare at him, processing the confession. he was jerking off, thinking about you—and now here you are, straddling him, grinding against him. “shit,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him, your fingers tracing lightly over his chest. “you’ve been thinking about me like that?”

“how could i not? y/n-nie” he sulks, his hands trembling slightly as they slip under your shirt, his fingers brushing against the damp skin of your lower back.

you smirk, leaning down to kiss him again, this time slower, deeper, letting your tongue slip into his mouth as your hips rock slowly, teasing him. his hands tighten on your back, pulling you closer, but you can feel him trembling beneath you, his body so tense.

“you want me to stop?” you ask against his lips, voice low and teasing. “because i don’t think you do.”

he shakes his head, the movement jerky, his breath coming in quick gasps as you continue to grind against him. his fingers slip into your hair, damp from the shower, tugging gently as he lets out a soft, desperate sound.

“no—don’t stop.”

and that’s all you need.

you push yourself off him, just enough to slide your shorts down, tossing them aside before settling back down on his hips. the feeling of your bare skin against his sweats makes you shudder, and you see the way his eyes go wide, dark and blown out with need as you shift, grinding your bare pussy against the bulge in his pants.

soonyoung groans, his head tipping back against the pillow as his hands grip your thighs, trying to hold you steady. but you don’t give him a second to recover. you grind down hard, dragging your slick cunt over the fabric of his sweats, and he’s almost delirious from the sensation.

“fuck—fuck—y/n—”

you smirk, leaning down to kiss him again, your lips brushing against his as your hand trails down his chest, tugging at the waistband of his pants. “you’ve been thinking about this, hm?”

“yeah,” he gasps, his hips jerking up to meet yours as you slip your hand under his waistband, fingers brushing against his cock. “god, yeah.”

but you don’t give him what he wants. not yet. instead, you slide down his body, trailing kisses over his chest, his stomach, your fingers tracing the waistband of his sweats before tugging them down. you don’t even bother taking them off completely, just pulling them down enough to free his cock.

you wrap your hand around him, stroking slowly as you lean down, your breath hot against his skin. he’s sensitive—too sensitive—and he’s almost squirming under your touch, but you keep going, taking your time, watching his face as you work him up even more.

“you’re so fucking hard,” you murmur, your lips brushing against the base of his cock, and he lets out a choked sound, his hips bucking up involuntarily.

you don’t stop. you slide your hand up and down his length, your thumb brushing over the tip, slick with precum, and then you lean down, your tongue darting out to lick along the underside of his cock.

you slide down his body again, this time lowering yourself between his legs, your mouth hovering just above his cock. you can see the way his whole body trembles, his hips jerking up slightly as you take him into your mouth. you don’t rush—no, you take your time, swirling your tongue around the tip before sliding your mouth down, taking him as deep as you can.

soonyoung lets out a broken sound, his hands flying to your hair, gripping tightly as you work him over, your mouth wet and slick as you suck him off. you can feel him trembling beneath you, his whole body tense, but you don’t let up. you take him deeper, your throat tightening around him as you swallow, your tongue flicking over the tip every time you pull back.

“fuck—y/n—please—”

he’s close, you can tell.

his fingers twist in your hair, tugging just enough to pull you off him, your lips slick and spit-slicked. his chest heaves, eyes glazed, but there's something different about the way he looks at you now.

“wait, wait” he breathes out. “please.”

and before you can even think to argue, he’s moving, flipping you onto your back with a suddenness that makes your head spin. his hands are already on your thighs, parting them with this desperate, greedy energy like he’s been dying to do this. you’re still catching your breath from everything before, but the second you feel his warm breath ghosting over your core, it’s like everything sharpens again.

he's focused, his eyes locked on your pussy like it’s the only thing in the world that matters right now. his hands grip your thighs, pushing them wider apart as he leans down, his tongue darting out to lick along your slit, the slickness from how worked up you are already makes his job easy, and he groans at the taste, the sound vibrating against your skin in a way that has your toes curling.

“fuck,” he mutters, before he dives in fully. his tongue presses flat against your pussy, lapping up every bit of wetness before it circles around your clit, teasing but never giving you enough. you feel your hips buck up, seeking more friction, but his hands hold you down, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

“soonyoung,” you breathe out, your voice shaky, “fuck—don’t tease.”

he doesn’t say anything, but his mouth works faster now, tongue flicking over your clit before he sucks it into his mouth, just enough pressure to have your back arching off the bed. but it’s not just his mouth that’s driving you crazy—it’s the way his fingers slid to work at the same time, sliding up and down your inner thigh, teasing, but never quite touching where you need him most.

“shit,” you hiss, your hands finding their way into his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan against you. “more—fuck, soonyoung—more.”

he lifts his head just enough to look up at you, his lips shiny, slick with your wetness, and the sight alone nearly makes you cum. “more?” he echoes, but he’s already slipping one finger inside you, slow and deep, crooking it just right to hit that spot.

“fuck—yes—there—” your head angles back, your fingers curling tighter in his hair, and he takes that as his cue to add a second finger, pumping them in and out slowly while his mouth goes back to your clit, his tongue swirling around it.

and then he stops, thinking, before diving in again. instead of just keeping his mouth on your clit, he presses his tongue flat against it, then flicks his wrist, his fingers twisting inside you, almost like he’s trying to find a new angle, something that’ll drive you absolutely crazy. and it does. you’re not even sure how he’s managing to do it—his mouth, his fingers, everything working in perfect sync to build that pressure deep inside you—but it’s fucking working, and you feel like you’re losing your mind.

“holy shit,” you gasp, your hips grinding up into his mouth, chasing the friction. “holy fuck, soonyoung—what are you—”

he doesn’t stop. he doesn’t fucking stop, and you feel the tension in your belly building, higher and higher, until it’s almost crazy to hold it. his mouth is relentless, his fingers curling and twisting inside you, and you can’t even form words anymore—just a mess of moans and gasps as you get closer and closer to the edge.

your orgasm punches you, crashing over you so hard that your vision goes white for a second, your body tightening and shaking as you cum undone beneath him. you feel the way his fingers slow down, coaxing you through it, while his tongue keeps flicking over your clit, softer now, gentler, but still enough to draw out every last bit of pleasure.

you’re breathless, your body limp against the mattress, but soonyoung doesn’t stop. he stays between your thighs, his fingers slowly pulling out of you, but his mouth is still there, kissing and licking you clean, like he can’t get enough of your taste.

“fuck baby,” you breathe out, your chest heaving as you try to come down from the high.

he finally looks up at you, his lips swollen and shiny, and he doesn't even wipe it out. “taste even better than i imagined.”

you let out a shaky laugh, still trying to catch your breath. “yeah? you’ve been thinking about that a lot?”

“more than you know,” he murmurs, before he leans in again, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “but now i can do the rest in peace.”

you lock eyes with him, your lips brushing against his, “not before i ride that dick.”

the way soonyoung’s eyes widen, his breath catching in his throat, almost makes you laugh. he looks like he’s about to choke on his own spit, his face flushing red as he processes what you just said. “wh-what?”

“you heard me.” you slide your hand down his chest, feeling the way his muscles twitch under your touch, “been thinking about it for a while now. riding you. sitting on it. licking it. you want that?”

he swallows hard, his tongue darting out to wet his lips—a habit of him, and you can tell his brain is short-circuiting. the way his hips shift beneath you, the way his fingers tighten their grip on your thighs, he’s already imagining it—has been imagining it.

fuck, probably for a while.

“you—y/n…” his voice is shaky, almost like he can’t believe you’re saying this out loud. “i—fuck, i thought about it—but like… i didn’t think you…”

you raise an eyebrow, leaning down so your lips are barely an inch away from his ear, your breath hot against his skin. “didn’t think i’d want it too? didn’t think i’d think about how i’d bounce on that dick? how i’d feel you filling me up, stretching me out? yeah, soonyoung, i’ve been thinking.”

he lets out this choked sound, his hand slipping from your thigh to wrap around your hip, like he’s trying to ground himself in reality. “fuck—you can’t just say shit like that…”

“why not?” you roll your hips down against his, feeling the hardness straining through his pants. “thought you liked me being honest?”

soonyoung’s eyes shut tight for a second, like he’s trying to get a grip, but you can feel the way his cock twitches under you, betraying him. and honestly, it just makes you want to push him further.

“been thinking about how it’d feel,” you whisper, your lips ghosting over his jaw. “how your cock would slide inside me, how deep you’d get if i sat on it, how fucking good you’d feel—hmm”

you smile, leaning back to look at him, loving the way his pupils are blown wide with lust, the way his chest is rising and falling so fast it’s like he’s running out of breath. you reach down to tug at the waistband of his pants.

he lifts his hips without thinking, helping you pull his pants down enough to free his cock, the sight of it making your mouth water. he’s bigger than you imagined—hard and thick, the tip already leaking.

“holy shit,” you mutter, wrapping your hand around it, giving it a slow stroke that has him hissing through his teeth. “so this is what you’ve been hiding from me, huh?”

soonyoung can barely speak, just nodding like his brain is short-circuiting all over again.

you shift your hips, lining him up with your entrance, slick and warm from how fucking wet you are already. and then, slowly, you sink down on him, taking him inch by inch, watching as his face contorts/

“oh fuck,” he groans, his head falling back against the pillows. “fuck, fuck, fuck—so tight—so fucking good—”

you can feel every inch of him, stretching you, filling you up completely, and it’s so good, delicious, you pause for a second, letting yourself adjust, your hands splayed out on his chest as you look down at him, smirking at how fucked he already looks.

“you good?” you ask, breathless, and he just nods frantically, his eyes wide and desperate as he looks up at you.

“yes, yes, yes!” he stammers, his voice cracking.

“well,” you grin, starting to rock your hips slowly, “just wait till i really start.”

he lets out a broken moan, his hands flying to your waist, but he doesn’t try to stop you—just lets you set the pace as you start riding him, just to tease him, before gradually speeding up, rolling your hips down against him in a way that has both of you gasping.

“so—hmm—so fucking perfect,” he mumbles, his fingers digging into your skin as he tries to hold on, but you can tell he’s losing it. his breathing’s all over the place, and his hips keep bucking up, trying to meet your movements, desperate for more.

nothing could’ve prepared him for this—not in his wildest, dirtiest, late-night fantasies. the way you suddenly prop yourself up on one knee, the other leg still pressed into the mattress, your whole body lifting up just slightly before you drop back down on him—it’s fucking insane.

the first time you do it, he swears he blacks out for a second. his entire world narrows down to the way you’re bouncing on his cock, the obscene wet sound of your slick every time you slam back down, and the way your tits are moving in rhythm with your body—fuck, it’s like he’s stuck in a trance.

“oh shit—shit,” he chokes out, his hands scrambling to grab onto your thighs, your waist—anything—but he can barely hold on. you’re riding him like you’ve been waiting for this moment, like you know exactly what the fuck you’re doing, and he’s just trying not to fucking implode.

the thing is—there’s no hesitation in you. no shyness, no slowing down to check if he’s handling it okay. you’re just going for it, like you knew this was going to ruin him, like you wanted to see his fucking end. your nails dig into his chest, using him as leverage as you move, your body fucking perfect, hips rolling and grinding.

“y/n you're gonna—” he can barely form a sentence, his breath coming out in ragged, desperate gasps. every time you drop down, your pussy squeezes around him, tight and hot and perfect, and it’s too fucking much. he feels like he’s teetering on the edge of something dangerous, like one more bounce and he’s done for.

“what's wrong, soonyoung?” you tease.

and fuck, he knows you're joking, knows you’re playing, but the way you say it just kills him. he lets out a strangled groan, his hips bucking up involuntarily, and you gasp as you feel the shift, your body jerking forward, hands gripping his shoulders for balance.

“ah!—” you bite your lip, eyes fluttering closed for a second, and the sound you make—that surprised moan—goes straight to his fucking brain.

soonyoung’s hands fly to your waist, his grip tightening, trying to hold you in place, trying to slow you down, because fuck, if you keep this up, he’s not gonna last—there’s no way. but it’s like you’re on a mission to break him. you grind down on him, hard and slow, then lift yourself back up only to slam back down again, your tits bouncing in a way that’s impossible for him to look away from.

“fuck," he grits out, head falling back against the pillows, his entire body going rigid as he tries to keep it together. “y/n—fuck—i can't hold it”

but you’re not listening. you’re in your own world now, riding him like it’s second nature, like this is what you’ve been waiting for all along. and fuck, he can feel how wet you are, can hear the slick sound of your pussy every time you drop back down on his cock.

“oh my god," he groans, his voice cracking as he feels you tightening around him, “you're—fuck, you're so—”

“so what?” you ask breathlessly, your lips curling into a wicked smile as you look down at him. your hands slip up to his chest, pushing him down against the mattress, your nails dragging along his skin, and he fucking shudders beneath you.

“so fucking perfect,” he finishes, his voice strained as he watches you through half-lidded eyes. he feels like he’s on fire, like every nerve in his body is screaming at him to hold on, but you’re making it fucking impossible. you’re going to fucking kill him.

you lift yourself up again, your back arching, and for a second, soonyoung thinks he might fucking pass out from how fucking good you look. your hair falls in front of your face, sticking to your skin from sweat, and your tits bounce with every movement, the low cut of your shirt leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

he watches, completely hypnotized, as you plant your feet on the mattress again, one knee still bent, the other leg propping you up—and then you jump on him again.

he chokes out, his head jerking up from the pillows as his body goes rigid beneath you. the way you’re moving now, bouncing on his cock, your ass slamming against his hips.

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants, the words barely coherent as his hips buck up into you involuntarily, chasing the heat, the tightness, the fucking heaven of your body.

but you don’t slow down. if anything, you speed up, your pace becoming almost frantic as you grind down on him, hard and fast, your nails digging into his chest as you chase your own orgasm. and fuck, he’s right there with you.

“shit, soonyoung—” you gasp, your voice cracking, “feels so fucking good—”

he umbles something incoherent making you laugh, breathless and ragged, and the sound sends a jolt straight to his cock. you whisper, leaning down to kiss him hard.

the moment you tell him to come for you, it’s like his whole body loses it. soonyoung’s grip on your hips falls, eyes roll back, head slamming against the pillow.

his whole body tenses up, the heat in his stomach bursting into flames, and the orgasm hits. he feels it rush through him, all the way down to his toes, the release so intense it almost hurts. his cock twitches deep inside you, and he’s spilling into you, his body convulsing, he can’t stop moving, his hips jerking up into you as he tries to ride out the high.

you feel him coming inside you, making your walls tighten around him, squeezing him as you throw your head back, gasping, your thighs shaking as you grind down on him.

he watches you, his eyes barely open, completely mesmerized by the sight of you cumming on top of him, your mouth open, your body trembling.

your hips move slower now, grinding down on him. you collapse on top of him, your body going limp against his chest, both of you drenched in sweat.

soonyoung let out a ragged breath, his arms wrapped around your body, his fingers tracing shy patterns on your skin. it felt like a gift after the best time of his life.

[agaypanic]

The Fella Part 10 (James Maguire X Quinn!Reader)

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Summary: A family occasion takes a turn for a worse when Mary tells her aunt Bridie to drop dead, which she takes seriously. At her wake, Michelle has the bright idea to bring laced scones, which are taken and distributed among the guests.

A/N: credits to @crumpets-are-better-with-jam for writing out the script of the episode for me :)) btw just a warning, it gets a bit heated a little towards the end, but not too much i think. Also talks of drugs bc duh

***

It was becoming a bit difficult to keep up with who knew about Y/n and James’ relationship and who didn’t. Y/n’s sister Erin knew that she fancied James, but wasn’t updated on the fact that they had been dating for over three months now. Clare knew that the pair were going out after catching them kissing at the Take That concert a few weeks ago. But the rest of the group and the teens’ families were none the wiser.

Except for Y/n’s father, Gerry.

One night, everyone was hanging around the Quinn household. There were movies, loads of chatting, and some dinner. But with so many people in the house, it was hard to have even a moment alone with James. So, while everyone argued over what to put on next, Y/n snuck out to the front room, boyfriend close behind.

“I thought we weren’t gonna try to keep things a secret,” James said as he leaned against the wall, Y/n tucked into his side and holding his hand.

“I know Jamie. But with situations like this, I think it’s better to sneak away. I mean, imagine the shock that would come to Mammy, Granda, or Michelle if any of ’em found out.”

“Yeah…” James sighed, realizing Y/n was right.

“Now imagine if all three of them found out at the same time.” Y/n laughed at the idea while James’ eyes widened in horror. “Besides, wanting a moment to ourselves isn’t all bad, right?” She asked, looking up at the boy.

“Right.” He mirrored her soft smile before leaning down to catch her lips in a kiss that was eagerly returned. 

So eager that the two didn’t hear the door open.

“You’re lucky it’s me catching you two instead of your mother,” Gerry spoke, startling Y/n and James, who jumped apart. He felt a bit awkward catching his daughter kissing her boyfriend, but he didn’t look too surprised that she had a boyfriend in the first place.

“Da, I can explain.” Y/n tried to go on, but Gerry held up a hand, signaling her to stop.

“I already know.” He said with a smile, hands clasping behind his back. “About you two. Never would’ve if they didn’t decide to film that concert you girls went to.” That new information mortified Y/n and James. But they didn’t have time to fully react, because Gerry continued. “I think the three of us should have a little chat.”

***

The conversation wasn’t as bad as Y/n thought it would’ve been. Gerry was clearly happy and okay with the relationship, just wanting to make sure that they weren’t doing anything too serious. That topic might’ve been the most embarrassing part of the interaction for Y/n.

James, on the other hand, seemed scared shitless the entire time. But Y/n suspected that her father wasn’t so hard on him because of how he was treated by his father-in-law. He probably didn’t want to create some kind of a cycle. Plus, Gerry was pretty fond of James, even before he learned about him and his daughter being an item.

The entire talk played on a loop in Y/n’s head as she sat in church with the rest of her family, waiting for their relative’s wedding to start. Soon enough, the familiar tune of ‘Here Comes The Bride’ started to play, and everyone in the room stood.

“Where do you reckon Aunt Sarah is?” Y/n asked her sister Erin, noticing that a family member was missing from their pew. But her question was soon answered when Sarah entered the room and started walking down the aisle, dressed in white. “Good God.” 

Gasps and murmurs filled the room as Sarah went to stand with her family in the pew, revealing a horrified bride and her father behind her.

“Jesus, but that taxi took forever, so it did.” Sarah sighed. The bride-to-be looked at Sarah, absolutely appalled as she passed by. “Ach, isn’t she gorgeous?”

Mary rolled her eyes and looked up towards the sky as she took a deep breath.

“Give me strength…” She muttered.

***

Y/n was a bit surprised that the Quinn family, mainly her aunt Sarah, was still invited to the reception. But that didn’t stop her from trying to have a good time. She, her sister, and her cousin drank and danced around as they waited for their friends to arrive.

Soon enough, Erin spotted their friends, nudging her sister and cousin to gain their attention. They quickly ran to the venue entrance to meet with the other girls and James.

“Muthafuckas!” Michelle yelled in greetings, arms spread out and grin wide. 

“How’s it been?” Clare asked with a smile.

The sisters and Orla all had different responses, but had the same reaction when Mary snuck up behind the three of them.

“Girls!” The shout startled them, and everyone whipped around to look at her.

“Jesus, Mammy,” Y/n muttered.

“I said you could invite one friend to the reception. One!”

“Mammy, they don’t come separately,” Erin said, rolling her eyes. She thought her mother would’ve learned this after years of friendship.

“We’re like one big set,” Y/n said, gesturing to the group of teenagers.

“Aye, we’re pack animals, Mary,” Michelle said. Mary was about to say something, possibly tell them to leave or further reprimand them, when James spoke.

“I love your hat, Mrs. Quinn.” He said with a smile, eyeing the accessory. Mary smiled, and the girls were surprised to see that her slightly sour mood had seemed to disappear.

“Thanks, son.” She said, giving him a nod before looking at the whole group, a bit more serious. “No wild carry-on. Do you hear me? We’re in enough bother as it is. Best behavior.”

“Completely.” Clare nodded, taking the commands to heart.

“You’ll have no trouble from us, Mary,” Michelle said with an innocent smile, which should be worrying. Mary walked off, and Michelle turned back to the group once she was out of earshot. “Okay, girls, who wants to do drugs?” Y/n snorted at the complete 180, but Michelle was completely serious.

The girls, mainly Michelle and Erin, like always, had a back and forth about the drugs and someone named Macca and so on. Y/n used this moment to turn to James, almost glued to his side at the back of the group as they all walked around the reception party.

“Trying to butter up Mammy, are you?” She asked teasingly, thinking about how James’ little comment completely changed her mother’s sour demeanor.

James laughed a little, throwing his head back, and Y/n couldn’t help but smile stupidly at the boy. He shrugged.

“Well, I figured I might as well start now to try to get on her good side. It’s only a matter of time, I think.” Y/n nodded in agreement.

“We could tell them.” She suggested after a small moment of silence. James perked up, both surprised and delighted by the notion. “I mean, like you said, it’s only a matter of time. And they’d probably prefer hearing it from us over walking in on us doing something.”

James’ cheeks reddened at the sentence. He blinked a few times, his mind clearly drifting off to some kind of thought.

“And by something… you mean like-” Suddenly, the lights dimmed, and music started blasting through the speakers. Y/n lit up in excitement along with the rest of the room, while James looked a bit confused at the commotion that started to happen.

“‘Rock the Boat’! It’s ‘Rock the Boat!” Clare squealed as she recognized the song.

“Happy fuckin’ days!” Michelle said, and the girls ran to the dance floor. Y/n was dragging James behind her, who seemed slightly alarmed by everyone’s intense enthusiasm. 

Everyone sat on the floor in long, giant rows, fighting for space. The girls were able to push their way to the front, synchronously dancing with the rest of the party people. There, the girls continued their drug conversation, with Y/n and James now joining in.

“Look, Michelle,” Clare said to the girl behind her. “Drugs are illegal, drugs are addictive, and perhaps most importantly, in this country, you can lose your kneecaps if you’re caught doing them. And I like my kneecaps, Michelle; they suit my knees.”

“You do have crackin’ kneecaps, Clare.” Orla smiled at the girl, having to leave to the side and turn her head to look at the blonde.

“Is that true?” James asked, lips close to Y/n’s ear.

“What?” Y/n turned around, almost startled by how James was to her face. “Clare’s kneecaps?”

“No. I mean losing your kneecaps.”

“Oh. Clare’s a bit dramatic, Jamie.” The girl turned back around to face ahead. “But she’s a bit right, I think.”

“What?!”

Before any conversations could continue, a dull but loud thud was heard from a corner of the room. Everyone looked to see Aunt Bridie lying on the floor, with the Quinn family looking at Mary in shock.

***

The next few days felt tense at the Quinn household. It was mainly the teenagers being fearful of Mary, because they believed that she was the reason for her Aunt Bridie’s sudden death and didn’t want to be her next victim. The house had never been so clean and tidy.

“I just cannot believe it.” Mary’s tone was almost flat as she stared off into space, clutching her teacup and rarely ever sipping it.

“Listen, Mary,” Sarah said, sitting in the chair beside her. “No matter what you’ve done, you’re still my sister. I’ll stand by you.”

“I haven’t done anything, Sarah.”

“Exactly, love. Everybody knows you didn’t mean to kill the old boot.” Grandpa Joe paused to take a sip of his coffee. “God rest her soul.”

“I didn’t kill her,” Mary responded, immediately tired of the assumption.

“You know what I mean, not kill.” Joe looked around as if he would find the word he was looking for on the wall. “Hex.”

“I didn’t hex her either, Da.” She said defensively. “It was just a very tragic-”

“My mother, she had the gift too, y’know.” Joe interrupted. “By God, that woman could make her enemies drop like flies.”

“Look, I don’t have any gift,” Mary said, letting go of her teacup to lay her hands flat on the table to show finality and seriousness. “There’s no dark forces at play here. I just said somethin’... unfortunate that happened to-”

“Cause her death?” Sarah asked.

“Coincide with her death.” Mary corrected.

Ah, yes. Mary telling her aunt Bridie to drop dead and then her actually doing it was just an unfortunate coincidence. Nothing more, nothing less.

Meanwhile, at the sink, Y/n dried the last dish that Erin washed and handed it to Orla to put away. The three girls had been working as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb Mary. Erin was the first to speak, turning around slowly with a nervous tone.

“Right. Well, that’s the dishes done. Would you like another cup of tea, Mammy?”

As if remembering she even had a cup of tea, Mary looked down at the cup and took a quick sip.

“No, I’m fine.”

“I’ll just grab the Hoover n’give the stairs a bit of a going over.”

“Aye, and I can sweep the hall and such,” Y/n added, trying to remember the last place she had seen the broom. 

“And I’ll maybe do a bit of dusting,” Orla said.

Mary raised an eyebrow, suspicion of the girls pulling her out of her dazed and solemn mood.

“What’s gotten into you all?” She asked. “What’re you up to? What’s going on?”

“Nothin’!” Erin answered, still seeming a bit scared. “We just thought that we should pull our weight a bit more, Mammy.”

“You do so much for us, Aunt Mary.”

“Aye, Mammy, you deserve a bit of a break.”

“I can’t hex people, girls,” Mary said frustratedly. “It was an accident.”

As if on cue, Gerry waltzed into the kitchen and smiled at his wife. He placed a hand on her shoulder as part of a greeting.

“So, how’s the Wicked Witch of the North West?” The question seemed so loving and innocent. Y/n would’ve laughed if Mary hadn’t seemed like she was actually about to murder someone.

“Who put fifty p in the eedgit?” Joe asked, glaring at Gerry. Gerry looked at him confused, wondering what he had done this time.

Mary groaned, dropping her head into her hands.

“God, how am I going to go to this wake?”

“It’ll be grand, love,” Joe said. “But listen, say if things do get heated, try not to rise to it. The last thing we want is another dead body on our hands here.”

Mary stared up at Joe with a blank expression.

“I’ll do my best, Da.”

***

Later that evening, the Quinns and McCools arrived at the wake. Everyone seemed a bit surprised and startled to see Mary, clearly believing the rumors that she had been her Aunt Bridie’s undoing. After a slightly awkward encounter with Eamon, Bridie’s son, the girls escaped everyone by going upstairs to the room that held Bridie herself.

“She really suits bein’ dead, doesn’t she?” Orla said after a good moment of solemn silence, staring down at the woman.

“What?” Erin seemed disturbed by what her cousin had said, but Y/n nodded.

“No, yeah, I agree. I like her better like this.”

“Y/n, she’s dead.”

“Oh, so you’re saying you liked her better living?”

Before Erin could answer, the door to the room opened. The girls turned to see Clare peeking her head through.

“Can we come in?” She asked in a whisper.

“Why are you whispering, Clare?” Y/n asked, tilting her head in confusion. Clare paused, thinking it over.

“I don’t know.”

The rest of the group crowded around Bridie’s casket. Michelle and Clare walked to the end by her feet, and James decided to stand behind Y/n. He rested a hand gently on her shoulder, as if to comfort her, and she raised a hand of her own to lay on his, as if to thank him.

“Thanks for comin’, guys.” Erin sighed, seeming slightly distressed now. “It’s nice to have a bit of support in this very difficult time.” Everyone seemed very confused by the statement. 

“You thought she was a dick,” Michelle said.

“I never said that.”

“You did, Erin,” Orla said.

“I’m pretty sure we all thought she was a dick, but you were the vocal one about it,” Y/n added.

“Aye, I’ve definitely heard you say it,” Clare said.

“Okay, can I just check something?” James asked, clearly focused on something else. The girls looked at him, waiting for him to continue. “Everybody else can see the dead body, right?”

Everyone took a glance at the body in question, trying to figure out what the problem was.

“It’s just Bridie, Jamie,” Y/n said.

“It’s Bridie’s corpse.” The boy corrected. “It’s Bridie’s dead corpse.”

“It’s her wake. What were you expectin’?” Michelle asked, rolling her eyes.

“Haven’t you ever seen a dead body before?” Erin asked.

“Of course not!” James nearly yelled, shocked that Erin would even ask such a question. Michelle scoffed.

“Christ, but the English are weird.”

Orla leaned down close to Bridie, taking her face in her hands and looking up at James. She had that childlike but absentminded wonder in her eyes and smile that she always had.

“You can touch her if you want.”

James flinched, moving his hands to Y/n’s hips as he took a slight step back. As he moved back, he maneuvered Y/n to act as a shield between him and the dead body and Orla. James looked at Orla in disgusted shock.

“Why the hell would I want to touch her?” Y/n snorted at James’ suddenly high-pitched voice.

“It’s nice.” Orla smiled brightly.

“Stop it.”

“It’s just a dead body, James,” Clare said in a comforting tone, trying to get him to calm down. “We’re all gonna be one someday.”

“Oh, thanks for that, Clare!” Horrified, James brought Y/n closer until her back was pressed against his front. It was as if everyone else was some sort of strange or bad energy that could only be warded off by Y/n, and she was happy to go along with it. “Yeah, that’s helped!”

“It’s okay, Jamie,” Y/n said, patting one of the hands gripping her hips. James relaxed just a bit, but was still weary because of how weird this whole situation was to him. “Calm yourself.”

“It really makes you think, doesn’t it?” Michelle said solemnly, staring at Bridie for a second before looking at the girls. “Death.” She sighed dramatically, and everyone immediately wondered what she was up to this time. “It just… just makes you wanna… do everythin’ and just… try everythin’.”

“What’s going on, Michelle?” Clare asked, looking at her suspiciously.

“Yeah, what are you on about?” Y/n eyed the girl with a raised brow. Michelle suddenly seemed excited, a stark contrast to her fake grimness.

“Do you wanna see something’ class?” Michelle then threw her purse, which was, for some reason, big and bulky, onto Bridie’s feet. Someone would’ve reprimanded her for disrespecting the deceased by using Bridie as a table, but they were too busy watching her pull a big Tupperware out of her purse. “Prepare yourself, girls.” She then popped the lid off to show what was inside. She looked at her friends excitedly.

“Scones?” Erin asked, clearly unimpressed.

“That’s right.”

“What’s so class about scones?”

“Scones are lovely.” Orla countered, seeming a bit offended by Erin’s uninterest.

“Aye, I like scones.” Clare nodded.

“No, these aren’t any old scones, girls.” Michelle insisted, shaking her head. “These are funny scones.”

“Funny’s the right word, alright,” Y/n said, reaching for one of the scones in the bin to look at it. As she dropped it back in with the rest, she looked at Michelle with a tilt of her head. “What’s so special about ’em?”

“They’re drug scones!” Clare squeaked, pointing urgently at the food. “She’s put the drugs in the scones!”

“Too fuckin’ right, I have,” Michelle said with a grin. “I wanted to do brownies, but this was the only recipe my ma had, so…”

“I don’t think it’s that hard to find a brownie recipe, Michelle,” Y/n said. 

“I’m not goin’ out of my way to find a brownie recipe, Y/n.”

“We talked about this, Michelle. We agreed.” Clare said, bringing the conversation back to the drugs.

“No, we didn’t,” Michelle argued. “Anyway, drugs aren’t illegal when you put them into food. Everybody knows that.”

“I’m not so sure about that, Michelle,” Y/n said.

“Is that right?” James asked sarcastically, almost glaring with bewilderment at his cousin. “I’m not sure that’s right.”

Just then, the door opened, and everybody froze. An old woman walked in, and the girls quickly recognized her as one of the caterers for the wake.

“Any cups up here?” She asked, walking towards them while looking around. She spotted the tub, and before anyone could stop her, she reached out and grabbed it. “I’ll take that.” The woman said simply before leaving the room.

Everyone stared at where the scones had once been, panic running through them all.

“What the fuck just happened?” Michelle asked the room. Y/n looked at the girl with wide eyes.

“I believe a caterer just took your funny fuckin’ scones to give out at our great Aunt Bridie’s wake, Michelle.”

After another moment of feeling frozen, everyone went downstairs as fast as possible without drawing attention. Defeated and not knowing what to do, the girls sat down on the steps. As they settled, they watched Joe pass by with one of the scones in hand.

“What are we gonna do?” Clare asked frantically.

“It’s fine,” Michelle said shortly. But everyone could tell she was just as panicked as the rest.

“It’s definitely not fine!” Clare hissed. “There’s drug scones down there. People’ll eat the drug scones, then we’ve drugged those people, Michelle.”

“Our granda included.” Y/n butted in, resting her chin on the top of James’ head, who was sitting on one of the steps just below her. “Lord knows what’ll happen to him.”

“So?” Michelle said, clearly worried but trying to seem aloof. “Drugging people isn’t a crime.”

“You’ve a very loose grasp of the law, Michelle,” James said, rubbing at his eyes in disbelief and exhaustion.

“What kind of person brings hash scones to a wake?” Erin asked with a scowl. Michelle scoffed.

“Typical.” She said. “I try to do a nice thing, and this is the thanks I get.”

“A nice thing?” Y/n repeated in disbelief, turning back to look at Michelle. “Oh yeah, how nice. Let’s all get hopped up illegally at a wake. Oh, wait. We can’t, because someone took your stupid scones!”

“It’s terrible,” Clare added, sounding as panicked and scared as usual. “There’s old people down there; what if an old person takes one?”

“Why does everyone get so sentimental about old people?” Michelle asked. “Old people are arseholes.” 

“We’ve got to get ’em back, girls,” Erin said, starting to get scared of the thought of any of her family having a funny scone.

“Look, I’m not disagreeing with you. I bought that stuff so I could get high, not your great Uncle Colm.”

“Oh Christ, I didn’t even think about that,” Y/n muttered. Colm was already a character to begin with; him being high as balls would probably turn him either more boring or unmanageable. Y/n stood up and faced the girls. “Here’s the plan. I’ll head to the kitchen to grab whatever’s left. The rest of you go and find the ones that people have taken and pray that they haven’t taken a bite yet.”

“And remember, girls,” Erin said, standing up with her sister. “Be subtle.” Everyone nodded and split up to do their tasks.

Y/n went to the kitchen and quietly crept to the swinging door. She took a quick look, saw that the few people inside were occupied with different things, and carefully walked in. She was surprised to see her father ranting about cross-contamination and using different bowls. Y/n wondered if he had been roped into helping in the kitchen, but whether he was forced or had volunteered, she smiled at the sight of his sudden passion.

Y/n spotted the scones, about half the amount from the last time she saw them, now plated on a serving platter. While reaching for the plate, the door opened behind her.

“Now listen here, you.” Y/n flinched and turned around quickly, recognizing the voice to be her granda Joe. But he wasn’t looking at her. As usual, he directed his pointed look to Gerry, who looked at his father-in-law, both confused and annoyed.

“Yes, Joe?”

“I just wanna say…” Joe trailed off, getting closer to Gerry and putting a hand on his shoulder. Gerry and Y/n looked at the old man in bewilderment when he laughed. “I think you’re doing a fine job.” Then he patted Gerry’s cheek before turning around and walking out of the kitchen. “Keep up the good work.”

Gerry and Y/n turned their shocked stares to each other once Joe was out of the room. The only thing that broke their eye contact was a timer going off, which somehow snapped Gerry back into his working mode. Using the opportunity of her dad’s distractedness, Y/n swiped the platter and walked out.

The girl soon realized that she and her friends never agreed on a place to meet after retrieving the scones. But not wanting anyone to see her wander around with a platter of scones, she snuck back upstairs, where she was surprised to see James slowly wandering the hallway.

“Hey,” Y/n said with relief, glad it was him instead of a stranger. Or worse, her mother.

“Hey.” He smiled at her, holding up a scone as he walked closer to her. “Found your uncle Colm with this.” He sat the scone on top of the others.

“Thank God you got it before he took a bite.” Y/n laughed lightly, James joining in. “Were you just waiting for someone to come up?”

“Yeah, I thought being up here would be better than wandering around where everyone else was.”

“Smart.” Y/n nodded once, looking around the empty hall. “What do you suppose we do about all of these?”

The two thought for a moment, racking their brains for an idea. James suddenly snapped his fingers.

“Remember when you snuck over to mine that one night, and we watched Goodfellas?”

“Aye, Ray Liotta was a dream, wasn’t he?”

“Sure.” James rolled his eyes at the comment. “But do you remember how Karen got rid of the drugs?”

Y/n took a quick second to think about whether or not she did, in fact, remember. The most memorable things of the night she snuck over to James’ were Ray Liotta, the snacks James had snuck up to his room, and kissing each other to keep loud talking or laughs from gaining the attention of the rest of the household.

“You think it’ll work?” Y/n asked once she remembered what James was talking about. “I mean, these are scones.”

“What other options do we have?” James asked. And to be honest, Y/n couldn’t think of any.

The sound of a knob turning startled the two teens. They scrambled to hide the stolen platter of scones behind them just before the bathroom door a bit down the hall opened up. A middle-aged woman that Y/n barely recognized walked out, and Y/n and James smiled politely at her as she passed.

Once she was down the stairs, James and Y/n ran to the bathroom, locking the door behind them.

“Let’s just wait for the others here,” Y/n said, balancing the platter on the sink so she wouldn’t have to hold it any longer. “So… what d’ya wanna do?”

It took a few seconds of silence before Y/n and James rushed at each other, quickly becoming a mess of tangled limbs and clashing lips. The couple rarely had time alone for things like this, the heat of the moment always being ignored because of the fear of being caught. But with a locked door, a few minutes of making out couldn’t do much harm.

Y/n’s hands buried themselves into James’ curls, tugging at them as he backed her into the wall next to the door. A hand cupped the back of her neck while the other stayed gripped on her waist, keeping her in place. Not that she’d want to leave.

James’ lips strayed away from Y/n’s, leaving featherlight kisses across her cheek and jaw before settling on her neck. The hand on Y/n’s neck pulled back her hair, giving James the access he needed to nip and suck lightly at the sensitive skin just below Y/n’s ear.

“Are you marking me?” She asked, breath hitching. She wasn’t opposing the matter, far from it, really. But she was a bit surprised to have this kind of behavior coming from James.

“Just a bit.” He replied breathlessly, kissing the slightly sore spot before returning to Y/n’s lips. “For a bit of fun, y’know?” Y/n giggled. She was lucky that she could probably hide the soon-to-be mark by keeping her hair down.

“Sure, just a bit of fun.” She replied, pecking James’ lips a few times.

The two were able to get themselves straightened out just before the rest of the girls found them. They closed the door behind them, and James caught them all up on the plan.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Michelle sighed as she and the rest of the group broke apart the scones and dropped the crumbled bits into the toilet. “It’s fuckin’ heartbreaking.”

“Believe me, Michelle, it’s better this way,” Y/n said, grabbing another laced scone. “Granda’s had one, and now he’s acting, like, really fuckin’ weird.”

“You’re being paranoid.”

“He was nice to Daddy.” The group made noises of shock and disbelief. “Exactly. And if Mammy starts asking questions…”

“You’re Ma won’t trace it back to us.”

“Are you serious?” Erin asked Michelle. “She traces everything back to us. She traces things we haven’t even done back to us!”

“Are you sure this’ll work?” Clare asked James.

“This is how you get rid of drugs, Clare.” He said confidently, as if this wasn’t the first time he’s had to do this. “I’ve seen Goodfellas, like, twenty times.”

“Aye, good movie,” Y/n commented as she brushed her hands on her jeans to get rid of the crumbs that stuck to her nervously sweaty palms. 

“That’s not the only way.” Orla countered. “I watched this film once about this girl who was tryin’ to hide drugs, and what she did was she shoved them right up her—”

“I’m not sticking a scone up my hole, Orla.” Michelle hissed. Orla shrugged, raising her hands in defense.

Once everyone was done breaking down the scones, Clare sighed, seeming as nervous and panicked as always.

“Okay, I’m gonna flush.” She did so, and everyone watched as not much happened. “Is it working?”

“‘Course it’s working,” James said, still sure of his plan.

But then the water started to rise, and everyone started to panic.

“Jesus Christ!” Erin yelped in a high-pitched voice. “Why is the water rising, James?”

“I don’t know! The water didn’t rise in Goodfellas!”

“We’ve clogged it.”

“Who has a plunger?” Orla asked, seeming to be the most calm of the group.

“I’m afraid I left the house without me plunger tonight, Orla,” Erin replied, clearly sarcastic. 

“Aye, me too,” Orla replied seriously. “Nightmare, so it is.”

The toilet started flooding faster, and the girls scrambled around in a panic. Scone water was beginning to spill onto the floor, and everyone had to stop themselves from gagging as they tried to find a way to clean it up. This situation couldn’t possibly get any worse.

“Dear God…” Everyone whipped around to see the adults of the Quinn and McCool families, plus Bridie’s son, Eamon. Erin laughed nervously, deciding to be the one to find an excuse.

“It looks worse than it is.” Was all she said, which really wasn’t much of an excuse.

“My mother was right about you people,” Eamon said, horrified and angry. “Wild animals have more manners.”

“We didn’t have a plunger, Eamon!” Orla shouted.

“Get out!” He yelled. “Get out!”

The teens did so gladly, running out of the bathroom and out of the house. They gathered on the front lawn, and they couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the evening. But they still feared what would happen when Mary walked out.

“The night wasn’t all that bad, I think,” James said quietly, only Y/n being able to hear him. She looked up at him curiously.

“How so?”

Instead of speaking, he raised his hand to cup her neck, gently tapping where he had bruised her. She gasped, pushing his hand away before the two of them fell into laughter, not caring about the confused looks their friends gave them.

“I’ll see you Monday, then?” He asked when they had calmed down a bit. Y/n caught a glimpse of her mother leaving the house before she answered.

“If I live that long.”

~~~

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[allzelemonz]

Settle: Merle Dixon X Male Reader

Pronouns: he/him, Reader referred to as ‘man’ and ‘boy’ Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut, language Warnings: Slurs (homophobic), Merle Dixon is his own warning, mention of Merle’s SS symbol, typical southern prejudice/homophobia, neck kissing, anal fingering, anal sex, cockwarming, hand job, cuddling, top Merle and bottom Reader Summary: After striking out with every woman in camp, Merle turns to you and ignores the gay aspect of sleeping with another man in favor of getting laid. A/N: Imagine my lack of surprise but utter disappointment in finding no male reader shit for Merle. Written out of spite. Enjoy.

After a third pill and a third strikeout, Merle is almost certain he’ll have to handle himself tonight. No woman in the whole damn camp wants any action, even with a touch of good ol’ Southern charm Merle attempted. Not a bite from anyone. So Merle stumbled through the cluster of tents, only half as high as he’d like to be and blue balls stiff between his legs. Just as he’s about to turn a corner towards his tent on the outskirts with his brother’s, he catches a pretty sight.

Not that Merle is gay. Of course not. But the man is asleep with his tent partly unzipped, shirt off and back arched like a damn whore. How could Merle not stare just a little. His eyes trail over your back, bare and just fuzzied by the drugs in his system that he may mistake things enough to ignore the dick between your legs.

So he kicks your foot, waking you up.

Your hand goes to your knife first, then you turn to see it’s not something dead behind you. “What, Merle?”

“Ya a queer?”

You squint at him, off put by the way he says it. “Why’re you asking?”

He shrugs. “Fella can’t be curious.”

“Not with that Nazi symbol on your bike you can’t.” You close your hand around your knife. “Go away.”

Merle chuckles, raising his hand in mock surrender. “Woah, woah, there… I was just askin’.”

You stare at him for a moment. “Fine. Yeah, I like men. I’m a queer. Are we done here?”

Merle bites at the inside of his cheek, trying to come up with the right words. “Ya let me fuck ya?”

“What?” You ask, sitting up to look at him properly.

Merle scoffs. “Ya heard me. Would ya?”

“Why would you-“

“Ladies ‘round here bein’ stingy.” Merle shrugs. “Hole’s a hole.”

“You’re joking.” You say in disbelief.

“Ain’t like I never fucked an ass before. It’s the same shit.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s really not.”

“Aw, come on, I’ll be quick.” Merle attempts a pout. “Ain’t no trouble.”

You sigh, shaking your head because you know it’s a dumb idea somewhere deep down. “Fine.”

Merle grins. “Atta boy.”

“Get on with it then.” You sigh, watching Merle step inside. “Zipper.”

Merle turns and zips the tent closed behind him, fumbling with it for longer than any regular person would. When he turns his hands go straight to his belt.

You watch his fingers move for a second. “You ever fucked another man before.”

Merle snorts. “Course not. I ain’t a queer.”

“It’s a little different, you know.”

“What?” Merle sneers. “I gotta play with yer pecker er somethin’?”

You shake your head. “Not necessarily. But you have to stick your fingers in for a while and stretch things out.”

“Yer just picky.”

“Maybe. Just do it, asshole, or I’m not gonna let you fuck anything.”

Merle pulls his belt free. “Fine. Pants off then, sweetheart.”

You huff, annoyed at Merle already, but it’s been far too long since you’ve had this chance. You pull your pants off, ignoring Merle’s eyes on your legs and turn around to lay on your stomach.

“Alright.” Merle grins, shuffling up behind you and nudging your legs apart. “What am I doin’ here, sweetheart?”

You turn your head back, half wanting to see the sight. “Put your fingers in your mouth.”

“Why?”

“Spit’s the only lube we have.” You mutter. “Just do it.”

Merle glares slightly, but does as he’s told and presses three fingers past his lips. He sucks on them, his other hand already going to your hip. It’s clear he’s never been the type to do this with any of the women he’s been with either. Without prompting, he drops the hand down and traces until he finds your rim.

“Ya ready for Merle’s magic fingers, boy?”

“Shut up.”

Merle chuckles, circling his finger around before slowly pushing inside. “Whew…” Merle exclaims. “Tight little thing, ain’t ya?”

You open your mouth to speak but Merle’s finger drags against your prostate and all you can manage is a groan as you bury your face down into your pillow.

He leans over you, his hand moving up to grip at the bare skin of your chest. “I find somethin’ good?”

You nod, mindlessly pushing back into him. “Fuck, Merle…”

He repeats the drag, his fingers moving quickly to fuck whatever sounds he can get out of you. You don’t expect much more, but he leans down and presses his lips to your neck. He trails sloppy kisses over your skin, his fingers fully thrusting into you at a quick pace.

“You want me?” Merle murmurs next to your ear. “Want Merle to fuck ya better than some fairy ever could, don’t ya?”

“Yeah…” You answer, spreading your legs as much as you can. “Why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Merle grins against your skin. “You just be a good boy. You’re good at that.”

He sits back up, removing his fingers and positioning himself properly behind you. His hands fix on your waist, pulling you back and propping you up on your widespread knees. You feel his tip press against you for just a second before he presses inside. There certainly isn’t enough lubrication or preparation, so the stretch of being entered hurts just enough to make a few whines form in your throat. Merle pushes all the same, stretching you open and filling you up with everything he has.

He groans as he bottoms out, running a hand over your spine. “You feel so damn good, sweetheart.” He squeezes your hip slightly. “Might turn me gay…”

Before you can think much about that, Merle begins to piston his hips at a quick pace. Both of his hands grip tightly at your hips and the force of his thrusts presses you forward into your pillow, only held up at the waist for Merle to fuck into you properly. You let him, relaxing into the hold and letting him use you because the slide of his dick hitting your prostate feels better than anything else. Merle pushes you down to lay flat, leaning over you and rocking into you as his head dips against your shoulder. The sleeping bag below you rubs at your dick with every thrust Merle gives you.

“Knew I liked you.” Merle mutters, half to himself. “Better than any damn woman… shit, sweetheart.”

Merle’s hips stutter and he groans as he releases, burying himself as deep as he can into you. You take heavy breaths as Merle relaxes on top of you, trying to ignore the squirming feeling of not having finished. Then Merle’s hand snakes under you, pumping furiously fast and gripping hard until you mutter his name and your vision blurs for a moment as you spurt cum onto your sleeping bag.

His hand slows to a massaging tempo and you can hear him inhaling strongly. “Ya gotta let me do that again sometime, boy.” He murmurs. “God, yer making me inta a queer.”

“Happy to help.” You mutter, still catching your breath.

Merle chuckles, letting both arms encircle you as he fully lets himself relax on top of you. “So ya liked my dick in ya?”

You bury your head into your pillow, avoiding his annoying question.

Merle chuckles. “Lemme sleep here?”

“Whatever.”

“Can I fuck ya in the mornin’?”

“If you want.”

He grins, settling his lips right next to your ear. “Ya gonna help keep little Merle warm all night too?”

You groan as he pushes against you, his soft dick still filling you and linking the both of you together. “Just sleep, jackass.”

He chuckles again. “Whatever you say, queer.”

[toomanythoughts2]

Every day I wake up and remember that Toki is a certified crazy cat lady is a day worth living. I have so much to say about Toki and his beautiful kitty, Really Cool Cat.

Toki loved that cat but that cat also loved Toki. THAT CAT LOVED TOKI SO MUCH I WILL NOT STAND FOR ANYTHING ELSE!

Toki adored that damn cat with every fiber of his being. Even when they went on vacation, that damn cat went with him. But not only did the cat come along, that cat stayed by his side and trusted him. How the fuck else do you get a cat on a jet ski without is scratching the hell out of you? Also, Toki grabs him before the Jet ski crashes. If that cat didn't want to be with Toki, it would have made it very clear that he didn't want to be near Toki. Were they responsible? No. Was he loved? YES!

Even when they came home, that cat was just as hungover as the band was, and yet he was still in Toki's lap. LOOK AT THEM, THEY ARE SO FUNNY! You know that saying that pets resemble their owners? Well guess what, he resembles Toki.

And when Toki is nervously telling the band about his idea, who is in his arms? That's right HIS CAT! HIS BABY! IF THAT DAMN CAT DIDN'T WANT TO BE NEAR TOKI AFTER EVERYTHING, HE WOULDN'T BE THERE! BUT HE IS! HE'S STILL LOVINGLY IN HIS ARMS, WHICH BY THE WAY, IS HARD! KEEPING A CAT THAT STILL IN YOUR ARMS ALL OF THE TIME IS HARD! THAT CAT WANTS TO BE HELD BY HIM! ALSO, CUNT! LOOK AT THEM! LOVE!

DONT GET ME STARTED ON HIS DEATH!

TOKI LOST HIS FUCKING MIND WHEN HE PASSED AWAY! SCREAMED THAT HE WAS HIS BEST FRIEND AND THEN FAINTED, LIKE A TRUE CRAZY CAT PERSON! Toki LOVES his fucking cat, LOVES HIM! When I saw him faint for the first time, I got emotional. I WOULD LOSE MY MIND IF I FOUND MY BABY DEAD! Also, I bet you $100 that Really Cool Cat was the easiest cat to get a pee sample from. I don't care, a cat that well behaved and loved absolutely would tolerate pissing in a cup.

And then we get to the SONG! ARE YOU JOKING WITH THE PURRING IN THE BEGINNING??? LOOK AT HIM! TOKI IS CRADDLING THAT BABY! DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO CRADDLE A CAT AND GET THEM TO PURR? THAT CAT IS LOVING EVERY SECOND OF TOKI ATTENTION! TOKI LOVED HIM SO MUCH, TALKED ABOUT HOW MUCH HE MADE HIM HAPPY, HOW HE LOVED HIS FUR, HOW HE MADE HIS LIFE BETTER, HOW MUCH HE MEANT TO HIM! TOKI LOVES HIM SO MUCH THAT HE DOESN'T EVEN USE THE PAST TENSE WHEN HE SAYS HE LOVES HIM! HE SAYS, "I loves you so." LOVE BITCH! THAT KITTY LOOKS LIKE HE'S MAKING BISCUITS! BISCUITS!!!!! BISCUITS MEANS HE LOVES HIM BACK!

AND TOKI IS ABLE TO PUT HIM AGAINST HIS CHEEK AND HE DOESN'T REACT! EVEN HOW HE IS HOLDING HIM IS LOVINGLY! AND THAT CAT IS JUST LETTING HIS SMASH THEIR CHEEK TOGETHER BECAUSE HE LOVES TOKI SO MUCH!

THIS CAT LOVES TOKI! LOOK AT HIM! HE IS A BABY!

Toki is so crazy that he BUILT this cat's first coffin WITH CARE! LOOK AT THAT CRAFTSMANSHIP! ONLY THE BEST FOR HIS LITTLE BOY! BITCH IS THAT WOOD? METAL? IDK BUT IT LOOKS LIKE GOLD! AND HE BUILT IT BY HIMSELF IN HIS ROOM! TOKI IS A HANDY LITTLE FELLA AND HE'S USING HIS SKILLS TO BURY HIS BELOVED CAT! HE GAVE HIM EARS!

And when it was all said and done, Toki made sure his baby was put someplace where EVERYONE will come see him. HE'S MAKING THE BAND SAY GOODBYE! HE IS WAVING GOODBYE TO HIS BABY!

LOOK AT THE CRAFTSMAN SHIP OF THAT STATUE! AND IT'S NOT JUST ONE, IT'S LIKE 5 OR SO? HE GRIEVED HIM SO MUCH THAT HE GAVE HIM 5 STATUES TO BE BURRIED IN! 100% this cat's statue survived AOTD, I KNOW IT DID!

[base0h]

HOW HAIKYUU CHARACTERS REACT TO BUGS

a/n - watched a TikTok vid by @emmafischer8 about how setters would react to a spider and it was hilarious so I had to do everyone else too 😀👍

Warnings ⚠️ - g/n reader, s/o reader, crack

- he’s not very scared of them so you can probably count on him to kill them for you if you ask 😭🙏

- but honestly he’d probably name a spider Fred and give it a leaf to sit on when he puts it outside

- and in the morning when he wakes up he’d also say good morning to Fred even if he doesn’t see him because he thinks Fred might still hear him

- “Bokuto who’s Fred..?” -you

- “That spider fella from last week! The one that was on the ceiling :)”

- “…You named it?”

- “Mhm!”

- “I love you Bokuto 😭”

- “Oh I love you too y/n :D”

- He has a lot of bug friends

- especially during summer he gets a lot of ladybug and butterfly buddies

- he prolly has named them after which friends he thinks they remind him of

- theres a praying mantis named kuroo 🙏

- he’s scared of them

- he hates them with every fiber of his being

- never take him to Australia or ANYWHERE remotely outdoorsy 💀

- he’s the type to get even quieter when he’s afraid— and he can’t even bring himself to move away from said danger he just stares at it helplessly 😭

- he could be doing homework or something and then all of the sudden his pencil will stop, and he’s just frozen in place

- you can’t even tell if bros still breathing

- “Akaashi..? You ok?” -you

- there’s no answer

- no acknowledgment

- just dead silence

- then you see why, and it’s a tiny little spider on the wall in front of his desk

- you have to kill all the bugs or take em outside, akaashi will do everything else but that for you so yeah 😭

- you also might have to comfort him for a while after because he’s so scared he gets nightmares about em 💀

- I swear yk those jumpscare vids on TikTok where the bug legit jumps out at you and that Asian dude is like: hey, you ok?

- BUT THE MF COMES WAY TOO FREAKING LATE SO IT DOESNT EVEN HELP

- yeah akaashi has beef with him

- he wants to set his house on fire and lock the doors with the guy still inside :)

- seriously you could be just chilling and all of the sudden he’ll chuck his phone across the room and he looks like he looked at Medusa or sum 💀

- those vids that try to like make you feel bad for bugs because they’re just trying to exist mean nothing to him

- “Ok then exist somewhere else? Preferably nowhere near me?” -Akaashi (probably)

IM TALKING ABOUT THIS GUY. (JUMPSCARE WARNING)

- ok see— he doesn’t call it ‘fear’

- he calls it ‘disliking things with more than 3 legs’

- he acts all tough and mighty until you’re faced with the final boss…

- summer

- Idk why but I feel like he’d have a tiny little dog— like a corgis or a terrier or something

- it sometimes eats flies and stuff— and Kuroo worships it 😭

- he’s totally the type to like try and create some intricate trapping system for bugs so that his dog can take care of it for him

- Kenma thinks he’s insane :) (he is)

- side note he also probably cuddles with his dog and has good dreams whenever he sleeps with it nearby him 🥲🙏

- anyways, you’re basically his knight in shining armor now, congrats! :D

- “Oh y/n you look absolutely gorgeous today—“ -kuroo

- “Where’s the bug.”

- “…..Corner wall.”

- sly mf 💀 bro thought he could fool you

- don’t worry he’ll make it up to you however you want 😭

- you name it and he’ll do it

- anything for his knight in shining armor

- his heroic insect slayer

- his courageous promised messiah—

- yeah you get the gist lmfao

- you should probably start taxing him for it

- he MIGHT boycott you though 💀

- I honestly think they’re scared of him

- I feel like no bug has ever escaped osamu’s sight

- like if a fly lands on his food it’s genocide time

- he will find its cohorts and kill every single last one

- kinda scary ngl 😭

- in the kitchen he’s probably armed with a fly swatter 24/7

- not one of those plastic flimsy ones though, the heavy duty high voltage shit, only the best

- Let’s be real though, if a fly noticed Osamu looking at it— it’d run and not be able to escape 💀

- Those vids that are like: “no but the bug was just existing— what if it had a family?” Yeah no Osamu doesn’t give a shit

- “It’s their fault for touching my food. Not my fault they might not have a parent anymore.” -osamu

- “Yeah but you didn’t need to like— chop it up like an onion—😭”

- “It reminded me of Atsumu so I was extra pissed at it.”

- “Hey! :(“ -Atsumu

- “Ah I see, makes sense.”

- “HEY! >:(“

a/n - I need an osamu to kill the mosquitoes in my house I can’t kill em all myself— I’m losing the war here 😭

[moonlight-tmd]

Bumblebee having an electric ability without mods and he’s just never told his team because outliers weren’t always seen as good & so he never uses it publicly.

One day his stingers get yanked out and his team is hurt and so he HAS to use it.

He hasn’t used it in so long he forgot how powerful it could be and accidentally knocked out himself and the threat and his team because he lost control.

Blitzbee - he hints at it to Blitz because decepticons were more open about outliers & one day he shows blitz who helps him learn how to control it.

Prowlbee - Bee doesn’t give a single hint and prowl is so hurt bee didn’t feel he could trust him but he understands because he’s seen what outliers went through and Ratchet is so hurt because his grandson ( self declared ) didn’t slip him the outlier info off record while Optimus is such a mom and worrying for bee.

Bulkhead figured it out when he saw bee get electrocuted one day on Earth but didn’t even seem phased beyond surprised and just brushed it off.

Ok i kinda don't know what you're on about but i think i see it?

To simplify: Bee can manipulate electricity as a feat, just like Icy and Hotheat can control Ice/Fire respectively. And those that can do that are basically outcasted from society for being a threat/different.

Bee may have been forged defected but lemme tell ya, those wiring mishaps actually made him tougher to crack. The electricity just didn't flow right like with normal bots therefore he couldn't really take shock damage. He'd withstand high voltages with almost no harm.

Of course, being the street-raised bot he knew the risks of standing out so he tried his best to hide it. I think he might have accidentally electrocuted someone to death when he was a fresh runaway from the carequarters. He never knew they died, just that one moment someone was trying to hurt him and the next they were laying on the ground motionless and he ran as fast as he could.

He knew electricity could hurt so he tried his best to pretend being hurt whenever something zapped him. It was tough getting around trying not to zap anything but once he got the stingers from Ratchet the uncotrolled zapping was slightly more controlled as it had actual output designed to release electric charges.

Team Prime- Bee never told them about his little stunt ability, he thought they would look at him differently if he ever did.

One time some 'con ripped out his stingers and crushed them, Team Prime barely got to Bee to defend him. Ratchet had a lot of fixing to do so Bee was left defenceless for a while. One time when he and some other bot from the team were helping out some citizen, Constructicons wanted to have fun and came to wreck them. It was a close call and the rest of the team got there in time to fight... but something went wrong and the bad guys had advantage after advantage. At some point they were about to finish off Prowl when Bee came out of the forced hiding and latched onto the 'con before letting out the highest voltage electroshock he could muster. Of course it barely missed his teammates as chain reaction went off and knocked out half of the cons and damaged the rest. Somehow they managed to scramble and run away with the carcasses of their unconscious fellas, leaving Team Prime in quite literal shock of what happened.

Optimus was the first to be at Bee's side after noticing the scout laying motionless on the ground. He tried to reach and shake him awake but the moment his servo got close a leftover jolt of electricity zapped him hard, leaving a half-scorched mark.

Bee wakes up in medbay after few hours and is greeted by very worried Team. They ask him about what the heck happened back there and Bee avoids answering until Ratchet yells at him to tell them because it's important (and from that high voltage technically he should be dead lol).

Bee is visibly nervous but gives in and tells them. "So you know how Blitzwing can manipulate ice 'nd fire?"

"Yes- what does that have to do with this??"

"Well,... I can kinda do the same but- with electricity?"

And then he shows them a trick he learned to entertain himself- just making little electric sparks between his servos- when they ask to explain. Now onto reactions-

Optimus: He's still recovering from having his servo temporarily disabled by the leftover discharge, he's very much surprised and then concerned that Bee never told them- he worries about Bee's wellbeing as well as this being a possible threat for everyone if Bee doesn't get full control over it.

Ratchet: Honestly he shouldn't be surprised, the kid had so many electrocuting accidents that ended in no damages he should have connected the dots already. He just wishes the kid would have told him something about it to spare so many hours half-paranoid over how this mech still works after so many stunts that should have killed him.

Bulkhead: Bee told him about nearly everything except the super personal stuff like trauma. He's a little hurt for the lack of trust from his best friend but still finds it cool that Bee has such neat ability.

Sari: She is so heckin happy- Bee can do cool shit and make electronics do his bidding(kinda)! That's so cool! She does get a little spooked if she's too close to said electricity cuz she's been taught about the dangerous side of it.

Prowl: He's very much surprised cuz he didn't think someone else on the team possesed a unique ability like him (the whole hologram duplication and weird telekinesis thing, ex: turning stasis cuffs/electric locks off). He'll be glad to help Bee learn to control this ability. If ProwlBee: Prowl would still be surprised but he'd also be disappointed that Bee never told him when Prowl himself was pretty open about having his unique ability. He understands why Bee might have felt like he shouldn't say anything but he still feels that little bit of hurt inside.

If BlitzBee: Blitz learns about it before the event. Icy was showing him fun ways to play with ice and frost and Bee was so amazed by it he accidentally mentioned wishing he'd be able to do that with his element. Bee was shy about it when Blitzwing asked but he eventually showed him the little entertaining trick i mentioned earlier. It wasn't anything spectacular, he tried his best to keep it as low as possible to not get it out of control, but Blitz was still amazed and excited that his hummel could do something similar to his powers. Of course he teaches Bee how to manipulate element and they have some fun.

I think after the fact Bee can manipulate electricity is out in the open, Bee will definitelly pull some pranks on the others like messing with the lights or turning on/off some non-important machines to annoy them.

It would also make them aware of why the fuck Bee has so much energy all the time- the scout keeps his battery up by touching electronics, he unawarily charges himself via other stuff's batteries/outlet connections. (This explains why his switch/controller keeps dying so soon, huh.)

After being taught how to control his ability he defo drains certain stuff on purpose like, he'd drain stasis cuffs off their power and switch off the forcefield cell the 'cons put him in to hold hostage. Heck he might even drain them off energy if he sticks to them long enough and gets them passed out on the ground. It's also a good way to make someone go to berth when they can't recharge- drain them low enough to enforce the recharge protocol.

Ngl, that kinda sounds like energetic vampire but Bee's all for it. He likes the joke and keeps the play up quite well whenever someone mentions his ability.

[avonne-writes]

For the Situations ask, I'd love to see Reverse Amnesia if it inspires you!! ♥️

Thank you, dear! 💕 @middlingmay also requested this one 😊

6. Reverse amnesia (everyone else has no memory/recognition of your character)

Bucky saunters over to their makeshift baseball field at Thorpe Abbotts, eager to participate in the game the guys are about to set up. It’s a pleasant, sunny day, no mission planned. Being alive doesn’t feel like an illusion for once, and Bucky's smile comes quick and easy like it used to before the war. He’s grinning behind his sunglasses as he reaches the group and claps Curt on the back.

"Hey, boys. Beautiful day for a game, huh?"

He nods at Douglass and Murph, but their nod back is hesitant. The others glance at each other as if Bucky has just broken some unspoken rule he wasn’t aware of. A frown tugs at Bucky’s eyebrows, but he tries to shrug his unease off.

"Can I join?"

When Curt pulls away from him, he knows that something is very, very wrong.

"Uh, sure, why not." Curt says awkwardly, but with his natural friendliness shining through. He has a tentative, crooked smile as he looks Bucky up and down. "Blakely, you got a spot for the big fella?"

Bucky's smile fades into a baffled expression. He takes his sunglasses off and looks around to see if a mouth twitches or if eyes squint in mischief at the prank they're trying to pull on him, but they all look serious. As if they’ve never met him.

"I s'pose." Blakely drawls, then steps forward and offers Bucky a hand to shake. "Ev Blakely."

Bucky accepts the hand numbly, but he continues looking around, waiting for everyone to double over laughing. But they don’t. They stare at him as if he was a stranger. An intruder, even. An impostor.

"Is this a joke?" Bucky asks, directing his question at Curt, because Curt is his best friend after Gale, and if anyone’s going to notice that this stopped being funny to Bucky, it’s going to be him.

But Curt just shares a look with Blakely and gives Bucky a confused smile. "What?"

Fear grips Bucky's heart with its icy fingers. "Okay, very funny. You know who I am."

"Our new CO?" Someone pipes up, and the boys laugh.

"Must be a replacement." Brady tells Curt, his cool eyes unimpressed as they glance at Bucky.

"Right." Curt says as if a lightbulb lit up in his head. "Sorry, man, forgot your name. Did we meet at the pub?"

"Quit it already." Bucky puts his hands on his hips, displeased. "Come on, you wanna stand around wasting time with your little prank or you wanna play?"

Curt turns uncharacteristically serious. "Look, we don’t know you, okay? No idea what you're yapping about."

Bucky raises a hand to his forehead in disbelief. His dread starts to spread through his body as panicked questions pop in his mind. He could be dead, and this might be his ghost possessing another body. He could be lying in a German field unconscious, the future of his memory playing behind his eyes. Once a man is shot down, he’s forgotten. His name nothing, his bed, his friends, his plane taken over by new faces, and nobody cares. There’s no legacy. No remembrance.

He's dead.

Dead, dead, dead, dead -

Bucky wakes up with a racing heart and a stinging pain behind his eyes that signals the rapid buildup of tears. He tries to breathe through it without letting the wetness spill and reorient himself. It’s the crack of dawn, and he’s warm under a thick, decidedly not army-issued blanket. The sweet, familiar smell of home lingers in the air. His pillow cradles his head with gentle comfort. And beside him, on his left, Gale sleeps peacefully curled up. His hands are wedged under his pillow, and there's a serene expression on his face that Bucky is able to make out even in the dim light.

The war has been over for years already, Bucky remembers now with complete clarity. It’s not him who's dead, but Curt, his dear friend, who lived with more life and soul than anyone else Bucky had known. And Bucky... He made it. He did, he’s sure. Still - he was just as certain of his existence in his dream as he is now. What if this is his nightmare continuing?

He hates himself for it, but he reaches over the space between them and shakes Gale’s shoulder.

He can tell that the very first touch is enough to wake Gale. He used to be a soldier trained to be alert at the slightest change, and it's not something you just shake off, even in the safety of your home. But, after years of living away from danger, Gale has developed the ability to fall back asleep just as fast if he decides that there's nothing pressing that demands him to get up. It almost makes Bucky smile, the way Gale’s breathing stops for that moment of clarity, then evens out again in blissful rest. He doesn’t even move a muscle or crack an eye open to look at Bucky.

Bucky shakes him again. "Buck."

The faintest of grunts answers him.

"Do you know who I am?"

Gale breathes in and out slowly, body and face still slack, one step away from sleep. "Who?" He mumbles.

Bucky purses his lips, his distress rising. "It’s not a rhetorical question!" He whispers with more emphasis. "Do you remember me?"

Gale squints at him for a moment, then unfolds and wraps his arm around Bucky’s chest to slot his body against Bucky's. He presses a dry, uncoordinated kiss to Bucky's jaw and goes boneless again. The weight of his arm is comforting. Bucky finds himself breathing easier under it. He puts a hand on Gale’s forearm and strokes it.

"Go to sleep, John." Gale mumbles and follows his own advice immediately.

Bucky loves him too much to be jealous of that ability. He closes his eyes and lets his relief wash the tension out of his body.

[akairawrites]

His Personal Nurse | Jason Todd imagine

Taglist

@ella-fella-bo-bella @ayoitsurfavdesigurl @luvvvjada @harleycao @aiq39 @420sprite @stvrfir3 @instabull @lumineliax @rukia-uchiha-98 @1lellykins @skyesayshi @imarimone12 @mysticalhills @deliciousfatblackcat @4arancia @bat-h-tic @luvelyxp @urmomsbananabread @strawberrycreamb @dollceesstuff @just-reading-dany @godknows-shetried @that-levi-kenma-kinnie @cascadingbliss @solaris-love @bbiaa420 @roxanne-loves-Luffy @mess-in-side @jasontoddsthickthigh @lilupie @Crystals-faith.

The cool breeze brushed across your cheek, prompting a shiver as you shifted beneath your duvet. A sudden thud from the open window made you jump, and you sat up in bed. Squinting in the dark, you scanned the room and, reaching over, switched on the desk lamp for a better look.

The sudden brightness caused you to turn away until your eyes adjusted. When they did, you noticed a hunched figure—someone familiar.

Jason.

Quickly climbing out of bed, you rushed over to him. You observed him holding his bicep tightly as crimson leaked through his fingers.

"Jason..." He looked up at you through his hair, maintaining a playful smirk despite the pain. How could he smile at a time like this?

Despite his smirk, you regard him with a grim expression. His late-night entries through your window were becoming a routine. Helping him up from the floor, you both headed to the bathroom. Seating him on the toilet, you searched the medicine cabinet for your first-aid kit. Once found, you settled at the edge of the tub, ready to tend to his wound.

He lifted his shirt, allowing you to examine the not-so-deep but bleeding stab wound. Stitches were necessary.

As you started stitching, he caught his breath, grunting as the needle and thread moved through his wound.

"Sorry," you said.

"You say that every time," he remarked, and you looked at him with confusion.

"Because I don't like hurting you," you clarified.

Jason's eyes softened as he observed your focused efforts in patching him up. He felt remorse for waking you in the middle of the night. "I'm sorry for waking you up and everything... I know you have work in the morning."

You shook your head, nearly finished with the stitching. "It's okay. Without me, who knows where you'd be right now."

"Probably dead somewhere."

You chuckled, recognizing the truth in his words. Finally completing the last stitch, you cut and tied the thread. After washing your hands clean of the blood, you returned the first aid kit to its place. Placing a large band-aid on the sink for him to apply after his shower, you climbed back into bed. The sound of the running shower began to lull you to sleep until a pair of arms wrapped around you.

"Thank you for everything," Jason whispered, placing a small kiss on your neck.

"You're welcome."

As the warmth of Jason's arms enveloped you, you couldn't help but feel a mixture of exhaustion and relief. With a whispered goodnight, you both surrendered to the embrace of sleep, grateful for the unspoken understanding that bound you together.

Add yourself to my taglist here

[magicalqueennightmare]

Trust Me (Pt 1/4)

Rick Flag X Reader

Post Corto Maltese AU

You're mourning the love of your life and your team can't see you tear yourself to pieces any longer. The question is, are you as strong as they're giving you credit for?

Corto Maltese. You fucking hated Corto Maltese. It was a beautiful country and now led by kind people who'd been so very greatful to be a free country but it was the root of your every nightmare. The reason you couldn't sleep most nights and why your heart felt like it had been ripped out of your chest and a hollow hull left behind in its wake.

Weeks had passed since the last time you'd stepped foot there, wanting to never see those grounds again.

Now you stood in the small apartment you shared with Harley and Cleo, packing what little belongings mattered to the three of you enough to take. How the hell had Dubois and Harley talked you into this? Oh yeah, they'd brought Rick into it.

You jolted awake, clawing at your chest. Despite the cool night you were covered in a fine sheen of sweat. For just a moment you allowed yourself the luxury of believing it was just a nightmare, that you'd feel his hands on your back any moment and hear his voice in your ear whispering soothing words.

When no movement came from the other side of the bed a sob ripped from your throat as the cold grip of reality once more wrapped itself around you threatening to squeeze what life there was left out of you.

He was gone. You'd held him in your arms as the light left those hazel eyes you loved with everything you had. You felt a shudder run through you as the image of the piece of porcelain that pierced his heart flashed through your mind.

"Why did you have to be so God damn good?" You whispered to the darkened room, angry tears rolling down your face. What you were angry at, you weren't even sure. Peacemaker for killing him? Waller for masterminding it? You for falling in love with him in the first place? Or were you angry with him for the years he spent earning your trust, being your friend before earning your heart only to crush it when his stopped beating.

His voice played through your mind "I love you so damn much Darlin" "It's me and you, always" "Hey, look at me.We will make it out of this"

Your hand reached out and before you knew what was happening the glass you'd left on the table next to your bed was shattering against the wall "YOU FUCKIN LEFT ME!" You screamed at a dead man, letting the sorrow overtake the anger. You'd embraced the anger for too long. You'd needed it then. It'd gotten you on your feet. It'd killed peacemaker. It had helped saved Corto Maltese and what was left of your team. You couldn't hold onto it any longer, you were strong enough.

Your body curled into itself, shuddering with every sob that tore from your throat. You barely registered the door opening or the sound of voices and the light squeaking of Sebastian until you felt the bed dip and Harleys arms wrap around you "Come here dollface. I got ya" Cleos hands touched your back as well "Cry all you need to. We're here for you" you felt a small nose nudge at your neck along with her words and knew Sebastian was doing his best to comfort you as well. You appreciated the effort and truly did love the three of them but you knew the comfort you needed would never come, you'd left his body buried in the rubble at Jotunheim.

----------------------

You must have fallen asleep at some point because when you woke up sunlight streamed into the window and only Sebastian remained in the bed with you. The little fella was tightly curled into the bend of your neck on your pulse point and it occurred to you it was probably a way to make sure you weren't panicking in your sleep.

You gently ran your fingers along his back and he stretched slowly then looked up at you and dipped his head before jumping down and running out of the room. You laughed despite yourself at watching him.

You moved to get up but froze when you heard Dubois' deep voice "Harley we need to talk to her about this" "I told ya to let me handle it" Cleos light tone cut in "Why don't we speak with her together?"

You could guess on the who so you quickly threw the blanket off and padded across the floor, snatching the door open "Or just tell her now" Dubois and Harley both looked like deer in headlights.

You could practically hear them arguing with their eyes on who had to tell you whatever this was so you raised one hand "Robert, speak" he cut his eyes at Harley who blurted out "Sol needs help with rebuilding efforts" your eyes nearly popped out of your head as a bitter laugh escaped you. "Fuck you both and fuck her if you think I'm stepping foot in that place again after what I lost there"

You spun around to walk back into your room but Dubois called your name and you stopped to hear him say "What would Flag do? Leave people who need help high and dry or jump in?" Your vision shifted from anger as you spun to face him "Robert don't"

He took a step towards you "Sweetheart. I know you loved him. I know it killed you losing him but he made me promise if something happened to take care of you and what we've all been up to? That ain't it. That man worshiped the ground you walked on, let's go be good guys for him" you stood there, anger rolling off of you in waves but when Dubois didn't back down you felt yourself deflate especially when Harley mentioned "They need help at the children's wing in the hospital too, plus facing trauma helps"

You felt tears sting your eyes "You promise I won't be alone" Robert laid a hand on your shoulder before squeezing gently "I promise" you nodded slowly "When do we leave?"

You sat between Dubois and Nanaue on the plane, nervously picking at your thumbnails until Robert's hand covered yours "Stop that" you cut your eyes at him and he half smiled "Calm down. You're strong enough to handle this" you shook your head "You've got a lot more faith in me than I've got in myself" Nanaue shook his head "Friend strong" and smiled brightly.

Oh to be as unaware as sharkboy was at times. Once Robert released your hand your fingers moved to instead fidget with the jacket you wore. It was Rick's. The dark leather was soft to the touch on the inside and thick enough to keep you warm despite the chill working its way through you. It was one of the few things you'd kept from his apartment.

You knew what mattered to him and what was expandable. This jacket had been his for the last ten years, you'd claimed it post mission a couple years back and he'd always wore it just enough "to make sure it smelled like him" when you wore it.

A slight scent of his cologne still clung to the liner and you dreaded the day it would fade. Along with the jacket you'd kept that damn hat of his. The stupid ass american flag one that he'd always worn given any chance, the one you always teased him about. The one, he'd given you to pull your hair back with the day you didn't have a hair tie at the shooting range one day and swore he'd never seen a more gorgeous sight.

You blinked away the tears trying to spill from the memories slamming into you one by one. You weren't sure what was harder to wrap your head around, the fact that he was gone or the fact that while he was alive he'd loved you so damn fiercely. A man as strong and brave and kind hearted as Rick Flag looked at you and saw someone who deserved the world and did everything in his power to give that to you.

You let out a shaky breath and leaned your head back against the wall of the plane, attempting to close your eyes. "Can I braid ya hair when we land doll?" Harley asked and you cut your eyes open to see she was staring at you so you half smiled "Of course Harls" she giggled and clapped her hands.

-----------------------

When the plane landed after Harley had braided both yours and Cleo's hair all of you grabbed your bags then walked off the plane to where two dark green jeeps sat waiting. You spotted Sol standing next to one of them and a small smile slipped onto her face when her eyes locked onto yours.

She walked straight past everyone else to you, stopping just shy of you. She looked as if she meant to hug you so you stepped closer and she pulled you into her arms "How are you?" she whispered into your ear and you nodded "Well enough. I'm here to help, wherever we can" she pulled back from you and looked from Robert to Harley and you weren't sure what passed between the three of them before she nodded and motioned to the jeeps "We'll show you where you'll be staying then we'll see where you'll be most comfortable getting started"

@princesssunderworld don't hurt me I promise it gets better 😂

[chaotic-orphan]

Febuwhump: day five

Prompt: Rope burns — @febuwhump

Tw: intimate whumper, blood, rope burns, helpless Whumpee, vomiting (mentioned/described), violence, creepy whumper, scary Whumper

This was all that came to mind when I thought of this prompt! It was fun

*~*~*~*~*~*

Whumpee was carried through the lavish halls of the ostentatious mansion. Whumpee couldn’t really take in the extravagant detail except for the red carpets blurring by on the ground because their head was too heavy to lift. Coarse rope bit into their wrists, the skin raw around their wrists from where they struggled.

Now they were quite happy to let their body hang like dead weight in the arms of two very strong looking henchmen who were more than capable to carry Whumpee to wherever they were going. Whumpee couldn’t really remember where exactly, though they’re sure they were told. The details became fuzzy after the particularly nasty henchman slammed Whumpee’s head into the wall.

Whumpee blinked and immediately wished they hadn’t. When they opened their eyes again the world swam in a blur of colours and a warm feeling crawled up their throat.

“Fellas, if we could make a detour to a toilet…” Whumpee said then gagged. “Or the nearest potted plant at your earliest convenience.”

“I will break your fucking jaw if you speak again,” Nasty henchman said.

“Suit yourself,” said Whumpee. They made sure to aim at Nasty henchman’s shoes when they spewed their lunch over the nice floor. Henchman let out a cry of disgust and Whumpee was suddenly thrown to the ground, taking the brunt of the impact on their shoulder with a grunt.

Whumpee chuckled as they rolled onto their back, and groaned again when they put weight on their hands their arms sore from the sudden movement.

“You fucking piece of shit!” Nasty henchman bellowed, storming over to Whumpee who grinned up at Henchman. The taste of vomit still on their tongue slightly spoiling the moment, but not enough to take the smile off their face. Nasty henchman sent a swift, brutal kick to Whumpee’s jaw that sent them sprawling again with a groan.

He would have gone again too if Nice henchman hadn’t got in the way, putting a hand on Nasty’s chest and said something quietly to them that Whumpee couldn’t really hear. Whumpee blinked, groaning at the ceiling as their hands started tingling. It was detailed with beautiful carvings made out of some glamorous stone that Whumpee didn’t know the name of. Whumpee tightened their hands into fists trying to speed up the process, but it was taking too long and their hand stung more than tingled now.

Nice turned back to Whumpee and reached them in two short strides. Whumpee planted their foot on the ground trying, and failing, to push themselves backwards away from them. Nice reached down all the same and grabbed Whumpee under the arm, yanking them up with one strong pull.

Nice grabbed Whumpee’s chin and tilted it up and down, side to side. “Can you hear me, Whumpee? Henchman didn’t beat you up too bad did he?”

“Awfully bold of you to stand so close after I just threw up,” Whumpee replied.

Nice smirked, then turned Whumpee and pushed them forward. “Yep. You’re fine. Walk.”

Whumpee took a step and their knee buckled, their leg folding under them. Nice caught them before they fell but that was as far as their kindness extended.

“You can walk, come on.”

“I much preferred being dragged.”

“Well if you much prefer being alive you should be happy that I sent other Henchman away.”

Whumpee hissed as their numb legs were forced to wake up with every movement. “Can we wait until I get feeling back at least?”

“Nope,” said Nice, though Whumpee was starting to think they should rename them in their head. “You wasted too much time struggling, and then vomiting, and the boss doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Mmm,” Whumpee hummed, glancing over their shoulder at Not-so-nice. “Who is your mysterious boss anyways?”

Not-so-nice smiled and said, “spoilers.”

They abruptly stopped at a large set of dark wooden doors, Whumpee felt a need to say mahogany but that was only because they didn’t know any other dark wood types. There was a hint of red running through it, very dark and beautiful.

“The craftsmanship of this house is amazing,” Whumpee muttered. Not-so-nice chuckled behind Whumpee and reached in front of them, grabbing the golden handle and pushing the door open.

Not-so-nice pushed Whumpee through the door until they were inside enough that they could close the door properly. While he did, Whumpee glanced around, trying to spot the boss but their vision was still a little spotty when their eyes moved too fast and the room was huge.

It looked as official as the Oval Office except with more class and style. Arched windows ran vertically along the back wall that was shaped like a triptych, allowing a view of the gardens that took a more haunting quality to them in the moonlight. It was all shapes and blurs, the stars like splotches in the midnight blue sky.

Not-so-nice pushed Whumpee into the room, along the red carpet that went from the door to the giant, dark-wooden desk that Whumpee guess would have weighed more than two-hundred-pounds and vaguely wondered how the floor could hold the weight of it.

“You were right,” said Not-so-nice to the room. Whumpee blinked, trying to wipe their eyes with their shoulder and failing miserably. “They were snooping.”

“I don’t snoop,” said Whumpee, off-handedly. “I’m not a snooper. I am a perceiver of hidden information.”

“A spy,” said Not-so-nice, still pushing Whumpee forward. God how long was this room?!

“Not… mmm. No, I don’t like that either. More like—”

“A curious mind,” another voice offered. Whumpee and Not-so-nice henchmen stopped before the desk where Not-so-nice let Whumpee go and stepped back. Whumpee turned their head to the source of the voice.

A man stood in a white dress shirt tucked into tailored trousers that wrapped tight around his waist, the bottoms tucked into a pair of boots. He looked like a prince from a story book and Whumpee frowned. Something prickled in the back of their mind telling them that they should probably know this man.

This beautiful man. Too beautiful. His face looked as if it was sculpted from marble, as pale as the stone itself. He had shoulder length dark hair that looked a bit too perfect to be natural.

Whumpee should know this man, why won’t their brain just work damn it. Whumpee cursed the violent henchmen in their brain for hitting their head too many times.

“Sure,” said Whumpee. “A curious mind.”

“They’re impressed with the architecture of your house,” said Not-so-nice henchmen. Whumpee whipped their head over their shoulder, glaring at the henchmen for divulging their comments so freely.

“Are they really?” the handsome man asked drawing Whumpee’s attention back to him. He finally looked up from his book at Whumpee and he took Whumpee’s breath away. Prince was the right name for him.

Whumpee felt their heart flutter in their chest, and fought the blush rising from the realisation of how attracted they were to this man.

Wait… did Henchmen say your house to the handsome man? Then that meant… Whumpee’s eyes widened in realisation. That meant that this beautiful man was the host of this lavish party, in this ostentatious house, with the beautifully carved ceilings and imported wood that Whumpee didn’t know the name of.

Whumpee’s heart started beating for another reason now. Dark eyes settled on Whumpee’s face, taking in every detail and cataloguing every piece of damage on it. Prince turned their body towards Whumpee and stepped over to them with graceful, precise steps. Whumpee moved a foot behind them to step back, but Prince reached them before Whumpee could back away.

Prince reached up and cupped Whumpee’s face in their cool hands. He moved Whumpee’s face to right, tilting their head to their light to get a proper look at them.

“Mmm, Violent henchman did some damage to you, didn’t he?” Prince asked, pressing their thumb into a bruise on Whumpee’s cheek. Whumpee sucked in a breath and tried to step back but Prince didn’t let them. His black eyes seemed to be bottomless, dragging Whumpee further and further into them. Whumpee had a sudden realisation that being the center of this man’s attention was not somewhere they wanted to be.

“They struggled a lot when we caught them, sir.”

“They also made sure the rope was tight enough to cut off my circulation,” Whumpee said, their words biting. The ghost of a smile flashed over Prince’s beautiful face. “Be a dear and loosen them for me, would you?”

Prince ignored them and let go of their face. He stepped around Whumpee and nodded at Not-so-nice Henchmen. Whumpee turned with him, not wanting to let him out of their sight.

“Thank you Henchmen, would you mind guarding the door for me? My guest and I need to have a little chat.”

The words felt like a knife in the chest, puncturing Whumpee’s lung. They didn’t want Henchmen to leave… even though they weren’t exactly nice they weren’t as violent as other henchmen and at least they didn’t give off a terrifying aura that Prince did.

Whumpee caught Henchmen’s eyes, begging them silently not to leave. Henchmen nodded, inclined his head to Prince as he said “yes sir,” and turned to go.

“Wait!”

Henchman turned to face Prince, eyebrows raised into half arches. Prince turned to face Whumpee, all eyes in the room on them. Whumpee blinked.

Did they say wait?

“Uh…” Whumpee said, reaching for something. Their mouth moving much faster than their brain, as usual. If it would keep up now then it would be ideal. “I like you a lot more, Henchman. I think you should stay and we should chat, and Prince, you can go! Then everyone’s happy.”

Henchman and Prince shared a look then looked back at Whumpee. They both spoke at the same time.

“You like me more?” Henchman asked, at the same time Prince said, “did you just call me Prince?”

Whumpee blinked at them both.

“On second thoughts, how about we all stay and chat? Wouldn’t that be more fun? So then there’ll be no more awkward pauses or whatever…”

Prince smiled at Henchman. “Thank you henchman, you can go.”

Whumpee swallowed as Henchman nodded again. Then he turned his back and walked towards the door. Whumpee lurched forward only to be caught by their wrists by Prince who yanked them backwards.

Whumpee let out a gasp of pain, the ropes rubbing raw against the thin skin around Whumpee’s wrists screaming at them to stop moving, to freeze every struggle.

Whumpee was abruptly spun by their wrists to which Whumpee cried out. They stomped a foot backwards, hoping to land a solid kick on Prince. Instead a hand went to Whumpee’s neck and shoved them down until Whumpee’s cheek met the wooden table top.

Whumpee struggled, trying to yank themselves free, or kick back at Prince, but Prince put his leg between Whumpee’s and stepped closer leaving Whumpee’s legs useless. Whumpee grunted with the effort before seizing their struggles altogether, letting out a huff of a breath onto the cool wood.

Whumpee flinched when Prince’s thumb started to draw soothing, slow circles over the nape of Whumpee’s neck. It felt wrong— too intimate, too uncomfortable and there was nothing Whumpee could do but go stiff. They wanted to struggle but their arms were aching, so they just swallowed the lump in their throat. No words would even come to them because they didn’t have the first clue about how to handle this situation.

Mercifully, they heard the door to the office shut and Prince stepped away from Whumpee, breaking all contact from them. Whumpee didn’t move for a minute, their heart racing frantically in their chest. Maybe, they thought, if they stayed still Prince would leave them alone.

“Please,” said Prince from the other side of the desk. Whumpee straightened, half to hide their flinch and half to keep as much distance between themself and Prince as they could. Whumpee caught Prince’s brown eyes, so dark they were basically two pots of ink and stepped back away from the table when Prince smiled at them. “Sit down.”

Whumpee stared at Prince who had already sat down, reclining comfortably in his throne like chair. “I’m happier standing.”

“Did I ask you to do as you pleased?”

“How about you untie me and then I’ll sit down?”

Prince let out a mirthful chuckle, hands lifting in a shrug, gesturing to the air. “You really think you’re in a position to negotiate?”

Whumpee swallowed but didn’t reply. Prince cocked a brow at them and shrugged, placing two hands on the table and standing.

“Alright, if you want to stand we can stand,” said Prince and moved to walk around the table to Whumpee.

Whumpee didn’t think. “Actually, now that you say it my feet are tired, sitting would be wonderful.”

Prince smiled a knowing smile. “Wonderful,” and he sat down again. Whumpee did too, wincing at the awkward angle they had to hold their arms at in the chair.

Prince clasped his hands together on the desk and Whumpee frowned. “You’re bleeding,” they said. Prince’s brows raised in surprise and followed Whumpee’s line of sight to his hands.

He grinned at Whumpee and said, “oh no. That’s not my blood. You’re bleeding. Too much struggling I’d wager, the ropes must have cut into you.”

“Well the sooner we chat, the sooner you can let me go,” said Whumpee with a forced smile, leaning back in the chair onto their hands and biting the inside of their cheek to stop themself from grunting at the sharp sting from their wrists. “Go ahead, I’m all ears.”

“Why were you away from the party?”

“Oh, you know,” Whumpee said with a half-shrug and cursed themselves for doing it. “These parties are such a great way to meet new people, hit it off, sneak off to another room for a quick chat away from all the loud mus—”

“Henchman said that you were alone when they found you.”

Whumpee forced a smile on their face. “Yes. Well if you’re trying not to make it obvious what you’re doing you let one person go back to the party first and I was to follow after. Just as I was making to leave your delightful henchmen found me and beat me and tied me up and now I’m here.”

Prince’s smile took on something else, a twinge of something darker. He didn’t believe Whumpee.

“An innocent mistake?” Prince asked. There it was again. That tone that sent Whumpee’s fight or flight into overdrive, that told them they should get out of here as fast as they can.

“Yes, yes. A giant misunderstanding,” Whumpee replied. “So you see this is not how I wanted my night to go at all and I really would love to get—”

Prince interrupted Whumpee again. “I think you’re lying to me.”

“Well, difference of opinion. I was there, you were not. I know my intentions, you do not.”

Prince stood from his chair and Whumpee shrunk back in their seat. “I— I think I would very much like to leave now.” Prince didn’t react in any way, he just walked around his table and leaned against it in front of Whumpee with that dark shadow over his smiling face.

“Would you like to know what I think you were doing?”

“Not particularly,” Whumpee said with a shrug before they could stop themselves. They couldn’t suppress the flinch when Prince slammed a hand out to rest on the back of Whumpee’s chair, right beside their head as he bent lower so their faces were only inches apart.

“I think you’re way in over your head,” Prince said, voice dipping lower. It prickled something primal in the back of Whumpee’s mind that screamed at them to run. His voice sent a shiver down their spine. Prince brought up his other hand, pushing Whumpee’s hair back from their forehead. He trailed his finger down the curves and contours of Whumpee’s skull. “I want you to know, that these parties can last for hours and hours into the early morning, darling. The music in full swing, far, far away from my personal chambers and home.”

Whumpee’s eyes widened at the threat, turning their head away not wanting to look into his dangerous eyes. They tried to push themselves further into the chair to get away from Prince, but he grabbed Whumpee by the chin and tilted their head back to face him, a strange smile on his lips.

“What I’m saying is,” the Prince continued in that low voice. Then he paused and tilted his head. “What is your name?”

Whumpee didn’t trust their voice to speak, which suited them just fine because they didn’t want to reveal their name to this guy anyways. Prince’s grip tightened on Whumpee’s chin and Whumpee bristled, pulling uselessly at the ropes tying their wrists together, willing them to come apart.

“Your name,” Prince said again, his voice far more authoritative, or else went unsaid.

“W- Whumpee,” Whumpee whispered, then licked their lips to get some moisture back into their dry mouth, hating how much their hands were shaking behind them.

“Hmm, Whumpee. What I’m saying is, Whumpee,” the Prince said, his eyes following his hand that went down to Whumpee’s throat instead of their chin. He squeezed it a little in warning, but it was enough for Whumpee to freeze in their seat. “Nobody is going to hear you scream. While there’s a party happening outside, we can have our own private party in here, can’t we?”

Whumpee shook their head, but quickly stopped when Prince cut off their air supply. “No. No. Please. I wasn’t doing anything, I swear!”

Prince’s eyes flashed up to Whumpee’s and held them captive there, locking them into his shark like gaze. His smile felt like a cut to Whumpee’s lungs, cutting off air supply.

“I guess we’ll just have to make sure, won’t we?”

[notmorbid]

dead like me, season 1.

dialogue prompts from season one of bryan fuller's dead like me.

i excel at not giving a shit.

a sunny disposition goes a long way in any line of work.

if it's my lunch hour, why is it only 35 minutes?

i know what might cheer you up.

everyone always says the same shit at funerals.

why do you have to be such an asshole?

they're not invisible. you just can't see them.

leave the plastic. cash is king.

isn't stealing from dead people kind of tacky?

i'm sorry, i tuned you out. were you whining?

as childhood traumas go, nothing beats the realization that everything dies. including you.

unhappy people do unhappy things.

you need to leave now. you're making me tired.

souls go bad in all kinds of ways.

all you can ever hope to do is make it easier. that may not seem like a lot, but it is.

i think for me, death was just a wakeup call.

you know what your problem is? you wake up every morning wondering what the world's gonna do for you.

i'm going to say this as politely as possible: i will fuck you up.

i am really trying to respect you. i am. but it's really hard sometimes.

carving my own path seems like way too much work.

just so you know, i'm very prone to anxiety attacks.

most of the time i'm talking out of my ass. i don't know shit.

just smell some fucking roses already.

you know, you can talk to me about stuff. if you want to.

monotony is the mind killer.

what you do now matters. what you don't do matters.

what is an average heart, anyway?

the password's 'rimjob', if you want to get on.

i wish people were more complicated, but they're not.

i don't want my picture taken.

it's very tempting to think the little jewels from our lives will bring it all back. but they won't.

i was dreaming about frogs.

i'm pretty sure they put mind control drugs in the water cooler.

you can't come up with a more original way to act out?

intuitive thinkers are the worst.

people lie all the time. it's not a bad thing.

if a lie is big enough, there's an instinctive need to protect it. it's almost maternal.

i need somebody to give me lessons on how to communicate with you, because i'm at a loss.

i need to be unconscious.

have you ever kept a scrapbook?

the lengths i go to for free food.

you've got a worldly quality. a certain je nai se quoi.

falling's easy, you just fall. jumping requires strength of will.

my face gets sore if i smile too much.

do you have to be such an asshole?

there's a finite number of personalities in the world, and i have met them all.

no wonder your children don't come and visit you.

jesus christ, fella, cut the cord.

you always seem to go a different way than everyone else.

open door's an invitation. gotta jump while the door's open.

why do i keep losing all the things and people that i care about?

when you can't make sense of someone leaving, you try to make sense of what they left behind.

i just don't get our culture's obsession with moving on. what are we afraid of, remembering? being sad?

you want to steal something, don't you?

you want to be a bowling pin your whole life, or would you rather be the ball?

i'm sorry, i'm trying to flirt with you. it's not really my thing.

why are you stalking me?

i could burn you a really great cd, if you want.

your perversions are coming into disturbing focus.

not in that life, not in this one, not ever.

you get close enough to see the pain, and it's no longer funny.

i really liked kissing you.

we all create, in our heads, who we are. who we want others to be.

what fresh hell is this?

just because you're dead doesn't mean you have to give up.

i'm not good at the pet thing.

i don't exactly know where home is, these days.

if you don't know the difference between flipping and flopping, we're knee-deep in water without a paddle.

i'm concerned you don't know what you're asking for.

i think some people wander because that's who they are.

you are a very internal little creature.

is it wrong to decide someone's a great person because they're so much like you?

you want to get coffee? i think that's what you're supposed to say when somebody's having a fucked-up day.

you do know the story, right?

you didn't do anything wrong. i'm just screwed up.

i didn't know that was all the time we'd have.

a girl's got needs, you know. even a dead girl.

i'm sure there's going to be some karmic reward for you down the line.

how's the whole 'dead' thing working out for you?

everybody grieves in a different way.

i could've, should've. didn't.

when you're mourning yourself, closure is a little tricky.

the one death you never get over is your own.

you can go fuck a duck.

i think i'm going to miss you the most.

do you want to do some acid?

i feel that my current reality is altered enough.

traveling alone has a certain magic.

what, did you all get together to vote me off the island?

the world is a very big place, and you are not the center of it.

let's just pretend everything is back to normal.

if you stand too close to a painting, all you see are patches of color. stand too far back, and you're missing all the detail.

haunting is all about envy.

i've always wanted to knock over a liquor store.

people mostly just want to hear themselves talk.

i work better alone.

i love the books that people leave here.

if a tree falls in the forest, who gives a fuck?

you can't smoke in here.

you have no respect for authority, you know that?

this job is really getting in the way of the business of living.

you only have one shot at life. this isn't a dress rehearsal.

i'm sorry i wasn't sweeter.

i'm sorry i didn't show you as much affection as i felt for you. i did love you.

i keep forgetting how young you were.

i love cemeteries. the quiet. the stories on headstones.

[apicelladonna]

Some your middle-aged married Albus&Gellert headcanons?

Where to begin!? These are general musings whether they stayed together in another lifetime or met in secrets during the war.

Albus-Gellert middle aged married fellas let's go

Beverage of choice: Tea and black coffee (Gellert swears that he saw Albus dump a whole sugar bowl into his tea but still frowned and say it wasn't sweet enough for his liking)

Mornings: Albus is a early riser because of his morning classes while you couldn't wake Gellert (night owl) even if it there was a raid unless a necessity.

Bookmarks: Leaf pressed personalized bookmark gift from Elphias- Doesn't or it will crease the binds so he just remembers the page.

When mad: Cold silent anger - passive aggressive temper

Perspective roles: The Sword & The Pen

Love language: Acts of service - Words of encouragement

Favorite body part of their partner:

(Albus: Gellert's hands when they swing animatedly when he is very vocal with his afternoon rants. Or choke him)

(Gellert: Albus' blue eyes that sucked him deep into its trenches and he gladly drowned in them. Albus' plump bottoms/thy lovely peaches to behold)

Endearment

(Albus to Gellert): 'Dear boy', 'Darling' 'My Cherished Stars',

(Gellert to Albus): 'Schatz' 'Sonnenschein', Any of the languages he can speak that has the endearment close to 'Precious Treasure' he's said it-

Blood troth: Albus kisses Gellert's lips first then the troth, Gellert kisses the scar on Albus' hand first then their troth.

Public Displays of Affection (Albus): Discreet pinky finger holding, the shit you see in Bridgerton and more, says I love you to Gellert with his eyebrow scrunch-

PDA (Gellert): He is a damn peacock with what we've seen in the Lestrange Mausoleum rally where he just shines their blood troth for all to see that he's taken. Basically: This is my husband, have you read his research article regarding the advantages of not eight but twelve properties of Dragon blood? Astounding man he is. Too humble for himself. Here have a copy-

Bedroom intimacies: gone were the days of fiery passion of their youth, when they are in their own little world, when they are alone in their bedroom, a hotel room in europe or where ever Gellert's rallies or Albus' conference were, it was selfishness of the two combined to think they had the time to map out each other's skin, scars, freckles, and marks..

There is no urgency to reach a state of euphoria, each kiss and touch was already bliss in borrowed time.

They will argue for hours end about the most mundane things.

Gellert: Does Albus like me?

Vinda: You do know you are married to him?

Gellert: I know but does he LIKE me?

One time, both were dead tired from their perspective ordeals that they just collapsed on their bed still wearing their coats and shoes.

Clothes: Simple sweaters - vain bastard, only the best silk shirts (Gellert gets colorbinded the minute Albus' wardrobe turned into a variety of bright plum, yellow, and blue. What a way to go-)

Pastime : Discovered a fondness for knitting - Catch up on the books he bought years ago from various old libraries he'd been to in Europe

Godric's Hollow: Will always visit Bathilda for tea if they are in the area and then end their day by visiting and cleaning up Ariana's gravestone.

Favorite color:

(Albus) Gold

(Gellert) Blue

Feel free to add your own takes! Thank you again for this question! I'm sorry it took me long but I wanted to give it my all. Cheers!

[thelastbarricade]

Bloodhound.

pt. 1 of ? [ part 2 ]

[ read on ao3 ]

summary:

Cooper Howard is not a gracious, kind, nor giving man. When you wake bound and bleeding--seemingly left for dead after having previously traversed the Wasteland for months with him--you're reminded of this.

word count : 2.7k

tags: the ghoul x you, the ghoul x oc

warnings: violence, swearing, (will add more as the story progresses)

notes:

Say hello to my first fic attempt in...two years? Oh boy. All comments and feedback very much appreciated and feel free to hit me up in my messages and start a convo!

Narration and form may not be entirely polished so please pardon my dust.

xx korine <3

“You are not seriously going to fucking leave me here?!”

The warehouse you’re slumped over and hog-tied on the floor of groans and echoes around your shattering scream. Dust smears across your clothes; caked thick across the concrete floor as you squirm. The taste of metal and rust in the air causes your stomach to turn, bile bittering your tongue.

You came to consciousness like this. Tattered rope and torn clothing binding your ankles beneath you. Arms pulled so tight at the back you feared for the ligaments about your shoulders. Not that he’d cared to check for comfort. It was for the best, at least that’s what he’s decidedly convinced himself about now. Cooper Howard: wayward Ghoul and the Wasteland’s infamous Bogeymen was a dirty, dastardly, trifling man. He did things simply because he could. Didn’t matter the reason or rhyme, so long as the tune rang the same and the caps continued flowing. Who could blame him? World continued spinning regardless, and hungry a man as he was—fella’ had to eat.

“Mother fucker!” Blood trickles down your temple to bloom across your lips as you spit your words—venomous and vehement—in his direction. You kick and fight against your restraints, wrists red and angry to match their maker. Now that warrants a chuckle from your partner.

Partner? Captor?

Friend.

At least that’s what memories bound 'round the countless campfires and shared meals had lent their assumptions to at one point. Your mind reels over the titles and labels, if any, that you had once held Cooper to.

Oh you were fucked.

As if it even mattered anymore. He’d drugged you, some sleeping agent based on the sick in your stomach and thick weight of your limbs lingering. Whatever agreement you two had had as of yesterday seems to have gone up in flames.

“Nothin’ personal, darlin’.” The Ghoul's calm and cool facade only further enrages you. He eyes you with an eerie ease. That curious perk in his brow and tilt in his jaw ever-present.

You were going to rip out his throat with your bare fucking teeth. Tear what amalgamation of leathery ruin was left over that thick skull of his off and to shreds with your own two hands. Whatever nerve endings were left un singed by that almighty fucking bomb in his body were yours. You were going to dissect them inch by inch until all he could feel was you stripping him of the last thing humanity had granted him—pain.

Your chest heaved, blood in your veins threatening to set you alight thanks to all the adrenaline. Fuck the dehydration and starvation: come night the Radroaches would be having a feast. Not to mention the bloody fucking pack of fiends that’d been on your tails for the past week straight. You eye the bloodied tourniquet you’d bandaged so carefully the night before still dangling from the Ghoul's left leg. The grotesque blade that had torn into his already mottled and marred flesh had cut a mortal wound that would have felled any smooth skin. It had been taking longer to heal than usual. A sure sign Cooper’d been running low on his usual stock of vials. Shit, things like this had happened before and you’d both dealt with it. Got him back in his right mind and hit the road like nothing had happened. He hadn’t sold you then, hadn’t abandoned you then—but now?

What the hell changed?

Cooper turns away for a second; whipping the tattered fray of his trench coat aside and tucking something into his back pocket. You seize your seconds and shoot both heels out toward his injured leg sideways with all the might you can muster. It works. The ghoul is brought to his one good knee in a second before you. Not that you’ve any weapon or hands to follow through with anyway. It’d simply been in vain but even that you would take over letting him just walk away. From you. From this. Us. You feel his calloused fingers wrap themselves around your chin. He jerks your face within an inch of his. The growl in his chest barely escapes his lips as his other hand clutches the wound you’ve undoubtedly re-opened. You sneer through his hold on you. His breath is hot and vile. Comforting. Familiar.

How could he? No—how fucking dare he?! You grind out what moisture you have left on your tongue and spit it directly in his face. Saliva and blood freckle his marred cheeks. He shoves you aside. Like nothing. Like dirt.

Wasteland fucking scum.

Not that you weren’t. Cooper knew you were no angel, no savior, and sure as hell no saint. You’d more blood on your hands than any of the usual ruckus he’d found himself shacking up with or against. It could be said that was the reason he’d kept you around, but you knew better. Didn’t you?

Cooper could have partnered with any low-life Wastelander. Ones far bigger and far more dangerous than your likes. But it was you he stuck with. You who’d taken countless blades, bullets, stimpaks and Rad-X…all for him. The fucking horror that he was, you fucking took it all. Asked for nothing in return. Nothing more than a fucking voice in the void, not even a comforting one. Snide comments, limitless ridicule. Taken it all like tonic and swallowed it up like a naive child. You’d just not wanted to traverse the wastelands alone. Was that so much to ask? Apparently so.

Your stomach shifts violently; retch burning its way past your lips as you vomit beside yourself. Cursing yourself for your weakness you wrestle your restraints to kneel before him.

“Should’ve killed me when I was under, Cooper.” It takes all of your composure to stifle the sob in your throat and shove out a feigned a chuckle in its place. “I promise you…” Your eyes begin to burn, blurred. “I promise I’m going to make you wish you had.”

There’s a stiffness in his body language you chalk up to his wound. A hardened hesitation. You eye the loaded holster on his hip, wishing for once he’d just man up and use it. The ghoul straightens above you. The wide brim of his hat casts most of his face in a shadow. Hollowed eyes devoid of even the sentiment of emotion. Bastard. Behemoth.

Your binds smart and ache at your spine and your fingers flex instinctively. Even if you’d the luck about you to manage the gun away from him in his injured state, what would you do with it then?

'You’re a shit shot and you know it.' Cooper's words echo in the confines of your thoughts. They were warmer last they’d been spoken. A ghost of his touch fluttered at the memory. An uncharacteristically shaky hand. A rough touch pressed over yours as he guided you. Fingers finding yours like a self-conscious schoolboy. Like he was afraid if he moved too quickly you’d startle, leaving him standing alone in the fallout. You could have called it endearing once upon a time. Now? His comment just felt like a blade salted and shoved through an already gaping wound.

The ghoul catches your eyes lingering on his holstered belt. “Want me to put you onto somethin’?” He’s mocking you. You can hear it despite the salacious tone. He's eating this up. You steel your expression. Tears still paint your cheeks but you refuse to acknowledge their presence.

“Enlighten me,” You straighten yourself in slight, scooting closer. “I’ll even say please .” Your voice mock-softens. You pout, attempting to look as lost and vulnerable as possible. “Please, mister.” Your ignorant expression fades away. The smile teetering on your lips borders on manic. You could almost feel the pincers piercing your skin when the roaches descended upon you. Taste your own viscera bubbling up into your throat. Work out the curses you know would be solely meant for the man before you in your head. Even in death, you wouldn’t be able to escape him. Even in death, you would still be left wanting—him. How fucking pathetic. How fitting. So this was the Wasteland’s fate for you. Who were you to deny it?

It all happens in a blur then. You close your eyes, feeling the sweet scrape of a metal barrel press a bruising kiss at your already battered temple. Cooper's lips are gnarled, curled into a snarl as he descends upon you. A fistful of your shirt finds itself between his fingers. Always a temper, that one. It almost matched your own. You suppose that’s why you loved to play his game. Cooper’s nostril twitches as your eyes flutter open. You gaze up at him, knees ghosting the ground beneath you. The way he held you felt disgraceful. Divine.

“If I was a better man I’d paint this here pavement with those pretty little brains a’ yers.”

A scoff leaves your lips. Between the both of you, there was no good: only the bad and ugly. You’d committed no virtues in your twenty-odd some years on the surface and neither had Cooper in all of his. He drops you, pressing the barrel against your cheekbone and following the curvature of your cheek to your jaw. His eyes linger for a moment on your lips and you lick the blood drying itself there.

“Fiends’ll finish what I cant. Give me all the time I need to heal and with them on my trail—I can’t. Sorry sweetie, seems you’re the canon fodder today.” His voice echoed out across the warehouse, unrelenting and cold. The chill of his words drowned out the heat of the scorching sun.

What the fuck. What the actual FUCK.

Eyes wild, you buck—pushing the gun away with the thick of your skull. The ghoul relented then, reupholstering his weapon. In a second he’s stepping away from you. His blood-stained and grime-covered coat descends into the dark hallway across the warehouse. Walking away. Away. From you. Leaving you.

You scream and kick and writhe. Your voice blows out the entirety of the building you’re in until the walls and earth are shaking as above and so below. Everything about you had imploded. Every belief you’d been gifted and so naively accepted. Set aflame and blazing so bright you hadn’t realized such a thing could consume. Hatred. You felt your skin shed in your bindings. Heart a roaring scorch from deep within your chest. Much like you imagine the Ghouls may have at some point. You were birthing yourself anew. Alone. Bearing the weight of this world by yourself once more. You were better off alone. It was Cooper who’d had the dastardly deed of convincing you otherwise. Dangling a kinder fate before you only to rip it from you once the fruits of his labor had set their seeds deep in your psyche.

—

After you’d had your tantrum you settled in the dust and dinge of the cold cement floor. Your heavy breaths softened, silence becoming you. The sounds of the building had settled. When you were confident no lingering eyes or ears were upon you you whipped the heel of your boot back towards your bound wrists. Spindly fingers worked their way between the rubber and sole. Jackpot. The hilt of a pairing blade—one you’d more commonly used on your dinner—slid against your touch. Cooper was something of an expert with knots, but even these were shoddy and rushed enough that your rusted blade was up and through in a matter of minutes. You could blame it on your newfound vigor as well. Adrenaline seethed in your veins. You could taste your indignation over the copper of your blood and it only spurned you further. Quicker. Slice, cut, tear. Harder. Faster. There.

“Fucking—” You tear the fabric around your ankles free next, almost slicing yourself in the process. A slew of expletives falls from your lips as you stretch the cramps from your body. A few items from your camp still lay a few feet from you. You gather what you bother to into your bedroll, slinging it over your back. At least he’d the decency not to steal from a prospected corpse. The thought makes you snort.

Focus.

The daylight peaking in from the second-story windows was high on the horizon but fading ever so slightly. Daylight was on his side and he’d have at least an hour's lead by now. You were used to navigating the waste in the dark on your own but you wouldn’t prefer it, especially defenseless. Save an almost salvageable pairing knife. Great.

You eyed the dark hallway the Ghoul had exited through. Amongst the littered trash and mounds of dust covering the floor, you noticed the faintest trail of crimson splatter. Barely recognizable amongst the ruin to the naked eye. Almost black in its dried form until you mottle it with your touch. It splits and spreads. Fresh enough to tell its color apart from the surroundings. Not yours either. A surge of sadistic excitement fills your lungs and you find yourself moving. The blood continued to fall in steady, dropping off here and there where you’re sure Cooper had adjusted his stint. Poor boy really was wounded, wasn’t he? Your nostrils flared at the thought and you pushed it aside. No bother. The more wounded an animal was the more desperate its attempts to run. You crawled up through the broken concrete crevices that ran along the side of the building. Sand and grit slow your ascent, but not by much. Not nearly enough to throw you off his trail.

Cooper hadn’t kept you around for kicks. Hadn’t even kept you around because you could shoot after he’d taught you. You were still shit, after all. Cooper had come across you in an exchange. A dead end on a bounty even the best couldn’t manage to crack. And he would know.

You paused. His trail rounded the far back corner of the warehouse, turning on a whim and abandoning the lower ground for higher. Heading…east? You checked your markers, double-checked, triple-checked. Either he was just a fucking idiot or was blood loss even a thing for ghouls? Nearest settlement was west and the fiends would be steering far and wide from the larger ones. It’d be suicide to pivot back the way they’d come.

Come on, Cooper. You’re making it easy.

Low on vials and bordering insanity in some podunk rinky-dink saloon back room you’d convinced him or he’d convinced you, once upon a time. It didn’t matter (probably) that you were basically being bartered to him for your services. It was the man in the cheesy cowboy hat or being sold for parts. Pissed off the wrong bunch and with no allegiances on the surface to put faith in you…well, didn’t really matter now, did it?

Your jaw pulsed under a constant grind, realizing you’d be abandoning safety if you continued on after him. You had to trust yourself—but it’d been so long. An eternity with how the Wastelands days came and went. You cursed the Ghoul for cradling you in the farce of safety over these past few months. Always having someone at your back, your side. An extra pair of eyes and weaponry…it’d been a luxury you couldn’t afford. It was all just borrowed time. You just had to remember who you were. Before Cooper. Before The big bad Ghoul swept you up in fantasies and make-believe and made you forget how horrendous this world could and would be. With or without him. Tension crept between your shoulder blades as you continued to climb. You rolled it away with ease now. Fingers clawed themselves into the mounds of sand and you wiped the salt and sting from your head wound. You would force yourself. Shove the reality down your throat like a loaded barrel just to remember. Remember that between the big cities and the wilds on either side, you were known to all lowlife and company as a ‘Bloodhound’. No one could outrun you. No one could outtrack you. Cooper Howard should have known that. --