#and my brain is *refusing* to cooperate well enough to work on anything

[shadow-pixelle]

I like how I went from having done 35k or so in a month on this fic to doing like, maybe ten words in the next month.

Freaking deadlines, man, they stress me out so goddamn much-

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

your ghoul fics have me in a fuckin chokehold 😭😩 there's nothing i love more in life than a scary sexy man w questionable morals

not to be horny in anon but like... imagine the reader, after having been traveling together for a while, being an insufferable brat for a couple days, just tap dancing on coop's last nerve- but he's not gonna get rid of you, he's seen you in action, despite his lone-ranger status, you're too useful. too skilled. too good at surviving in the wasteland as a vaultie for this not to have been destined. at least that's what he tells himself to avoid facing the fact that, well, poor bastard caught feelings. basically this is a long winded way of me saying boot riding as punishment, cause the man deserves a free polish 😶

Grunt Work

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Vault Dweller Reader

Word Count: 3,920

Warnings: smut (18+), BDSM-style dynamics, boot riding, masturbation (male), begging, mild hair pulling, mild cum play, Cooper is a softie (but a pissed off softie).

Notes: Anon, I wish you would've been here to see me read this request for the first time. I think a small part of my brain exploded. How did this become 4,000 words? It may have turned out softer than you envisioned (not the first time I've given that preface/apology and it certainly won't be the last; The Ghoul is soft deep inside and you cannot tell me otherwise!), and if so, I hope you still enjoy. Thank you for reading!

Every day with this girl was an exercise in self-restraint.

Granted, the type of self-restraint varied greatly from day to day, hour to hour. From the moment he had agreed to do business with the vaultie, she'd been testing his patience, his boundaries, his sense of what was normal.

Generally, he quite liked it. It was actually endlessly refreshing, he found, to spend time with someone who treated him like he was human, who he felt comfortable enough to actually relax a bit around. Someone who still had some sunshine left in them. Slowly, agonizingly so, they'd developed a bit of a rapport, then a genuine trust, which had eventually (and somewhat recently, given the scope of all the months they'd been traveling together) bloomed into more. What you'd call that "more", he wasn't really certain.

It had been the first time he'd allowed himself any sort of dalliance in that area since he'd divorced Barb all those years ago, and it had been both amazing and heartbreaking. Establishing that new attachment with his little vaultie had been the first time in lifetimes that he truly felt connected to his humanity, the way she'd kissed him and clung to him and sighed his name just like one would with any normal man.

He really had forgotten how wonderful it could be to be with someone, to let them get as close as they possibly could, even though he looked the way he did, acted the way he did, and refused to take off anything besides his duster, his gloves, and his hat.

He knew, deep down somewhere, that she wouldn't reject him simply for what his body looked like. Not at this point. Unfortunately, her feelings about his body didn't really change his feelings about his body. Still, getting to feel her and hold her close had been even better than he'd imagined.

But that new moment of connection, that next and first step, also meant he was fully closing the door on his time with Barb; he'd always been faithful to her, even after they'd split, since he'd really had no interest in dating again in the time after the paperwork was finalized. Then the world had ended and wasn't even a thought in his mind for ages. It had taken him months to even see the advances the girl had been making towards him, months more to reciprocate them.

As asinine as it would seem, becoming this close, actually giving himself to someone else physically and emotionally, made his two-centuries old divorce finally feel real. His ex-wife could still well be out there somewhere, as far as he knew, but they'd never be together again, even if by some wild chance they were reunited. Those special feelings he'd once held so deeply for her were no more.

When his companion had finally fallen asleep that night, tucked naked and warm against his side and wrapped in the tail of his duster, he had shed a few tears, something he genuinely didn't believe he was still capable of.

She didn't seem to be sleeping as deeply as she typically did that night, but if she'd overheard his incredibly vulnerable moment, she never let on or brought it up, and he was endlessly grateful for it.

Maybe he was just growing soft with old age.

She was also quite the burgeoning Wastelander, a shockingly good scavenger with a sharp eye for value and utility, small enough to fit in places that he couldn't, her little hands quick at hacking terminals and picking locks. But, despite her small size, she was quite strong, able to handle herself far better in most fights than he'd ever expected a vault-dweller to be capable of. He didn't necessarily need to watch over her every single second, but the urge persisted, nevertheless. Seeing her safe, seeing her happy, those things gave him a strange sense of inner peace that he hadn't felt in ages. It had become second nature to hover around her.

Besides, as of late, keeping an eye on her every second seemed to be his best bet to stay alive. He was genuinely unsure if his girl (Was that what she was?) had been dealing with an especially bad streak of luck over the last week, or what, but she was rapidly grating on his nerves much more usual.

First, she had managed to nose her way into a yao guai den and set the thing off chasing her, resulting in him taking a pretty nasty swipe to the side before they could put it down, several foot-long tears in his already worse-for-wear coat. However, she'd apologized profusely, spent a few hours that night mending and patching up his coat. He found it impossible to stay mad at her through either.

Then, she'd done the exact same thing a few days later, but with a pack of nightstalkers. He'd nearly lost a finger helping her fight them off, the shitty little things infinitely more tough than one might expect. After that, she was officially no longer in charge of picking where they slept, an arrangement he hadn't been fully aware he'd entered into until he'd had to put his foot down about it. Whatever, she'd pouted a bit and insisted it wasn't her fault. He didn't love how little she spoke to him when she was pouting, and her resolve for keeping at such things was irritatingly strong, but what bothered him more was how well it worked.

Eventually, he'd apologized for snapping at her. That night, she chose where they slept. He tried to not think too long on why he'd let her.

He didn't fully understand why he found himself acting this way around her, and only her. All he knew for sure was that he'd be devastated to lose her, as chagrined as the admission made him, and so he did his best to make things pleasant to keep her around.

What she'd pulled today, however, had managed to officially piss him off.

After a long week of iffy sleep and more scrapes with wildlife and fiends than usual, they had both been a tad testy by the time they'd reached the shabby little trading outpost at the edge of the Wastes, one of the last places you could reliably stop for clean water and supplies in this section of the desert going the way they'd come from. It was also a reliable place for him to obtain vials, and had come in handy to a life-saving degree more than once.

The girl had gotten slick-mouthed with the proprietor over the price of some fancy machine parts she'd scrounged up, insisting that they were worth far more than he was offering her. Granted, she was right; the man was attempting to swindle her, to some degree, but frankly, the damn things were cumbersome and heavy and he wouldn't even call the price she could theoretically get for them worth hauling them around in the heat. If it were him, he wouldn't have dragged them all this way, and would certainly ditch them now.

For reasons he couldn't fathom, though, her solution to the man offhandedly threatening to just keep the damn things had been to pull her pistol on him, which, of course, had set off an entire chain of unnecessary events. The owner's gun had come out, as well, then Cooper's, despite him actually trying to talk the situation down for once.

The man wouldn't relent, however, and he had been forced to shoot his hand off to end the conflict without her blood being spilled. Well, maybe not completely forced, but it certainly felt that way at the time. That particular trading outpost had been incredibly useful to him for well over a decade, and now he wouldn't be able to return.

If it had been anyone else, he probably would have shot them.

Not probably. He would have shot them.

But instead, here he was, tucked into a creaky old UV-eaten lawn chair, smoking and trying to disguise how unsettlingly happy he was to finally have some safe alone time with her beneath his annoyance at being inconvenienced. If there was one thing he hated, it was being inconvenienced. But, if there was one thing he greatly enjoyed, it was her company, so he was at a bit of an impasse.

It was moments like this where he wondered if he'd finally poisoned his brain with too much Jet or any other number of substances, the haze that consumed him every moment around her thick. Even now, when he was angrier with her than he'd ever been at any point in their travels, he couldn't focus on his legitimate grievance because he wanted her so badly. It was the single most irksome thing he'd ever experienced.

She was quickly sniffing out this weakness of his, perceptive little minx that she was. Increasingly, she was quick to soothe his bad moods with little touches and kisses, and it made him melt embarrassingly every single time. He'd been livid and silent as they'd trudged away from the building, both of them covered in rapidly-cooling blood spatter, when she'd brushed her hand along his back softly; a sort of apology, he supposed. Since then, his main source of anger had been himself and his lack of resolve when it came to this particular woman.

The old cowboy was determined to teach her a lesson today, though.

He'd spent the better part of an hour checking their perimeter once they'd come across this place, and the little sniper's nest where they were holed up had a great view of the area. It certainly wasn't much, little more than a rusty metal panel jammed between some rocks, a mattress, a chair, and a radio. But for the first time in a few weeks, things were safe, quiet, and calm. They had plenty of rations between the two of them, and water wasn't as much of a concern as it had been on their way in. She was so comfortable that she'd actually shed her boots and socks, her dainty little feet curled up underneath her as she nibbled away at something under the ramshackle "roof".

Now was the time. He just had to wait for the opportunity.

"You've been quiet since we left the traders." she said after a while of companionable, though mildly terse, silence. It wasn't a question, but at the same time very much was, and the casual, roundabout way she was addressing what was her own actions made him scowl slightly.

"You've been a pain in my ass these last few days, sugar." he said flatly, glaring at her as best as he could from under the brim of his hat. "Should be happy I've just been quiet now."

She actually rolled her eyes slightly, but clearly didn't think he'd seen it, keeping silent as she continued to eat. Increasingly bold for someone within grabbing distance. Cooper let a few seconds pass, studying her.

"Y'know, when I was in the marines, if you were a little shitheel, they'd make you do grunt work." he said eventually, voice matter-of-fact.

She pursed her lips at that, finishing up the can of beans she'd been steadily tucking into.

"I don't think I know what that is." she replied almost absentmindedly.

"It's the shit work no one ever wanted to do, so being assigned to it was intended as a punishment. Scrubbin' floors, toilets. Peelin' potatoes. Polishin' boots."

She chuckled at his anecdote as if it were meant to be entertaining, but the way he let her laugh hang in the silence, staring her down as she sat there curled up beside him, said otherwise. After a moment, she sort of narrowed her eyes at him, her tone low, almost conspiratory, when she asked:

"What're you playing at, cowboy?"

"I'm sayin' you're in trouble, cowgirl." he replied, reaching out to hold her chin solidly in his grip and watching her pout. "I'm sayin' that I think a little grunt work would do you and that attitude of yours some good, and I'm sayin' that I think you should polish my boots."

"Polish your boots?" she repeated, wrapping her tongue around each of the words like they were foreign to her.

"Pretty sure there ain't a functioning toilet within a hundred miles of where we're sitting, and I ain't got any potatoes. So…"

"You can't be serious." she said, her eyes full of curious suspicion as she looked him up and down.

Releasing her chin, the old ghoul set to removing his gloves, tugging his second hand free and using his naked pointer finger to draw a little 'x' over his heart.

"Serious as the grave, darlin'."

There were a few pregnant seconds of them staring one another down, waiting for the other to bend, to flinch. She even lifted her chin towards him, just enough for him to pick up on, an unspoken challenge. God, she was so like him.

"Now…be good and take your clothes off." he smirked, brows raising when she made to argue in response. Her lips worked their way between her teeth as she hesitated before slowly dropping all her armor from her arms and torso, then drawing the dirty shirt underneath over her head.

"Is that better, Coop?" she asked, letting her hair down out of the knot she'd tied it up into on top of her head, the strands framing her face as she worked him over again with those eyes of hers. Pulling herself up into a standing position, he did his best to ignore the way her bare breasts moved and dipped with gravity.

"Mmm. I think it would be more fittin' if you called me 'sir', frankly."

"You cannot be serious!" she insisted again, indignant as she slid the zipper on her trousers down, her tone making him chuckle despite himself. She just didn't know when to quit, and it was fucking adorable.

"Am I ever unserious?" he asked, ignoring the look she shot him back in favor of watching her slowly work the worn pants down over the curve of her ass, dropping them into a pile around her feet and leaving her standing there as naked as the day she was born. He felt his already-stiffening cock twitch slightly, resisting the urge to rub himself through the faded pinstripes of his pants. This was supposed to be a punishment for her, and doing that would give her too much opportunity to distract him.

"Aww, c'mon, boss." she sighed, pressing at a hidden button of his, cocking her head and sending that silky curtain around her face glinting in the light.

"I mean it, missy. You fucked up pretty bad today, and you need to be punished for it. And what did I just say?" he responded, fighting hard to keep his voice even and body still.

"Well…what else would you have in mind as a punishment, sir?" she purred as she stepped back towards him, batting those long, dark lashes his way. He managed to keep his eyes on hers and off of her body, a task that felt herculean as the ache in his gut grew more intense. For a split second, he wanted to give in to her, to pin her to the ground and fuck the attitude out of her like he'd wanted to for days. But there would be plenty of time for that later.

"I promise you that if you knew your other options, darlin', you'd choose this." he replied, finishing his smoke and tossing the butt away. Digging his inhaler out for a quick puff, he finally removed his hat and set it aside, reclining just enough to allow his feet to stick out a few inches in front of him.

She huffed at her little ploy failing to work, crossing her arms and cocking her hip slightly. Cooper's teeth dug into the inside of his cheek to keep back a grin.

"Well, are you gonna take them off?" she demanded.

He couldn't hold back his smirk at that, his head cocking as he continued to stare her down.

"Just how long are you gonna keep playin' dumb? You know it's gonna get cold when it gets dark."

Studying her face, he could see the faint lines of confusion there, and wondered if maybe she really didn't know what he meant.

"There's a reason I wanted you naked, honey, and it ain't just the view."

Though it certainly didn't hurt.

It took a few long, long seconds of her looking him up and down, wondering, but eventually the glow of realization lit up her face, followed by more brow furrowed confusion.

"How would that even work?" she asked, though her tone was more curious than argumentative.

"I suppose you'll figure it out, huh? Askin' an awful lot of questions for someone who's about to be freezin' their twat off in about half an hour." he said, watching with apparent glee as she fidgeted in place, pulling another cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it.

Still attempting to make a stand, she didn't move, chewing away at that bottom lip as she hesitated there. He could smell that she was already turned on.

"Go on. Get to work." he ordered softly, exhaling smoke through his nose, staring into her eyes.

After a heartbeat, she seemed to accept her fate and slowly lowered herself down onto her knees in front of him. That, too, made his cock jump. Her cheeks had a visible rosy hue as she clearly struggled to arch herself at the right angle to make proper contact; after a few long seconds of her huffy sighs, he took mercy on her and tilted the toe of his boot more skyward, allowing her to begin to rub herself back and forth across the dusty leather in earnest.

He watched as her face slowly morphed from mildly confused concentration to blossoming arousal, the tint in her cheeks growing until it consumed her entire face.

"How does it feel?" he asked quietly, taking another long drag off of his smoke.

"It feels good." she huffed, a light sheen of sweat glinting on her soft skin.

He reached out and grabbed a fistful of her hair at that, squeezing just enough to make her gasp, her eyes flying open to gaze up at him, wide and wet.

"Feels good what?" he demanded. "Given you an awful lot of chances on that, kid. Y'know, insubordination usually calls for more severe punishment."

"It feels good, sir." she replied, her hips stuttering slightly as she struggled to move them with her head fixed in place, her eyes falling shut again. He found it a little surprising that the mild pain hadn't stopped her or made her complain more. If anything, she'd seemed to like it. He took note of that for later.

"Tsk. Well, it's supposed to be a punishment, but I guess I can't help it if a little freak like you gets off on polishin' my boots. Guess I did know a guy in the service who really liked bein' made to scrub the floor, but, between you and me, I think he might've had a little thing for bein' pushed around and told what to do." Cooper's voice fell to a secretive murmur as he spoke to her, watching her eyes dart away as he teased her.

However, as he watched her slide herself back and forth across his foot, he found it more and more difficult to resist the urge to touch himself. When her eyes didn't open for several minutes, focused entirely on the sensation, it would seem, he took the opportunity to palm his cock, his hips eventually beginning to rock against his hand. That movement caught her attention, her gaze burning into him as she watched; this was a button of hers for whatever reason. Feeling emboldened and somewhat sure that she was too distracted to cause trouble, he quickly undid his belt and fly and tugged his erection free, a shiver running down his spine as he gave himself a few experimental pumps in the cooling air.

Unfortunately, he'd underestimated how coherent she still was, her head remaining low, but her right hand creeping up his leg towards his hand. He jerked his chin towards her, sending her jumping back a bit. However, she didn't look fearful, more chastened.

"Don't. You. Fuckin'. Dare." he growled, his hand not stilling for a moment. "If you touch me, I'm gonna put you over my knee and spank your little ass until you can't sit right for a week."

His threats only seemed to make her hotter, a throaty moan leaving her as she began to hump his boot with increased speed, all attempts at preserving any semblance of her dignity abandoned in the pursuit of her orgasm. The grip he was maintaining on himself tightened, and a growl ripped out of his chest in response as he fought to keep his eyes open and on her. If he could still sweat, he'd be pouring it just like her.

Cooper's leg jerked involuntarily as a particularly strong wave of pleasure shot up his spine, digging the toe of his boot harder into her weeping little slit, and she keened in response, her body beginning to twitch all over like it did when she was nearing her end.

"You close, honey? You wanna cum?" he asked feverishly, rapidly sprinting towards his own finish line.

She nodded rapidly, her breasts heaving with her strained breath as her nails dug into his thigh.

"Please, please, please..." she breathed over and over.

"Look at you, just cleaned the thing and you're about to make a mess all over it because you're such a needy little slut." he chastised, breaking down into a harsh whisper as he seized her by her hair once more, his cig hanging loosely from his lips. "Go on, baby. Cum all over my boot."

The labored whine she let out as she lost herself all over him, and the blissful way her face contorted as she cried out, was more than enough to finish him off, his release spurting all over his hand and stomach. They both growled and groaned their way through their shared release, her collapsing against the inside of his leg as she panted heavily. Working to control his own breathing, he let his head fall completely back with a blunted "thud" against the frame of the chair, releasing his grip on her head.

After a few quiet moments, they both rather sheepishly peeked at one another. He held his spend-covered hand up in front of her face, the mess catching the fading light as he reached out towards her.

"You're gonna have to clean that up, too." he said softly, rubbing some of the slickness across her lips, barely holding back a groan when the little pink tip of her tongue darted out to lap at his fingers as they passed by.

"Mmm. Yes, sir." she responded, gently laying her temple against the side of his knee, those big, round eyes slowly slipping shut. Cooper reached out and laid his palm against her head, petting her now-rumpled hair with more affection than he'd like to admit, admiring her in the golden-red hue of the evening sun.

"Don't get too comfy there, sweetheart." he said after a few quiet moments, his cock beginning to stir again. "Don't forget, I've got another boot."

[lagingersnapz]

Some Rain Must Fall - (Fallout Fic) Chapter 9: Punishing Road

Chapter: 9/?

In the past, the Ghoul does his best to continue pushing Lucy towards her breaking point.

In the future, a fresh tragedy on the road takes the group of survivors by surprise.

Characters: Lucy MacLean/Cooper Howard(The Ghoul), Dogmeat(CX-404), Original Characters

Word Count: 5817

Warnings: Violence, Swearing, Death

Author's Note: If I remember right, this is the longest chapter of the fic so far, so brace yourselves. Gonna be a few deaths in this chapter, so I'm sorry about that. Kinda. I saw a few of the people that liked the fic posts on here had gone over to Ao3 and gave me kudos over there. Thank you so much. I honestly didn't think anyone would be interested enough to move to the other site to keep reading, so I am incredibly grateful for that. I hope you continue to enjoy.

Previous Next

Ao3

~~~

Even though Lucy knew what she was seeing, her brain was having a hard time processing it. One minute Roger had still been there, about to share a memory about his mother with her, and the next he was a lifeless pile in the sand. Before she could even finish taking in that information, the Ghoul had holstered his gun again and trudged over, grabbing Roger’s corpse and rolling it on its back.

Lucy’s mouth opened and closed a few times as she struggled to find words. “Wh-why’d you do that? He was sick!”

The Ghoul didn’t seem to pay her any attention, taking off his hat and plopping it down on a nearby stool so he could work easier. He was panting a little from flipping over the body, but didn’t stop him as he pulled out a few tools from his saddlebags and went to work checking the corpse. In Roger’s mouth he must have found something worth his time, because he took a set of pliers and with a sharp grunt he yanked out a tooth.

“Stop. Stop! Stop, please. I-” Words continued to fail Lucy as she watched the Ghoul turn the body over again so it was laying on its stomach, and he pulled up the shirt on its back, revealing the weathered, strange looking skin. “Now, I know it’s hard up here, but you don’t have to resort t-to-”

“What’d you say your name was?” The Ghoul paused long enough to cut her off.

“Lucy MacLean.” There was still pride in her voice. Whether the name meant anything to this surfacer, it still meant something to her, and saying it out loud reminded her of who had taught her the morals she was so adamantly holding to.

Now the Ghoul looked fully over his shoulder at her, and she could read a slight look of confusion on his face. “MacLean?” he asked.

Lucy couldn’t imagine why he might know the name, but somehow he seemed to. She nodded her head, a look of uneasy confusion twisting her mouth into a deeper frown.

“Huh.” He looked at her a moment longer, then sighed and turned back to Roger’s corpse. “Well, Lucy MacLean, it ain’t all canned peaches and marmalade left up here, Sweetheart.” He pulled out a knife and started cutting into the body. “Sometimes, a fella’s gotta eat a fella.” The Ghoul pulled away a strip of flesh, which squelched in a way that made Lucy’s stomach seize violently. Then he started sucking on it, humming in apparent approval like it was a Thanksgiving turkey.

Lucy gagged and looked away, trying to get her stomach back under control before she lost what little she had in it, while the sounds of eating continued from the Ghoul. How could she make him understand? Lucy was no stranger to difficult circumstances, but to resort to cannibalism?

“You know, my vault has endured hardship, too.” She focused her gaze back on him, refusing to look away again. “In the Great Plague of ‘77, everyone had to quarantine, they couldn’t work the farms together. People starved.” Her eyes dropped to the floor as she remembered the difficult time. “My mother included.” With a helpless shrug she struggled on. “My dad dropped to 128 pounds, and he still refused to do anything like this.”

To her disbelief, the Ghoul started laughing.

“What? What’s so funny?” That he could be laughing at her as she told him about one of the most difficult periods in the history of her vault made Lucy’s fear start morphing into frustration and anger.

The Ghoul paused his butchering to speak again. “Well, there’s what people say they did,” he looked at her again, “and what they really did.” He turned back to his task. “Well, I bet your daddy was first in line at the cook-out. I bet he had a bib with a drawing of his neighbor’s ass on there.”

Insults to herself were bad enough, but hearing the Ghoul insult her father was a step too far. “How do you live like this?” she asked, voice cold. “Why keep going?”

The sounds of cutting and flesh tearing stopped, and for a second Lucy wondered if she might have gotten through to him about how horrible what he was doing was. Then he stood up, turning to fully face her, and she saw from the look in his eyes that she certainly hadn’t done anything but make him angry. Not that that seemed to take much.

He started to stalk towards her. “Well, one good question deserves another.” Holding up the blade in his hand, a sick smile twisted over his mouth, and Lucy fell back a step. “Why the fuck am I doing all the work? Now, come on, Vaultie. Ass jerky don’t make itself.” He turned the blade a little in his grip so the blood on it shone in the dim light filtering through the shattered window panes of the room.

Lucy’s gaze darted between the knife and the Ghoul’s sunken eyes, but she couldn’t find any hint that he was joking. Of course he wasn’t. Why would he joke about something like this? Finally, when it became apparent that he wasn’t going to budge, Lucy reached out with her bound hands and took the knife from his grip. It occurred to her, however briefly, that she could try and use it on the Ghoul, but with her hands bound and him armed with guns, it would have been nearly impossible. So, instead, she took several deep breaths and wordlessly bent down to pick up where he had left off with the corpse.

Butchering a corpse wasn’t one of Lucy’s many practiced talents, and it wasn’t long before the Ghoul was next to her, directing her on what to do, and Lucy followed his instructions. It was easier if she convinced herself it was some sort of wild game, like a deer, rather than a man. Eventually he must have been satisfied that she had been put in her place, because he took the knife back and shoved her off to the side of the room to finish the job much more efficiently than Lucy could have, even if her hands hadn’t been tied together.

With the meat tied to his saddlebags to dry and any supplies left over from Roger collected, the Ghoul herded Lucy back out into the punishing sunlight, and the grueling trek continued. Lucy still had no idea what their destination was, or how long it would take to get there, and part of her was wondering if she would even still have a foot left by the time they arrived or if the burning sand would grind it down to her ankle.

As they walked, Lucy noticed that the Ghoul was starting to cough more often. Was this the beginning of whatever was happening to Roger before? His growls had been mixed with coughing. And what had been happening to Roger? The Ghoul had referred to it as ‘changing,’ whatever that meant. Obviously it hadn’t been a good thing, from how somber they had both been about it. Roger had even warned that the two of them should leave before things got worse. Would he have turned violent? There had certainly been an air of ferocity around him when his humanity would flicker away in his eyes during a growling fit.

The sound of Lucy’s Pip Boy RAD meter peaking again drew her out of her thoughts and she looked over to find some sort of old overturned piece of metal with a bowl shape in it. Inside was a puddle of alarmingly green water which was the source of the radiation. To her horror, Lucy realized she was contemplating drinking it anyway. She wasn’t even sure she still had a tongue in her mouth anymore, and her lips felt like they were made of sand themselves.

While she struggled internally over how bad it would be to have a little drink of the stagnant water, the Ghoul unscrewed the top of his canteen and cleared his throat, casually dipping it into the water for a few seconds before bringing it back up to his lips and sloppily dumping it into his mouth, dribbling as much down his chin as he did into his mouth. The entire time he drank he looked over at her, a smug smile on his face.

Droplets fell from the canteen into the water, tinkling tauntingly at her until finally her resolve broke, and Lucy stepped forward and fell to her knees next to it. The Pip-Boy on her wrist protested loudly, but she did her best to ignore it. With a final deep breath, Lucy dipped her hand into the water and brought it to her mouth. The taste of it had her gagging, and for a second she wondered if she was going to throw it back up. Stubbornly she pushed through it, taking another sip.

“Now you’re gettin’ it,” the Ghoul said smugly from above her.

Lucy did her best to ignore him, putting her full attention into keeping her stomach from rejecting the water, but the Ghoul was apparently determined to get a reaction from her, because he crouched down to put himself more on eye level. Lucy stopped drinking to look at him, and in her stare she hoped she conveyed the depth of hatred she felt for this man, which was more intense than she had ever known before, even for the Raiders that had invaded her home. At least with the Raiders it hadn’t felt personal, even when it was her own new husband she was fighting off. With the Ghoul it was most definitely personal.

“How does that Golden Rule jibe with what’s goin’ through your mind right now?”

Lucy was panting as she studied his face. “What… are you?” Her voice came out thick and unsteady.

The Ghoul cocked his head to the side. “Oh, I’m you, Sweetie. You just give it a little time.” He broke off into a smile that Lucy wanted to wipe off his face. Luckily for her, it didn’t last long, as once again the Ghoul broke down into a fit of coughing. Only this time it didn’t let up, and turned into full body heaving and hacking as he turned away from her, spit dribbling from his lips and spraying out into the air as he tried to get his breath back.

Knowing there wouldn’t be a better moment than this, and unwilling to continue to meekly accept his abuse, Lucy realized what she had to do. While he was still doubled over, she used the metal object to shove herself to her feet and took off running down the street. She didn’t know where she planned to go, or how she was going to free her hands, but she knew she couldn’t stand another moment where she was. Anywhere else had to be better than this.

***

The night had passed as sleeplessly as Cooper had thought it would. Half the time he was expecting more kids to come trailing out of the tents until he had the whole group of them piled up around him. Thankfully, nobody else came out. It was just Cooper, Lucy, Kelly, and Nate, with Dogmeat laying by his feet. Even so, Cooper felt more and more out of place. It felt like he was pretending to be someone else by letting these kids trust him this much. Lucy was one thing, she was a grown-ass woman and could make her own choices, but the kids wouldn’t have known any better than to trust him, would they?

As dawn approached, and his limbs fell asleep, another concern started to wriggle in his gut. If he was still outside with all of them curled up next to him, what would the rest of these people think? Most of them were other kids, and he hadn’t been cruel to any of them, but he had tried to keep his distance as best he could. If they saw him like this, would they start seeing him as being more approachable? What if Kelly wasn’t the only one that started following him around? Cooper was desperate not to get attached to these people. Their presence in his life was temporary, after all.

His fears of being discovered were realized just after dawn when Irene came shuffling out of the tent, the blanket that must have been Lucy’s clutched in her hands. It took her a moment to realize that the Ghoul wasn’t sitting alone, but when she did a frustratingly knowing smile spread over her weathered face, and she approached quietly. She draped the blanket over Cooper’s coat on Lucy before wordlessly squatting down to pick up Nate and move him back into the tent.

Cooper breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t said anything, then eased his arm out from under Lucy, tucking the coat and blanket around her so she wouldn’t be laying in the dirt once he moved away, then collected Kelly up and followed Irene, putting the sleeping girl down next to her brother.

Irene led the way back out of the tent and went to the firepit, which was still smoking, and started stirring up the embers. “You a coffee drinker?” She didn’t look up at him as she spoke.

Cooper was standing nearby, looking over at Lucy curled up on the ground. Dogmeat had moved to curl up next to Lucy, rather than following the kids back into the tent. Part of Cooper wanted to go back over there and pull her up against him again so she’d wake up leaning on him just as she had fallen asleep. It took more than he expected to resist the urge and stay by the firepit with Irene.

“You got coffee?” he asked.

“I may have squirreled a little away. Not easy to find these days, and the quality isn’t great, but I couldn’t just leave it behind.”

Cooper grunted. “Well, if you’re willing to spare some, I’d take a bit.” He wasn’t about to turn down a little coffee, especially after not sleeping the entire night.

Irene chuckled, glancing up at his face. “You know, I didn’t know if ghouls could have bags under their eyes, but you’ve answered that question for me.” She went about setting up an old coffee pot, and a little metal pot for their breakfast of oat mash.

“You really know how to charm a fella, don’t ya, ma’am.” Cooper flashed her as charming a smile as he could muster with his ruined face, and he dug through his saddlebags to pull out his inhaler. It was oddly routine at this point for him to wake up before everyone else to take a hit of medicine so nobody could ask him about it. It wasn’t that he cared if anyone saw him doing it, but he got annoyed when people would ask him what it was. Especially since he didn’t really know what it was. All he knew was that it helped slow down going feral.

“I’ll have you know I can be very charming, Mr. Wyatt, but at my age it just seems like more trouble than it’s worth. Why be charming when I can be honest instead? Being old comes with its perks, and being blunt is one of ‘em.” She grinned at him, and for a second Cooper got a glimpse of what she must have looked like as a much younger woman. “People just chalk it up to my mind going.”

The two of them sat next to the fire in surprisingly companionable silence for awhile longer, until the sounds of stirring behind Cooper let him know that Lucy was waking up. Her hand clenched and unclenched,  and she uncurled herself from where she was laying under the coat, rubbing her eyes and looking around in evident confusion. Dogmeat huffed and sat up when Lucy did, and Lucy’s hand came down to give her a thorough scratch on the ears. The ponytail she had worn to bed was mussed, especially on the side that she had rested against his chest.

“Mornin’, Darlin’,” he said, tipping an imaginary hat at her. Lucy looked around, spotting his hat on the ground where he had left it the night before, and she picked it up, plopping it down on her head so she could tip it to him.

“Morning, Sheriff,” she replied, voice soft from sleep. Then she proceeded to pull on the duster, pushing up the sleeves a little, and stood, stretching out the kinks she had definitely acquired sleeping the way she had all night. “Morning, Irene.” She smiled at the older woman and came over to sit between the two of them, though she kept the coat and hat on.

“Good morning, Lucy.” Irene gave the pot of oats a little stir. “How was your night? Get some good sleep?” She checked the coffee and took out a couple old mugs, pouring a cup for Cooper. Lucy smiled, glancing at him.

“Yeah. Nice and cozy.” She took off the hat and handed it to Cooper, who took it without comment and put it on his own head. The coffee was fabulously bitter and he drank it so hot it scalded his throat a little bit.

“Careful,” Irene said, “or steam’ll come out of your nose.”

“If he had one,” Lucy said, holding up a hand to turn down Irene’s offer of coffee for her. Irene laughed out loud, and Cooper was taken aback to hear her talking about what many people considered his most off putting feature so casually, playfully, even.

“Don’t worry, Wyatt, you’re handsome, even without a nose,” Lucy continued.

Shaking off the comment, Cooper laughed. “Trust me, it’s an improvement.”

Lucy shook her head, locking eyes with him, and he felt her gaze searching his face, and she didn’t look disgusted or like she pitied him. “No, I mean it. You look good, nose or no nose.” The intensity of her gaze didn’t falter, and in the end it was Cooper who cleared his throat and finished his coffee, handing the mug back to Irene.

“Ladies, I’m off to do a bit o’ scouting. Enjoy your breakfast.” He tried not to feel like he was running away when he stood up, but he ended up hurrying away so quickly he forgot that Lucy was still wearing his coat.

It wasn’t until late morning, just before they all left for the day, that Cooper returned for the duster, and he found Lucy still wearing it. As he approached she beamed a smile at him and shrugged it off, holding it out for him. Cooper wanted to ask her how she could smile at him like that, so openly and honestly, after everything he had done to her and everything she had been through. How could she trust him enough to curl up at his side at night and sleep soundly? Instead of asking, though, he simply accepted the coat back and put it on. Despite his own body temperature, he was pretty sure he could feel her lingering body heat on the worn leather.

***

The morning went as smoothly as the previous day had, and Lucy was starting to hope against hope that they would make it to Vault 4 without any major difficulties. Knowing what the surface was like, she knew it was unlikely to happen, but if she could just have this one thing, to get these people to the Vault in one piece, then when the Ghoul questioned her optimism she could at least hold this up to remind him that things didn’t always take a turn for the worse.

It wasn’t until they stopped for lunch that Lucy found out just how little her hopes meant. Something started to feel off, though she couldn’t put her finger on it. It was the sensation of being watched, though no matter how much she searched she couldn’t see anything around them. There were plenty of places someone might be hiding, and when she brought it up with the Ghoul he agreed with her that something didn’t feel right, and he left to look around.

It seemed prudent to keep the lunch short, and Lucy had them start packing up as quickly as she could without making it obvious that something was wrong. Privately she spoke with the other adults, letting them know what she was feeling and that the Ghoul was out looking around, but that they didn’t want to scare the children.

Irene took more of the kids than usual into the wagon with her. The canvas cover of the wagon was pitiful as far as protection went, but at least nobody outside could easily see the occupants to target them if they were about to be ambushed. 

The explosion took all of them completely by surprise. One moment they were all moving along as quietly and carefully as they could, and the next her ears were ringing and Lucy realized she was laying on her back on the ground, with bits of road raining down around her. At first she couldn’t even figure out what had happened. Turning her head she saw the wagon turned on its side, the brahmin freed from its ties and fleeing into the trees.

The first sounds to come back to her were screams, and it took a moment for her to pick apart the screams of fear from the survivors, and the screams of triumph from their attackers. Coughing, Lucy pushed herself to her feet, pulling free her gun as the first shots started ringing out. It was like she was thrown back in time to her Vault all over again. A group of Raiders started to swarm over them. It wasn’t a lot of them, but the explosion had crippled the survivors, and they were slow to pull weapons to defend themselves. Many of the kids were too young to wield weapons at all. Lucy’s thoughts turned to Kelly. Was the little girl okay? She was one of the ones they had reluctantly trusted with a gun after her help out in the swamp had proven she knew how to use it. Was she alive to fight back now?

A Raider was coming straight at her, and Lucy pulled up her gun and fired. The man went down and she realized too late that there had been another one behind him. Her next shot missed and the Raider tackled her, wrapping their arms around her middle and driving her to the ground. The air went back out of her with a grunt. The gun was knocked away from her hand and that’s when she saw the knife in the Raider’s other hand start to come down.

Reaching up, Lucy grabbed the man’s wrist with both of her hands, struggling to push the knife back. With a twisted grin, the man started pushing down harder, and it was clear to both of them what the outcome of this was going to be. Lucy needed help. The man was taking his time, clearly enjoying watching her struggle, but her strength would fail eventually. Was the Ghoul back? Had the explosion drawn his attention to them? If he was here, she needed his help, and the only way she could think of to get it was to call out for him. Not by the name she had given him, but by the name she had started to suspect was his true name. The name he hadn’t wanted to tell her. Drawing in as much breath as she could manage, Lucy cried out for him.

“Cooper!”

The Raider wasn’t phased by her call for help, but the pressure he was putting on her increased until she knew she wouldn’t be able to call out a second time without losing the strength to keep him back. The knife blade inched closer until she felt it pressed to the skin of her chest, and then started to press a little deeper. Lucy felt blood trickle from the small wound.

The man above her suddenly went still, looking confused for a second, but that was all Lucy needed to push the knife away and slide off to the side so it plunged harmlessly into the ground. The man fell to the other side, and behind him Lucy saw the Ghoul. His shoulders were heaving with his panting breaths, and he was looking at her with a swirl of emotions so frantic that Lucy wasn’t sure she knew what they were. Fear, confusion, relief… anger? Her doubts about his real name fell away with that look.

Without a word, Cooper strode forward and reached down to the fallen Raider, pulling a knife out of the man’s back with a sharp yank. With his other hand he reached for Lucy, and she put her hand in his, letting him yank her up from the ground in one fluid motion, bracing her body against his when she staggered. There wasn’t time to talk about his name now. Not until the Raiders had been fully handled. Cooper sheathed his knife and drew one of his guns, and Lucy retrieved hers, and the two of them went to work.

By the time Lucy got back to the fighting, it was almost done. Kelly was hiding behind a rock with her brother and another child next to her, and she popped out to fire off a shot towards one of the surviving Raiders, catching him in the shoulder, then finishing him with a shot to the chest. As the last of the attackers turned to flee, Lucy raised her gun, but Cooper beat her to it, and the retreating woman’s head exploded into a red mist.

In the absence of gunfire things were eerily quiet, save for the sounds of crying. Slowly the other survivors started coming out from their hiding places, all of them disheveled or injured or both. Bea and Sam went straight to the wagon and pulled out one of the young twins, Camille, who was bawling loudly and wordlessly, followed by another child named Eleanor who was in a similar state. Baby Anna was strapped to Bea’s back and was also wailing loudly enough that Lucy was hopeful the baby was okay. A silent baby would have been a much worse sign.

While Lucy was doing a headcount, Cooper ran for the overturned wagon, passing Bea as she moved away from it to try and calm Camille and Eleanor. He flung aside the remaining canvas covering and when his footsteps faltered Lucy felt her heart drop into her stomach. Immediately she started hurrying over to join him, but Cooper turned, seeing her approach. Holstering his gun, he moved forward to stop her before she could get close enough to see anything of the occupants, shaking his head as he did.

“Lucy, no,” he said, raising both hands to take her by the arms. Lucy tried to push past him and he tightened his grip, turning to put himself more between her and the wagon.

“I need to see,” Lucy panted, fear and adrenaline stealing her breath away. Again Cooper shook his head.

“No, you don’t. You don’t need to see it.”

“Let go of me, Cooper!”

The use of his name again seemed to shock him, and Lucy used the moment to tear herself free of his grip and run the short few feet between her and the wagon. Inside was a mess, and it was hard to tell what was what, but Lucy knew at least one thing: Irene was crumpled, staring sightlessly and wide eyed up at the opening Lucy was looking down through, and the stare felt accusatory. Several other bodies lay twisted and partially covered by their store of supplies, though what exactly had killed them Lucy couldn’t tell. Bullets, the blast from whatever explosive had been used, or something else entirely.

Lucy fell back from the wagon and turned, heaving, unsure if she was going to throw up; tears poured over her cheeks. She felt a small hand on her arm and looked to find Kelly standing next to her, looking sorrowful and scared and so very very young in that moment. Lucy sobbed once, loudly, then swallowed down the sounds, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

“Kelly, are you okay? Is Nate okay?” she asked, voice raw and hoarse. Kelly nodded her head, but she was looking past Lucy to the wagon, tears welling up in her eyes.

“We- We’re okay. But the wagon…”

Lucy shook her head and looked up to see Cooper had moved away and was checking who else was alive.

“I need you to stay away from the wagon, okay?” The meaning was clear to Kelly and she started to shake, but nodded, holding her brother a little closer to her side. When all was said and done, they had lost five more survivors, leaving one more child in the group freshly and fully orphaned. Lucy felt a little more of her will stolen away. Despite it all, she helped Cooper salvage what they could from the wagon. She wanted to bury or burn the bodies, but when she brought it up to Cooper he shook his head.

“Raider groups tend to be a lot bigger than what we saw. I think if we stick around any longer we’re gonna be seeing more of ‘em. Ain’t no time to bury them.”

Lucy nodded reluctantly at his words and didn’t offer an argument. Vault 4 was still at least a day away from them, maybe even a little more, and now they had no wagon to help transport supplies or children.

As soon as they had all they could salvage, Lucy picked up Nate, putting him up on her back and fashioning a long strip of cloth into a makeshift seat for him so her arms would still be free, and one of the other surviving adults, Sam, picked up their newest orphan, a four year old named Ben. The older children would have to walk. Irene’s blank stare sat in the back of Lucy’s mind, watching her long after the remains of the wagon had disappeared from sight.

Kelly stuck close to Lucy’s side, and neither she nor Camille complained about having to walk. Even after the sun had set and their punishing march continued. None of them wanted to stop. Nobody wanted to spend any more time out there than they needed to now. There wouldn’t be time to mourn until the rest of them were safe again. Every moment of peace they had had before felt like a mistake now. Every time they had stopped to rest seemed like an error made. If they had only kept going, maybe the Raiders wouldn’t have caught them.

The dark thought weighed as heavily on Lucy as all of the deaths. She thought a lot of Irene, who she had hoped could live out the rest of her life comfortably and unafraid in the Vault. With how old she had been, she deserved that much. Not to die in a wagon on the road between their old destroyed home and their new home.

The sun was rising again when Lucy saw the entrance to Vault 4 that she and Max had been sent out through a lifetime ago. Cooper had picked up Camille, but Kelly had refused being helped or carried in any way. Dogmeat stuck close to the girl’s side, and Lucy was grateful to the animal, because hers was the only support Kelly would allow, even if it was just her presence. Red stains still adorned Dogmeat’s muzzle and chest from their fight, and Lucy had no doubt she had done her share of fighting to protect them.

The group came to a stumbling stop outside the doors of the Vault, and Lucy went to the panel to plug in her Pip-Boy. It didn’t take long for a voice to crackle over the intercom at them.

“I thought we told you you were banished, Lucy.”

Lucy sighed with relief to hear Birdie’s voice, rather than that of the Overseer, who had not been as fond of letting people in.

“Please, it’s not for me. We found a settlement. They were attacked. We have children with nowhere else to go.” Lucy hated to beg, but if anyone would understand, it would be Birdie. There was silence for long enough that Lucy was getting ready to plead her case again, but then the door groaned and hissed and started to move. Lucy stumbled in relief, managing to catch herself at the last second on the console, though she felt a hand on her arm steadying her, and looked over to find Cooper at her side. In the early morning light it was easy to see the disgust on his face as he looked at the Vault door. Lucy was reminded that he had some sort of bad history with Vault-Tec, though they had never spoken about what it was.

Once the door finished opening, Birdie and a few other Vault-dwellers came out, casting their eyes over the disheveled group. Lucy saw pity in Birdie’s eyes, and the woman nodded with a heavy sigh. She looked to Lucy.

“You returned our fusion core to us after we banished you before. You won’t be offered a permanent place with us, but I can offer you a little time to settle your people in and recover. No more than a night or two. Then you’ll have to be on your way again.” She glanced to the side at Cooper, and for a moment Lucy thought Birdie was going to say something about him, maybe tell them he couldn’t come in at all, but then she nodded her head at them, and turned to lead them inside.

As the group started to move, too tired to be nervous, Cooper hung back, and Lucy looked at him. His face was twisted into a look of confusion and doubt.

“Come on. It’s just for a little while. I promise, Vault-Tec isn’t running this Vault anymore. Its survivors and surfacers.”

Cooper looked at the little girl in his arms, who was too tired to cry anymore but refused to go to sleep, and then nodded his head. Lucy saw him swallow hard, and when he lifted his foot to move forward it looked like it was made of iron and he struggled to lift it. But after another step he was at her side and the two of them entered the Vault, Dogmeat trotting along ahead of them with Kelly. Behind them, the gate screeched and groaned again, and the morning light started to fade until it was replaced entirely by the artificial lights of Vault 4.

[nolesserhuman]

Ranpo + reader that's what happens when you eat too much junk. ~1.7k words warnings: none notes: tfw the main thing you're working on is refusing to cooperate so you decide to write something else to let your brain rest and that's the thing that you end up finishing ao3

Ranpo Edogawa always knows what to do. That’s why, in the rare moments he’s at a loss, he completely flounders.

Sitting at his work desk, he’s got his beloved 3DS in his hands, but he’s paying no attention to whatever battle is on-screen. The Agency office is practically empty apart from him and you, off in your own corner, so he’s got the sound turned all the way up until you tell him to turn it down. His tongue prods at the lollipop clenched tightly between his teeth, but he can’t bring himself to bite down. Something twinges in his stomach, a sharp pain that comes and goes and has him slouching in his chair. Ranpo can’t remember the last time he had a stomach ache— it’s uncomfortably distracting, but he doesn’t know what to do about it.

He swallows thickly around the candy in his mouth. For once, the fake sour apple taste that collects on the back of his tongue does nothing to improve his mood. If anything, it does the opposite— his stomach already feels heavy enough. Adding anything to it just makes him feel worse.

Ranpo pulls the half-finished lollipop from his mouth and drops it in the trash can underneath his desk. That’s what finally pulls your attention away from your own work. Glancing over your laptop, you catch the wave of discomfort that flickers across his face. Normally Ranpo loves to whine and complain— if he’s being quiet for once, something must really be bothering him.

“Is the great Edogawa Ranpo struggling with something?” Your voice is light; Ranpo loves attention, but hates pity, so it’s always a fine line to walk if you don’t want him to brush you off.

Finally having even the slightest bit of attention aimed his way, Ranpo lets out a dramatic groan and flops forward, his face pressed against the cool wood of his desk. “My stomach hurts—” He whines.

You snicker in relief. Of course you don’t want him to suffer, but at least his ailment is something fairly simple.

“Well, that does tend to happen if you eat too much junk.” Your laptop snaps closed as you stand. Ranpo just whines again and doesn’t bother to lift his head.

In the offices, Ranpo’s desk is off by itself, stationed away from where everyone else’s desks are clustered together, just far enough that wheeling your chair over would be inconvenient. He tenses when he hears you leave your chair; Ranpo’s not used to feeling unwell, so he doesn’t know what to expect as you make your way over to his lone island.

He definitely wasn’t expecting the sensation of your fingers carding through his hair. Scratching your nails up his scalp. It sends tingles racing down his spine, and his stomach flutters again, although it feels different this time. He’s so distracted that he almost misses your next question. “Is that the only thing bothering you? Your stomach aches?”

“Mhm,” he mumbles under his breath. He tilts his head a bit, pressing himself further into your hand as you continue to play with his soft hair. The tight pain in his stomach throbs again, another harsh cramp drawing another whine from his throat. All at once he tosses his head back, hat tumbling to the floor, and he lets out a strangled groan. “It hurts! And I don’t even know what I did!”

You have to bite your tongue to keep from giggling at the quick shift in his behavior. Clearly you don’t hide it well enough, because Ranpo huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, facing away from you as if he’s making a point. “—don’t laugh,” he demands, although his voice and defiance both quickly begin to wilt. He grimaces and wraps his arms around himself.

“Sorry, sorry,” you say, although you don’t sound sorry at all. “Let me get you something, okay?”

Ranpo just grumbles as you dig through your desk drawers. He knows there’s medication for stuff like this, but he hates the taste, so he’s already decided he won’t let you talk him into taking anything.

“Try drinking some water for me, okay?”

“Don’t wanna.” His voice is petulant as you set a bottle of water on his desk. “Tastes gross.”

And that’s where you’ve got him. Humming absently, you slide open a different drawer, revealing a hidden array of colorful cardboard. Water flavors.

“What sounds appealing at the moment?” You ask as you begin to sort through the small boxes. “I’ve got strawberry, watermelon, think there’s a peach tea in here somewhere—”

Lazily, Ranpo finally turns his head to look at you. His normally-bright eyes are dulled as they follow your movements. Both his arms remain firmly settled around his stomach. Curiosity sparks in those green eyes of his and he leans forward to get a better look into your desk drawer. “What’s the blue one?”

“Blue raspberry, I think.”

His mouth waters immediately at the thought of such a tangy flavor— but then he remembers how his sour lollipop had only irritated his stomach more, and he groans softly as he shakes his head, suddenly more aware of the heavy weight that’s settled in him.

“Nothing sounds appealing, hmm?” When Ranpo nods, you sigh again. Looks like you’ll just have to pick something for him.

You dig through the collection of flavors a bit longer. It’s a tough decision— you’ve only ever seen Ranpo with sweets and junky snacks, so what are you supposed to do when he’s suddenly rejecting them? Gauging his pain is hard too, because now that he knows he has your attention, Ranpo keeps making pathetic little sounds. He squirms in his chair and grips his stomach and, somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s fighting the feline temptation to knock the bottled water off the desk.

Finally, one of the flavor packets catches your attention. It’s one with a vague name, something like ‘ocean splash’; last time you’d used it yourself, the flavor had been refreshing. Maybe his poor tummy will be able to handle that.

Ranpo’s eyes continue to follow you as you open the water for him, the lid making that familiar plastic crackle as the seal breaks. His face squishes back into a pout. “I don’t want water!” He protests again. “Why can’t I have a Ramune instead?”

You snort. When you pour the flavored powder into the water bottle, it dyes the drink a bright blue. “You think you feel bad now? Just add carbonation.”

Ranpo scowls as you shake the drink until it’s mixed well enough that he won’t gag on the powder itself. When you hold it out to him, he turns his face away again. “C’mon Ranpo, just drink a little bit for me.”

“I can’t,” he counters. “I’m too busy dying.”

You roll your eyes and press the cold water bottle to the back of his neck. Ranpo squeals.

He jolts upright— not the smartest move, because his stomach tightens again and his face twists into another grimace— but he snatches the drink and begins to chug it just to spite you. It’s not a flavor that he recognizes, but it’s good all the same; sweet enough to appeal to his tastebuds, but not so sweet that his angry stomach rejects it. He was thirstier than he’d expected, too— a thin trail of dyed blue trickles down his chin.

“Slow down,” you chide him gently, using your hand to tilt the end of the bottle down so he doesn’t dump it down his throat, “or you’ll just make yourself feel worse.”

Pouting again, Ranpo slams the bottle back down onto his desk and wipes his face. “Do you want me to drink it or not?!”

Resting your hip on the edge of the desk, you meet his defiant gaze with one of his own. “Moderation really is the problem with you, isn’t it.” More of a statement than a question.

Before he can retort, Ranpo presses a fist to his mouth to stifle a burp that bubbles up his throat. Your expression shifts into something vaguely smug. “Feeling any better?”

Ranpo just sticks his now-blue tongue out at you and takes another sip.

If he pauses to think about it, having something on his stomach does dull the ache a bit, even something as simple as water— but he’s not going to tell you that, and it’s not a lie to say he’s still in pain. Ranpo lets out another low groan and slouches across his desk again. “Nope,” he complains, “I think the only thing that’ll fix it is—” he begins reaching for his snack drawer. You smack his hand away.

“Let’s try this, then.” 

He watches you go through your desk again. How many drawers have you stuffed full of things by now? And what else could you possibly have, besides the flavor packets? Ranpo doesn’t have to wait for long before he gets an answer; from the depths of your desk drawers, you produce what looks like a stuffed animal. Pink and fuzzy, flat, a long tail— Ranpo’s face lights up at the sight of the toy axolotl. It’s almost cute enough to make him forget the pain in his stomach. One of his arms leaves his stomach as he reaches for the plush.

“Hang on,” you hum, and Ranpo is betrayed as you dangle the axolotl just out of reach. Then you squeeze the toy, twisting it back and forth until something inside audibly snaps.

Ranpo gasps and sits upright. “Hey, you don’t have to hurt the little guy!”

“It’s a heating pad,” you shake the plush a bit longer. “Does no good if we don’t turn it on first.”

Seemingly satisfied with your torment of the stuffed animal, you finally hand it to Ranpo, and he cradles the toy as if to protect it from you and your attitude. Clearly the way you snap-crackle-popped its spine did something, because the plush is comfortably warm as it’s pressed against his stomach. Ranpo can almost immediately feel the way his cramping muscles begin to relax. “—oh.”

He practically melts into his chair, one hand absently stroking through the toy’s fuzz. You watch him for a few moments; with water to sip on and a cute little warm companion, it seems like most of Ranpo’s discomfort fades. His eyes flicker back to you, and you can see words beginning to form on the tip of his tongue. “Where’d you get him?”

You shrug. “A corner store, not too far from here.”

“Go buy yourself another,” Ranpo huffs, although he can’t stop the sly smile that fights its way across his face. “I’m keeping this lil guy.”

apparently I'm determined to get BSD men attached to stuffed animals. thank you for reading!

[kyuqtq]

Take My Breath Away

A treat for @codesandstuffs as part of the @extremetimedchallengeexchange

Relationship: Tango & Bdubs

Characters: Tango, Bdubs

CW for suffocation, death loops

Summary: It can sometimes feel very difficult to breathe even when not surrounded by the vacuum of space.

Tango ended Season 8 in a very similar way to everyone else. Alone, and scared, and unsure of the future. However, most people either died in the initial blast or hid away in another world. Tango failed , trying so hard to sacrifice himself in order to save his friends. He wasn’t able to blow up the moon or change the trajectory or anything, instead messing up the redstone early and blasting himself far away from both the moon and Hermitcraft. 

Tango tried his hardest to fight against the blast, lucky that it didn’t manage to puncture his spacesuit and that he wasn’t frozen solid by the vacuum of space. At least, he initially thought he was being lucky. He quickly changed his mind as he was forced to watch as the moon slammed into the planet, wiping out everything in a single painful moment. He could feel the tears streaming down his face as the planet burns, as everything that they worked for is torn away. He knows that it’s not permanent, that after however long everyone will be moved to the new world and it will be fine again.

He just has to wait until then.

How long could it be? He should have enough air to last a while, and since he isn’t moving or doing anything it’s not like his hunger is decreasing. He can last plenty of time.

He’s floating away from the remnants of the planet, leaving behind everything - not that there’s anything left - and finds himself floating without direction through the cosmos. He’s barely aware of his surroundings– it’s almost like he’s AFK, noting the stars and space dust that he passes with almost glazed over eyes.

He can’t keep track of time, only coming back into awareness when an alarm starts blaring in his ears.  He’s running out of air, Season 9 should have started by now. What is Xisuma doing? He feels the way the air is getting thinner in his helmet, his ears are ringing. 

He hasn’t actually thought about what will happen when he respawns.

The panic strikes in an instant. What is going to happen when he respawns? Spawn is gone. His home is gone. Will he respawn in his suit? Will his suit have air? He’s suddenly so aware of how far he’s gone; he’s had to have traveled thousands of blocks at this point. His coords aren’t working, haven’t been working even when there was a planet for point-of-reference. 

He’s gasping, trying his hardest to keep his breathing even but his brain is refusing to cooperate. His breaths are growing more and more shallow, the alarms are becoming more distant in his ears. His eyes drift closed and he just has to hope that when he respawns it will be in Season 9.

His eyes open and the alarm is already going again. He lets out a soft whine and closes his eyes. He's been trapped in a death loop before, but this somehow feels far worse. Maybe it's something to do with the fact that there's no way out of the loop, maybe it's that the time between deaths is getting shorter. He stares at the remains of the planet and the moon before allowing his eyes to close again.

He loses track after the tenth death, going from panicking to accepting to ignoring. Tango's stopped thinking about it entirely, going on to try and make plans for next season. He wants to make the second Decked Out, not to mention his grand plans for the base itself. He has no idea how much time has passed, space is always the same light level, simultaneously pitch black and perfectly lit at the same time. His lungs ache terribly, and he has to wonder if they somehow aren't managing to fully recover before he completes the respawn cycle. That thought is worrying; the idea of being caught in a loop that will affect him next season as well.

He checks chat, knowing it's nonfunctional, and isn't surprised that he only sees his own death messages. Either he's the only one in this death cycle or chat isn't working well enough to show the others. He hopes that everyone else is fine. He doesn't want anyone else to be experiencing this. Next respawn he tries to suck in a breath, almost curious to see if next time he’ll have a bit more oxygen. He doesn’t, but it was an experiment to perform and something to distract from how hopeless his situation is. 

He tries to let himself go AFK again, but the respawn is forcing him into awareness. Tango can’t think of how long it’s been, but it feels too long. There’s never been this much time between seasons before, and he can’t help his panic when he considers the possibility of missing the transfer because he was stuck in space while everyone moved to Season 9. But they would realize, right? They would see that Tango was missing and try to find him, right?

He’s stopped bothering to open his eyes after each respawn. Now it’s just his shallow breaths and his flickering consciousness. Which is why it takes him a second to realize when he no longer feels weightless. He opens his eyes, finding himself collapsed on soft, green grass. He scrambles into an upright position, sitting on the ground , and his eyes burn as he looks around. 

It’s daytime, there’s the sun in the sky and it’s so bright that it hurts but he’s so excited that he can’t look away. In the distance, he can hear classic Day 1 shenanigans, and he’s laughing hard enough that tears are welling in his eyes. He’s here, he’s alive.

He still can’t breathe. 

Why can’t he breathe? 

He’s not in space, he’s on the planet, everything should be fine. So why can’t he breathe? Why is he crying? A hand rests on his back and he practically leaps out of his skin. He can barely make out the green blob through watery eyes. 

“You have to try and breathe for me, alright, Tango? Nice and deep breaths.” He honestly accepted that he was never going to hear Bdubs’ voice again, so hearing such an earnest attempt at comfort just propels him further into tears. 

Tango clings to Bdubs like his life depends on it, almost knocking the smaller man over from the force of it. Bdubs manages to hold it together for a bit, but Tango can make out the way that his shoulders shake. His breathing is still shallow, but he can shove that aside enough to try and express how overjoyed he is to be here. He was starting to think they forgot about him. He thought that he was going to be stuck there forever.

“We… We all agreed to take a longer break between seasons. I didn’t realize… I wish we hadn’t. What happened to you, for you to be cryin’ like this?”

He doesn’t have the words to explain what happened, much less the breath. His lungs still hurt, what had once become a more familiar ache is now burning again at full force. He doesn’t want to let go of Bdubs, but he can feel the familiar darkness at the edge of his consciousness. Faintly, he can make out Bdubs crying out something, but the words aren’t there. He feels his grip start to lessen, and with the last of his strength he grabs Bdubs' arm in a death grip.

When he opens his eyes again, he’s in a makeshift bed out under the stars. He stares up at them, wondering if they’re the same constellations as the last world. He’s taking a slow, deep breath, and he’s grown so used to barely being able to breathe that it almost seems to hurt more. His lungs are able to fill entirely and he’s determined to ignore the way that his breath shakes as he exhales.

He’s here, though. Season 9 has started and whatever caused the moon to fall should be an impossibility in this world. So he’s fine. He has his plans all figured out, down to a mental blueprint; he can throw himself into his projects and never think about it again. It’s fine .

He turns his head to the side, forcing himself to ignore the stars overhead, and he sees Bdubs sleeping besides him. He’s still clutching his arm. He sighs, it’s been a while since he had enough oxygen to be able to do things like sigh. He forces himself to breathe deeply, because he can do that, and because that’s what he would be doing normally. He wants to be able to put this behind him. Never wants to think about the moon or space again.

And he will be alright, eventually. He’s moved on from every other thing that has happened to him. From the Life Games and Demise and everything else. So he knows that he’ll be okay, he just has to convince his brain and body the same thing. The other hermits are here, they’re okay, so he doesn’t have to worry about them and their safety. 

For now, he can just rest. Bdubs seems more than content to be sleeping beside him; he doesn’t have to worry about being left alone. He can allow his eyes to drift closed out of exhaustion instead of asphyxiation for once. He gives Bdub’s hand a squeeze and falls asleep. He doesn’t dream of anything but building.

He wakes feeling well-rested for the first time in ages. Consciousness comes back to him slowly, his eyes open slowly and his breathing is deep. He looks around, startled to find a building has sprung up around him. The interior is sparse, but the texturing in the walls remind him of Bdubs’ style, but that doesn’t make sense. Why would Bdubs bother to make him a building when he isn’t staying here? Speaking of, where is Bdubs?

He didn’t realize that he was actually alone; Bdubs must have gone somewhere while he was asleep. That’s… okay. He’s fine with being alone, he doesn't have to worry. He can feel his breathing getting shallower, but just being aware of it doesn’t do anything to help him. He’s trying his best to control his breathing, but none of his usual tricks are working. With a shaking hand, he pulls out his chat and looks over the player list. 

Bdubs isn’t online. Neither is Keralis. He grimaces, trying to resolve himself to spending the rest of his panic attack alone when a message pops up in the chat.

Bdouble0100 has joined the game.

Bdubs is in the room before he can even type out a message. Practically leaping from the doorway into Tango’s bed. They hold each other like the world is ending again, like if they let go then they won't ever have a chance again. Bdubs is crying, Tango can barely process the fact over his own tears.

"We're alright, Tango. We're okay." Bdubs sniffles as he talks. "X said he fixed everything; it won't happen again."

Tango wishes he could find the words to respond but he's stuck trying his best to just keep his breathing even enough to stay conscious. Bdubs has never felt so small in his grasp before, so vulnerable. But they're both here, and safe. He knows that Xisuma wouldn't allow something like this to happen again; he knows that the moon crashing was an anomaly that will not repeat itself. He takes a deep, shaky breath and tries to ignore the way that Bdubs' eyes are wet when he looks up at him.

"I'm glad you're okay. I'm glad we're here." It's not enough to truly capture how he's feeling, the sheer gratefulness that he's in Season 9 and out of the ruined vacuum of Season 8. His breath still feels shallow, but he's here, he's breathing.

[timeoverload]

This day isn't going very well so far. I don't know what to do. I feel helpless in this situation.

I called the hospital a little while ago and they told me they were planning to discharge my mom today. She is not better and she is not being compliant with treatment. She says her head still hurts but she is refusing pain medications now. I think she is going to die if she leaves. A subdural hematoma can be fatal if it isn't treated properly. There are a lot of long-term complications that could occur and I'm afraid she could have a seizure or a psychotic episode. The bleeding can cause too much pressure on the brain. She is going to be more confused than she already is and she's not safe. I know my mom is trying to leave mostly because they won't let her have a cigarette. She doesn't know what she's doing. I tried to text her and I never got a response. I haven't talked to her since Saturday.

The people at the hospital don't seem to be too concerned about her well-being because she has probably been causing other problems. I know she is hard to deal with as it is and they probably want to get rid of her. I am frustrated about the lack of proper mental health care in this country. I hate how people like her are demonized and misunderstood. I'm not sure if she is being treated differently because she is homeless and can't pay. That is illegal but it's hard to know for sure when she is so far away. The case worker at the hospital wasn't much help and it seemed like she didn't want to talk to me since they are planning on discharging her anyway.

I wish I would have been able to be her power of attorney but she wouldn't agree to it even though my grandma and I are her emergency contacts. That is making this process more difficult.

I was hoping I could get more answers about the person that hit her but no one has been able to share that information with me yet. I don't know enough about the accident. My mom couldn't tell me anything other than what the vehicle looked like.

I am waiting for a doctor or someone to call me so I can try to figure out if she can go somewhere else other than the shelter. That is where they are planning on taking her. I know they aren't going to do anything to help her.

It is frustrating to try to get all of this figured out over the phone. I have never been in this situation before. I still think I am going to need to go up there. I need to see her even if she doesn't want to cooperate and come home. I need to say goodbye to her. I know I don't have a lot of time.

I looked to see how much a flight would cost and it's ridiculously expensive. I'm not paying $1500 and I'm not flying by myself. I think it would be cheaper to rent a car and drive up there. I have never rented a car by myself. It's also an 8 hour drive so that's going to be a challenge to do on my own. I don't know if I would have enough to pay for a hotel room up there so it's possible that I would have to sleep in the car. I haven't planned anything yet. I think I will make that decision tomorrow.

I am probably going to take tomorrow off too because it is taking me so long to figure anything out. I am going to need to call my boss later to explain the situation because I just sent her a brief text last night. I need to go back on Wednesday for sure. The health nurse said that I would qualify for intermittent FMLA so that I could get a care plan set up for her. I could take FMLA if I do travel up there. I wouldn't get paid while I was off but it would protect me from losing my job. I don't want to have to do that but I need to. I also was already having a tough time before she got hurt so the extra time off is necessary at the moment.

I'm not handling all of this very well. I knew that something bad was going to happen. I am trying not to get too worked up right now because it's not going to do any good. I am doing everything I can from home. I hate waiting for people to call me back and it's making me anxious.

I am doing my best to take care of myself today because it was a struggle all weekend. I took a shower this morning and put on clean pajamas and that helped. I need to eat something soon. I am losing weight again. I have been eating but it's not enough. I think I should have more energy tomorrow. I'm going to try to relax as much as possible while I wait for phone calls. Hopefully the rest of the day is better.

I hope everyone else is having a good day so far. Thank you for listening to me. 💖💖💖

[bcnes]

It's not that he's never been subject to Starfleet-mandated counseling before, though his understanding of what, exactly, counts as traumatizing enough to warrant it in the eyes of the higher-ups is tenuous at best. But normally it's Leonard assigning it to other people - though there's a select few he's simply given up on, namely Jim and Spock, though he's rethinking his stance on the latter after this, - not the other way around.

In this instance, he's certain it's a waste of his time. More crewmembers lost, more lives passing under his hands. Tonight he'll spent a few hours comforting Kirk and then go to his cabin alone and write their names and set the papers ablaze and then drink himself into oblivion. Tomorrow he'll be back in sickbay, and then down on a planet, and give it a week or two before the same thing happens all over again.

Never mind being a Starfleet officer. He's a doctor. There will never be a cure to that, to the endless circle of life and death his days run in.

"I don't have a distaste for the practice," Leonard responds absently, picking at nothing in particular on his palm as he studies it, mostly just for the purpose of not having to really engage with the man. "I'm a psychologist myself. Non-practicing," obviously. He hasn't got the time for it, not when his services as a surgeon and physician are in such high demand. "And I understand the necessity perfectly well," at least as it pertains to having counselors on a starship. A relatively new practice, only deemed necessary aboard the Enterprise, which speaks volumes about the state of this mission. "Where my opinion differs from Mr. Spock's is in the notion that I require it."

If anyone requires it, it's Kirk, but nobody's talking about that because he's the captain and trying to wrangle him into therapy is like chasing down a scared dog. The harder you try, the faster he runs. Usually straight for the airlock. When McCoy does lift his gaze it's to meet the counselor's eyes sharply, mouth pressed into a thin line.

"Don't lecture me about my mental health. If I wanted to talk to an acquaintance about this, I'd talk to Jim, which was exactly my intention before I was dragged in here against my will." Never mind the fact that he'd be talking about Jim's mental state rather than his own. Talking is talking. He leans back, waving a dismissive hand at the very notion, shaking his head slightly. He's never been a chess man. Hell, that's probably the only thing that could make this worse, but more importantly than that, Leonard steadfastly refuses to be cooperative. Not if it means he'll be stuck in here for hours when he could be working. Even without any autopsy to perform, there are still death reports to write up. He needs to get it done, not sit here talking about it.

"I've lost patients before on missions just like this one. In this line of work, it's..." he licks his lips, faltering. It's essential to recognize when you simply can't do anything for a patient, is what he wants to say, but Leonard has never actually been any good at that, and though the events from the attack today keep replaying over and over in his head - the unidentifiable, horrifically corrosive arrows eating away at the flesh under his hands, the bodies giving way even as he tried working on them. Every tool and drug at his disposal useless. There wasn't enough to beam back up by the time Spock managed to haul him bodily away to retreat. What could he have done against that?

Something, his brain tells him. Given them a quicker death, if nothing else. Something more painless. But then he's tried that once before, too, and look what had happened then. If he was a better analyst, a quicker diagnostician, smarter with chemistry, maybe he could have identified the components that had been used, come up with a counter-agent in the seconds they had to work with. There had to have been something.

"I'm as qualified for the job as I ever was. This doesn't change a thing and, with all due respect, I don't see what I need to be assessed for."

leonard's desire to remain in his office - or, the lack of - is made abundantly transparent by the other's composure, though the nature of the tenseness presented by his torso remains unclear and subject for analysis. hannibal judges it to be caused by his unfamiliarity with counseling ( mccoy's history is blank, in that department, so the assumption this isn't part of the man's weekly schedule isn't far - reaching ) and less by the events that had transpired just a few hours before. hannibal's curiosity had remained unstirred when they initially announced the most recent mission, believing it to be akin to the ones that came before it, and had only fully focused on the team at the planet below when word spread throughout the ship something had gone terribly wrong.

his desire to learn more about the turn of events was satiated when no more than a few of the pair's crewmates had been rushed to the sickbay, almost irrecognizable. the urge bloomed in him to follow with, study the injuries further, though hannibal limited himself to that same spot he'd stood in and watched as they ran by. that is the reason mccoy's present in his office at the current moment - he'd put in a request for leonard to join him later that day and spock, who is infinitely closer to the man than he is and surely knew of his dislike for counseling, had seemed more than happy to agree.

" of course, make yourself comfortable. i am aware of your .. distaste for practices such as therapy, doctor mccoy, which is why i believe you'll be glad to learn this isn't counselling, nor anything near it. " his hands rummage through the various books at his desk, organizing them into two separate piles. " we are merely having a conversation. you might even think of me not as the enterprise's counsellor but as an acquaintance in lieu of that for now, if you so wish. "

a polite smile. a curious shine is displayed in his gaze. " now, you were present at today's landing party, were you not? i have only heard hearsay about the mission, most of it negative. an attack. " he states, almost firmly, assuming mccoy will correct him if that's not what, in fact, transpired. " you might wish to skip this conversation and resume working due to what happened - which, while i do empatize with that sentiment, isn't an option. you might be a doctor, but your patients' health holds the same importance as your own. health includes, of course, your mental state, which is why you're here. "

with his desk now organized, hannibal lifts one of the books and leans down once more, sliding open one of its drawers. from within it a chess box is removed and the psychiatrist resumes approaching the other, soon sitting on the couch opposite to leonard's. the box is placed on the small table inbetween them and the book is opened in his hold. " i'm rather afraid poker is far too distractive for this assessment. however, i am not opposed to a match of chess, if you're interested. moving your hands and sparing some focus to a second activity might help with answering my questions, as few as they are. " then, with a tilt of his head. " there's nothing to worry about, i don't bite. "

[rheawritessometimes]

A Little Treat

{ Drunk!Diluc x GN!Reader }

{ Summary } After Kaeya and Venti get Diluc drunk, you're left with the cleanup.

{ Warnings } Alcohol, Intoxication.

{ Notes } Diluc and Reader are in that weird space of not being in a romantic relationship but not being just friends. My interpretation of how Diluc might be when drunk. Masterlist

{ Word Count } 1,092

Kaeya was well known for his silver tongue and Venti had a talent for beguiling others, so it shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise that they were able to cajole Diluc into sampling some Snezhnayan Fire-Water with them. You could hardly blame the redhead, with the dynamic duo working together it was hard not to fall into one of their traps. The finer details of the exchange were still a mystery to you, but the outcome of it all was you being left to take care of an intoxicated winery owner after having scolded two clowns for getting him into that state.

“Diluc, it won’t be very comfortable to sleep on the bar like that. Why don’t we find a better place for you to rest?” you suggested gently, frowning at the way he slouched over the bar. Even if the position didn’t leave him sore in the morning, falling off the barstool in his sleep probably would.

“I can’t walk,” the intoxicated man groaned in response, not even lifting his head. He sounded saddened by this and you were thinking Kaeya and Venti deserved a bit worse than the scolding you had given them earlier. Make them kneel in the fountain with their hands over their heads for an hour.

“If I help you walk do you think you can make it to my house? We don’t have to go all the way to the winery.” You dreaded the thought of having to get all the way to Dawn Winery with a drunken Diluc. He was a rather large man and supporting even some of his weight over such a long distance would likely prove difficult.

Lifting his head, the uncrowned prince of Mondstadt spent a few long moments rolling your question around in his head. Being the patient person you were, you allowed him time to think. It would be impossible to get him anywhere without his cooperation, so souring his mood by hurrying him along wouldn’t be in your favor.

“You promise not to let me fall?” Diluc finally asked, lifting his head to look up at you with bright crimson eyes. His expression reminded you of an innocent, hopeful child and your heart fluttered.

“I promise,” you confirmed, offering him your hand to help him up. It appeared as though he was hesitant to take it, but in reality, his brain was just a bit sluggish in processing the world in its current state of intoxication. Gently placing his gloved hand in your own, he allowed you to help him up.

For claiming he was unable to walk, Diluc was very steady as you guided him out of the tavern and into the streets of Mondstadt. You were expecting to have to support him in some way, but he seemed to manage just fine on his own. With that in mind, you released your grip on his hand.

Much to your surprise, Diluc tightened his hold on your hand, looking at you with an alarmed expression.

“You said you’d help me, promised you wouldn’t let me fall!” he shouted, undoubtedly being much louder than he intended. Looking at him with wide eyes, you realized that holding your hand probably gave him some form of comfort, even if it wasn’t actually doing anything to keep him upright.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I won’t let go,” you soothed, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. He only hummed in response, seemingly satisfied with this as he let you continue to lead him back to your home.

Luckily the walk wasn’t very far and you were inside your home before you knew it. Fortunately, it didn’t seem anyone had taken note of you and Diluc making your way through Mondstadt, you worried about his reputation. Not that he was doing anything particularly embarrassing, besides following you like a lost puppy the whole way home.

“I like when you call me Di,” the redhead blurts as soon as the door closes. You let out a surprised laugh at his honesty, storing that information in your mind for a later time.

“Oh? I’ll be sure to remember that,” you tell him, a smile on your face. While you liked sober Diluc, this version of him was nice to see.

“Good.”

“How about I get you some water and then you can go to sleep?” you suggested, trying not to laugh at his short response. After a few moments spent processing your words, the redhead nodded in agreement.

You went to the kitchen to fetch him a glass of water, not expecting him to follow closely behind you. There was probably only a few inches between the two of you and you couldn’t help but pause, thankful he was able to stop before bumping into you.

“Di, you don’t have to follow me. I can bring the water back to you.”

“Yeah.”

As soon as you were walking again, so too was Diluc. Since it wasn’t much of a nuisance, you decided not to mention it again. You simply got a glass to fill with water before offering him the glass. He took it from your hands, taking a few sips while staring at you. It seemed like he was looking for affirmation, so you gave it to him.

“Good job. You want to go to sleep now?” you asked, taking the glass when he handed it back to you and setting it on the counter. After receiving a nod from him, you began to guide him to your room.

“You can sleep on the bed, I’ll take the couch tonight,” you said after he seated himself on the edge of the bed, removing his coat, boots, and gloves. To you, it seemed like that was the polite and logical thing to do, but Diluc looked up to you with confusion.

“You’re not staying with me?”

The sad puppy dog look the man gave you with those words had you wondering if he knew how much power he held over you. Sighing softly, you knew you weren’t strong enough to refuse him.

“Alright, I’ll stay. So stop looking at me like that.”

After turning off the lights and climbing into bed with him, you couldn’t help but think he looked a little smug. Maybe it was your imagination, but you couldn’t quite tell. But, it’s not as though you could be upset about it, especially when he laid his head on your chest and let you play with his hair.

You decided drunk Diluc was okay every once in a while. As a treat.

[gildedmuse]

Hey there, Tumblr Folks!

Let me start out by apologizing; I have so many plans for things I want to post about, so many things I wish I was writing, and for a while now it just doesn't seem to be happening. My work life has been incredibly high stress recently, which certainly hasn't helped, and also, unfortunately, my health has continued to decline. Perfectly normal, but not necessarily what I would have liked.

Of course, it can be very hard to write anything between a job that takes all your energy and an illness that means you don't have any to begin with (and are also in constant pain). I actually saved a bunch of my meds to try and have a better weekend in hopes I might actually produce something. However, my head (and kidneys) are refusing to cooperate. And I really feel it would help if I had a small push.

I put all that in small print knowing good and well no one is here for my personal shit. I mostly just wanted to apologize for not being more prolific.

Also! I was wondering if - in an attempt to maybe get my brain up and running - anyone out there might throw ideas or prompts or questions at me, things I can answer in like 5,00 words or less, not actually fanfic prompts, just enough to maybe help kick start my muse. Anythinh would be fine; maybe something related to Keno Rivals or Sora: Warrior of the Sea, or a missing scene from All Hearts, or an idea for a ZoLaw AU, even asking me about episodes. Anything to help force me to write.

I know it sounds crazy, but sometimes you just need that push of writing for other people to get the gears turning.

I'd be super appreciative! And I'll post a screencap of Zoro for everyone I can in thanks!

[Here, this one is on the house.]

[britishassistant]

Supervillain AU! I formally request the special addition of Yuu’s first kidnapping please.

Thank you for the ask, dear anon!

“Yoo-hoo, Reporter-chan? Wakey-wakey, it’ll be bad for you if you don’t get up soon~”

Yuu shakes their head groggily, the sing-songy voice not helping the pounding in their temple.

“Did someone get the number of the truck that hit me?” They mumble, blinking to try and get their eyes to focus.

“Dammit Deuce, you gave them brain damage.” A familiar, much more annoyed sounding voice said. “Their head’s gonna be all screwy and useless now, dumbass.”

“It was just a lovetap though!” A third voice, also familiar, protested.

The floor finally stopped moving in front of their eyes and Yuu realized some very important things.

One, the floor they were staring at was not the floor of the library where they last remembered being.

Two: Their arms and legs seemed to be tied tight to the arms and legs of an iron garden chair.

Three: There are many odd-looking people standing near them, all in clothes that are too coordinated not to be a uniform but too outlandish to represent a government group of some kind.

Oh Great Seven, Yuu thinks with a rising sort of hysteria. It’s finally happened.

Clowns have come to take me away for not brushing my teeth enough like Mom said when I was little.

“...Are ya sure you didn’t break ‘em?”

“...”

“Deuce.”

Yuu wonders if they should feel offended at being talked around like this.

“Enough of this nonsense!” A hand seizes Yuu’s chin and pulls their head up to face the latest speaker. An imperious-looking young man stands and walks towards the reporter, clicking his fingers. “Three of Clovers.”

A tall man in glasses hands the imperious young man what Yuu recognizes as their wallet. The shorter man glances at the contents disdainfully. “You. First and last name and age, now.”

“Y-Yuu Radcliffe, 23 years.” The reporter stutters, their initial hysteria morphing into a sinking feeling in their gut. If not the clowns, then... “Can I ask who I have the pleasure of talking to?”

“No.” The redhead holding their wallet snaps. “Current occupation and birthday?”

“Field reporter at TWST local news.” They force themselves to relax the fists their hands have balled into. “March 18th.”

Remember what Uncle Divvy always says. Stay calm, act cooperative, do or say whatever you need to to avoid injury. Any supervillains on this level trying to curry favor with or blackmail the dumb bird will have to go through Uncle Divvy first to contact him, and he’ll take care of the rest.

All Yuu needs to do is keep themselves alive until then.

They still can’t help but dread what they know is coming next.

The supervillain seems to notice their distress, and smirks cruelly. He takes his time walking forward and leaning down until he’s on the reporter’s eye level, hands resting on the back of the chair and eyes flicking over their face, almost as if he’s savoring the moment before he makes their life that much more painful.

Yuu braces themselves as he opens his mouth–!

“What is the best type of tea?”

Huh?

“Wait, what? I don’t—” Yuu asks, backpedalling as the supervillain’s face grows stormy at their lack of response. “Uuh...green tea? I guess? I mean, it’s the one I like the most, but I’m more of a coffee or hot cocoa person, so I’m not the best one to ask...”

The person holding their chin sucks in through their teeth and the annoyed familiar voice outside their periphary snickers “Oooh, busted~”

The supervillain is beginning to go as red as his hair, and the reporter can hear his teeth grinding. His hands are now gripping the back of the chair so tight Yuu would almost swear they hear the metal by their ears creak.

“Ri–Royal.” The man with glasses says.

The supervillain inhales and exhales almost violently, until what’s visible of his face under that mask is looking less flushed.

“The correct answer,” He says, voice trembling with emotion. “Was all teas at their due times. To drink green tea instead of rosehip at breakfast, or lemon tea at 8pm...the nerve of your arrogance is astounding!”

Yuu...genuinely isn’t sure how they’re supposed to respond to that. Instead they just go with, “I’m sorry, I’ve never had rosehip or lemon tea. Do you like them?”

“Do I—?!” The supervillain’s mouth works soundlessly, gradually going red again. He pushes off the chair sharply. “I—the ro—i-it’s not a matter of liking!! These are the Rules!! And the Rules must be obeyed!! Three of Clovers!”

“Yes, Royal Flush?” The glasses man asks.

“The reporter is forbidden from having any montblanc after dinner, and will take two cups of lemon tea at 8pm tonight and two cups of rosehip tomorrow at breakfast.” Royal Flush flashes them a cruel smirk. “Consider it a light punishment for your impertinence.”

Yuu blinks. Tries to make sense of what they’ve just heard.

Blinks again.

“You know if you just wanted to ask me out to dinner, I’d have taken a nice invitation or a bouquet. You didn’t need to knock me out and tie me up like this, I’m not that picky. I do have Tinder.”

Glasses guy makes a choking noise and erupts into a coughing fit.

The hand that’s been holding Yuu’s chin migrates to their shoulder for support as its owner lets out an undignified snort and gasps out something that sounds vaguely like “why wasn’t I recording, that was Magicam gold!” as he giggles. He’s a redhead too, but much more orange than his boss.

There’s a sputter of hysterical laughter that has Yuu twisting their head to see the two guys and the cat from the hydroelectric plant, both with these odd-looking metal collars around their necks, but otherwise unharmed. The talking cat is trussed up in so many ropes that it looks more like a bobblehead, also wearing a weird collar.

The third redheaded one is bracing his hands on his knees, wheezing out a litany of “holy shit, holy shit” between chortles. The dark haired one is holding the cat a confused expression, cutting off his friend’s laughter when he turns to ask, “Ace, what’s tinder?”

The momentary silence lets an odd squeaking noise be heard.

One that gradually grows in volume until it’s an outright screech coming from the supervillain in front of them. He’s so red Yuu is honestly worried about his blood pressure, pointing a shaking finger at them.

“I—YOU—YOU—OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!!!”

Yuu chokes a little at the feeling of cold metal materializing around their neck, dragging their head down with its weight. The supervillain continues screeching, refusing to even look at the reporter. “YOU—! DUNGEON! RIGHT NOW!! NO DESSERTS!! GO!!”

There’s an awkward moment as Royal Flush turns away from them, as if expecting them to get up and walk out of their own accord while his back is to them.

“...So, does that mean you want them to untie me or something, or...?” Yuu wiggles their firmly bound hands and feet for emphasis.

The supervillian makes a sound like a kettle whistling, before he barks out. “Two of Spades! Ace of Hearts! GET them OUT OF MY SIGHT until they’re WILLING to COOPERATE!!”

The dark haired young man quickly shuffles forward, grabs the back of the chair, and drags it and the poor reporter attached to it out of the room and into the corridor. The metal screeches as it moves from carpet to concrete.

“Wh—Two, no, untie them first.” The man with glasses says, despairing, appearing in the doorway. “You’ll mark up the floor otherwise.”

“Ah! Sorry, senpai!” Two looks between the cat in his arms and the knots on the chair, before shoving the cat into the arms of the redhead who answers to “Ace”. Neither of them look happy with this development.

“Fgnah! Quit squeezing, ya jerk!” The cat protests, wriggling as best it can.

“Oh? What’s that? I’m sorry, I just need to make sure that greatest, lamest supervillain in the city doesn’t escape to go setting random crap in the lair on fire again.” Ace says sweetly, grip tightening.

“Tha’s your fault, an’ you know it!” The cat wheezes out, thrashing harder.

Yuu winces. “Hey, quit hurting him. Whatever he did, he doesn’t deserve this.”

The dark haired minion barks out a laugh as he tugs the ropes away from their right wrist while his redheaded counterpart sneers at them.

“Oh really? Bet you’ll change your tune real quick once you learn it’s thanks to him you’re here in the first place.” Ace of Hearts mocks. “Dumb monster sang like a damn canary when Royal pressured him a tiiiny bit, saying it was all your fault his precious ingredient is now in the sewers.”

“Tha’s a lie!” The monster? cat blurts out too quickly for comfort. “It’s all these two morons, I swear!”

“Why you little—“

“I don’t care.” Yuu cuts in before Two of Spades can hit the animal. “I didn’t destroy that thing, but even if none of you said anything, your boss would’ve found out I was involved anyway from watching my report on it on the news. So I don’t care, just-just quit hurting him.”

There’s a tense moment as the two minions stare down at the reporter. They do their best to meet the gazes without flinching.

Then the Ace of Hearts tosses the cat into their lap as the Two of Spades sinks back down to keep working on their ankle. “Fine. Since you like it so much, you can take care of it. Just don’t expect me to cover for your ass—you still owe me for the power plant.”

“I’m sorry?” Yuu curls their free arm around the bundle of rope, fur, and yowling insults and pulls it closer to them. “Shouldn’t that be the other way round?”

“You locked me in a closet with him!” Ace hisses. “Do you know how hard it was to get out before the cops came with him freaking out and messing stuff up?!”

“Oi.” Two shoots him a dark look from where he’s finished untying the reporter’s left hand. “Like you weren’t whining about us being digested until you knocked a broom over!”

“Sh-shut up!”

“Well excuse me for trying to save your lives.” Yuu bites back, rubbing the rope marks on their wrists. “Next time I’ll just run and let the sludge monster eat your unconscious bodies.”

“It’d save us all the trouble of this shit if you did!” Ace spits, jabbing a finger at his collar. “At least then we wouldn’t be on Royal’s shit list!”

Yuu lets the piece of information they were just given marinate in their brain as they glare at him. Well, now what exactly was that supposed to mean?

“Ngh...this knot won’t come loose.” Two says from by the reporter’s left foot.

“How about now?” Replies an unfamiliar voice, as a disembodied hand pulls deftly at a loop in the rope.

“Ah!” Two of Spades brightens up as the rest of the rope falls away. “Thanks a lot—”

The disembodied hand punches him in the face.

Yuu cries out in alarm at the sight of the minion falling backwards into the Ace of Hearts, knocking him down like a bowling pin.

A pair of clawed hands are then scooping them up, extra cat and all, and the reporter finds themself looking at the unsettlingly wide smile and purple cat ears of one of the city’s top heroes, running at full speed while sharpened playing cards whizz past his face and Ace calls out behind them “Senpai! It’s him again!!”

There’s a percussive boom somewhere in the distance, and screams of how the flamingos are loose as the hero winks down at Yuu. “Seems you’re a popular one today, kitten! But let’s get you back to where you where before you were so rudely catnapped, yes?”

“Not so fast, hero!” The orange haired guy choruses from the entrance to the staircase, and—from behind them as well?

The reporter’s heart sinks as more and more versions of the minion keep popping up around them, to the point where the hero is forced to stand on the bannister of the balcony they’re on.

And based on the fact that the hero hasn’t used his invisibility? Intangibility? powers, it’s likely that he can’t use them while holding Yuu and the cat.

They’re surrounded.

“You really can’t keep your paws out of anything that’s mine, can you?” Royal Flush’s tone is clipped as he glares up at the hero.

“Hey R-kun, Three-kun!” The hero pouts, hugging Yuu closer to his chest. “I come a~ll this way to play, only to find you’ve got a nyew toy you’re already playing with without me! How mean! You guys really are cruel!!”

“We’re sorry about that.” Three of Clovers says, edging closer. “If you just hand the reporter over to Four, they’ll be put away and we can all “play” together, no distractions. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

The hero makes a deliberating noise, holding Yuu out and away from him over the drop, tilting his head this way and that.

His grin grows unsettlingly wider.

“Look, R-kun, Three-kun!” The hero calls out. “Nyo hands!”

Wait, what—

The hero’s body vanishes.

Yuu and the monster cat plummet screaming past the illogically winding staircases of the evil lair.

Yuu tries to angle their body so that the frantically crying cat will be shielded from the brunt of the fall—!

“NO!!”

There’s a sound like glass shattering, and a feeling of being enveloped in something soft, cold and buoyant. The two of them bounce a few times and land back on it more gently each time.

Yuu cracks open their eyes to see that they’re seated on a strange, red, jelly-like mass. The cat in their arms tentatively sniffs, and then lunges to take a bite out of their cushion before the reporter can stop him.

“Shtrawberry?” He says through a full mouth. “Tashtes good!”

The reporter grabs him before he can go for another bite, a little thrown by his speed now that collar isn’t weighing him down. But where did this thing come from–?

Yuu looks up.

Royal Flush is leaning dangerously far over the balcony countless flights of stairs above them, one arm outstretched down towards them.

They stare at each other for a moment.

Then clawed hands fasten around Yuu’s waist again with a cheery “Nyow wasn’t that fun?” and Royal Flush visibly tenses and begins screaming things after the escaping hero that are barely legible through his rage.

The hero deposits them both outside the TWST news station with their wallet and phone back in their pockets. He at least helps them untie the monster cat, who promptly declares he just let them protect him, and scarpers.

Of course the hero is gone too when Yuu turns back around, before they can ask him what the hell he was playing at, dropping them like that, was he insane?! If Royal Flush hadn’t interfered...

The reporter has to fight the urge to lose their lunch.

Their boss rushes out and envelopes them in a surprisingly powerful hug, the woman almost lifting the reporter off their feet as she babbles about whether or not Yuu needs a hospital after getting kidnapped by one of the seven major supervillains.

Yuuken is quick to join the embrace with a bear hug of his own. He pulls back, fingers prodding gently at Yuu’s bruised temple and declaring he’ll drive them to hospital to make sure they don’t have a concussion.

He graciously waits until they’re in the car to ask why Yuu smells so much of strawberries.

The reporter can only give a half answer, partly because they don’t want to worry him, and partly because they have another question of their own buzzing incessantly around their brain.

Why was Yuu kidnapped in the first place?

Royal Flush never even mentioned Crowley, despite all the chances he had to do so. Not even an oblique or confusing metaphor or code. Does that mean he’s ignorant of the connection between Yuu and the League?

But if that’s the case, it circles back around to the first question: why kidnap Yuu to begin with?

Somehow the reporter doubts it was to just ask their tea preferences or invite them to dinner.

Those minions referred to that monster as Royal Flush’s “precious ingredient”. Ingredient for what? Is there something that Royal Flush thinks they witnessed that’s integral to a scheme? Did they witness something and just not realize it’s significance?

Yuu’s reporter senses are screaming that there’s a deeper story to uncover here. Yuu’s common sense is screaming that investigating the dangerous plans of the supervillain they’ve just escaped from is a terrible idea.

Though he could have just...let them fall. But he didn’t. And won’t he just kidnap them again regardless?

...

This is a terrible idea.

But if Yuu’s common sense was stronger than their reporter senses, then they wouldn’t be in this city in the first place, would they?

[norcumii]

...oh thanks, Tumblr, it wasn’t like I was trying to answer that ask or anything. -_-

OHKAY. Take two! For this trope mashup meme, @dogmatix asked:

Rex/Obi or pairing/characters of choice - Apocalyse AU / Mermaid/Siren AU / Aroused by their voice

This modern!AU got a liiiiiittle bit more absurdist than planned, but NO REGRETS. Assistance was provided by @dharmaavocado and @deadcatwithaflamethrower -- THANK YOU BOTH!

*****

There was a lovely breeze coming in across the ocean, the sky had just enough puffy white clouds to keep things interesting, and Rex was taking a maintenance day. The last family group of tourists to charter a day trip had included several children that were at least two parts sticky and three parts grime. His poor Vigilance needed a serious scrub down, and Rex was not looking forward to restocking. Small Grubby Fiend 1 had stumbled – supposedly due to a sudden swell, but more likely because Small Grubby Fiends 2 and 3 hadn’t stopped ‘not kicking’ each other for way too long. Not being an entire idiot, Rex has gone right for the band-aids with cartoon characters, but since it wasn’t a cartoon Small Grubby Fiend 1 liked, that meant another – until all three Small Grubby Fiends had been plastered with far more of his first aid kit than was good for anyone.

It had been a long day.

So there he was, untangling life-vests that hadn’t even been used, while singing along with whatever music was playing from the boat’s speakers. Rex wasn’t sure if the music was pop, rock, or some other unholy category he’d never heard of, but thankfully it didn’t matter. He liked it, and could figure out which of Tup’s mix tapes it was on, which was the important thing.

Tup always made hilarious offended noises when Rex called them mix tapes, which was a significant reason why he did so. They were music folders, sensibly labeled by mood, because his little brother had realized at some point that was the only way to keep Rex up to date on anything past the 90’s grunge music.

Tup’s accusation, not his. Rex damn well knew how to use a radio – several kinds of radio, thank you very much.

He was several songs into mind-numbing chores when he spotted a flash of red streaking under the dock, and Rex ducked his head to hide a grin. He’d started spotting movement like that a couple of weeks ago, around the time the neighbors descended on their beach house. There were several ginger teenagers, so he figured one of them was a hell of a water rat who had damn odd taste in music.

To be fair, so did he.

It’d been weird at first, realizing he had an audience that disappeared the moment he acknowledged their existence. But the most he heard or saw out of them beyond the momentary glimpse was a bit of percussion, someone drumming in time against the water – and once, the dock itself – so Rex had shrugged and accepted their presence. It was kinda nice, actually, just to have someone around. He lived a ways off the end of a long, sparsely populated road, and while he didn’t mind the solitude, sometimes you just wanted another–

Rex’s train of thought went off the rails with a loud yelp as he discovered something slimy stuck to the back of a life-vest. It might have been edible once – it was a shade of radioactive green he didn’t associate with anything other than candy or video games, at least, so that was his best guess. Much as he wanted to blame the Small Grubby Fiends, he hadn’t done more than a spot check of these vests for awhile – could’ve been anyone.

Ugh. At least unlike some clients he could name, Rex’s eavesdropper wasn’t vandalizing anything. Wasn’t about to begrudge that.

Rex had managed to get most of the neon green grossness cleared when the rumble of an approaching car caught his attention. He wasn’t expecting visitors, not that that had ever stopped any of his brothers. Lost delivery drivers usually turned around before hitting up the driveway, which was long enough and had enough private property signs to keep out idiots looking for easy water access.

“Who the hell is this?” he muttered, setting the vest aside. He didn’t recognize the little black car, or the burly guy stepping out of the passenger’s side, but the guy waved and casually started towards Rex as if he knew who the hell he was.

Not reassuring, especially since the stranger rapped the car’s roof, and it headed back up the driveway.

“You seem lost,” Rex said, standing up and trying to look just the right level of intimidating.

“Nope,” the guy said back, still heading towards him. “Need your boat.”

“That’s work related – you need to wait till I’m back at the marina tomorrow. I’m at home, it’s my day off.”

Burly guy finally stopped, planting his hands on his hips – a move which just happened to part the jacket of his cheap suit enough that Rex could see the gun he carried. “I don’t think you understand, Mr. Fett. I don't want any trouble – I just want you to head inside, and take that day off while I borrow your boat.”

Oh, FUCK. Nobody really talked about how the mob owned most of the marinas in Tatooine Bay, but you didn’t need to declare water was wet to get drenched in the rain. It just wasn’t something that ever happened to someone you knew, just friends of friends or something.

“And if I don’t agree?” he couldn’t keep from asking.

Burly Guy had a surprisingly expressive shrug. “Most people don’t enjoy pushing their luck that far.”

To his credit, it was a remarkably polite threat. “I’m surprised anyone ever does.”

“Eh, every now and then there’s some freaky masochist looking for cheap thrills, but it ain’t my kink. Don’t think it’s yours, either, so if you’d just head inside, that’d be appreciated.”

The smart move was probably to comply. Rex wasn’t inclined to cooperate anyways. He was saved from making either bad decision by...sound.

It didn’t register as singing – there was something too off about it, a combination that wasn’t quite autotune, or that polyphonic singing Echo had gotten into when Fives got obsessed with the guitar. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t right in a way that was madly distracting.

The...singing? – pulled both Rex and the goon around towards the end of the dock, and if Rex hadn’t been so muzzy-headed from that sound he would have been gaping much more blatantly.

There was someone slipping out from under the dock, and it was most definitely not one of the neighbors.

It was a trim, shirtless figure in the water – ginger indeed, short red hair just dry enough to be messy spikes. Pale skin was freckled in scales of shimmering reds, protective lines over what would be vulnerable areas on a human. It swam close enough to the surface that Rex could see the sleek fins and tail, and part of his brain kept screaming ‘mermaid!’ while the rest took in the long, sharp claws on webbed hands and whispered ‘predator.’ Its singing showed sharply pointed teeth, and it should not have been nearly that gorgeous.

The mermaid glanced over at him, eyes a deep blue-on-blue that could never masquerade as human, flicking a look up and down him that could have been flattering or terrifying – it all depended on if that was measuring him for a meal euphemistically or not.

The singing changed as the creature turned its attention back to the goon, and the magnetic pull on Rex lessened. He staggered back a step, not too surprised to find he was halfway down the dock without noticing. The hazy feeling in his brain stopped, or at least dropped down to levels that were close enough to normal, so he got a clear view as the goon started walking into the water, oblivious to everything except the mer-siren-thing he was shambling towards.

The siren moved when the goon was almost waist deep in the water, flowing forward to delicately place a hand at the goon’s throat. The singing continued, but now there was a new undertone, soft and somehow questioning. Rex couldn’t tell if there were words to it or not – maybe a whole other language for all he knew – but the goon responded, voice soft enough that he couldn’t make out what was said.

Whatever he said, it didn’t please the siren. It kept singing, but it snarled, showing more of those pointed teeth, then it twisted and dove, hauling the unresisting goon under the water.

A terrifying few moments more, and the last hums of the song seemed to stop vibrating through the water.

“What the absolute fuck?” Rex said numbly. Thank everything, no one answered.

A smart man would’ve hidden inside, or driven off to a movie theater or something – inland and away. Rex wasn’t sure why he stayed: curiosity – morbid or otherwise – shock, or a healthy disbelief in the whole debacle. He was maybe a bit too numb to not have some kind of shock, but –

He felt like he maybe deserved it. “Yeah, I can have a bit of shock,” Rex muttered to himself. “As a treat.”

Okay, he might have more than a bit. But by the time the siren poked his head out of the water again – politely out of arms’ reach – Rex had calmed down a decent degree. They just looked at each other for a bit, then the siren gave him a polite nod.

“Hello there,” he said in a pleasant, deep voice with a hell of an accent.

Rex held up a hand, needing a moment. Of fucking course the British even colonized under the goddamned sea. “Hi. You speak English.” It wasn’t quite the most inane thing he could’ve said, but his brain hadn’t managed to catch up yet.

He was talking to a goddamned mermaid who had just kidnapped and possibly eaten some mob thug who’d been trying to take Rex’s boat. It had been a day.

“You’re not the first land-dweller I’ve made the acquaintance of.”

Rex absolutely refused to make any kind of a crack about being charmed. There was too much hysteria lurking in there. “Speaking of acquaintances, you didn’t, ah, kill that guy, did you?”

The siren’s lips pulled back from his teeth a little. “I still haven’t decided what to do with him, so right now he’s out of the way.” He must’ve seen something impressive in Rex’s expression, because the angry disdain smoothed over to something more neutral. “He’s stashed in a cave I know. Enough air to breathe, but the only entrance is underwater and too far for most humans to swim without assistance.”

That was...a lot. “Thanks for the help.”

The siren smiled, an oddly sweet, bashful expression. “I’d be a very poor guest if I didn’t assist.” He cleared his throat, his expression going awkward. “Though I...suppose ‘guest’ is a bit presumptive.”

Rex grinned. “No, I spotted you a couple weeks ago – ah, I mean, sort of.” Before he could make more a hash of that, he cleared his throat. “The name’s Rex.”

The siren folded his hands together and did a little bow thing. “Obi-Wan. Pleasure to meet you.”

He wasn’t blushing. He absolutely was not blushing. “So...you in town for long?” Ok, now he was blushing, that was worst subject change ever meeting worst fishing attempt – meeting worst and wildly inappropriate pun.

Obi-Wan’s expression fell, sorrow way too visible in those non-human eyes. “I suppose you could say that. I...no longer have a home to return to.”

Definitely not a topic to change to. Right. Rex cleared his throat and shifted. “Well. You’re welcome anytime, for what that’s worth.”

The slow-growing smile didn’t remove that sorrow, but it did kindle something warm inside. This was at least three different kinds of trouble, but Rex didn’t think he’d regret any of it.

~end

[bullshxtvixen]

keishin would 100% make you walk around in cum soaked panties 😳 and tease you all fucking day about it

So...I got a bit carried away writing this, I haven’t proof read it but 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

“Shit, baby. I swear i’ll never get tired of fucking you.”

A slick covered forehead rested against your shoulder while lean forearms -carefully tucked beneath your knees- kept your aching legs pressed to your sides, splaying you open for him as your ass rested dangerously close to the edge of the sink you’d be placed on top of.

You were completely at the mercy of the man before you.

His groans were like music to your ears as your nails clawed at the nape of his neck, finger tips tugging at bleach blonde lock as your body was jolted with each snap of his hips.

“Kei...Kei, p-please, I need to cum!” You moaned into his ear. The sound of you so breathless and needy for him as your greedy clenched around his cock was always his downfall.

When you sounded like that, it was like he lost all control of his body, his natural instincts to fucking you into oblivion taking over.

His movements grew rougher, harder, more desperate, as he gave into them.

You clung to him like he was your last lifeline as the knot in your stomach tightened to an unbearable degree. White hot desire ready to flood your veins. It crashed against the wall of the dam instead you, deadly and waiting.

His head turned, warm lips brushing against the delicate skin of your neck. He felt your body began to tense in his arms, the grip your cunt had on him turning vice-like.

Fuck. I’ll never get enough of his. he thought to himself, slamming back inside of you.

“Cum for me, my little slut.”

Then his teeth sank into the soft flesh of your neck, giving you the final stimulation you come undone.

A rough hand was quick to cover your mouth as the dam inside of you crumbled. Desire rushed through you, sending your body into a state of pure bliss as tears pooled at the corner of your eyes.

“That’s it, cum all over my cock. Such a fucking good girl for me, aren’t you?”

He pulled back and knew instantly that the words were lost on you. Your expression was one of ecstasy as you rode out your high. No words would register in your brain while your pussy was twitching around his cock that was still stretching your walls.

He continued to fuck you through your orgasm, his hand never moving from mouth. You never were one for being quiet when you were getting plowed like a whore and he didn’t want anyone overhearing the two of you.

No, your moans were his and his alone.

It wasn’t much longer before the wet heat of your pulsing walls had him spilling his seed deep inside them. You were vaguely aware of the warmth of it as you slowly came down from your high.

The pair of you stayed like that for a moment, trying to catch your breath before he took a step back. Low groans fell from both of you as he pulled himself from your ruined. He slide your underwear back into place then carefully released your legs, allowing them to rest at his sides as you collapsed against his clothed chest. 

The way the black lace had darkened further as his cum began to leak out of your cunt wasn’t lost on him. He knew you were going to be mad when your mind cleared of lust and realised he’d ruined yet another pair.

“Jesus, Kei...” Your body was still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm as you eyed him from your perch.

He chuckled, tucking himself back into his trousers before making sure his zipper was up. He met your gaze with a smirk in his eye. 

“Let’s get out of here before they realise what we’ve been up to.” He said, holding a hand out for you to take.

Rolling your eyes you slid off the sink, stumbling a little as your legs refused to cooperate.

You made quick work of straightening out your hair and make up before grabbing his hand and heading for the exit.

“Well I didn't think my night would end with a quickie in some fancy restaurant toilets.” You joked, pressing yourself closer to his warmth as you made your way outside of the restaurant he’d just fucked you in. 

As you’d began to walk, you’d quickly became aware of the growing slickness between your legs as his cum seeped into your underwear. You couldn’t wait to get home and shower.

He paused next to you, wrapping an arm around and leaned in close so that only you could hear him.

“Who said anything about your night ending, princess? It’s still so early.” You froze, cursing under your breath. 

He grabbed your chin between his fingers and forced you to meet his eyes.

“We’re going to walk to your parents house-” you shot him a look that only made his grin widen as he saw the uncertainty in your eyes. “Don’t give me that look, you brought this on yourself when you let me fuck you in a public bathroom. Anyway, as I was saying. We’re going to walk to your parents house while my cum soaks through your already ruined underwear,” you gulped, “then you’re going to sit there and have a nice chat with mommy and daddy dearest while my cum sticks to the inside of your thighs.” He places a swift kiss against your temple before heading in the direction of the house you’d grown up in.

He had to be joking, right?

But you knew Keishin, you knew this was the kind of shit he pulled.

You stared slacked jawed after him as he continued down the street as if he hadn’t just said those words to you.

“Better keep those legs crossed when you get there, babe. We wouldn’t want them seeing what a naughty slut their precious little girl has been, would we?”

This man would be the death of you.

[the-modernmary]

my best habit || aaron hotchner x reader (ch. 1)

Summary: When Aaron Hotchner ended your affair with him, saying that a serial killer was going after him and his family, you were content with the idea that you’d probably never see him again. Two years have come and gone since then, but when you get dragged into an FBI investigation as a key witness, you and Hotch are forced to come face to face with all the things left unsaid.

Warnings: n/a

A/N: Thank you for all of the love on the prologue!! like WOW i couldn't have expected that big of a response so THANK YOU!!! As a reminder: I already have the first 17 chapters out on ao3, so I will be updating on here pretty quickly! This takes place two years after the prologue, and this is where the actual storyline starts!

masterlist || read on ao3

Anything you say can and will be held against you

So only say my name

It will be held against you

-Fall Out Boy, “Just One Yesterday”

Present Day- Two Years Later

You tugged at the handcuff that was attaching you to the interrogation table, hoping that if you glared at it enough, it would just go away. One minute, you were at your apartment and getting ready to go out with some of your friends, and the next minute Metro D.C. police were banging on your door, ordering you to go with them, no charges and no explanation.

So now you were just stuck, sitting and waiting for somebody to tell you what the hell this all was about. Law school had taught you enough about interrogation tactics, and they were pulling out all of the stops- turning down the room temperature, forcing you to sit in the most uncomfortable chair you’ve ever been in, and just making you be by yourself in the metal room. A small part of you was nervous, but mostly you were just confused. You couldn’t think of anything you’d done that would warrant your arrest.

Just as the isolation of the room was about to get to you, the door swung open and in walked two people. The first one was a petite blonde woman and following her was a younger looking man in a cardigan. You narrowed your eyes slightly at the site of them. You had expected the usual “good cop/bad cop” technique, but neither of these cops looked very intimidating.

“Hi there,” the woman spoke, sliding into the chair across from you. “My name is Agent Jareau and this is Dr. Reid. We’re here to ask you a few questions.”

Her name sounded familiar, but you couldn’t quite place where you knew it from. You raised an eyebrow and jutted your head towards Dr. Reid. “Is the handsome one not an agent?” you asked, leaning back in your chair.

Dr. Reid seemed unphased by your question, as if he was used to that question. “I am an agent. But I also have three doctorates,” he answered.

You just smirked at him before looking back at Agent Jareau. She had placed a file on the table, the seal of the FBI practically staring you in the face. Whatever they brought you in for was an FBI matter? Oh, you were definitely screwed. You tried to keep your cool. “So are you guys going to actually charge me with anything, or are you just going to hold me for 72 hours until you find something to stick?” you accused.

Agent Jareau shook her head, and you were still desperately trying to remember how you knew that name. “The faster you cooperate, the faster we can let you go.” It didn’t go unnoticed to you that she refused to answer your question. She leaned over the table slightly to slide the file towards you and you caught a glimpse of her ID. Everything came back to you at once.

Jennifer Jareau. FBI. Business cards. “You can set up a formal meeting with me at the BAU…” Holy shit, you did know that name.

You laughed softly to yourself and crossed your legs as the memories came flooding back. “Okay, I’ll cooperate,” you agreed, but you were looking directly at the two way mirror. “But only if I can speak to your unit chief. It still is Aaron Hotchner, correct?” Your voice was innocent enough to not be too suspicious, but you knew it would drive Aaron crazy. It was the same voice you would use when he had a fistfull of your hair and you were promising to be his good girl.

You could only imagine what was going on behind that two way mirror; Aaron’s team looking at him with complete and utter confusion, trying to figure out how you knew him, all while Aaron was probably clenching his teeth, red with anger. Maybe if you made him mad enough, he would bend you over the interrogation table once everybody else had left.

Jennifer and Dr. Reid shared a quick glance before looking back at you. Dr. Reid spoke first. “It would be best if we could go over our questions with you first.”

You bopped your head, pretending to think it over. “I get it, the two of you have a job to do and you have a strategy to stay in control, so I’ll give you guys a choice. You can let me speak to Agent Hotchner or I lawyer up and invoke the 5th.”

Like clockwork, the door swung open violently and Aaron stormed in. “I’ll take it from here,” he ordered, and the other two agents quickly shuffled out of the room.

He sat down in the seat across from you and you just raised the hand that was handcuffed to the table, wiggling your fingers. He was pissed, you could tell, and you loved every second of it. You leaned over the table, signalling for him to move closer to you. He hesitated, which earned him a roll of your eyes, but he eventually leaned over the table too.

“If you wanted me in handcuffs again for you, you didn’t have to go through all this effort. My phone number hasn’t changed,” you whispered, low enough so that the group watching on the other side of the mirror couldn’t hear. He refused to answer and instead just pulled back to his normal seated position. Ever the good agent, Aaron’s face went back to it’s normal, stoic look, and it made you pout. You wanted to get more of a rise out of him.

“Miss. Y/L/N,” he said cooly. “Why don’t we get started?” You realized with a sinking feeling that he was already starting to lose interest in you flirting, his attention focused back on the task at hand, attention that you selfishly wanted all to yourself.

You slipped off the heels you were wearing and stretched your leg out so that your foot could brush against his leg. If you couldn’t touch him with your hands right now, you were going to make sure he could feel you in some way. His eyes shot up to yours, giving you a warning look, as if to say “Stop right now or I’m going to make you.”

You knew that look too well, craved for it even. You just responded with a smirk and dropped your foot, relishing in the fact that he actually looked slightly disappointed that you stopped.

“How are Haley and Jack doing, Aaron?” you asked lazily, leaning back in your chair. “Visiting them more often?”

Aaron cleared his throat and ran his hand down his tie to flatten it, as if it had come out of place. He was always so put together at work. “Jack is fine. Haley passed away a while ago,” he said quickly, and guilt immediately engulfed you.

You lowered your gaze so that you were staring at the interrogation table. “Oh,” you mumbled. “I’m sorry.” And you really were sorry. Sure, your relationship, or lack of relationship, with Haley was weird. You were sleeping with her ex before the divorce papers had time to be fully submitted, and even though Aaron was well in his right to be with whoever he wanted, the two of you still found yourselves sneaking around with each other. But you never had anything against her personally- she seemed like a great mother and obviously made Aaron happy for however long they were married.

Besides, you could take a guess as to what happened to Haley. Your fling with Aaron lasted for a fun few months, neither of you ever expecting anything other than sex whenever you met up, so when you and Aaron had decided to stop seeing each other, it was completely amicable. He had explained that the BAU was closing in on a serial killer who was going after him and his family, and you did not want to be involved in that mess. The fact that Haley died right as a serial killer was chasing her… that definitely wasn’t just a coincidence.

The tension was thick in the room as the two of you desperately searched for how to continue the conversation. What were you supposed to say after finding out your fuck buddy’s ex wife was murdered?

You started talking before your brain could even process what you were saying. “Well, like told you, if you ever need somebody to help you pick up those broken pieces...”

He ignored you, electing to direct the conversation in his own direction. “You know, I read the paper you were working on,” he said casually, and that sure caught you by surprise.

“You did?” you asked.

“You piqued my interest,” he admitted. “Your professor and I worked on a few cases together, so he gave me a copy. It was good. You are much more professional on paper.”

“I could say the same about you,” you countered, and he gave you a hint of a genuine smile.

“Although I did notice that you didn’t mention The People vs. Michaelson anywhere in it.” There was something in his voice that put you on edge. You could feel yourself walking into his trap, but you couldn’t help yourself. You wanted to know more.

You shrugged. “Well, I got some shit information about the case.”

For a split second, you thought you saw a flash of the old Aaron, but just as quickly as it came, it disappeared, and he was business as usual. “What intrigued me even more, however,” he continued, completely ignoring your previous comment. “Was that you didn’t mention recidivism at all, which is what that case is all about. Your thesis was on jury selection. Why ask me about the case if you weren’t going to use the information for school?”

You glared at him and clenched your hands into fists, your nails digging into your palms. What a dick. He knew why you were interested in the case- it mirrored your father’s situation almost perfectly. You were 12 the first time your father was arrested. When your mom realized that your dad was involved with some shady people, she immediately turned him into the cops to protect you. The prosecutor barely even tried during the case and your dad was in and out of prison within two years. The day he was released, he came right back to your home and killed your mom out of revenge. He’s now rotting in a max security prison for life, but you were still angry that he even had the opportunity to come after your mom. It’s why you wanted to become a prosecutor in the first place, so that you could ensure these criminals were actually brought to justice.

Aaron knew all that. You realized as he began to inch the case file closer to you that he was just trying to knock you off balance. The actual interrogation hadn’t even started yet. “And you say that I’m the one who gets under people’s skin,” you snapped at him.

Aaron humed to himself, arrogance oozing off of him. If you weren’t so angry at him, you would have thought it was hot. “You’re currently interning at DuPont and Associates?” You nodded, annoyed at him brushing off your last comment. “What do you know about the recent string of murders in the area?” Aaron asked.

Your eyebrows furrowed at his question. “Um… Just what they’re saying on the news? Somebody has been killing a bunch of people whose cases were dismissed because of technicalities- their Miranda rights were read incorrectly and that kind of stuff. I haven’t really been keeping up,” you admitted, still unsure of why you were there.

Aaron flipped open the case files, and instead of gruesome crime scene photos, you just saw legal briefs. More shocking, however, was that they were all legal briefs you had helped write. “Each of these victims had their initial cases through duPont and Associates, and we found that you were the only person who assisted on every case. What did you think about those dismissals? Some of these people really should have been locked up, wouldn’t you agree?”

Your mouth opened and closed as you tried desperately to find the words to say. Unconsciously, you started to tug at the handcuff again, as if they would suddenly just release you if you fought it enough. “Maybe, but that’s not really my decision,” you said disdainfully. Then the fear and realization slowly creeped into you. “Wait you don’t… you guys don’t think I did this, do you?” Your voice was rough and panicky.

Aaron placed his hands on the cold metal of the interrogation table, his fingers interlocked. His FBI Unit Chief exterior melted away ever so slightly. “No, I don’t,” he said softly, and his use of “I” instead of “We” did not go unnoticed by you. You weren’t sure if you were comforted by that or not. “But you are our best lead right now, and I think you know more than you realize. We have reason to believe that the unsub works for the law firm you’re interning at and is playing out a vigilante fantasy and considering you are the only one who actually worked on every single case, we need to use you and your position at the firm to get more intel.”

We need to use you. He realized his slip before he even finished his sentence. It was innocuous enough that his team probably didn’t even notice it; He was just letting a potential witness know that they were going to be an important part of the investigation. But you knew Aaron better than that, and you could see the wheels turning in his brain as he tried to figure out how to go back on what he just said.

You gave him a smirk and brought your elbows up on the table, steepling your fingers. Of course you were going to help them, whatever they needed. You’d do that even if Aaron wasn’t involved. But after being forcibly brought to the interrogation room, you figured you could make him sweat a little. “Oh Aaron, I’m flattered that you think I could be an asset to the BAU’s investigation. But if you want something from me, you’re going to have to ask for it.”

You got him right where you wanted him. You knew he wasn’t going to be happy with the roll reversal, using his own words against him. But you missed the playful banter between you and Aaron, and nobody knew how to get you off the way he did. Aaron had quite literally ruined sex for you, much to your disappointment. The other people you had slept with since meeting Aaron all lacked the confidence and intelligence that Aaron brought to every meeting, and they could never walk that fine line of fucking you like they adored you and hated you at the same time.

The way that Aaron would demand you to ask and use your words was more than just a way for him to remain in control, although you knew that was definitely part of it. And it was more than just checking for consent- that always came earlier and you had your safeword. No, it was more than all of that. He wanted to hear you beg for the things you wanted, as if he wanted to be validated; He always wanted to know that you still wanted him, which you did. So you just kept asking him for things, and he happily kept giving them to you.

Aaron looked downright murderous, his eyebrows scrunched together and his breathing getting heavier. He stood up and slammed the case file shut. “I’m not going to ask for anything, because where I’m standing, I have the control here. In case you forgot, you’re in handcuffs and I can walk out of here whenever I want.” But even as he said it, he stayed exactly where he was, his hands on the table and leaning down so that he was closer to you.

In return, you just arched your eyebrow at him, waiting for his question. He had to ask you for the sake of his job and the case and you both knew it, and you got a strange satisfaction from watching him have to ask you for something for once. He stared at you for a few moments, jaw clenching, until he realized the entire BAU team was behind the two way mirror watching this situation go down. “Will you please help us with the case?” he asked through gritted teeth.

You gave him a smug smile, which only served to irritate him further. “I would love to,” you told him, your voice too sweet and too innocent. “Now can you please take my handcuffs off?”

Aaron walked towards you wordlessly, taking the keys out of his pockets. “You’ll still have to wait here for a few minutes so that you can sign some papers,” he told you, keeping his voice even, but it all changed as he kneeled next to you, slowly unlocking the handcuffs. His fingers lingered on your skin for far too long to be considered appropriate. “Don’t get too comfortable,” he whispered in your ear, voice low enough so that nobody could hear what he was saying. “You’re going to be in handcuffs for the rest of night while I punish you for that little show you decided to give everybody. Did you already forget how to not be a brat? Do I have to teach you again?”

His words made your arousal shoot straight to your core. You were released with a soft click! and you rubbed your irritated wrist lightly. “Yes,” you practically moaned, and you were sure that your face was flushed. And just like that, it was as if only a few days had passed since you and Aaron had last seen each other, instead of two years. The two of you fell back into an easy rhythm. “I still live in the same apartment. Five minutes from here.”

With that, Aaron stormed out of the interrogation room, already barking orders at the cops. “Get her processed and out of here quickly, I don’t want to spend anymore time on this,” he demanded, making a beeline to grab his stuff. Unfortunately for him, Rossi was standing right in front of Aaron’s bag, a knowing smirk on his face. Aaron stopped mid step and groaned in annoyance. “Dave, don’t.”

Rossi just ignored him. “Old friend?” he asked, stepping aside just enough to let Aaron grab his bag.

Aaron looked around quickly and was relieved to see that there were no other BAU members near them. “You could say that,” Aaron mumbled and started to walk to the doors.

To his dismay, Rossi just followed him. “She’s pretty,” Rossi hummed, and Aaron hated how easily Rossi was able to keep this conversation so casual. “Not your usual type, though.” It didn’t take a profiler to get the underlying comment: She’s young.

Aaron took an audible breath, keeping his eyes on the exit sign that seemed to be getting further and further away. “Yeah, well…” His voice trailed off, unable to find a good response.

“When did you meet her?”

Aaron paused, deciding how honest he was going to be. He figured that if anybody was going to find out, it would be Rossi, and if he was honest with Rossi now, they would be able to keep it a secret from the rest of the team. He cleared his throat. “An alumni event at George Washington. Before Foyet but after the divorce.” Another pause. “Right after the divorce,” he clarified.

Rossi just nodded understandably, a soft “Ah” coming from his lips. He would push the full story out of Aaron later, but it was obvious that Aaron was just desperate to get out of the police station. “Okay, well... I will let the team know about your emergency meeting with Strauss that she just called, which is why you’re leaving so quickly. And if they ask, from what you’re telling me, Y/N is just one of Sean’s old friends from before he dropped out of law school. I’m pretty sure you never got along with his friends, am I correct?” Sometimes, Rossi was too good at thinking on his feet.

Aaron turned to face Rossi, his mouth open and ready to argue, but he knew there was no point. With Rossi’s lie, it would keep the team from asking too many questions, at least until Aaron got his need for you out of his system. Just one night, he promised himself. That’s all I’ll need. So instead of arguing, Hotch just nodded at Rossi, a hint of a smile on his face. It made it all worth it, in Rossi’s eyes. Aaron hadn’t been this excited about a girl since Haley’s death. He deserved a night of fun. “Thank you,” Aaron breathed before swiftly stepping out of the police station.

[sneezyminniejo]

hey! can i request a taehyung snz fic where he has a really sensitive nose and even the smallest things can set him off into a desperate rapid fit? one day the members bought some strongly scented candles without knowing that his nose was sensitive and they set him off into a massive fit, the members are his caretakers! i’d really appreciate it :)

Here it is, hope you enjoy

Bothersome Candles and Caretaking

The members of BTS have been together for years. Even though they’ve lived together for almost a decade, there were still some things they didn’t know about each other. One such thing is that Taehyung has a very sensitive nose.

Sure , the other members know that he’s one of the sneezier members in the group, but they didn’t know that strong scents or a simple brush of a feather could throw him into a fairly intense fit.

It just never came up with the other members. Jungkook made it very clear when he moved in that he hates strong scents and made it even more clear the one time Yoongi came back to the dorm smelling like a bonfire after hanging out with some friends. The maknae pretty much refused to be in the same room as the older until he showered, so the others agreed to avoid any strong scents to please their maknae and to keep peace in the dorm. Taehyung actually hadn’t been present for that incident because he was with some school mates working on a class project.

However, that was early on in trainee days. It was a wonder that there hadn’t even been a small incident to set Taehyung off, but there's a first time for everything.

The seven members of BTS were enjoying a day off after their manager took the keys to their studios to make sure they didn’t work. Taehyung decided to venture to the Han river to take some pictures, while the others decided to do some shopping. It was the middle of the week, so there weren’t many people around, allowing Taehyung to fully take in the surrounding nature.

Taehyung decided to turn around and head back to the dorm when his camera ran out of battery. He hummed happily to himself, excited to show the pictures to everyone else after he loaded them onto his computer.

When Taehyung first entered the dorm, he didn’t really notice anything. However, as soon as he closed the door, his nose was overcome with an intense prickle. He did his best to hold it back, but ultimately failed, as he doubled over with a very loud double.

“HEH-ISHH, HIH-STIESSH” Taehyung sniffled a bit confusedly as he tried to figure out where those sneezes came from.

Everyone else was seated in the living room watching tv when Taehyung had unintentionally made his presence known. “Bless you Tae.” Namjoon said as soon as he fully entered the room. “Tha-thanks, hyu- Hih-itschh hyung” Taehyung sat down next to Jungkook and tried to ignore the still present iitch in his sinuses, still not really knowing why he was suddenly so sneezy.

The other members looked at the second youngest with mild concern on their faces, but Taehyung ignored it. Before one of the others could speak, Taehyungg asked, “So how was your shopping trip?” Taehyung sniffled again before leaning over and grabbing some tissues from the box on the coffee table and blowing his nose.

Jimin was the one to answer Taehyung’s question first. “It went really well actually. Hyungs bought new clothes and found some new headphones and some other things. I bought a lego set to bui-” “Hih-tschhhh” Taehyung motioned for Jimin to continue as he blew his nose again.

“Anyway I found a lego set to build and Jungkookie found a couple of scented candles that he doesn’t find repulsive, so we bought him a couple of those.”

Taehyung’s felt the itch in his sinuses increase as Jimin and Jungkook told him all about the candle they had found. He was glad that Jungkook had found candles that didn’t bother his sensitive sense of smell, but unfortunately for Taehyung, he was extremely sensitive to the concentrated scents in the candle regardless of the scent.

His sensitivity was so bad that the candles didn’t necessarily even need to be lit, that is if there were enough of them. Jungkook then excitedly pulled the five he had purchased out of the shopping bag that was lying at his feet and gestured to the far corner of the room where one of the candles sat lit with a tine flame flickering ever so slightly.

Taehyung really didn’t want to disappoint Jungkook, so he decided to try to will his body to cooperate into not becoming a sneezy sniffly mess for as long as possible and not concern everybody too much. Unfortunately for Taehyung, his nose was not going to do what his brain wanted, and he wound up pitching forward in another double. This time the tickle had excalted so quickly that he hadn’t had time to cover.

Before he could lift his head up, Taehyung felt someone press tissues to his face. “Blow” He recognized Yoongi’s voice and immediately complied, although he took the tissues from his hyung first. He didn’t really want to blow his nose into his hyung’s hand if he could avoid it.

As soon as he lifted his head up, he was met with five pairs of concerned eyes and a hand on his forehead. “Tae-ah” Yoongi said softly, “Are you feeling okay? You don’t feel like you have a fever, but you are incredibly sneezy today even for you.”

Taehyung really didn’t feel like telling the truth about why he was so sneezy, so he just muttered something about how he must have caught a cold. The others nodded, but some of his hyungs looked like they didn’t fully believe him.

By the time Seokjin got up to make lunch, Taehyung's condition hadn't improved any. In fact, it might have deteriorated a bit. Jungkook however, was still really excited about his new scented candles.

He was so excited that, almost as if he were four, he shoved one of the unlit candles in Taehyung's face so he could smell it. Jungkook was so fast that Taehyung didn't have any time to decline or protest. The next thing Taehyung knows is he's taking in a whiff of concentrated artificial cherry blossoms. Taehyung, not wanting to sneeze all over his only dongsaeng, quickly pushed him hard to get him out of the way.

Jungkook was pushed off the couch and he landed hard on his buttocks. Namjoon was going to lecture Taehyung about his behavior, but what occurred next stunned everyone.

"Heh-ugh, ischh, heh-stishhh, heh-istiew, heh-istchhh, HIH-TIEW, HIH-NXTSHH, HEH-STISHHH, HEH-ISTIEW, HUH-UGHIEW!!” Taehyung’s ears and cheeks turned bright red as he held his hand over his dripping nose. Hoseok plucked several tissues from the box and handed them to Taehyung. Hoseok gave the younger a look as he cleaned himself up.

“Taehyung,” Hoseok was using his no nonsense voice when he was backing up Namjoon with various decisions. “Based on that display I don’t think you’re really sick, are you?” Taehyung shook his head as he sneezed another two times into the pile of tissues in his hand. He grabbed some more tissues and blew his nose rather productively, then started speaking.

“Hobi-hyung is right, I’m not sick. It’s the c-ca-candles itschhh.” Right after Taehyung said that, Jimin got up and blew out the lit candle that was on the opposite end of the room, while Jungkook immediately gathered up the candles in front of him and moved them to his room. Seokjin returned to the living room balancing a tray with seven bowls of soup and saw the guilty expressions on five of his dongsaengs. “What happened? He asked as he handed out the bowls.

“Taehyung here apparently neglected to tell us that he’s allergic to scented candles.” Yoongi said with slight annoyance laced in his voice. Seokjin just stared blankly for a moment. “How did we not know this? We’ve lived together for like a decade.” Taehyung sighed and sniffled before answering.

“It’s not so much an allergy as it is that my nose is extremely sensitive to scents and other things.” Taehyung paused to sneeze a quick double into his fist. “I have the same reaction to strong perfumes and laundry detergent. I’d also have a similar reaction if you tried to tickle my nose with a feather.” Jungkook returned a couple moments later, still looking extremely guilty.

“That still doesn’t explain why we never knew this Tae.” Taehyung grinned a little at the statement. “Well Jungkookie generally hates strong scents. Since we had collectively decided to only use scents that don’t bother him, it never came up, because the scents that didn’t bother him also didn’t bother me. At least not until now.”

Jungkook still looked a bit guilty and apologized to his hyung, who just assured him that he did nothing wrong as he didn’t know. The seven members ate in relative silence aside from the occasional sniffling or sneezing from Taehyung. Once they were all done eating, Taehyung stood up and moved to start collecting the dishes as it was his turn to clean them.

Namjoon placed his hand on the younger and gently pushed him back down. “Tae-ah, you are going to go straight to the couch and relax for the night.” Taehyung began to protest but was quickly interrupted by Yoongi.

“Tae, you may not be sick, but all of the sneezing you’ve done today must have exhausted you. I know that it’s your turn to do the dishes, but let hyungs take care of you so you can recover more easily.” Taehyung sighed and went to the living room, not having enough energy to fight Yoongi on this.

A little while after getting comfy on the couch, Hoseok came in with two mugs of hot cocoa and handed one to Taehyung. “Jungkook is setting up the humidifier in your room and Jimin is putting more pillows on your bed so you can sleep in more of an incline.” Taehyung hummed in acknowledgement before sipping at his beverage. “Namjoon is also pushing your vocal lessons and recording to the end of the week, so your voice can recover from all the scream sneezes you’ve been doing today.”

Taehyung couldn’t help but chuckle at the new bit of information. He settled further into his spot on the couch and waited for the others to arrive before starting a movie. Taehyung took a couple of pictures of the mugs of hot cocoa and the movie, then posted them to twitter with the caption ‘Movie night with hyungs and Jungkookie’. He then settled into whoever sat beside him and eventually drifted off with the movie playing in the background.

[whump-a-la-mode]

Continuation of defiant whumpee the dark light three month one please

This is a little short, but I hope it’s still okay! Continuation from here.

CW//Mentions of death, sleep deprivation torture, dehumanization, collaring

“Now, I’m sure we’re all very excited about the new white water rafting course coming to town, but before we get to that, there is something else we need to note.”

The grin upon the reporter’s face was painted, yet practiced, polished enough to appear, in the slightest way, genuine. In the screen’s corner, an image fizzled into existence: An exterior shot of a building’s entrance, adorned with columns and countless plaques.

There was no need to label the heroes HQ-- It would be like labeling the Empire State Building. Redundant at best, insulting at worst.

“It’s been quite the eventful autumn, but I’m sure you will have no trouble remembering the siege that occurred downtown.” Easing from warm water to cold, the reporter’s voice turned gradually somber. “Believe it or not, the siege occurred three months ago today. In honor of the three Heroes lost in the attack, we ask the nation to now take a moment of silence.

The Organization of Heroes has also requested that we inform you of the upcoming public memorial parade next Saturday.

Now, let us reflect on all that we lost on that fateful day.”

Folding their hands together, the reporter dipped their head, clicking their tongue to count down the seconds. Once a minute had passed, they lifted it, expressions changing like costumery.

“Now, about the exciting white water rafting course coming to downtown Metropolis!”

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“I have to admit, Scientist, I’m skeptical.” There was a certain apprehension to Leader’s voice, accompanied by the rhythmic clomping of shined shoes on equally polished white tiles.

“What’s there to be skeptical about?” The scientist replied, oversized lab coat practically dragging behind them as they moved down the cavernous hallway, its ceiling stretching far above their head. “I said no escapes, and no one’s escaped! You know how good I am.”

“Yes, yes.” They nodded. “I’m well aware. But certain things are simply impossible. I mean, pigs can’t fly.”

“I’m working on that one, actually.”

“I- Okay. First of all, we need to have a talk about your funding. Secondly... We’re talking about Villain, here. I know you aren’t exactly most avid watcher of, well, the outside world in general. But you know about the siege. You know what they destroyed, what we lost. What the city lost. All at their hands. And now...”

“And now you’re going to have a bodyguard.”

“What if they run? What if they turn on us?”

Scientist was practically skipping as they moved to the end of the hallway, a hummed tune playing on their lips. At last, the two emerged before a pair of double doors, emblazoned with a thousand warnings of medical, safety, and administrative nature.

“Leader, have you heard of risk and reward?”

The two stood there, before the door, a newfound nerve coming with their idleness.

“I’ve heard of the saying. High risk, high reward?”

“Yes. Well, that would be closer to the economic concept that you are likely familiar with. I’m speaking in a purely psychological sense.

It’s an automatic process, leftover from our base mammalian brains. You see, instinctively, we, as humans, make decisions based on how much risk, and how much reward, is associated with them.

In almost all cases, any option with a high risk will be decided against, regardless of the associated reward. You see, the human body is very good at keeping itself alive.

But, if the reward is high enough, if the reward is something we truly need, then any risk can be taken.”

“What are you saying, Scientist?”

“I’m saying that Villain will do anything, protecting you including, if we give them something they need.”

“Which is...”

“Sleep.”

With that, the two, the scientist and the director, entered the chamber. It was bright, painfully so, even to the naked eye. Though the walls were scattered with all manner of scientific paraphernalia, Leader’s gaze snapped quite immediately to something else.

A dentist’s chair, in the center of the room, with a very familiar occupant.

Yet, Villain did not wear a single restraint upon them. Even so, their movements were limited to squirming, shifting their head back and forth.

Upon arriving at the side of the chair, the reason for such movements was quite rapidly made obvious.

The object placed upon the Villain’s face could not quite be described as a visor, though a more appropriate term refused to come to Leader’s mind. It appeared, almost, as a welder’s mask, cut off just below the eyes. Instead of being form fitting, the metal emerged a few inches from their face.

To make room for the lights.

Within the visor, a pair of blazing LEDs shone, all targeted at Villain’s trembling eyelids. Their sockets had nearly been swallowed whole by the dark bags beneath them.

“Wouldn’t want them falling asleep.” There was a childish grin upon Scientist’s face, associated with the grim words. “Now, Villain? Open your eyes. Look at me.”

With agonizing slowness, the villain carried out the order. Though, the light tearing at their corneas seemed to pain them terribly.

“I’ve brought someone to speak to you, now. Listen, or I’ll turn up the brightness on that little headpiece, okay?”

They didn’t need to be told a second time.

With a shuddering breath, Leader took a step forth. It was an odd feeling, knowing that they were speaking to an audience that was only listening under threat. But, this whole situation was rather odd, anyways.

“Villain, you have terrorized this city, my city, for longer than some of our younger residents can remember. I cannot say I understand your goals. But, whatever you wanted, be it power, be it fame, is a goal that you will never achieve.

Darkness can never defeat the light.

But, you have been granted abilities so powerful that some of my best soldiers could not dream of them. Leaving them to waste is not something I am willing to do. Thus, I have a choice for you to make.

I am in need of a bodyguard. An assistant. A partner in the field. And you are the perfect candidate for this position. This is your choice.

Either you swear the rest of your natural life to my service, or I shall give Scientist full license to continue their sleep deprivation study upon you. It is your choice, though I hope one option is more appealing.

So, what do you say?”

For a few moments, Villain’s cracked lips quivered, before, at last, they managed to produce a sound. A pair of them, in fact.

“Yes. Please.”

“Great!” Leader clapped their hands together. “Now, let’s seal this, shall we?”

From a loop on their belt, they withdrew a strap of leather-- decorated with studs, and dangling with a pendant. The organization’s logo.

With a single, decisive pull, the collar was fastened around Villain’s neck.

“Now.” Scientist smiled. “For your cooperation, it is time for you to rest. I would say... Hm, how about an hour? That seems fair to me.”

With a click, they turned off the lights, and Villain’s head dropped.

[longitudinalwaveme]

Arkham Files: Dr. Alchemy/Dr. Albert Desmond/Mr. Element

Hugo Strange: From the patient files of Dr. Hugo Strange, director of Arkham Asylum. Patient: Dr. Albert Desmond, also known as Dr. Alchemy and Mr. Element. Patient suffers from Dissociative Identity Disorder. Session One. So, Dr. Desmond, how are you feeling? 

Dr. Alchemy: Go away. I’m reading. 

Hugo Strange: Dr. Desmond, I promise that you will be able to return to your books as soon as this session is over. But for right now, I need you to talk to me. 

Dr. Alchemy: I am not interested in conversation. Leave me alone. 

Hugo Strange: I’m afraid I cannot do that, Dr. Desmond. As your psychologist, I have a responsibility to maintain your well-being. 

Dr. Alchemy: I have read countless books on the subject of psychology, Dr. Strange. There is nothing you can teach me that I do not already know. 

Hugo Strange: Dr. Desmond, this is not about knowledge. It is about helping you to live a more productive life. 

Dr. Alchemy: Dr. Desmond would likely appreciate the sentiment, but he isn’t here right now. So please, leave me to my studies. I have important work to do, and no time for idle chatter. 

Hugo Strange: I take it I am speaking to one of Dr. Desmond’s alters, then? 

Dr. Alchemy: Yes. I am Doctor Alchemy. Now kindly go away and leave me alone. 

Hugo Strange: I’m afraid that I cannot do that, Dr. Alchemy. As your psychologist, it would be irresponsible of me not to hold these therapy sessions with you. 

Dr. Alchemy: You are not my psychologist; you are Dr. Desmond’s psychologist. Dr. Desmond is not here right now, so you have no responsibilities in this room. Go away. 

Hugo Strange: Dr. Alchemy, you and Dr. Desmond share the same body, and are fragmented parts of the same basic personality. Medically and legally, both of you are my patients...as are any other alters that may exist. 

Dr. Alchemy: Be that as it may, I have nothing to say to you. Go away.

Hugo Strange: (Sighs) If I arrange to have some more rare books delivered to your room, will you agree to participate in the session, Dr. Alchemy? 

Dr. Alchemy: (Pleased) Yes. Thank you, Dr. Strange. (Pause) What do you want to know? 

Hugo Strange: According to your files, you are a very educated man. You have PhDs in chemistry, biochemistry, and molecular biology. You could easily earn money legitimately...and, in fact, Dr. Desmond does just that in his career at S.T.A.R. Labs. Why, then, did you choose to become a costumed criminal? 

Dr. Alchemy: Research is expensive, Dr. Strange. How else was I to fund my experiments? 

Hugo Strange: Dr. Desmond usually asks for grant money. 

Dr. Alchemy: Only because he wastes our talents on safe, predictable work. I, on the other hand, push the boundaries of established science. That frightens the complacent and the simple-minded, and as such, they dismiss my work as lunacy and refuse to help me in my endeavors to expand humanity’s understanding of the cosmos. 

Hugo Strange: Even if that is true, Dr. Alchemy, your file indicates that you are a metahuman with the power to transmute the elements at will. Why not use that power to create gold or silver, sell it for a profit, and use that to fund your experiments? 

Dr. Alchemy: And debase my powers by using them for something as mundane as earning petty cash from the mindless multitudes? Never. 

Hugo Strange: But you’re perfectly willing to use those same powers to steal money from the same mindless multitude? 

Dr. Alchemy: Of course. I am the lord of the very elements! It is my right to take whatever I desire. 

Hugo Strange: You are stealing! Like a common thief! 

Dr. Alchemy: A common thief could not turn your blood into formaldehyde, Dr. Strange. 

Hugo Strange: Was that a threat, Dr. Alchemy? 

Dr. Alchemy: No, not a threat. Merely a reminder of your position. 

Hugo Strange: (Angry) Let me make one thing clear, Dr. Alchemy. When you were sent here, you were, effectively, declared a ward of the state. I am the head of this Asylum. I want to help you, but if you prove to be a threat to me, the other patients, or the staff, I will authorize that you be put on a regime of enough antipsychotic drugs to all but kill your conscious mind. 

Dr. Alchemy: (Quiet laugh) And break your Hippocratic Oath by sentencing poor Dr. Desmond to a living death? I don’t believe you have that in you, Dr. Strange.

Hugo Strange: (Icily) To prevent one of the most powerful metahumans in the world from laying waste to this institution? There is very little I would not do, Dr. Alchemy. Metahuman power dampeners have a very limited effect on you, and I am not enough of a fool to rely solely on your goodwill to keep you in check. 

Dr. Alchemy: (Quickly) In that case, I rescind my reminder. 

Hugo Strange: I’m glad to hear that, Dr. Alchemy. (Pause) So tell me, what is your relationship with your city’s scarlet-clad vigilante? 

Dr. Alchemy: The Flash? He’s an impediment to my research, nothing more. 

Hugo Strange: And your decision to put on a costume was in no way inspired by him? 

Dr. Alchemy: Perhaps on some level. But he means nothing to me. Dr. Desmond is the one who cares about him. 

Hugo Strange: In that case, will you permit me to speak with Dr. Desmond? 

Dr. Alchemy: Certainly not. That weak-willed fool would only interfere with my studies. 

Dr. Hugo Strange: If you cooperate, I’ll see what I can do about getting you a first-edition copy of The Grapes of Wrath. 

Dr. Alchemy: Very well. If I can find Dr. Desmond, I’ll let him know that he wishes to speak with you. 

(Long pause) 

Hugo Strange: Are you all right, Dr. Alchemy? 

Albert: (in a voice that is similar to, but distinguishable from, Dr. Alchemy’s) W-where am I? What’s going on? 

Hugo Strange: (Realizing) Is this Dr. Albert Desmond? 

Albert: Y-yes. (Pause) Who are you? What is this place? What am I doing here? 

Hugo Strange: I am Dr. Hugo Strange, director of Arkham Asylum. What is the last thing you remember, Dr. Desmond? 

Albert: I...I was at home with my wife, Rita. She was making dinner, and I felt a headache coming on, so I went outside to get some fresh air and-(Pause) Oh, no. It happened again, didn’t it? 

Hugo Strange: I’m afraid so, Dr. Desmond. A week ago, Dr. Alchemy was captured by the Flash whilst attempting to turn an entire stadium’s worth of people into tungsten. Since Iron Heights Penitentiary is currently incapable of holding metahuman criminals, it was decided that he should be transferred to Arkham Asylum, pending his trial. 

Albert: Not again...not again!  It’s been three years since the last time. I thought that the nightmare was finally over. 

Hugo Strange: Dr. Desmond, the courts are aware of your… highly unusual...form of Dissociative Identity Disorder. You will almost certainly be declared not guilty by reason of insanity. 

Albert: And then they’ll lock me away in a hospital instead of a prison. Rita and I...we have a baby son! Is he going to grow up with his father shut away in a mental institution? (Pause) I should have had her divorce me. At least that way she wouldn’t be raising our son all by herself. And she wouldn’t have to worry about both her and the baby being murdered by a costumed maniac! 

Hugo Strange: Neither of your alters have ever actually murdered someone, Dr. Desmond. 

Albert: No. But from what I’ve been told, it hasn’t been from lack of trying. (Pause) I let her marry me. I knew what I was, and I let her marry a monster. 

Hugo Strange: You are not a monster, Dr. Desmond. Your family members, the police and judicial departments of Central City, and even your city’s costumed vigilante all swear as to your good moral character. 

Albert: Good moral character? Dr. Strange, both of my alters are criminals; which means that there’s a part of me...there’s a part of me that wants to do the things they do. If there wasn’t, surely I would have been able to get rid of them by now. The fact that I haven’t proves that I don’t have good morals. 

Hugo Strange: Dr. Desmond, do you ever remember the actions of your alters? 

Albert: Almost never. (Pause) I usually end up finding out about it after the fact. You have no idea how horrible it is to have someone tell you that your body went on a crime spree that you don’t remember anything about. 

Hugo Strange: In other words, you have dissociative amnesia during the periods in which your alters are dominant. (Pause) Do you make an effort to prevent your alters from emerging, Dr. Desmond? 

Albert: Of course I do! I take medication, I exercise, I ensure that I always get a full night’s rest, I go to therapy….I don’t want to be a monster. 

Hugo Strange: A monster wouldn’t battle his illness in the way that you do, Dr. Desmond. You are not a monster. You are ill, and through no fault of your own. 

Albert: I...I wish I could believe that, Dr. Strange. (Pause) But honestly? I’m starting to think that maybe I should just be locked up forever. It would...it would be better for everyone. 

(Long pause) 

Hugo Strange: Dr. Desmond? Dr. Desmond, are you all right? 

Mr. Element: (in a voice that is similar to, but distinguishable from, Dr. Alchemy and Albert’s voices) I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong man, Doc.

Hugo Strange: Who are you? And what happened to Dr. Desmond? 

Mr. Element: Nothing. I just decided to take control. It seems that Doc Alchemy’s actions have caused him to almost give up hope completely this time, and that meant he couldn’t put up much of a fight against me. (Pause) Thanks for getting Doc Alchemy to give up control voluntarily, by the way. You have no idea how tough it is to win fights for control with that guy. 

Hugo Strange: I take it you’re Mr. Desmond’s other alter? 

Mr. Element: That’s right, Doc. You can call me Mr. Element. 

Hugo Strange: Not Dr. Element? 

Mr. Element: Nah. The other two got most of the brains, I’m afraid. It’s why I’m not as powerful as either one of ‘em. (Pause) Not that you’d know it from looking at Albert, of course. He’s got no idea how powerful he really is. He’s even more powerful than Doc Alchemy! 

Hugo Strange: I suppose that that makes a certain amount of sense. Dr. Desmond is, after all, the personality from which the two of you split off. Perhaps that allows him to mainline the power, so to speak. (Pause) So, Mr. Element, why do you commit crimes in a silly costume? 

Mr. Element: To get money and attention. Doc Alchemy could care less about that sort of thing, and Albert’s too much of a goody-good to admit that he wants either, so it’s up to me to make sure people remember us. 

Hugo Strange: And the costume, was it inspired by the Flash? 

Mr. Element: No. It was based on our fascination with elements. The mask was so that I could inhale pure oxygen; I used a carbon atom as my symbol because life has its basis in carbon-you get the idea. Albert’s the one who has an emotional connection to the Speedster. 

Hugo Strange: Yes, yes. Dr. Alchemy said the same thing. (Pause) So, are either you or Dr. Alchemy Rogues, Mr. Element? 

Mr. Element: No. Doc Alchemy and I both prefer to work solo. Besides, I think the Doc kind of freaks them out. 

Hugo Strange: Are there any particular concerns you want to talk to me about, Mr. Element? 

Mr. Element: Not really. Albert’s the one with the hang-ups. 

Hugo Strange: In that case, I am going to bring this session to a close. I need some time to reflect on your case and how to best treat it. It is noticeably abnormal, and I will need to adjust my strategies accordingly.