#other than that still thinking pre canon thoughts from last night

[radioroxx]

odiIe

[m-musings]

Crawl Out Through the Fallout with Me: Cooper "The Ghoul" Howard X Fem! Reader

A/N: never played an official fallout game in my life but i still love this man so it's time to bullshit some stuff, let's gooooooo

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: After a fight with raiders, a argument between lovers ensues when one of them gets hurt.

Warnings: typical fallout vibes, mentions of fighting, blood and wounds, pre-established relationship, Cooper being Cooper but also being a bit ooc, this is cheesy as hell and def not canon compliant lmao

"Damnit, (Y/n), just what the hell were you thinkin'?!"

An upset voice rang out into the evening air of the Wasteland as a pair of figures rested up inside the crumbling walls of an abandoned building.

Lit by the fading light of the sun, (Y/n) hissed in pain as her irradiated companion tried to sew a sizable gunshot wound on her arm shut.

As he passed the needle back and forth through the gash, the girl rolled her eyes with an exasperated groan as a few rivulets of blood rolled down her arm.

"Gimme a break, Coop! Did you wanna be the one to be shot?! I don't- ow!- think so!"

During a journey to find their next cash-out, the partners were ambushed by a large group of raiders & fiends. After managing to get rid of most of them, one had managed to sneak up and send a bullet flying straight for Cooper.

Noticing the weapon before Cooper could even turn to see the shooter, (Y/n) dashed over and shoved the ghoul out of the path of the shot, causing her arm to be hit instead.

Now- a few hours after killing the remaining enemies- they took shelter in a decrepit shack in order to patch themselves up in peace and rest for the night.

"I'd still be better off than you are right now. I mean, for fucks sake, darlin', I'm a ghoul. I've been through worse than just being shot at."

"Well then, that's the last time I try to be helpful. Next time, I'll sit back and relax while you get absolutely slaughtered by raiders, how about that?!"

"Go right on ahead, see if I care! Now, hold still. Can't close this cut if you keep on squirmin' around." Cooper huffed as he gave the suture one final tug before snipping the end off with a pocket knife and tying it into a knot.

After he was finished, (Y/n) rolled the pain out of her bicep before reaching into her bag to grab a somewhat clean cloth to wipe up any remaining blood.

With a sputter of her lips, she got up from her spot next to Cooper to sit upon the old mattress in the other corner of the room in order to apply a stimpak to herself. It wouldn't be enough to heal the wound completely but it would be enough for her to be able to use her arm properly.

Satisfied with the sight of her flesh knitting back together, Cooper finally relaxed in his chair as he crossed one leg over the other.

"Now don't go doin' anything that stupid again, y' hear me? Don't wanna have to use any more stims than we have to."

"I just... don't understand why you're so worked up about this. Something like this was bound to happen eventually, it's literally a warzone out here. A scar or two isn't unusual." (Y/n) griped as she fell back onto the bed while crossing her arms.

"Yeah, for someone like me it isn't. But it shouldn't ever happen someone like you. You shouldn't have to get hurt like that..." Grumbled Cooper as he leaned back against the wall.

"I'm not made of glass, Coop, I can handle a few hits."

"Don't care. You're way too valuable for me to lose."

(Y/n)'s glare softened at that, realizing the true intention behind the cowboy's scolding was worry. As Cooper sets up a small lantern on the floor to combat the growing darkness, (Y/n) watches the man with a fondness gleaming in her eyes.

"Is that what this is all about? You didn't wanna see me get hurt?" Whispers the girl as she turns onto her side.

Although the action is rather subtle, the ghoul's body visibly tenses up as he fixes his gaze away from the woman across from him.

"I never said that."

"It's clear that you thought it, though." (Y/n) chuckled as she softly grinned at the cowboy.

Heaving out an irritated sigh, Cooper hunches over to look at her as he readjusts his hat.

"What do ya wanna hear from me, sweetheart? That I care about you? That I love ya? Well, if you don't know that by now, then you might be much dumber than I thought you were."

"Hey, I resent that! You'd be lost with me and you know it!"

"Sure I would. Just like how you'd do great out there if you were all alone."

(Y/n) shakes her head with a scoff before she gets up from the mattress to walk over plop herself onto Cooper's lap after he sits back down on the beat-up dinner chair.

As she shuffles into place, Cooper places his hand on the small of her back to ensure she doesn't topple over. He silently glances at her face, analyzing her now troubled expression as she fiddles with the lapel on his duster.

Mouth opening and closing as she tries to find the words to say, she presses her lips together before finally speaking her thoughts.

"Y'know, I worry about you too... I'm always so worried that there's gonna be a day where that one gunner you miss is gonna be the one that gets you." (Y/n) admits sadly as she rests her head on Cooper's shoulder.

Cooper's eyes widen slightly and peer down at her as he begins to rub a hand up and down her arm in an attempt to comfort her.

"Hey now, look at me. That'll never happen. Not on my watch."

"What makes you so sure?"

"I got too much to fight for. I already lost one family to this nonsense and I'll be damned if you get taken away from me too. I'll fight tooth and nail before I let anything touch me or you again, understand?"

"But why? What's so special about me?"

"If I allow you to get hurt anymore, I will never be able to live with myself again. I love you, so...so much, darlin'." Cooper states with a resolute nod.

(Y/n) eyes water and crinkle with a gentle smile before she leans up to place a couple light kisses upon his charred lips, which he returns immediately upon receiving.

"I love you too, Cooper..." Mutters (Y/n) as she closes her arm around his shoulders.

With a laugh rumbling in his chest, Cooper wraps both of his hands around her waist as he holds her as close as he can.

"Your sweetness is what's gonna be the death of me one of these days, doll... Not some dumbass bullet." Cooper jokes quietly, placing a kiss atop her hair & resting his head on hers as he rocks back and forth to lull her to sleep.

Listening to the calming sound of her breathing as she slumbers, Cooper thinks about how lucky a man like him is to have found a love like (Y/n) in such a desolate situation.

[sminiac]

⋆ Kim Jongseob + Reader

💌 — Guess who still hasn’t slept, and who is also thinking about how sweet Bf!Jongseob would be because I am SICK. ILL. from the lack of Jseob content.

Bf!Jongseob who never fails to capture the most precious moments with his camera: where you had your first kiss, first date, first sleepover, first meal together, everything. He’d make a scrapbook for said photos, even sneaking in receipts from the places you two have visited, he’d write the cutest little notes beside the tangible memories that made it all the more visceral for him, and he’d only address them to himself so he wouldn’t hold back on his thoughts about how cute you are, how nice you smelled that day, how pretty your outfit was, if he noticed other guys looking at you, a funny joke you told, ugh he’s so🫠 he’d tell you that the added depth to the seemingly uninteresting pictures was what made it worthy of owning a spot in the book, and although you can’t quite seem to grasp the emotional connection he has to a picture of Soul captured jumping mid air, you agree anyways.

Bf!Jongseob who is absolutely the type to have you posted on every social media account he owns, and it’s not just one or two you make an appearance in, no. It’s pretty much every post, profile picture, anything, because he’s also so mygirlfriendmygirlfriend!! Since we’re on the topic of social media let me just say he’d always come in clutch for your birthday, like he’s pulling out the cutest most flattering pictures to ever exist of you:,) the sweetest paragraph written too. He’s so adorable my chest is going to collapse.

Bf!Jongseob who often looks to you if he’s worried his stage makeup is smudged or if his hair is out of place, he’d be so still while asking you to fix something, his hands steady at your hips, letting you do your thing, he’d also keep your brain busy with his opinions about their setlist, or a place he wants to check out before the two of you return to the hotel for the night, or a snack he’s seen that recently became popular online that he’s been wanting to try, his hand placement is just so boyfriend😞 he’s so boyfriend, speaks so calmly to you despite you trying to work with him as quick as possible so that he can return to the stage, although most of the time it’s just an excuse to see you, to get a quick kiss and to hear the comforting sound of your voice 🫠🫠

Bf!Jongseob who never forgets your good luck handshake before he’s being sent out to perform, “But just one more,” he’d rush, trying to steal another kiss before you have the chance to refuse, which is exactly why you didn’t want to have a kiss seal off the pre-show ritual, because it’s never just ‘one more’ which results in him being unprepared and rushing off at the last second. “Seob anymore and I’ll mess up your face.” “Good. Just one. Please! And I’ll go.” “This is your job??? you have to go anyway.”

Bf!Jongseob who often has you sat comfortably between his legs, back against his chest as he plays whatever video game he’s been fixated on recently, sooooo boyfriend I’m telling you!!!! If you aren’t familiar with the game he’s offering to show you the basics, if you end up getting frustrated he’ll laugh, of course, but he’ll always kiss the side of your head as his hands slip over yours to guide you through the process, “Yeah, like that, see you’re getting it, don’t be so hard on yourself, dummy.”

Bf!Jongseob who personally had a photocard of you made just so he can hang the small picture of you off of his bag beside his own!

Bf!Jongseob who swears you’ve had him retell every detail possible about ‘Harry Potter’ more than enough times, yet whenever he’s in another country you’re always: “Seob, what happens next?” over the phone and he can’t stand how cutely you ask, so his sworn resolve to not staying up all night diving deep into canon events quickly crumbles like compact sand hitting water, it slips through his fingers as if it never existed, but Jiung’s starting to get a little tired of it, especially being Seob’s roommate for this stop.

RRRRRRR bf!Jseob bf!Jseob bf!Jseob thank yew🙏❕❕❕

[punkshort]

Chapter warnings: language, mild violence, angst, weakly implied SA (not explicit at all)

Chapter Six

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, pre-outbreak and post outbreak

AU (the only thing I kept was the outbreak, Joel, and Tommy's characters. Joel's backstory is different, and the way he finds Jackson is different. I may include Ellie one day, I just haven't planned that far)

Fic Summary: You worked for Joel and Tommy a few months before the outbreak. The outbreak happens, and you and Joel get stuck traveling the country and keeping each other safe. Neither of you spoke about the feelings you had for one another pre-outbreak, and in a post-apocalyptic world, it seems like survival should be your only focus. But feelings can't be ignored forever.

Fic tags: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Smut, Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, Age Difference (Reader is 10 years younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, trauma, SA referencing later but I will put a big warning on those chapters

Joel sat stunned at his desk after you left. He had never seen that side of you before, always so meek and mild mannered. He shouldn’t have called you a whore. He realized now that was a mistake, letting his unhealed wound caused by another effect the way he treated you.

He rubbed his hands over his face, rethinking the conversation you just had. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, trying to soothe his temper so he could think straight. Ok, so you were flirting with some other guy. That wasn’t a crime. He held no claim to you, you had only just kissed the night before, and you were both drinking. Does that even count?

Even if he disregarded the kiss last night, you still had been giving him signs showing your interest, right? Did he misread everything?

Frustrated, he stood up and paced the room again, recounting every interaction he had with you, trying to figure out if the way you acted towards him was just because he was your boss, or if you felt something more.

That one night in the conference room, he swore he saw your knees press together under the table, and he thought you were looking at him like you wanted to take things further, but maybe he came on too strong. Maybe you didn’t know how to react.

He was over analyzing everything now. The way you stepped away from him when he got too close picking up that box for you. How you purposely left his office door open when you came up to see him. Shit, has he been making you feel uncomfortable this entire time?

No, you grabbed his collar and kissed him, he didn’t make that up.

But you were drunk.

Fuck, this was confusing. Joel ran his hands over his face again, pausing to stare out the window. He turned around to head towards the door, and that’s when he spotted it: the small blue package on the floor.

He didn’t even notice you dropped it on your way out, his anger giving him tunnel vision on your retreating form. He reached down to grab it now, easily tearing open the tissue paper. Inside was a keychain: the Texas state flag in the shape of the state it represented. His home.

He stared at it for a moment, imagining you picking it out this morning, having only just known it was his birthday for a few hours. You went out of your way to get him a gift. No one else even bothered to acknowledge his birthday yet today, and here you were, coming into his office to surprise him. And what did he do? He called you a whore.

He was a fucking idiot. He had to find you. He wasn’t sure what he would say, but he had to try to smooth things over.

Joel ran out of his office, jabbing the ‘down’ button on the elevator.

“Joel, I have security on the line, they need to speak with you.” Ruby called out to him from behind her desk, but he waved her off, giving up on the elevator and running towards the stairwell. Once he made it to the 6th floor, he jogged down the aisle that headed towards the accounting department. It took his anxious fingers two tries before his security code worked, pushing the door open, his gaze immediately traveling to your desk.

You weren’t there. He approached it slowly, noticing the picture of your parents was missing.

“Mr. Miller? Can I help you?” the girl he now recognized as Debbie rolled her chair out of her cubical, surprised.

“Yeah, when did she leave?” he gestured towards your desk.

“Maybe 5 minutes ago? She didn’t say anything, she just left. Is she ok?” But Joel ran out of the department, the door swinging back open before Debbie could even finish her question.

Joel raced towards the stairwell. He passed the women’s bathroom, hearing some yelling inside. Right before he opened the door to head downstairs, he heard something crashing to the ground. He didn’t bother to look back, he had to find you.

Gasping for breath, he pushed the door open that entered the lobby. He hurried past the receptionist desk, when a thin girl with curly blonde hair piped up from behind the desk.

“Mr. Miller! The police were just called, something happened upstairs, people are hurt! Security is-”

Joel didn’t hear the rest of the sentence. He forcefully pushed the front door open and stood in front of the building, breathless and frantically looking around trying to spot you. There you were, about half a block away, your hair blowing in the wind as you hunched over the box you were carrying.

Joel called your name, but you didn’t turn around. He called it again and again, and still no response. You probably couldn’t hear him over all these people yelling on the street. Why were they yelling?

Finally, on the fourth attempt to get your attention, you slowed your pace, but still did not turn to face him. He couldn’t blame you. He ran to catch up with you, reaching out to put his hand on your shoulder. Finally, you turned around to look at him, your gaze distant and face carved with fury.  He could see the tears in your eyes and the pain on your face that he caused. His chest tightened. He hated seeing that, and he hated even more that he caused it.

“Please, just stop and listen to me,” Joel panted, desperate to make you stop so he could catch his breath. Running down ten flights of stairs really made him feel his age.

He opened his mouth to make a poor attempt at an apology when six trucks rolled up to a screeching stop in front of his building. Dozens of armed soldiers with FEDRA adornments spilled from the trucks, charging into the office. The two of you stood together, stunned at what you were seeing. Then Joel heard the screaming, followed closely by gunfire. He grabbed both of your shoulders now, realizing this was serious and he needed to get you to safety. “Run!” he yelled at you, but you just stood there before him, a dazed look on your face. He gave your shoulders a quick shake and repeated himself: “Run!!”

That seemed to do the trick. Your gaze cleared, dropping the box you were carrying as he grabbed your hand, hauling you as far as he could in the opposite direction.

Joel nearly pulled your arm out of its socket dragging you down the street, careening around groups of people on the sidewalk, and ducking when bullets sounded too close. You clutched your purse against your body with the opposite arm, and briefly looked across the street to see crowds of people running in the same direction as you. You occasionally bounced off of bodies as Joel dragged you further away from your building. Finally, you reached the end of the street, about to cross, only to see more FEDRA trucks and soldiers bearing down on the crowds of people surrounding you from around the corner. You both paused long enough to see soldiers tackling and pinning down innocent civilians, their screams of terror filling your ears.

Joel yanked you in the opposite direction and around the corner, fleeing down a secluded alleyway, desperately trying to find someplace safe to hide. You heard yells and snarls somewhere in your wake, but you didn't dare turn and look, you had to keep pushing forward.

You both stumbled into a small courtyard, scattered with random pieces of patio furniture and surrounded by buildings. The two of you paused a moment to catch your breath and get your bearings. Joel whipped his head around and looked up at the sudden deafening noise of a helicopter overhead. Before it could spot the pair of you, he hauled you down another small alleyway that was empty, and even had a bit of aerial coverage due to a fire escape.

You both gasped for breath, frantically looking around to make sure no soldiers were nearby. As the roar of the helicopter faded and your breathing evened out, you finally looked at one another.

"Why is this happening? Is it a terrorist attack?" You asked him, your hands were shaking and you didn't realize you had been crying.

"Those were FEDRA soldiers attackin' people, I don't think it's terrorists," Joel said, letting go of your hand for the first time so he could rub his face. He glanced around again. You were between to a two story building and what looked like a hair salon. He took note of the fire escape above your heads.

"Alright, there must be offices or apartments or somethin' up there, let me see if there's anyone on the street first, then let's see if we can get in and wait this out."

He moved to poke his head out, but you grabbed him by the shoulders, yanking him back in a panic. He looked at you, taking in the fear on your tear streaked face and your trembling hands.

He picked up both your hands and grasped them in his own, holding them against his chest. "Look at me. Breathe, c'mon," he mimicked deeply inhaling through his nose and exhaling out his mouth until you did the same. He waited until your hands steadied a bit before saying, "Now I need to see what's goin' on out there, we need to get off the street. I promise, it will be OK."

You nodded, letting your arms fall to your sides and out of his hold. As Joel slowly peeked his head out, you kept your eyes glued to the other end of the alley to watch for anyone sneaking up on you.

"Alright, looks quiet. The door's just a few steps over, I think it's a bodega. There must be apartments up top we can get to, c'mon." He took your hand again, carefully exiting the alley and only bringing you out behind him once he confirmed no one was around. He pushed on the door, but it wouldn't budge. He gave it another shove, this time more forcefully. You could hear the bells on the other side of the door jingling. Worried you were too exposed and making too much noise, you pulled on Joel's arm, begging him to give up and think of another plan, when you both froze. You heard the lock clicking on the other side, and the door pushed open a crack.

An elderly man peered out through thick framed glasses, eyeing you both up carefully. "Either of you sick?" He asked, still keeping the door mostly closed.

"No, we ain't sick, we're just lookin' to get off the streets, soldiers are killin' folks out here," Joel replied, "please, we won't stay longer than we have to, you got my word."

The older man considered Joel's words for a moment, and then pulled the door open all the way, hurriedly ushering you both inside. He locked the door behind you, and pulled the diamond shaped metal security door in place after. You noticed he already had the windows secured with the same measures.

Joel was right: it was a little bodega. Your eyes swept around the shop, aisles filled mostly with snacks and other sundries. Along the back wall was a refrigerated and frozen section, towards the front where you entered was the cash register, and behind it a wall packed with cigarettes, some first aid, electronics, razors, and other items that were frequently pilfered. 

You were not alone in the store. There were four others sitting on the floor against the wall. Two men roughly middle aged, one girl a little older than you, and an elderly lady, who you assumed was the owner's wife. The others must have been customers in the shop before the shooting started.

You introduced yourselves to them, sliding down against the wall to the floor next to Joel to rest.

The elderly shop owner rifled behind the counter and procured a bulky radio. He placed it on the counter, tuning it to find a station that could give you some clue as to what was going on.

One of the men, Dan, addressed the room: "Anyone know what's going on out there?"

Paul, the other man, spoke up. "I don't know, man, but I've heard some freaky fuckin' shit. Someone I ran into out there said people are biting other people, makin' them go all crazy, tryin' to eat each other."

Joel scoffed, "C'mon, that's bullshit. Ain't no way that's happenin'."

"Man, it's fuckin' insane out there. The news was talkin' about the hospitals bein' overrun with some virus, then this happens? I'm just sayin', it ain't as crazy as it sounds." Paul replied, shaking his head.

"I saw it." The girl, Lindsey, spoke up quietly, staring distantly at the ground. "I saw someone bite another person. But they didn't look like a person anymore... their skin was gross, and they were missing hair. They looked almost like an animal or something, the way they jerked their body around."

The room fell silent for a few moments, everyone taking in what Lindsey said. Colleen, you thought to yourself, as you tucked your knees up against your chest, resting your chin on top, and clutching your purse to your side. She was bit, and she looked sick. Was FEDRA at your building because she was biting people? You shuddered at how close you came to being a victim. Joel saw and whispered, "You ok?"

You nodded sharply, not wanting to look him in the eye. You still remembered those words he said to you, those words so filled with hate and disgust all because you wouldn't put out. And now you were depending on this man who couldn't stand you to get you to safety. The only man you knew in this city that for sure was still alive.

A robotic voice from the radio filled the quiet room. It was announcing an emergency, clarifying it was not a test. It advised listeners to stay inside with doors locked, that the federal military has been deployed and to not open your door for anyone except them.

The message repeated over and over. You sighed, the events of the day catching up with you. The kindly bodega owner told you all to help yourselves to the food available, so you grabbed a few bottles of water, some granola bars, a bag of chips and a candy bar. You were starving, realizing you hadn't eaten lunch and it was getting late.

You returned to your spot against the wall, and halfway through your second granola bar, Joel rejoined you. He had grabbed some water as well, but picked up some beef jerky, trail mix, and a couple other things. The others had begun to mill around and stretch their legs, chatting amongst each other to keep their minds off the horrors outside.

"You sure you alright?" Joel asked softly while biting into another piece of jerky.

"Fine." You said curtly, keeping your gaze down. You knew this wasn't the time to unearth your problems, not with the world conceivably ending around you. "Thank you. For, you know, finding somewhere safe and all that."

He paused, looking at you for a moment like he wanted to say something, but didn't know how. "You're welcome, sw-, uh," Joel stuttered, almost using his pet name for you, but remembering the way he said it last time, decided it wasn't a good idea. "I'm just glad we made it. We'll figure this out and get you back to your family."

Your family. You hadn't even let your thoughts drift to your family, they must be worried sick. Your mom especially, who always tried to talk you out of moving here. You had to try to call them at the very least.

"Do you have your cell phone?" You asked Joel, looking him in the eye for the first time since you entered the bodega.

"Yeah, 'course, here." He reached into his pocket and handed the phone to you. You flipped it open and dialed your house phone, but all you heard on the other end was 'We're sorry, your call cannot be completed. Please hang up and try again.'

So you did just that, several times. You groaned in frustration, flipping the phone shut and handed it back to Joel. "Thanks anyway," you said.

"Phone lines must be down, dear," the owner's wife spoke up after seeing you struggle. "Our landline isn't working, either."

You looked in her direction and nodded sadly. The only hope you had now was to make it to a safe zone the government hopefully sets up, and you could try to contact them that way.

It turned out, Lenny and Maria, the bodega owners, lived in the apartment above the shop. They went upstairs and brought down as many extra pillows, blankets and cushions as they could find. They explained their apartment was small, only one bedroom, but they did have a couch. The group unanimously agreed Lindsey should take the couch. The poor girl was there alone, and it wasn't courteous for Dan or Paul to claim it, so it was a no brainer. They left the key to the bathroom on the counter by the register and headed off to bed.

You had created as comfortable a bed as you could, laying down a thick blanket against the wall on the tile underneath, and covering yourself with another. Luckily, the bodega had a few shirts for sale, as well as toothbrushes and toothpaste. You snagged a shirt that had the NY Mets logo on it and changed out of your work top in the bathroom, folding up your blouse and placing it gently near your pillow.

Joel had chosen to make his own bed next to yours. He gave you a little space, but not much. He didn't know these two men you shared the room with: they seemed like they were trustworthy, but things can deteriorate quickly when people realize no one is around to enforce the rules anymore.

You turned on your side to face the wall, tucking the blanket under your chin. Joel looked over at you, the dim glow from the refrigerators casting over your form, as he watched the steady rise and fall of your breath. You were so scared earlier, the way you grabbed him in the alley with that wild look in your eye, probably in shock after what he put you through, and then the chaos that ensued. He rubbed the heels of his hands into his tired eyes.

He needed to apologize. When the time is right, he needed to explain himself. Right now would not be that time. He could tell you had been through too much today and needed your rest. It was then that Joel vowed to himself to get you to safety. If he ruined his chance with you, the least he could do was make sure you were safe.

He laid on his side and faced your direction, watching your breathing slow when you fell asleep. In a different world, right now he would be out with Tommy celebrating his birthday, and hopefully riding the high of you accepting his date. Instead, he yelled at you and the world went to shit. Christ, was Tommy ok? Did he know what was happening here? Was it happening anywhere else?

His eyelids grew heavy. He shifted so the keychain in his pocket didn't dig into his thigh. He took one last look at you before shutting his eyes and falling asleep.

The group of you spent the next three days holed up together in the bodega, sharing handfuls of dry cereal and snacking on the food from the shelves. At dinnertime, Maria was generous enough to make everyone a meal in the little kitchen upstairs. You all huddled around their modest dining table, occasionally flipping through the channels on the television, hoping something would appear other than static or the station’s sign-off announcement.  Sometimes at night, you could hear gunshots and yelling, but it was far enough away that it didn’t worry you too much. It wasn’t until Tuesday that you heard patrolling soldiers from their trucks, encouraging citizens to come out of their dwellings to be taken to the safety of a quarantine zone.

Joel hesitated at first, remembering how he saw FEDRA soldiers tackling innocent people in the streets, but he didn’t see any other option. He couldn’t reunite you with your family if you stayed holed up in a bodega, and even if he could make it to his car and drive you himself, the entire city was on lockdown.

The group of you filed out of the bodega slowly when you heard a FEDRA truck approaching down the street. A few soldiers jogged up, inspecting you all carefully, asking questions like “Does anyone have a fever?” and “Was anybody bit or attacked?” Once it was clear you were all healthy, you climbed into the back of the truck, clutching your purse, your folded work blouse shoved inside.

The makeshift quarantine zone was set up at a high school on the edge of the city. The soldiers explained it was less populated in that area, and therefore less infected people. You connected the dots: the questions about bites, the infection, the fever. It seemed like the crazy rumor Paul and Lindsey talked about was true, people really were going insane and hurting others.

Everybody stood in a line and waited to be processed at the entrance of the school. The soldiers took turns taking each of you into a small room to inspect you closer for any bites and checked your temperatures before allowing you to continue. At the next station, you were each handed a thin blanket, a pillow, and a small bag of essential toiletries, then led through the doors into the school’s gymnasium.

The room was enormous; filled with people, bags and cots. Beside you, Lindsey cried out in joy, bolting across the room when she saw a man she recognized, presumedly a husband or boyfriend. Dan and Paul wished the rest of you well, thanked the older couple again for their hospitality, and drifted away into the crowd.

You gave Maria and Lenny each a hug, thanking them over and over for keeping you safe, and promised to return to their shop once everything went back to normal. Then it was just you and Joel again.

He led you around the various clusters of people until you found an unclaimed cot. You tossed your provisions and your purse on one end and looked back up at Joel.

“Well, I guess this is it,” he said, glancing around the room trying to think of something else to say. Neither of you had talked about the argument you had, and the more time that passed, the more difficult it became. You stared down at your hands while fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, all the words left unsaid just kept getting pushed further and further down.

“Uh, once you get settled in, go find one of them soldiers at the entrance and see if they can’t contact your folks for you,” Joel said, shifting his weight. “I’m sure they can find someone out there.”  

You nodded, keeping your head down and biting your lower lip anxiously. The only person you knew who was alive in this city was leaving you. You tried to keep him from seeing how nervous you were, so you turned to spread your blanket out on your cot, and began to sift through the bag of toiletries to occupy yourself.

Joel watched as you slowly unpacked your things, the words he so desperately needed to say stuck in his throat. Just say it, say you’re sorry, you will never get another chance again.

He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come out. He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t say it. Maybe because he thought it wouldn’t matter, maybe the seriousness of the situation everyone was in took precedence, or maybe because you had hardly spoken a word to him since the outbreak. Instead, he turned and walked towards the opposite side of the gym, setting his stuff down on an empty cot next to another man. He was wearing a Yankees hat on top of his bald head, sporting a full, dark beard and hiding a beer gut under his worn out white T-shirt.

"Hey, man," he stretched his arm out to Joel, "Louis."

Joel shook his hand, "Joel." He muttered, glancing back towards your direction.

"If you wanted a spot closer to your girl, I can switch." Louis offered, following Joel's gaze.

Joel shook his head. "She ain't my girl," he said sadly.

"Ah, yeah, man, I get it." Louis replied, scooting closer on his cot so he could lean closer to Joel. "Let me give you some advice though: if you care about her at all, you won't leave her alone here, you get me?" His voice was lower now, capturing Joel's attention away from you.

"What do you mean?" Joel asked, eyebrows raised. Louis looked back in your direction as you stood up to follow Joel's advice about speaking to one of the soldiers.

"I mean, I've heard some shit, at night. We all have. There's a couple girls who are here without anyone, and some men around here have noticed." Louis put emphasis on the last word to imply something dark.

Joel frowned, leaning back and glancing around the room. He did notice there were hardly any women that were alone, most of them were with family or friends. Then he saw a small group of three men diagonal across the room, their eyes following you as you exited to speak to the soldiers about your parents.

He looked back at Louis, shocked. Louis nodded subtly towards another group behind the two of you, who also had been looking in your direction. Jesus, things really went to shit quickly.

"What the fuck?" Joel whispered towards Louis angrily, his jaw clenching. "Why haven't you told the soldiers?"

"We do, man. Every time. I don't think they care, they are more worried about infected than stuff like that. I'm starting to wonder if some of the soldiers are in on it, too." Louis shook his head, adding "When my wife gets here, we are leaving fucking immediately, I suggest you take her somewhere else."

Joel rubbed his hands over his face. "Where else is there?"

"I don't know, man, people are saying this virus is all over, not just the city. But I'm not letting my wife stay here. I'd rather take my chances out there." Louis hitched his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing towards outside.

Joel sighed. "Alright, thanks. D'you mind swappin' with her? I'll get us outta here tomorrow."

Louis packed up what little items he had, and headed over with Joel towards your cot. You had just sat back down, looking defeated and lost. The solider said they would try to help you out if they could, but they weren't making promises, that everyone in this place was looking to contact someone.

"Hey, c'mon, get your stuff, you're comin' over by me," Joel said gruffly, still angry about what was happening here. You looked up at them both, confused. "Why?"

"I'll explain later, just hurry up before someone else takes the spot." Joel avoided looking you in the eye and instead glanced back over his shoulder, noticing the group of men from earlier were watching.

You wanted to argue with him, but thought better of it. He's been sleeping next to you for the past three nights, what difference did it make now.

Nodding at Louis, who shot you a tight smile and set his stuff down on your now vacated cot, you got up to follow Joel across the room.

The next morning, you woke up early, before the sun, to see Joel with his back to you, sitting on his cot, alert and wide awake. You laid there for a while, running your eyes up and down his back and across his broad shoulders, taking in his striking side profile when his head turned. Even though you were so badly hurt by his words, you were still undeniably attracted to him, which was incredibly frustrating. You let your eyelids flutter back closed, and replayed the kiss you shared over and over in your mind. It felt like a lifetime ago, but it gave you some comfort, ignoring everything that happened after that kiss.

When the sun filtered in through the gymnasium windows, you begrudgingly pulled yourself up, stretching and yawning, finding Joel was packing up his things. "What're you doing?" You asked sleepily.

"We're leavin', get your stuff." He replied, not looking up.

Joel hadn't told you why he wanted you to switch spots closer to him, and you didn't ask again. You weren't sure you wanted to know. You just packed up your things quickly, and stood to follow him out of the room. You passed by Louis on the way out. Joel reached out to shake his hand once more, and Louis nodded to you, saying, "Stay safe out there, sweetheart."

You gave him a small smile, trying not to show the sadness that filled you to hear the term of endearment Joel used to use, and exited the school the same way you arrived.

Chapter Seven

[luvrsbian]

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄

A/N: she's finally here!!! this was initially supposed to be a one shot but has kinda turned into a draft up of a pretty plotless, sweet, fluffy mini series. it follows canon for the most part minus eddies death ofc but because im bad with canon lore and science shit, its not heavily mentioned (some minor canon lore was changed but it's not super important.) this is a fem!reader, no use of y/n, set in 1992, 4k words, and i've kept reader pretty vague for inclusivity minus some background lore. this series is not 18+ (yet) but my page is, so please do not follow if you are a minor. thank you sweet baby mona @enam3l for beta-reading for me (ily)

MASTERLIST ✿ PART TWO

Eddie Munson liked his life. He liked his friends, even if a lot of them have now dispersed across the continental United States for school, jobs, general life (minus Robin who has somehow managed to make her way to Australia doing God knows what.) He liked his home, a house on the edge of town – slightly bigger than the old trailer – which he still shared with his uncle. He liked his style and hobbies and taste in music and movies that haven’t really changed much in the last 5 years since his final senior year. 

He really liked his job. 

Which felt odd for him to admit to himself.  It wasn’t anything like what he thought he would be doing. A younger Eddie Munson would imagine himself traveling city to city, adored by fans, living creatively and free spirited.  

But a middle school janitorial gig kept him young. One could argue 26 wasn't even that old, however, compared to his friends (who he'd already been older than) with their careers, relationships and growing families, he felt like a lonely old man. So, yeah, the awkward, funny, and extremely honest pre-teens made him feel young.  

Initially he thought the job would be lonely. It’s a small town with even smaller schools. Besides him, there was only one other night janitor that he alternated weekend cleans with and only really ran into during day-to-night shift changes. Ron was nice enough, older than Wayne, with a far higher patience for children. Unsurprisingly, behaviours from high school died hard and the teachers and administrative staff all kept to their own little cliques. Resulting in Eddie keeping to himself, rarely speaking outside of his custodian duties or the occasional faculty meeting. 

He didn’t even think he’d interact with the students aside from cleaning the odd vomit or getting stuck balls out of the gymnasium rafters. He unintentionally found himself yet again the outcasted mother goose to a small hoard of pre-teen metal heads when their unofficial leader, Matty Sherman, caught site of the various posters Ed keeps hung up on his office (custodial closet) door. The seventh grader quickly forcing himself under Eddies wings and refusing to budge. Matty was a good kid. Reminded Eddie a lot of himself at that age. He was loud, abrasive, and way too confident for such a gangly frame in ill-fitting clothes. Matty had hair though which 13-year-old Eddie couldn’t relate to. 

There was also Ms. Virginia Wagner. The eccentric, nurse who has been working at Hawkins Middle since Eddie was attending. Maybe even before that, he wasn’t quite sure and whenever he asked anything close to finding out her age, she quickly shut him down. She was sweet. She was funny. She was also a mean old hag sometimes, but God did Eddie love that about her. If he was just 20 - or more realistically 40 - years older and wasn’t almost certain she swings the other way, he’d shoot his shot.  

The Summer season was extremely uneventful for Eddie. Due to the kids being out of school, his hours were cut in more than half with only the yearly repairs and deep cleaning needing to be done. He went into work about 3 days a week, spending the extra free time to do some manual labour gigs here and there around town. When he wasn’t working, he was hidden away at home watching movies, listening to music, trying to plan out ongoing and future campaigns for Hellfire meetings that have begun to be fewer and far between now that everyone has dispersed. On some rare occasions when he didn’t feel like a complete shell of a person and was able to leave the house to socialize outside of life obligations, he met up with the few friends that remained in the Hawkins area (which at this point in time was really only Steve Harrington and Gareth Emerson.) 

It was now the Monday of the week before students would return back to these fluorescent lit halls. That meant all other faculty were now gracing the school to prepare for the year ahead. Organizing and prepping and finalizing lesson plans and class rosters.  

Eddie had a slight pep in his step as he walked through the halls, scuffed up sneakers squeaking on the shiny, extra polished tiles. He whistled a silent tune that clashed with the jingles of his keys that he swung around his middle finger. Getting to the janitors closet to put on his navy coverall and put his hair into a low bun. He zips up the stiff material, covering the self-altered muscle tank top that had the logo for some local band down in Indianapolis he saw a few years back before things went to shit. A cracked and stained mirror hanging up over his work sink being used to make sure his hair looked casually messy in the bun. With a final once over, he hooks his keys to the belt loop of his coveralls and preps for the day's work. A glance at his wristwatch, the one that has somehow survived hell and back just like him, reads 7:58. Just 4 hours and 2 minutes until lunch.  

He couldn’t wait. 

Eddie used those 4 hours and 2 minutes to check each stall in all bathrooms were fully stocked with toilet paper and the likes, clean the actual toilets themselves, and make sure the water was running properly in every sink. Once that was taken care of, he began on his biggest task of the week of dragging desks and chairs out of the back storage building to be put into classrooms. Sheryl from the administrative team having left the small packet of papers indicating how many seats each room would need for the coming year.  

He could move the chairs in stacks at a time but could only really stack two - maybe three if he was careful - desks on his hand truck before it became a safety problem. Once moved into the main building, he had to wipe them down, tighten any loose screws that could make them wobble, and make sure they were still in usable condition. Eddie had completed almost 3 of the 32 classrooms before lunch finally rolled around.  

He grabbed his lunch sack from the custodial closet and whistled on his merry way to the nurse's office. He’s been eating lunch with Virginia for as long as he can remember. Of course, there was those 5 years of High School and then the year of recovery following the events of his second senior year, and the summer breaks of course, but besides all those he’s been eating with her for a good 7 years.  

This ritual beginning in his 6th grade, the first year he moved in with Wayne, all sad eyed and past aside due to events outside of his control. Kids he had grown up with suddenly not wanting anything to do with him. He wouldn’t really make any friends again until 7th grade, and his first band of misfits was created, Corroded Coffin. 6th Grade was the worst year of his life until 1986 and now it’s about tied.  

Sadly, in middle school who you ate a meal with or gave the time of day too was so integral into maintaining the hierarchal balance of the ecosystem. It was bullshit. With everything that happened that lead to his father going to jail and him burdening his uncle, the kids of Hawkins middle school decided Eddie wasn’t worth risking their own reputations. He doesn’t remember exactly how it happened, his brain kicking the memory out at some point to make room for more important stuff like D&D lore. But he does remember he went from eating lunch in the bathroom to eating it in Nurse Wagner’s office.  

Even after being integrated back into the Middle school social circle, he couldn’t just leave her to eat lunch by herself. She needed him with his alternative music education and retelling of the fantasy books he’d been reading lately and his strong headedness that could keep up with her dry and sarcastic quips many interpreted as rudeness. Although Eddie would still refuse to admit it, in actuality he probably needed her more than she needed him. 

He doesn’t knock, just moseys his tall frame into the nurse's office, wide dimpled smile on his lips as he hears rummaging coming from the actual office area that was blocked off by a wall. He looks at the two plastic-y beds covered in paper sheets, inhaling that antiseptic smell that can only seem to be found in medical settings. No fluorescent lights were on, only natural light being let it from the two big windows.  

There are curtains on them now which surprises him. Floral pinks and yellows with lace on the edge that really fit the grandma vibes Virginia has but refused to acknowledge. The windows all have blinds, but curtains were deemed a non-necessary commodity by the school board budgeting team, meaning if you wanted curtains, you’re gonna have to fork money out of pocket for them. Eddie had asked Virginia about it once, commenting about how it would help spruce up the place. Make it look a little less sterile. She told him to go to hell, that she’s a nurse not rich. Any out-of-pocket money she spent on work only going towards things that actually matter, like the allergen friendly laundry detergent and the nicer, name brand candy for the candy bowl. 

Putting his lunch on the side table of the first bed, he lays down in a relaxed position. Hands behind his head, legs crossed, eyes closed, he lets out a relaxed sigh. 

“Virginia, dear, I really love what you’ve done with the place,” he calls out to her, hearing the close of the filing cabinet and footsteps soon following, “feels all homey now, dontcha think.” 

The footsteps stop. 

“I'm glad you like them. You feelin’ comfy there?” 

That was most definitely not Virginia Wagners voice. 

Eddie jolts up, eyes wide and cheeks red. He’s not one to get embarrassed easily but since recent events he’s been a bit more reserved in how comfortable he gets around strangers. And you were most definitely a stranger. A pretty stranger. A very pretty stranger in a teddy bear patterned scrub top and an oversized cardigan with embroidered sunflowers. You’re a disorienting mess of patterns and colors but you’re also, like, really pretty and Eddie isn’t sure how to go about this. 

“You’re not Virginia,” is all he can get his voice to come out with. 

“I’m not Virginia.” You give a chuckle. A positive response, Eddie thinks. 

“Where’s Virginia?” 

Eddie is now standing away from the bed and closer to the door, ready to run from the situation if needed (something he’s learned to embrace in the last few years.) You give him a friendly smile, hands in your cardigan pockets, the sleeves bunched up. You look cozy.  

“Florida. She’ll be in the Caribbean by the end of the month,” you supply. He can tell your fingers are fidgeting in your pockets. His hands are fidgeting at his waist, pinching at the material of his coveralls.  

“Why?” 

You shrug your shoulders, “Retirement.” 

“Oh,” Eddie sighs, eyes breaking contact with yours for the first time since standing, shifting to look at your white - almost pristine - sneakers on the tile floor her spent all summer mopping and waxing and removing scuff marks from. “That sucks.” 

You snort. Teeth biting your bottom lip to stop from laughing at him further during this awkwardly endearing meeting. Your own eyes looking him over now that he isn’t completely focused on you. He’s cute. His cheeks stained your favourite shade of pink once he realized you weren’t the now retired nurse he had been so fond of. Hands covered in jewlery. His inability to stay still so natural it makes you think he doesn’t even realize he’s been shifting his body weight back and forth from his toes to his heels this whole time. Tall, lean, maybe with some extra fluff hidden under the baggy attire. He’s got some shadow of hair on his cheeks. And if you weren’t a civil person and he wasn’t a stranger, you’d be begging to kiss at the column of his throat. 

Your gaze moves to look around the waiting part of the office to avoid thinking even more things about this guy. A brown paper bag chicken scratched with the words ‘ED LUNCH’ catches your eye. Before you have a chance to speak yourself, he starts his interrogation again. 

“Who are you?” 

Your attention cuts back to him quickly. With a smile that shows all your teeth and a hand leaving your pocket, held out for him to shake, you give your full name. 

He takes it with his own reserved smile. His hands and rings are warm, but they still tingle your skin from the unfamiliarity of the metal. You enjoy it you think. Before he can introduce himself, you beat him to the punch. 

“You must be Edward, right?” 

He grimaces, “Just Eddie,” your handshake falls. His hand back to his hip and your hand back into your pocket, “Just Eddie is fine. More than fine, actually. Preferred, really.” 

Another chuckle from you. Eddie knows he’s funny when he wants to be but if it’s this easy to make you laugh, he doesn’t ever want to stop. 

“Well, just Eddie,” you smirk at his eye roll, “you can join me for lunch if you’d like. I feel like my presence may have ruined your initial plans,” you let out a huff of a laugh and gesture to the lunch sack by the window. He grimaces again at your wording and shakes his head. 

“It didn’t ruin any plans just was shocking ‘sall,” his hand moves from his hip to rub at his slightly scruffy chin, pretty brown eyes back on yours, “but um, yeah. Yes, I’d love- like to join you for lunch.” 

You smile. He smiles back. 

Eddie has sat in this chair, in this office, and eaten his lunch for years. Today it feels awkward and unfamiliar.  

It might have something to do with you sitting where Virginia used to sit. Same chair, same desk, same office, but completely different. Virginia didn’t decorate her space, leaving it functional and impersonal, if people wanted to know about her life they could ask her. She wasn’t going to flaunt it.  

You were very different. An orange, gaudy looking vase filled with fake flowers. A matching candy bowl with various sugary, little treats. A picture frame of you and what he could only assume was your family based on the similar features shared between each person. A decorated Coke can with the top cut off and trimmed with glued on lace and covered in holographic stickers of vibrant cartoon animals, sparse enough to still see the iconic red drink logo, was now holding an assortment of colorful gel pens.  

Even the chair wasn’t safe from your interior decorating, a purple knitted blanket folded over the top of the rolling seat. The seat itself now adorning a red, white, and black cushion of an ugly faced bulldog with a spiked color and cap with the letter G, the words ‘GEORGIA BULLDOGS’ splayed above him. A sports team he assumed.  

The conversation hadn’t started back up since the introduction in the sick room. Both of you taking your respective seats in the office area, opening your lunch bags and digging in.  

Eddie being a creature of habit brought his usual bag of pretzels, a can of Pepsi, and a sandwich made of whatever he could find in the kitchen. Today it was two slices of whole wheat, mayo, lettuce, the last piece of deli ham, and shredded cheese.  

Your own lunch seemed much more put together. For starters, you had an actual lunchbox, a bulky and vibrant plastic thing with Snoopy sleeping on his dog house on the front. Inside, there was your own ziploc bag of green grapes, a can of Coke, and a sandwich cut into triangles. White bread, crunchy peanut butter, and grape jelly. A Little Debbies Swiss Rolls pack sitting on the corner of your desk for dessert. 

He’s mid chew on the final bite of his sandwich, half his Pepsi left, his pretzels being the first thing devoured, when you speak up. Your own sandwich having on triangle section left, grapes gone, and Coke untouched. 

“Have you always lived in Hawkins?” 

You’re wiping your mouth with a folded paper towel, curious eyes focused on him. You’re very good at that, he’s realized. Eye contact. Focusing on your center of attention. Eddie has never been good at it, having to remind himself to look at the person talking to him. It’s polite, Wayne would say, shows people you’re listening and interested in what they have to say. Eddie gets so worked up in remembering to seem focused, he loses it and doesn’t hear what’s being said. He hasn’t had that problem with you so far. He thinks he could look at and listen to you all day if you let him. 

“Born and bred,” he swallowed his bite and shrugs his shoulders, rubbing his hands together to get the crumbs off, “you’re not though, are you. Feel like I’d remember you,” he raises an eyebrow. Feeling a little more confident in himself, especially with the obvious signs of you not being a local, and gives a playful smirk. 

“You got me,” you hold your hands up in mock surrender, moving your arms back to rest your elbows on the edge of the desk, “I’m from Georgia.” 

Eddie nods, the seat cushion making sense now. It’s your home team for… sports. A sport. Probably football. Eddie mentally pats himself on the back for guessing it was a sports team. Good on him for knowing sports. (Eddie doesn’t know sports.) 

“So,” Eddie lulls, small talk never being his forte. Much more interested in getting into the nitty gritty of conversation when interested in someone but he doesn’t know you yet. He needs to find something to relate with you on and he can’t do that with tidbits he may know from growing up in town like he could other people his age or older here. “You’re like a southern chick,” it was your turn to grimace.  

“You’re really bad at this,” you snort and shake your head, finishing up the last of your own sandwich. Tidying up your desk, throwing away the ziploc bag and sandwich wrapping and paper towels. Opening the coke can and moving the swiss rolls pack to in front of you, looking back to Eddie. With a tilt of your head and saccharine grin you ask, “Splitsies?” 

He nods at the opportunity to get a sweet little treat before addressing your initial comment, “Small talk requires talking and I just don’t really do that anymore with people who don’t already know me or just have a preconceived idea of who I am,” he shrugs his shoulders again, voice softer, slight regret in being too real. Eyes watching your fingers open the package, folding another paper towel (which he has now realized are coming from a roll kept in the lowest drawer of your desk), and setting one of the processed roll cakes on the indented paper before placing it in front of Eddie’s seated and slouched body. “Thank you,” He looks back up to you and you’re already looking at him. 

“Virginia told me a lot about you,” you smirk, lifting your own cake to take a bite. Your eyes not leaving his except for split a second to give an appreciative glance and hum to the cream filled ‘pastry.’  

“We’ve been corresponding for months,” you snicker at your own use of the word, making you feel like some sort of 18th century countess or captain, rather than a young nurse taking over the position of an older nurse.  

He looks panicked at this reveal. Which is cute considering he had a bit of white cream on his upper lip. Although he looked so pretty when his brow furrowed, it was clear he was frightened so you were quick to reassure him. 

“All good things, of course. I think she’s just worried about you. It’s cute, really, just really cute.” Another kind smile on your lips and your hand holding out the paper towel - his now eaten roll was sat on - as hint for him to clean his mouth off. 

Eddie knew Virgina wasn’t one to gossip but the prospect of a rare new person in town he’s actually interested in, being privy to all his shit-uations without him telling them himself, scared him. But Virginia did love to meddle and that may be worse. She was a big supporter of Eddie needing friends his own age.  

Letting out a sigh of relief that his tragic history had yet to be exposed, Eddie returned your smile with his own half one. You reach into your desk again, pulling out a letter instead of paper towels this time. ‘Edward’ scrawled in a familiar, loopy handwriting with blue ink on the white envelope caught his eyes. Eyebrows furrowed in confusion and intrigue.  

You hold it out for him to take like it was something precious, “This is for you.” From Virginia, is unspoken but recognized between the both of you. Who else would it have been from. Eddie flushing as he realized, Virginia never told him about you. Virginia never even told Eddie she’d be leaving. They didn’t speak much, or really at all, during the summer unless they happened to run into each other outside of these brick walls.  

Callused finger pads grazed your palm when he took the letter from you, he kept his eyes focused on examining the letter. A sad smile on his lips appreciating the loops of the E and W and curves of the D’s. Realistically he knew Virginia probably wasn’t gonna be gone from Hawkins forever, she had roots here. A son. That’s son kid or maybe kids now, he wasn’t sure, hadn’t checked in on Rick since he got out of jail in ‘88. But it still hurt that she was gone, without a word, and was happy enough to talk to her replacement about him but not to him about her. You. 

“I’m gonna read this later,” he mumbles and puts the offending but appreciated letter in his deep pocket. A quick glance at his watch read it’s been about an hour since making his way into the nurses office, lunch was over. He threw his trash out in the bin by your desk and gave you a friendly smile, standing from the seat in front of your desk. 

“Maybe we could do this again sometime,” eyes shifting around the office again, not really taking things in, just needing to not get trapped back into your gaze. “Ya know, with my lunches free now and everything,” he humorlessly chuckles. 

“Eddie,” you spoke softer than you had before, a more sympathetic smile on your lips, “I’d really like that.” 

He looks at you now. You have really shiny eyes. What a weird observation, Eddie thinks, but it’s true. With a quick wave of his hand before retreating them back into his pocket, fingers playing with the paper edges of Virginias letter. He begins his trek out the door.�� 

“Hey, next time though,” he stumbles in a spin to walk backwards while speaking, “We’ll speak more about you than about me. Feel’s like you know too much about me,” he huffs with a smug smile before spinning back to look forward. “See ya, Peach.” 

Your sweet laughter follows him out into the hall. You call out, “See ya, Eddie,” to his retreating back, watching the door long after he’s left.  

“Peach,” you snort and shake your head, teeth tugging on your bottom lip to stop from smiling too wide. 

the clean up crew (taglist): @avobabe87 @bakugouswh0r3

comment or ask to be added to the clean up crew!

[inkformyblood]

if i asked you to (Ghoap Exchange Fic)

Mission Fic, 2022 Canon Era. Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship. Ghoap.

Two bodies in the hallway. 

The air is heavy with iron, a distant tang of piss beneath it, and Johnny swallows back a reflexive twist of bile as he draws closer. It’s neat work, one caught in the act of turning around, some innate instinct warning him of the predator preparing to strike. Ghost must have caught him low first, a nasty wound to the belly which Johnny can’t think of as anything other than a mauling. Wouldn’t have killed him, no, the slash to his throat would’ve done that, same with the man’s companion. 

Johnny drops to one knee, mindful of the slowly growing pool of blood, and reaches for the knife. 

It’s one of Ghost’s. There’s nothing distinctive about the blade that would allow Johnny to think that, the handle dark and clear of the tell-tale smudge of sweat-soaked fingerprints, the kit standard for any soldier, but he’s got faith. Belief without proof. 

He tugs it free, the hair on the nape of his neck prickling with reflexive revulsion at the gentle sticky sound of flesh giving way, and tucks the knife into his belt. It knocks against the other two he has already placed there, picking up signs of Ghost like they’re breadcrumbs leading him deeper and deeper into the belly of the beast. The mission briefing itself had been standard fare, enough intel on the structure to pad out the thin dossier and an entire a4 colour picture of the device they would use to retrieve the information. One team to breach the compound then split up, one moving forward to collect the information before it could be damaged or deleted, one hanging back to cover the exit before they would extract and cool their heels at a safehouse before exfil could pick them back up. 

Course, it had all gone to shit the moment boots hit the ground but the thought had been there. 

Johnny’s com sits heavy and silent in his ear. He taps through the channels in the blind hope that something would have worked itself free since the last time he tried, some spark managing to squeeze between dead wires so he can hear Ghost’s voice once more. 

Another corner, back to the wall, check the corners, head up and ready. Another breadcrumb sprawled in his path, extending out of an open doorway, knife handle protruding from what had been an eye. 

“Brutal, LT,” Soap whispers, a grin sliding across his face. His own wires must be fucked up, a tangle, a knot, a hasty patch job to connect A to B, because fuck, he loves Ghost all the more for it. Hadn’t told the other man that yet, felt too close to jumping arse-first into a firefight when all they’d done up until now had been to skirt the line on what was acceptable com chatter and one night out that Soap can barely remember the events of but he knows what Ghost’s arm feels like over his shoulders, the line of him against Soap’s side radiating heat. Could have died a happy man right then and there and be none the wiser until the morning. 

He’s still moving even as his thoughts wander, checking what little of the room beyond he can make out; mostly shadows clustering behind the office furniture, a desk overturned just on the edge of the flickering light, a particular kind of heavy silence that leant itself to one man in particular. Soap pulls the blade free, keeping it ready as he raises his gun once more. The door creaks as he nudges it open, a necessity for the sheer amount of gear he’s carrying, let alone just his shoulders. 

Ghost is waiting for him. Soap’s gaze snaps to him first, a quick once over that feels as easy as breathing, before he checks out the rest of the room. One more corpse slumped at Ghost’s feet like an emperor of old holding court, the pale light from the computer washing out the definition from his mask until it’s nothing but a grinning horror. 

“Took your time,” Ghost remarks. Positioned like he is, Soap can’t make out the flicker of his eyes as they move but he can feel the passage of them, a burning flush settling in his cheeks even as he settles into an easy rest position. 

Soap grins wide at Ghost. He doesn’t move closer, skirting the edge of Ghost’s patience, the line he had drawn so clearly time and time again to score it into physical existence. He wouldn’t cross it, would rather cut out his own tongue, but the positioning isn’t quite as fixed when it comes to Soap. “Found your knives as I went. Clumsy of you to keep dropping them like that, sir.”

Ghost’s head tips to one side. There’s a slash of shadow across one cheek, dipping down to the grooves that give the skull a mouth, and Soap tries to read the emotion behind it. “I started the mission with seven, Johnny.” His hand moves, dipping to his belt to emerge with one knife held between two fingers. There’s a smear of blood on the blade, still wet enough to keep some of its colour. Soap’s fingers ache for his sketchbook, an easel, hell, even a scan of spray paint and some half-broken down wall would do.

He wants to fix this moment in time, immortalise Ghost standing there and looking at him like that.

“Think you’d go fetch the rest if I asked?”

Soap nods before he can stop himself, a dog leaping up before the command could fully be given. Wouldn’t be too difficult to collect the rest if he’d already collected four and Ghost was down to his last blade. Only left two sticking out of some poor unfortunates that he hadn’t spotted on his way to Ghost from his own entrance point. “That an order, LT?”

Ghost’s gaze is dark, the light from the computer screen just enough for Soap to track the slow tilt of the other man’s head back to neutral, his gaze flickering towards the progress bar creeping across the screen. “I’ll put the replacements on to Price’s tab. Any trouble on the way in?”

“Few stragglers.” Soap rolls his shoulders, letting his stance drop as his gun lowers, the weight settling onto the strap. He’s still ready to move at a moment’s notice, so attuned to Ghost’s commands that it sometimes feels like the other man barely needs to speak at all. Felt that way since they’d first met, Soap tipped into Ghost’s semi-protesting metaphorical lap like a puppy bought at Christmas that grew up into a wolfhound. They’d made it unscathed out of that mission and every subsequent mission since. Soap’s well aware of the adage about too much of a good thing, but he can’t help it. 

He loves the other man too much to back down now.

“Dealt with them?”

“Affirmative, LT.” 

Ghost drums his fingers against the desk, the single point of movement from the other man. His gaze hadn’t returned to Soap, still locked on the objective. Must be nearly ready by now, the seconds slipping past like treacle, sweat beading beneath the heft of Soap’s vest, the divot of his throat. But he waits, chewing his tongue while he watches Ghost.

“Did you hear about the man who had his left side cut off? He was alright.”

Ghost crumbles slightly when he laughs, some crucial support sliding out of place in his spine as he ducks his head, one painted glove rising to press at the bridge of his nose. “Just when I thought this mission wouldn’t get any worse.”

He slides the small device out of the terminal, returning it to the pocket on his vest, tapping it once to confirm its position. “Retrieval complete, Litenaunt. Off we go to the safe house to cool our heels for a bit.”

Soap salutes, every molecule in his body snapping into discordant awareness. “Sir, yes, sir.”

Leaving the compound was a quieter affair than breaking into it. The explosives in Soap’s kit burn a hole through his thoughts, his fingers itching like he’s three days clean of a five a day habit. A distraction. Something else to think about other than his new formula, specifically developed to minimise damage to the structure while still being effective at casualties, a delicate balancing act he hadn’t managed to test in the field yet. 

Soap looks to Ghost.

When Soap had just been Johnny MacTavish, there hadn’t been much to do in his city outside of just existing in places, as much a part of the scenery as the graffiti splattered over concrete and the rubbish piled next to the bins. He’d fallen into dating a girl because it had been expected that it was something he’d do instead of a genuine want. Most of their dates, if he could even remember them like that, featured their local high street, a smattering of shops thrown together and expected to function. Johnny had tagged along with his girlfriend, not for any genuine want but because it was something he should do. He’d held her bags while she shopped and felt proud, felt useful because of it. He wouldn’t be able to be useful like that to Ghost; the other man would more likely be offended if he offered, but what if he could swing Ghost’s pack onto his shoulder and wind the other man’s freshly freed fingers around his own.

“Look sharp, Johnny.”

“Aye, LT.”

No point in woolgathering over what might’ve been. If he had stayed instead of joining the army, he likely would have married that girl, useful as a tool, another accessory to decorate her arm and little more, his gaze clinging to every set of broad shoulders that crossed his path without accepting why. Ghost’s mask is loose at the nape of his neck, the fabric bunching beneath the shift of his pack as he walks. Soap watches that spot, blind to the forest around them even as night draws in and they walk closer, listening for anyone following them. 

The safe house is a small squat building, barely indistinguishable from the creaking tree it sits in the shadow of, a wash of ivy clinging to the main face.

“Think there’s a door somewhere in all that, LT?” Soap doesn’t move closer as Ghost prowls forward, primed and ready. The only reassurance he has that Ghost heard his whispered remark through the gloom at all is the slight curve to Ghost’s shoulders, a fracture in his foundations for Soap to curl his fingers into and wonder at what could be beneath.

So long as there’s running water of any temperature, Soap will bottle up his complaints until they’re back in the air.

No windows beneath the ivy, one single door with a thin wood panelling over the heavy metal interior. Older design, one that quickly fell out use, but it could be explained away as a rich eccentrics hunting lodge stuck as it is in the official middle of fucking nowhere. Ghost drags one hand over the straggling plant life, pulling the remnants that survived his initial survey to one side. In the gloom, Soap devours the shadows that pool in the dip of Ghost’s waist, the delicate set that fan around the widespread of his thighs. 

Normally, they’d both make sure the space was clear before they rang up the brass to report the intel back to them, but the information links to an active mission. No time for both.

“Soap. Sweep the house. I’ll report to Laswell. Shout if you get shot.”

“Aye, LT. Just for you.”

Ghost steps to one side as Soap lines up in front of the door, his gun back in his hands and he slings his kit to one side of the doorframe. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Ghost shoves the door open, the hinges screeching in protest and a faint stream of dirt falls from the hinges to match the dust lying thick over the floor as Soap walks in. No other marks on the floor except his own, good sign. Even better augury for a full night’s sleep and a shower. Doesn’t matter though. He’s got a job to do. 

Soap moves forward into the house, going room by room, each covered in a thin layer of dust and dirt, the plants beginning to encroach through gaps in the walled-up window frames with delicate tendrils pressing against the murky glass. Main room has a low slung sofa and an armchair clustered around a table with a deck of cards scattered across the surface, then a narrow kitchen fitted on the opposite wall. Hallway, bathroom — cracked porcelain, the light flickering into unsteady existence, shower boxed into a corner — and then bedroom. One bed. 

Should be something tangible he’s bringing back to Ghost, a fresh corpse slung across his shoulders or a limb clutched between his teeth instead of what he is: close quarters and a projection for a couple of days stay balancing on a knife edge.

Ghost’s in the paltry kitchen when Soap emerges from the back of the house. He’s leaning against the counters, tucked into a corner with one knife resting on the oven next to him. On the other side, one of the drawers sits wide, gutted and in the process of being flayed as Ghost’s free hand dips inside it, emerging with some metal contraption that Soap couldn’t even guess the purpose of but looks deadly in Ghost’s hands. His other hand is occupied with the data uplink, tapping at keys as another progress bar reflects in the dark gleam of his eyes. He’s not at rest, a line of tension buried so deep in his shoulders that it’s foundational at this point. Ghost is already looking at Soap, his head tipped in a silent expectant question. 

Soap obeys. 

“Place is locked down, sir. Just us two here, front door is the main entrance and exit but I reckon we could fit through one of the windows out back if we clear them out. There’s basic washing facilities and one bed. Sir.”

Ghost closes his eyes, his brow drawn behind his mask. 

“It’s a double at least, sir. Happy to take the sofa.”

“Don’t need you to jump onto that sword just yet, Soap.” Ghost ducks his head to peer at the screen once more before folding it closed and pushing the device back on the counter until it bumps into the wall. Secured. “Intel is with Laswell and her henchmen so we’ll be sitting and waiting until exfil. Going to be a miserable couple of days for me hearing you complain about your bad back.”

Ghost pushes himself off the counter, crossing the room to stand in front of Soap in a matter of seconds. Soap’s maybe half a head taller than him, more he would guess out of their combat boots, but that doesn’t matter as Ghost looms over him, assessing him. It’s with that same uneasy focus that Ghost reaches for him, hooking two fingers into the mic band that Soap wears around his throat. The fabric of his gloves is rough, the paint over the back of his fingers rougher, lighting up a blaze through Soap’s nerves even in that fraction of a second as he tugs Soap sideways and moves past him in the same motion. He doesn’t signal for Soap to follow him, doesn’t need to. Soap walks at his heels, his face turned to the blank expanse of Ghost’s back. 

Ghost blocks the entire doorway to the bathroom, cramped quarters trying and failing to swallow him whole. He doesn’t look real with the harsh electric light cutting deep shadows against the pouches at his waist, the folds of his clothes. “Might as well settle in for orders. I’ll check the water tank.” He turns, near enough nose to nose with Soap, close enough that Soap can make out the slight twitch of his eye that accompanies Ghost’s brow rising, his lashes pale where the eyeblack hasn’t stuck. “At ease, Johnny. I’ll only be a moment.”

There’s no window for him to watch through, no gap in a set of lace curtains for Soap to twitch and watch Ghost as the other man leaves the safe house, each step soundless, near-invisible in the swiftly descending gloom. He can’t let himself relax just yet and there’s no solid furniture he can content himself with destroying, working his fingers beneath fraying seams or scratching pale furrows into wood. Soap waits where Ghost left him, counting the moments between his breaths, his gaze locked onto the door.

It creaks back open before his count can grow too high, Ghost tugging his gloves off as he steps back into the house and placing them into his pocket. “Enough hot water for a single shower then it’ll refill. Can’t say how long that’ll take.” Ghost’s jaw shifts behind the fabric of his mask, his thumb digging into the crevasse between thumb and forefinger on his other hand. Even that delicate skin hadn’t been spared from the network of scars over Ghost’s frame; a dark line puckering pale flesh, vanishing beneath the cuff of Ghost’s jacket. 

“Could share,” Soap offers, mouth working before his brain can process how entirely fucked he’ll be through the entire setup. Naked. With Ghost. Also naked. 

Ghost tips his head to one side, his eyes narrowing. Soap knows the direction of his thoughts, his own had already transversed the selfsame pathway in a flash of burning fumbling embarrassment and stumbled into the same conclusion Ghost is coming to. They’re both filthy, dirt and sweat clinging to every scrap of available skin, adrenaline leaking through their pores and it wouldn’t be long until they were both too exhausted to move, too tired to care. It’s likely a few days wait before they leave this house, the sheets potentially the only set and it promises a gritty miserable second night for them both. 

Only one immediate solution. 

“Not like we haven’t shared a shower before, LT.” Soap grins up at him, a cold sweat beading along his hairline, his hands clasped behind his back so he can drag the broken edge of a nail against a callus unseen. The showers on base weren’t large but they at least had multiple shower heads instead of the single cramped stall they were planning on squeezing into. And there was the mask. “I’ll keep my eyes closed. Won’t peek.”

Tension bleeds out of Ghost’s shoulders, a relaxation that Soap can nearly taste in how quickly the copper tints the air. “Fuck off, Johnny,” Ghost says but he’s grinning behind his mask as he speaks, Soap can tell. It’s obvious when he’s learnt how to look, a knowledge he’s assembled from scraps. 

They return to the bathroom, Soap following Ghost once more. Soap leans back against the counter, plucking at the straps of his tactical vest without removing it. “You sure, LT?”

“You get in first, face the corner. I’ll get in and turn the water on. Wash and I’ll get out first, then you. Good?”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

He has his orders and he’ll follow them gladly. Soap doesn’t look at Ghost as he undresses, the other man a solid shadow out of the corner of his eye. There’s a chill in the air, goosebumps erupting down his arms and torso as he steps onto frigid tile, the shower door creaking as he pushes it open and steps inside. Exhaustion brews behind his eyes, a yawning pit of glorious nothingness that he can tip into, but every nerve feels scraped raw, firing nonsense in hope of a connection. Ghost undresses behind him, the whisper of cloth against cloth only serving to wind Soap’s nerves tighter and tighter. 

Breathe. Think.

If Soap had been a sculptor, he’d spend the rest of his life trying to recreate this moment in marble, in metal, hell, he’d tear down a mountain piece by piece in his attempts. Ghost’s hand brushes against his left hip, his shoulder already bumping against Soap’s spine as he tries to angle himself in the stall. No chance of the door closing when Ghost must still be partially outside, his breath fogging against the nape of Soap’s neck. The controls are closer to Ghost and Soap keeps his gaze fixed on a crack in the tile as the other man fumbles with them, grumbling under his breath. 

It would be easy to look.

The glass had been frosted but time had worn it away leaving clear patches. It wouldn’t be an accurate reflection, a wavering outline that he could try and construct a face from, the slope of a grin, a jaw, his brow; anything to match to the honey-coloured eyes he knows so well. He keeps his face turned to the corner, just like he promised. 

The first spray of water is fucking freezing. Soap yelps, jerks forward as it hits his shoulder, his spine. Behind him, Ghost hisses out a breath between his teeth, shifting his feet on the tile, and it isn’t quite taking a bullet for him but standing beneath a freezing shower spray so Soap wouldn’t is pretty damn close. The water warms quickly and Ghost redirects the spray, steam filling the small room. There’s some supplies left and Ghost knocks a bottle against his shoulder that Soap takes, quickly scrubbing himself down. 

“What do you reckon they call this scent, Ghost? ‘Berry Happy’? ‘Jam Together’?”

“‘Keep Calm and Berry On,” Ghost joins in, his voice dry, and Soap could picture him without looking, without knowing, the wry slant to his head when he grins, his gaze tipped sideways to assess. 

Soap snorts out a laugh, tipping his head back into the spray. Water catches in his hair, running down his spine, and he rakes a hand through his mohawk, catching his fingers on several fresh snarls. It needs a trim, the sides beginning to grow out, and he sighs, shaking a few droplets free. 

“Hold still.” It’s the only warning he gets before Ghost’s hand smacks onto the crown of his head. The sensation of shampoo comes later, the fresh rush of what had once been berry-scented and now is just scented filling the cramped space. 

Soap scrubs through his hair, the sensation of a hand against his scalp, fingertips trailing over the faded boundary, staying with him. “Ta, LT. Think you’re wasted in the army, should’ve been a barber.”

“Don’t think I’d make the cut, Johnny. Might need to mullet it over for a bit.”

Soap cracks himself open on a laugh, exhaustion dragging down his chest until it settles like a rock next to his aching ribs. The plain tiles of the shower swim in front of him and, for a moment, he can’t remember if the shoulder resting against his own, the thigh bracketing his leg, are his own or a waking dream. There’s a hiss as the water begins to stutter, Ghost snapping out a curse and dumping a lukewarm handful of water over Soap’s head as the last few soap suds wash away clear. 

They don’t speak as they exit the shower, Ghost first and Soap left shivering in the corner as the other man dresses, barely touching the towel they have between them, and vanishes out of the room. Nothing has changed between them but something feels different, a certainty that’s already put down roots in Soap’s chest as he dries himself quickly, looping the damp towel around his neck as he pulls his clothes back on, forgoing the tactical gear and his boots. 

“Ghost?” Soap calls as he steps out of the bathroom, condensation heavy on his skin, the floor to his left bright with wide footprints. His hair is loose around his ears beginning to curl as it dries and he pushes his fingers over the scratch of the shaved sides of his head. 

“In here. Food, then sleep, Johnny.”

The memory doesn’t stick. He eats, must do because when Soap blinks back into existence sitting on the edge of the barely larger than single bed they’re going to share, his belly is full, the lingering stale taste of a heated MRE lingering in his mouth. He’s stripped out of his tactical gear, his boots next to the bed, ready to sleep. “Want me to get in first again, LT?” 

Ghost huffs out a quiet laugh from the single chair in the room. It’s a plush monstrosity, velvet fabric worn over the arms, the back, and it creaks as he leans forwards to tug his boots off. “Thought you’d fallen asleep on me, Johnny. Quietest meal I think I’ve had with you.”

“Just tired, LT.” Soap muffles a yawn behind his hands, his jaw cracking with the effort. He sways as he does so, the urge to collapse backwards and just sleep like that, sprawled across the foot of the bed burning a hole in his thoughts. He blinks up at Ghost, the broken moonlight scratching through the drawn curtains, heavy shadows obscuring the other man’s form. “You sleep like that? Mask and everything?”

“Close your eyes.”

Soap obeys, his world muffled to nothing more than sound and sensation. There’s the soft rustle of cloth against cloth, the creaking of chair springs that hadn’t been made with the idea of a man like Ghost let alone the full force of him, and then Ghost’s footsteps, bare feet barely louder than a whisper over the floorboards. The bed shifts as Ghost sits down next to him, Soap leaning towards him before he can stop himself. Ghost doesn’t run warm, his skin cool even after their meagre allotment of hot water, but that doesn’t matter. Soap runs hot, always has. He’ll keep Ghost warm enough. 

“You good to keep your eyes closed?”

“Yeah.” For Ghost, Soap would never open his eyes again, sacrifice this core part of himself if Ghost asked him to. “Want me to lie down?”

“Yes.”

The bed’s comfortable enough. Someone splurged on a good mattress down the line and Soap sighs as he sinks into it, tucking himself along the far edge of the bed. He’d have to scramble over Ghost if they had to evac in the night or just to go for a piss but there’s no amount of sneaking that would stop Ghost from waking the moment he moves. He pulls one of the pillows down under his head, rolling onto his side so he’s facing the wall. “Hey, LT. Did you hear about the scarecrow who got a medal? He was outstanding in his field.”

Ghost’s laugh sounds different without his usual mask on, lighter somehow, rich like honey. The bed tips once more as Ghost lies down behind him, his feet knocking against Soap’s before he adjusts. “Night, Johnny.”

“Night, Si. Sweet dreams.”

Morning dawns slowly, realisation dragging its heels as Soap blinks awake. There’s a pool of blond curls in front of his vision, nearly obscuring the bare back his hands are resting next to, fingertips pressed against a dark divot in Ghost’s spine. The covers pool around their hips, dislodged as they had moved in the night, and Soap barely breathes as everything stops. 

Ghost’s chest rises and falls in an even slow tempo, hopefully, mercifully asleep. 

Sunlight catches on one scar over Ghost’s arm, larger than would have been expected for a simple wound by a weapon, the edges deliberately regular, and Soap bites his tongue until it aches and shuts his eyes. He won’t stare at what Ghost doesn’t want him to, won’t step over boundaries until he’s invited. It’s easy enough to draw his pillow down with one hand, turning his face to bury his head and obscure his vision utterly. He’ll wait for Ghost to wake up and, for now, he’ll enjoy the moment of peace.

With his eyes closed, Johnny doesn’t see Ghost’s eyes open, the other man awake and waiting. His teeth are indented in his lower lip, tension bleeding through the pale scarred skin until it’s bright in the lazy sunshine, but he breathes out slowly, letting himself relax once more. His hands are curled in front of his chest, the memory of Johnny’s fingers interlocked with his own from earlier that morning bright and burning and cherished. 

[athanza]

Starlett - Final part

Cooper Howard/fem!OC (not self-insert)

Tags: Hurt/comfort (sort of?), non-allowed romantic connection, lots of tention, pre and post war drama, romance, some fluff

Warnings: Mentions of domestic abuse (no graphic scenes or descriptions of that nature), angst, canon wasteland violence

This branches out from canon but I thought it was a cute story idea so I had to write it. Enjoy! ♡

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

2077

That night, after dinner, Irene found Cooper on the sofa with Janey asleep on his lap, watching an old noire film with the volume down low.

"Thank you very much for dinner Mr. H- Cooper." She corrected herself, speaking low so as not to wake Janey. "It was lovely."

He looked up as she walked over. "It was no trouble at all. Janey loved having you here."

She smiled at his daughters sleeping face as she sat down on the edge of the sofa. "You've got a good kid there."

He looked down at her proudly. "Yeah, I sure do."

"She reminds me of my baby sister, she lives with my folks in Sacramento. I don't get to see her much anymore with my work and everything with Frank and Lee. It'll be good to see her again."

"How long has it been?"

"Almost 2 years. I know my sister resents me for how much I'm away, but hopefully that'll change now that I'll be away from Frank, at least until the divorce proceedings." She sighed with uneasiness.

"You'll be fine." Said Cooper encouragingly. "You're stronger than you think."

"Ditto." She smiled warmly. "And don't worry about Janey, you both love her so much. She'll understand when she's older, I promise."

He smiled, touched by her words. "Thank you."

She looked into his eyes and saw something she never had, a good man, a man who loves unconditionally and stands up for his family.

She, just for a moment, imagined what it would be like if he was her husband instead of Frank, if Janey were their daughter, if this was her life and not the daily abuse she had been going home to every night.

She could feel emotions begin to well behind her eyes and she snapped out of it before she embarrassed herself.

"Well, I should get some sleep, I'll be leaving early tomorrow. Thank you again."

The warmness that emanated from her was a welcome comfort in the midst of everything that had happened in the last few months. He almost didn't want her to leave, but he couldn't let himself fall, not now, not for her. They were meant for another time, another world, not this one.

"Irene?" Said Cooper, stopping her before she left. "This whole thing with Vault Tec...something's happening, something I'm not sure we'll ever come back from.

You're free from it now. Whatever's coming...it won't be worth giving up your happiness."

What he said about Vault Tec concerned her, not that it was surprising, but he was right about her happiness, he was right about everything. She wasn't going to be held back any longer.

"Thank you." She said, smiling softly.

2296

The sky was still dark when he left the cave. He'd covered Irene with whatever he could find to try to conceal her from raiders, hoping nothing else would find her while he was gone.

He knew there was a clinic in this area somewhere but whether it had anything left in it was a gamble.

As he made his way hastily through the area, he couldn't stop thinking about her and it just made him angry, 219 years of trying to become the monster that he had to be in order to survive, only for her to show up and remind him of that warmth that he'd long since forgotten. It made him weak, but he couldn't let her die, not now.

He heard movement up ahead, two men laughing drunkenly as they stumbled to find somewhere to relieve themselves.

Raiders.

The cages and skewered bodies around the building were a dead give-away and their little base just happened to be the clinic he was looking for.

Jackpot. They definitely had a stash in there somewhere.

The two men separated to find somewhere to piss but just as one got comfortable, Cooper blast his head off and took the other one out just a split second later.

"Oh HELL no!" Came a voice from the doorway of the clinic.

Without hesitation, Cooper shot him too, a bloody mess left on the door frame behind where he had been standing.

He stormed inside, his pump-action shotgun in hand, willing to use up all of his ammo to get what he needed.

Bullets and wood chips were flying every which way, and he took a bullet or two, but it took him no time at all to obliterate every person in that building.

He searched hastily for supplies, and when he found a first aid box full of stimpaks and cotton thread, he grabbed it and left, picking up several blood packs on his way out.

2077

The next morning, Irene was up early, her bag already in her car when Cooper came out to meet her.

"You weren't kiddin' about leavin' early." He said, the clock in the hallway reading 7:12am.

"I thought it'd be best if I left earlier rather than later."

He knew why. He didn't argue.

"Give this to Janey for me, would you? I noticed she liked it and I know it'll be in good hands."

She handed Cooper a silver locket with a daisy engraved delicately on the front.

He looked at it a bit surprised. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I don't much care for it anymore. It'll be more appreciated with her." She smiled.

She did one last check of her purse to make sure she had everything and the tention in the air was starting to thicken. When she knew she had everything, she looked back up at him.

"Cooper?" She asked. "Do me a favour and don't let the world harden that heart of yours, ok? That part of people is important, even if it makes us feel weak, always remember that, ok?"

She leant forward and kissed his cheek. "See you 'round cowboy."

She smiled at him one last time before getting in her car, and as he watched her drive away he felt his heart ache a little. He would miss her, her warm smiles, and how she made Janey laugh, but it wasn't meant to be, and he knew that.

2296

He pulled off the foliage covering her now pale body and opened the case.

Her breathing was shallow and laboured, a puddle of blood underneath her that had started to coagulate.

He used one of the stimpaks, then another, then another until he had used all six, then pulled out the thread and started sewing up the deep gashes on her side that were sticky with blood.

He remembered the last time he saw her, her smile, the kiss. He remembered watching her drive away and wishing she hadn't. He remembered the last things she said to him.

"...don't let the world harden that heart of yours, ok? That part of people is important, even if it makes us feel weak..."

When he finished sewing, he hung up one of the blood bags and attached the long tube to her arm.

He was still and focused, hoping he wasn't too late, his hands now covered in her blood.

When she woke up after only a few minutes, she saw him sitting by the fire beside her and smiled sleepily.

"Hey there cowboy."

The End

[1moreff-creator]

Updated intro post and masterlist time!

Hello! I'm 1moreff-creator, or just FF, and I'm your

Local Min Jeung Kinnie

(Art from DRDT's Sleepy MV, Literature Girl Insane MV, CH1 EP6)

This is a technically multifandom (but generally DRDT-centric) blog, where I mostly do analysis posts and theories, though there's some variety around here. I go by they/them, I'm aro/ace, and I have a sideblog dedicated to the Milgram project, 1moremilgram-enjoyer!

Here's my post masterlist, which I moved away from Tumblr to avoid the 100 link per post limit I was going to run into eventually. Interests and post highlight reel under the cut.

Interests:

(AKA everything you're welcome to flood my askbox with :D)

-DRDT. Obviously.

-Mainline Danganronpa, DRA and SDRA2, Project: Eden's Garden, DR (He)artless Deceit.

-Milgram. Though you should probably go to the sideblog for that :p

-FNAF. This thing grabbed hold of me in 2014 and will not let go. Probable cause of my likely insanity, given I'm well-versed in the lore.

-BNHA. The hundreds of thousands of words I've written for class 1-B are the reason for the "fanfic" the "ff" stands for in my name :)

Smaller interests also include Slay the Princess, JJK, Class of 09 (mainly OG and Re-Up I don't really like Flipside), Undertale/Deltarune, Gravity Falls, Steven Universe (haven't thought about this one in a while though), and more I'm probably forgetting.

Post Highlight Reel:

-DRDT Secret Masterpost. Generally a good idea to check this out before any of my more unhinged thoughts.

-DRDT CH2 PT Analysis. Probably my best post ever, 28k words of mental illness.

-Mai Akasaki Analysis. Really love this one. I consider it a great introduction to Mai's character, and contains some theories I love a lot.

Amendments: Arrow in her numeral (ft cider-est) (Rb) - Matching phone charms (ft wist-eri) (Rb) - Mai flower discovery by the-fox-in-the-socks (0% my post but pretty important)

-Literature Girl Insane Analysis Video. Two and a half hours of sheer insanity, though reading the Mai post first is recommended.

Amendments: Post CH2 PT2 Update (Corrigendum).

-About Page Text Analysis. (Ask). Shorter than the others, but I think it's important enough to be listed here.

Update: where did it go.

-DRDT reacts to "I fucked your mom last night." Behold, my most popular post ever.

-Eden!Culprit Levi!Accomplice Theory. Although this was proven wrong, I'm still pretty proud of it and consider it a good theory for the time.

-Proving MonoTVid canon with LGI. Objectively the best post I've ever made.

Recommended Reads

Smaller theories I still recommend you read, especially if you want a full understanding of my beliefs when it comes to DRDT.

-Thoughts on Min's secret. (Pre-CH2 PT2 Ask) A bit of Min analysis, and a basic theory on how exactly she pulled off her motive secret.

-"Mai Order" Analysis and observations on the CH2 PT1 QnA. (Rb) This one's just funny.

-Survivor Predictions. (Ask) Self-explanatory.

-Thoughts on Teruko’s plan to end the killing game. (Pre-CH2 Ep16 Ask) Holy shit I kinda got something right???

-The Deal with Whit, according to me. (Rb) I just like how this analysis came out :v

[oh-sweet-mama]

Soooo as I've been thinking; Imagine a Frankie Morales, (and the rest of the boys), in an outbreak!AU like I'm talking TLOU zombies. Soooo many thoughts.

(Sorry this is my favorite gif of Francisco!)

CW: zombie apocalypse canon violence <33, mild angst (longing for pre-outbreak), no descriptors other than "Beautiful", "gorgeous", and “stunning”

Like imagine him being all protective as you all backpack across the country following leads to a safe haven. (Sm like Jackson).

Imagine being forced to share a sleeping bag or a mattress, and y'all are secretly crushing on each other. He tries to keep himself at a distance, but he some how wakes up with you pressed against him, and that creates another issue within itself.

Santi and Benny constantly teasing him with looks and snickers as he wakes up to see them looking at the pair of you snuggled up with one another on a hot June night.

Imagine Frankie having to help you after you get injured from getting caught in a shootout at a rundown corner store. All gentle eyes, and calloused hands as he stitches you up.

Cooing that he "knows it hurts" and "It's going to be ok, baby. Only a couple more stitches". Followed with "You're doing so good, it's almost over".

As if he isn't the one dousing the wound with rubbing alcohol and poking your skin with a needle. You still look at him like he hung the stars and the moon, because you know that this is your Frankie helping you.

He gingerly takes you to bed, and pulls the shitty covers up your chin. Softly petting a hand over your forehead to brush stray hairs, and sweat. You look up at him, and Frankie smiles at you; partly in love, and partly in sadness.

Sadness that this is the reality now. That you got hurt trying to look for a can of green beans to feed the group.

But oh how he loves you. Way too overly protective, and didn't let you go into stores or run down buildings for the first 6 months of the outbreak. Barely lets you get close to having to pull your own firearm out, constantly keeping you tucked behind him, with his broad frame.

The feeling of usually having his hand wrapped around your upper arm. So he can pull you away from danger if needed.

The brown eyes that were once rarely hardened and mean, now only melt at the sight of you. Even when you inist that you feel gross; and haven't properly showered in a while. He doesn't care; he thinks the you're still the most beautiful person he's ever laid his eyes upon.

Even as you get rougher due to the outbreak, and backpacking through the haphazard land of was once a country. The scars that now adorn your face, and body. He thinks you're gorgeous. Abosloutely stunning.

Sometimes he wonders what it woud've been like if the two of you had gotten together before shit hit the fan. And that's when he lays there at night, with an ache in his heart, and an arm around you waist holding you close. He grieves the dream that he wanted to have a home with you. He'll imagine that the two of you are in a bed, in a safe room, with an overly spacious master bath. And his truck parked out front, and his only worry is when the next time is he'll mow the lawn. What's for dinner, and who's washing the dishes.

But Francisco Morales will take whatever your willing to give. He doesn't understand why you're still you even after all of this mess. Maybe it's the man that was in the army and saw days of combat that is currently out to play. But you still smile, and you still crack your stupid jokes. You steal his hat, and tease him about his dimple. And oh my- He's laughing in the middle of the goddamn apocalypse because of you. But he doesn't hate you for it; in fact, you're one of the last reasons he has to keep going.

AN: Did I just word vomit about Francisco Morales in the zombie apocalypse? yes! Did this possibly stem from the fact that I've been reading wayyy to much Joel Miller x Reader... possibly... Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed :)

[geneticdriftwood]

lost and found pt. 1: missing pieces (dickroy wip snippet)

Summary:

"In the photo, Roy’s head hangs backwards over the arm of their old couch. His face is covered in doodles that Dick had helped a tiny Lian draw, all in multicolored permanent marker. He’s trying to look dramatically outraged, but the effect is ruined by the bright grin he can’t quite suppress. His gaze is directed off camera, to where Lian is giggling delightedly in Dick’s lap, a bright streak of blue smudged across her right cheek. The look in his eyes is full of such intense love and devotion that Dick forgets, for a moment, how to breathe."

Or: Dick thinks about the past and fails to change the future.

A/N: this is a little snippet from pt. 1 of lost and found, my wip au where Lian and Damian become friends while she's running around gotham still "dead". they get themselves stranded half a galaxy away, and in the process of rescuing them, dick and roy finally work through their issues and figure their shit out. takes place shortly after bruce returns from the time stream, pre-nu52 canon but with lian's current death plotline

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

The last kid from his gymnastics class has finally been picked up, so Dick heads to the staff locker room to rinse off before going home. 

Honestly, Dick hates this locker room. It’s nothing like the tiny one at his old gym in New York, with its cracked mirror, and its shower with shit water pressure, and its photos and stickers and children's artwork on every locker. This one is too big, all shiny and new and impersonal, remodeled, like the rest of the gym, with money from a generous anonymous donation. Because Bruce can’t resist shoving himself into every fucking corner of Dick’s life.

That’s probably enough bitching about Bruce for now. He doesn’t want to hit his daily quota before he even finds out what happened last night with Damian. 

Dick finishes his shower and towels off, changing into a clean pair of sweatpants and an old Wonder Woman t-shirt. Gym bag over his shoulder, he waves goodbye to his coworkers and steps out into the soft light of early evening. He throws a helmet on, hops on his bike, and pulls out of the parking lot, heading in the direction of his apartment. 

The fog of stress and exhaustion has finally cleared from his head, and he’s feeling more like himself than he has all day, but something in his chest still aches. 

His last group of the day had been the tumbling class for 5-6 year olds. It's one of his favorites to teach–– it’s mostly just playing games, and he loves seeing how carefree and comfortable in their own skin the kids that age still are. But there’s moments when he looks at them and chokes on the air in his lungs, unable to swallow the grief. 

Sophie had landed her first cartwheel today, and all he could see was Lian, running into the tower kitchen to proudly show him that look, she finally got the feet right! And he and Donna had applauded, and let her lick the cookie dough off the spoon, and listened as she’d sat at the kitchen island, kicking her feet and telling them all about some new animal fact she’d learned. 

He thinks about calling Roy and sharing the memory. But he doesn't know if he should, hasn't talked to him recently enough to know whether the thought of past joy would be a comfort, or just a painful reminder of loss.

It aches down to his bones, that he doesn’t know. The distance between him and Roy feels so wrong, like he’s missing a limb. 

Dick pulls in and parks in front of his favorite little corner grocery store. Dick wants to say he doesn’t know how all this started, but, well, he definitely does. He just doesn't particularly want to think about it.

This is his own damn fault, he knows. Roy’s been trying to reach out, lately. They see each other semi-regularly, at Justice League meetings or during the occasional mission. Out of costume sometimes, too, at someone’s birthday dinner or a West family cookout. But Dick’s had a lot of practice dodging conversations he doesn’t want to have. And normally Roy doesn’t let him get away with that, but they both know better than to start this fight in public. 

So Dick avoids being alone with Roy, and Roy stares at him from across the room, eyes burning holes in the side of Dick’s head. Between the two of them, silences have always been so much louder than screaming matches. 

Dick glances down. He’s a little surprised to notice that he has his phone out and opened to Roy’s contact, where a much younger face looks up at him. Donna had taken the picture, one afternoon when it had just been the three of them and Lian in the tower.

In the photo, Roy’s head hangs backwards over the arm of their old couch. His face is covered in doodles that Dick had helped a tiny Lian draw, all in multicolored permanent marker. He’s trying to look dramatically outraged, but the effect is ruined by the bright grin he can’t quite suppress. His gaze is directed off camera, to where Lian is giggling delightedly in Dick’s lap, a bright streak of blue smudged across her right cheek. The look in his eyes is full of such intense love and devotion that Dick forgets, for a moment, how to breathe.

It’s not like Dick wants things to stay like this. He misses his friend so much it burns inside. But he doesn’t know how to fix this. He’s afraid to try. Dick feels stuck, frozen. Why the hell is this so hard? 

His thumb hovers over the call button on the screen. He really, really wants to hear Roy’s voice.

Suddenly his phone vibrates, and a text from Tim pops up at the top of the screen.

dropping itty bitty bat off at ur place, eta 20min. if u arent home to stop me i WILL be stealing all ur zesti.

The tension of the moment breaks, and Dick is back to being just a guy in a parking lot. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and pauses for a moment before pocketing his phone and turning to head into the store. He’s got a kid he needs to make dinner for, and he should probably restock on Zesti.

As he pushes the door open and is hit with cool air and the sounds of shoppers, a little voice in his head whispers “coward”. It sounds uncomfortably like Roy’s.

[hiperacid2]

The taste of you ━━☆⌒*.

☆ Shoko Ieiri x gn!reader

☆ pre-canon(2016/17 ish, i would say before jjk0), good ass tension that comes from midnight company, not established relationship, smoking a single cigarette ☆ wc: 1.2k aprox ☆ find it on ao3!

Before starting the night shift on jujutsu tech, there was always a break gap, long enough to enjoy the outdoor corridors, the ones where you can see all the greenery on the school grounds and beyond. You decide to rest against the veranda, eyes closed, enjoying the crisp night air before the next 6-8 hours of intermittent influx of injured, and hopefully not having to stick your hands inside some corpses.

There's the sound of a door opening, and heels clacking lightly against the wood. "Enjoying the night air?". Some movement behind you, before Shoko comes in your periphery, fixing a bit her hair that was previously on a low ponytail, then resting sideways against the railing. "Yeah, god knows when our next break is going to be…" Inhaling deep, then exhaling, "How about you? Unwinding before madness?"

"Maybe, a beer right now would be exceptional" she sighs, "but alas, unfortunately duty comes first". You laugh at the barely hidden disappointment in her tone. After working closely with her for a few years, you can identify the little playful changes in her rather monotone way of talking that otherwise would slip through your mind.

"I'll have to agree with you on that," a puff of laughter slips from your nose "a cold beer sounds reaaaally good right now, who knows when the weather's going to be as good as this at night again." The night is calm, with your back facing the greenery of the parks, a breeze airing through under the hem of your shirt. The fresh air makes a shiver run down your spine.

Enjoying the company and the silence, you two remain like that, Shoko looks like she's spacing out, and you know better than steal the few moments where the woman can turn off her brain. Deciding to do the same, you start to mindlessly count the floorboards and the window squares of the sliding doors and walls.

As you reach the floorboard number 100 and something, there's the sound of rustling, then a lighter and the signature sound of a cigarette burning. The silence of the almost deserted school grounds enhances them, it's the sounds of the nightlife in the forest and you two.

"Thought you stopped smoking?" you started, not yet looking at Shoko.

"Mmmmmm." an inhale, and holding the smoke; 1, 2, 3, 4, 5; exhale. "Old habits die hard, they say." Another drag, this time shorter. "It's like scratching an itch, you can stop scratching but at some point it gets annoying and you have to relieve it somehow." Shoko shifts from one foot to the other, searching for more words, but ultimately stays quiet. She knows you get what she's trying to say.

While you two are still silent, you shift on the veranda, and look at Shoko. The wind picks up a bit and blows her hair enough to make her stand straight to avoid burning her hair with the cigarette. Shoko is effortlessly pretty, her mole being a focal point in her face, but also getting lost in her general beauty. The bags under her eyes today look less sunken, you think that maybe she slept a bit more last night, but either way they suit her.

Another long drag catches your attention, her slender fingers making the simple act look sleek, refined even, and your mind goes on a quick trip thinking of her grabbing different things; a big beer chop, a cocktail glass, a scalpel…

Something takes over you and you find yourself reaching for the cig on her mouth. Shoko freezes and looks at you, curiosity clear in her gaze. It feels slightly foreign in your hand because you don't really smoke, absentmindedly remembering that it's called being a "social smoker". The woman in front of you hasn't moved an inch, but is watching you like a hawk. You're looking directly at her eyes as you take a drag of it, holding it in, then breaking eye contact to exhale the smoke in another direction.

As you come back to look her in the eyes, you realize that you are eye to eye with Shoko and she has her full attention on your mouth. Still reeling from the boldness of your previous and current actions, you decide that might as well go all the way. Slowly and almost tenderly, you put back the cigarette between her lips, where it was less than a minute ago. You also failed to notice something, that becomes clear when putting it back, it has really light lipstick stains.

The woman in front of you looks indifferent on the surface, but you can see in her eyes that the cogs inside her head are turning, and the tension from your bold movements rise between you two. Slowly, the cigarette hanging between her lips from where you left it lights as she takes a drag not even bothering to fix its position, smearing more lipstick in a previously empty spot. It is as if touching it or shifting would break the moment, then the smoke comes out of her nose, hitting a part of your face. The implicit but obvious indirect kiss hangs between the two.

You don't know if the unusual rush of adrenaline you feel coursing through your veins is from the nicotine or the fact that Shoko is somehow standing even closer, looking directly at you like nothing else can catch her attention. The ash of the cig eventually falls but you two pay it no mind, the wind picks up again, rustling her hair. You think once more about beers but this time it's accompanied by the want to go with Shoko alone, just the two of you. The moment is broken by Shoko's phone ringing, but the tension doesn't go away. She picks up not even looking at the screen.

"Shoko here" The sound that faintly comes out of the speaker sounds like Gojo. "Hmmm, okay" an exasperated exhale, "anyone else injured? or just scratches?" The obnoxious signature Gojo laugh reaches your ears and Shoko rolls her eyes in some kind of fondness mixed with long worn tolerance and hangs up the call without any more words.

You sigh as you think that your break is going to be cut short and the tension between you and her only increases. Filing the invitation for drinks for later, you groan as you step away from the veranda. Shoko looks at you like she's about to pounce on you from the sound alone, in a very unique aloof way that's characteristic of her, but limits herself to stub the cigarette butt on the wood and walking back into the infirmary, throwing it on a nearby trash can. She looks once again behind her, and her eyes tell you that this is not finished, so better put a pin to it. The warm brown pools are almost black from the night darkness, making a shiver go down your back that's definitely not from the rather warm night.

reblogs are appreciated!!

a/n: based on that post i made last week about stealing someones cig and giving it back with lipstick stains... i may write another one but with reader being the one leaving the stain... i just had to get this out of my system

a/n2: my tummy hurts from leting this one free roam... my second ever reader fic posted ;-;

do not repost or translate. this work belongs to hiperacid2

[thisaccountisagainstmywill]

Losing my mind re-reading this. Needs to be launched from the nest finally. Chapter One of a character exploration series framed around some of the more meaningful lays in Rugan's life. Following him from Age 19 up to before the game. A new lay every episode. Pairing: Rugan/Original Female Character

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Rugan is 19, struggling with life in a small town. He's heard rumors his last friend is about to leave for a better life and now he needs just one more night to say goodbye.

Tags: Established Relationship, Goodbye Sex, Pre-Canon, Cunnilingus, Bittersweet, Penis in Vagina Sex, Banter, Young Rugan

Word Count: 5,568

Below the cut or on AO3

The 20th of Kythorn, 1461 – The Year of the Goddesses Blessing Hilp, Cormyr Evening

The small town’s tavern was full to bursting with a swell of bodies and joyous noise. From corner to corner, the building is packed with festive clientele, tankards in hand. Most patrons have given up finding a seat and settled for standing where space will allow. Several disparate renditions of bawdy songs sprout in different clusters of friends and war for auditory dominance of the establishment. A bellowing voice from behind the bar shouts to keep the noise reasonable but is too happy with the booming solstice business to fight too hard against the din.

Rugan wedges in through the front doors and bodily pushes his way through the crowd. Finding footing where he can between the swell of other people, he casually nabs an arse-less stool as he passes by. Someone tries to shout after him with verbal claims, but he pretends not to hear as he hefts it over his head and carries it above the crowd to a back corner near the dusty edge of the fireplace where he can find just enough space to sit unbothered.

From his perch, he watches through the crowd as a young blonde barmaid darts between customers, weaving gracefully with more pints than he could ever understand possible in her arms. She smiles and laughs with some customers, passing out rounds to the sitting and standing alike. Tonight patrons linger with her a bit longer than usual, with fewer immediate orders and more conversation spun special just for her. She nods emphatically to some, gives modest smiles to others, and conflicted frowns to others still. Occasionally someone reaches out to hug her and when her arms are empty enough she lets them, returning the gesture graciously.

After a particularly large order, she finds a moment of respite behind the bar and hulking barkeep. With a brief stretch and deep sigh, she leans against the back counter taking a moment to nibble a likely stale bun and gulp down a half-watered ale. – Just enough ale to keep her friendly. More than enough water to keep her upright in the heat. And a bun just stale enough to sponge them both and keep her from pissing like a horse every hour. – She had emphatically defended her method to the young man once with no lack of self-certainty when he scoffed about how awful her on-the-job meal choices were.

While the barmaid waits for the next deliveries to be readied, she readjusts her hair, grabbing loose strands and fitting them back in place in her low bun. She complained to him once she thought her hair looked like straw– but he thought it looked like the first rays of sunlight casting through the trees in bright golden streams. It made him think of the peacefulness of dawn, the comfort of home, and how she always smelled like spring. The corners of his eyes crinkle as an unconscious smile pulls at his lips. He would never tell her, she’d only add this small poetic streak to the sprawling list of things she chose to tease him about already. It was a happy thought he would keep to himself and safely contained to his daydreams of her.

Her brief break ends as she’s passed a fistful of pints and a steaming plate of roast. He loses sight of her in the crowd but finds her again as she pushes her way along the outskirts on her way back to the bar.

As she swings close enough, he catches her by the wrist and gently yanks her to his isolated corner.

“Hey! No touchi–,” Furiously, she spins to face him, her free hand raised and ready to strike. The moment she recognizes him the rage melts away to a coy smile. “Rugan!” Her voice is still irritated but drops playfully. She brings her poised hand down to his cheek and lightly slaps him.

“Good evening to you too,” He laughs and releases his hold on her. With an exaggerated frown, he rubs the lightly reddening spot on his cheek. “You’re going to owe me for that one. Could’ve done some major damage to my best asset, Sanya.”

“It’s your onlyasset.” She says with mock sternness, placing her hands squarely on her hips.

Rugan cocks his head and raises an eyebrow, “That’s not what you were saying la—.”

Sanya threatens him with a withering look.

He holds his tongue but gives her a wicked smile.

“Sanya! I need you back here now!” The barkeep shouts, his voice just deep enough to carry over the crowd.

Sanya glances at the crowd and back to Rugan. “Look, I’m still working. I don’t have time to gab with you.”

The smile slides off Rugan’s face. “I didn’t think you’d be working tonight. What time is he letting you go?”

“Usual time.” She frowns. “Are you going to be a customer or a nuisance tonight?”

Both, he wants to say, but even he knows better at the moment. “If I could get my usual, I’ll wait around until you get off.”

“Aye? I bet you will.” She winks and gives him a cocky chuckle. There’s a sadness in her eyes, but before he can do anything about it she disappears back into the crowd and returns to her duties.

♦ ♦ ♦

Rugan waits patiently for another three hours, nursing a pint, and a plate of whatever Sanya can weasel away from the kitchen. At one point he joins in on the bawdy singing, adding his own spin to the lyrics and making eye contact with his favorite lass whenever she dares to look his way. He sings himself hoarse for the briefest slivers of her attention. Each time, she rolls her eyes with a smile and continues about her business with a shake of her head.

When the crowd thins down to just him and a few low-energy regulars, the barkeep waves Sanya over. He throws a sad glance towards Rugan sitting with his empty pint held on the stool between his knees. With a nod to the lonely boy, he quietly tells her, “Go on then, dear. I can take it from here.” The old man passes her a small satchel with her pay of the day and a little extra. “All the blessings on you for your adventure.”

She thanks the large man with a tender pat on his hand and turns back to Rugan.

Rugan stands, placing his empty mug on the stolen stool behind him. With a few long strides across the near-empty room, he has her in his arms. He steals a quick kiss before he lowers himself to wrap his arms around her waist and raises her up so he can gaze up at her. She places her hands on his shoulders to steady herself and smiles down at him. Backlit by the chandelier, loose strands of hair frame her like a glowing halo.

My sunrise. He thought, but then the realization set in.

For the first time ever, she didn’t argue or fight back when he kissed her with an audience. He knows in his heart now, that the rumors were true: tonight was goodbye.

♦ ♦ ♦

The two slip away into the festive night but don’t make it far before Rugan becomes impatient. He pulls her aside around the edge of the tavern’s alley. Tucked out of sight, the words come tumbling from his lips. “When are you leaving? Where are you going?”

“Tomorrow morning, at the arse crack of dawn. I’ve got my passage secured on a caravan passing through from Arabel. We’ll head south of the Storm Horns and head westward. I’m thinking I’ll see what I can find in Elturel and if there’s nothing there for me I’ll head westward still.” She shrugs casually like she’d practiced the speech a thousand times and gave it a thousand times more today.

“When were you going to tell me?” His voice wavers.

“I did tell you. You didn’t believe me.” She tries to put on a brave face, but her pale, hazel eyes are downcast.

Rugan swallows, his throat suddenly too dry to speak. He did remember that conversation. At the time he didn’t think much of it. They had both spent every day since they were at least ten complaining about how there was nothing in Hilp worth seeing. How they would go on great adventures. How they’d steal the horses from the Dzavars’ stables and run off into the night. When she told him her actual plan to leave, it simply felt like another shared daydream.

“...why are you going?” His voice cracks. Half a foot taller than her and he feels like a child trying to beg his way out of punishment.

“I can’t stay here. I need more from life than….this.” Sanya flails impotently at her smock and the buildings around them. “There's nothing here for me.”

“I’m here.” The simple words cut cold and deep.

The spark in her eyes dies for a moment, she looks like a rabbit caught in a snare, uncertain and hunting for a way out. She glances from him and down the alley, wringing her hands in the pockets of her apron. He wished in that moment he could take the words back, shove them down his throat, and choke on them before they had a chance to hurt her.

Her eyes are misty when she finally looks back at him. “Ru…” The old nickname sounds like a lament. Sanya glances away again, but this time it feels different. She breathes deeply, steadying herself, and shakes her head. “You can’t hold down a job. You were a tanner last week and you’re a cooper this week. That's no way to live. Not for me, not for you.”

It was true: he had been working odd jobs since his tenth summer. He had become good at learning quickly and on the job. Even so, each job would last only as long as an employer would tolerate him before his mouth got him in trouble – which wasn’t nearly long enough in a town this small.

He reaches out to her, placing a pleading hand on her upper arm. Against her better judgment, she welcomes the warmth of him and leans into his touch.

“Sonderson got a more permanent apprentice from the city and Jandal needed someone after the last boy lost a finger and refused to come back. I go where the work is. Where people need me. Some people say that makes me a handy man to have around.” His face softens as he tries to reassure her with a smile, but he can’t quite manage it.

She chuckles at him, placing a hand over his. “I think you misheard them, you’re a handsy man, Ru.”

“Aye. That I am.” He moves closer to her, leaning to place his forehead against hers. With his free hand, he strokes her hair gently. For a long moment, they stand silently together in that alley. The sounds of the hamlet’s solstice celebrations wind down to near silence.

Rugan pulls away first to look her in the eyes, as he promises, “I won’t hold you back, Sanya. I wouldn’t dare.”

He pushes a loose strand of sunshine out of her face and tucks it back behind her ear. The tension in her shoulders and the worry on her face fade away before his eyes.

“I’ve known you long and well enough to know no one and nothing in this world can.” He continues, smiling at her genuinely even as he feels his heart breaking in his chest. “Just let me have you one last time before you go.”

Please. His heart begs.

She doesn’t make him say it, the pleading was clear as day in his sad blue eyes. She pulls him down and kisses him softly and not another word is said.

♦ ♦ ♦

Rugan doesn't know how he got back to her room in the back of the tavern. His eyes were locked on her and the rest of the world and their celebrations ceased to matter. The two enter the dark room and Sanya paces quickly towards her tinder box on the far counter. While she lights a lantern, Rugan bolts the hefty door behind him. Waiting impatiently, he leans against the door while he watches her. He knew full well the moment he got his hands on her he wouldn’t be able to stop himself and the last time he had interrupted her with the tinderbox she had slightly lit both of them on fire. Scorches of that incident still stained one of the wooden countertops.

The room was cleaner now than it had ever been in the three years she lived here. It had once been an auxiliary food preparation room when there was hope left that Hilp could be more than it was always doomed to be, and now the room served only as staff quarters and storage. Remnants of its hopeful origins decorate the room with counters and excessive wall shelving. The in-use bed lay half made by the door, others stacked against the wall and out the way. A tub lay to the side partially filled from the day before, with a jug of fresh water between it and a washing basin. Sanya’s scant belongings had been pulled off the shelves and packed neatly in a traveler's bag next to the door with her road clothes laid out next to it.

As she closes the lantern, he slides behind her. She barely manages to snuff the match and push the tinderbox away before his hands are on her. He begins at her shoulders stroking his way down to her waist where he deftly unties her apron, letting it tumble to the floor.

“Rugan…” she rasps and leans back into him.

His hands continue downwards, tracing her hips with his palms and coming to rest at the top of her thighs. With a twist of his fingers in the fabric, he pulls her skirts up one fistful at a time.

“I've been sweating all day...” Sanya protests weakly but grinds her ass back into him and his growing hardness.

“I don't mind.” He kisses the back of her neck.

“I should bathe before tomorrow…” She tries to reason.

He smirks against her skin. “You'll want to bathe when I'm done with you, anyway.”

With her skirts lifted he slides his hands beneath the fabric and kneads her hips and cheeks, tracing the line of her underclothes. Whimpering, she leans forward against the counter to brace herself as he works over the tight muscles of her backside, easing the ache of the day away. Rugan ruts against the cleft of her ass, erection straining against the ties of his trousers. He bites back a moan at the sweet friction.

Sanya reaches behind her grabbing for his bulge. Her fingertips grazed the head of his cock through his pants and bucks at the sudden touch.

Quickly, he snatches her seeking hand. Rugan leans over, pressing her chest flat to the counter beneath his muscled torso. “Not yet.” He rumbles into her ear, sending a blissful shiver down her spine.

She huffs, squirming impatiently and grinding back into him for more.

Rugan pushes the lantern to the side and steps back. Before she can protest the loss of him, he turns her around and picks her up with an arm beneath her thigh and another around her waist. Then he hefts her onto the counter facing him. He slides between her legs, running his fingers over her knees and thighs. She grabs for him twisting her fist into his shirt to pull him into a kiss, and locking him close with her ankles behind his thighs. He presses back into the kiss, groaning as she tugs at his lip with her teeth.

He reaches behind himself unlocking her legs to slide her boots off, dropping them to the floor behind him.

She uses the brief distraction to release his shirt. Her hands fly immediately to tug again at the ties of his breeches.

Rugan pulls her hands off him, lacing his fingers through hers and holding them out to the side. “I told you not yet.” He growls and kisses her roughly.

Sanya struggles against his grip as he holds her in place, kissing along the lobe of her ear and down to her neck. She manages to slip one hand free of his, palming his erection through his trousers while she grasps again for the ties. Before he can grab her again, she manages to pull the knot undone.

Holding her tightly by the wrist, he growls against her neck, “Do that again and I’ll tie you up.” Unable to help himself, he presses his straining bulge against the heat of her spread legs

“That’s hardly a threat. I know how shite your rope work is.” Sanya smirks defiantly and groans as she rolls her hips against him.

He releases her hands and grabs her by the chin, kissing her until she’s quiet. She was right, his knotwork was sloppy and getting better but it wouldn’t do to argue now.

Sanya places her hands against his chest while she returns his kiss. She slides them against the width of his pectorals, admiring the firmness of his muscled chest.

Rugan keeps his hand on her chin, pressing through her parted lips to roll his tongue over hers. With his other hand, he ventures beneath her skirt, slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of her panties. With her hands on his shoulders, she uses the leverage to lift herself just enough to let him slide the fabric over the curve of her ass and down to her shapely thighs. He slides out from between her legs, breaking the kiss to take a step back far enough to pull her smallclothes down the rest of the way.

Her face flushed and her lips swollen red from kissing, she watches him with half-closed eyes as he lets the garment slip from his fingers and fall to the floor. She holds his gaze while she takes her hair down, shaking golden waves free. He takes a moment to memorize the sight of her: Flushed, legs spread, skirt up around her hips, cunt slick with need and shining in the lantern light.

He was going to miss her.

Rugan presses forward, pulling her flush to him at the edge of the counter. He rests his hands on her strong thighs as he captures her mouth with his. She grinds against him, her wetness streaking the front of his breeches. At this moment he couldn’t care, pressing his bulge against her. He slides one hand to the back of her head, winding his fingers in her hair. His kisses trail from her lips and down the line of her jaw to her neck.

He nips her, sucking roughly at the skin of her neck.

Sanya moans loudly, as the sensation sends a wave of pleasure through her. “No marks.” She orders through the haze.

Rugan releases the suction and instead presses gentle kisses along the graceful line of her neck, down her collarbone, and to the top of her blouse. He can’t help but grin as she tugs the top of her blouse down for him, exposing her perky breasts to him. Taking the hint he trails kisses to the peak of one. He pauses, glancing up at her before flicking a tentative lick across the pink bud. With a gasp, she grabs him by the back of the hair and presses his face into her tits. He opens his mouth, sucking the nipple in and rolling his tongue over the hard peak. She moans, bucking her hips against him. He slides a hand up her thigh, holding her in place at the hip while he lavishes her with flicks of his tongue. His other hand trails up her side, firmly grabbing the other breast.

“Please,” She whines. “Please fuck me...”

He pulls away, pressing a forceful kiss against her mouth. “Hush.” He orders.

She locks a leg over his hip and grinds against the fabric of his trousers, protesting his authority silently. He couldn’t help but thrust back, precum leaking from his throbbing cock and soaking through his own smallclothes.

He wanted to give in so badly, to plunge himself to the hilt in her soft folds. To feel the way her walls fluttered against his cock, to hear her cry out when he thrust so deep she swore she saw stars. But he wanted to remember her and the way she tasted.

Rugan pulls away from her mouth, pressing rough kisses into the breast in his hand. He gives it a parting nip that elicits a startled gasp.

Before she can complain, he sinks to his knees before her, pressing wet kisses on the inside of her leg from the top of her high socks to the inside of her hip. He lingers here, pressing his face into the crevice between cunt and leg. He can feel the heat off her core, wet and wanting. Savoring the feeling, he groans against her skin sending low rumbles through her. She bucks against him.

“Please…” She begs again.

Rugan ignores her pleas, swapping to the other leg to plaster it with kisses. At the top of her thigh, he sucks the skin into his mouth until he leaves a mark. Moaning openmouthed while she watches him, she doesn’t fight it this time. She would curse him tomorrow on the road, but at least his name would still be on her lips. He changes thighs, sucking a matching welt into the soft flesh of the other leg.

“Please Rugan, just touch me, I can’t take it.” Sanya whimpers, tears brimming at the corners of her eyes. She tries desperately to roll her hips into him but he holds her down.

He gives in now, nosing through her wet curls. A quick flick of his tongue across her swollen clit sends a wave of pleasure through her. With a breathy moan, she grabs him by the back of the hair, forcing his face into her cunt. She locks her legs over his shoulder and places her free hand behind her for leverage.

Rugan obeys, eagerly lapping up the pooling slick from her folds. His nose presses against her clit, earning him ragged moans. Her thighs tighten around his head and he wraps his hands over them to keep her from locking him too tightly in place. He places his tongue flat against her entrance, licking an agonizingly slow trail up to her clit and ending with a quick flick. She bucks suddenly against him with a loud gasp, sending her juices dribbling down his chin.

“More...” She sobs, desperately pressing his face against her.

He slides one hand up from her thigh, tracing his fingertips across the soft skin of her legs. Her skin prickles and she sighs at the softness of the touch. His hand comes to rest at her apex, his thumb pressed over her nub. With his tongue over her entrance, he slowly traces matching circles over her folds and clit, not yet willing to give her what he knows she wants.

“...you bastard…” Sanya whines breathlessly as she clenches around nothing.

Rugan smirks, plunging his tongue into her. He groans as her slick coats his tongue and he feels the subtle flutter of her wanting walls.

“Gods….yes…” She throws her head back, moaning loudly and grinding against his face. His cock twitches at the thought of being inside of her and he loses himself in her cunt, grunting loudly as he laps her wetness up. His thumb flicks quick ghosting touches over the tip of her clit while his hips rut mindlessly into nothing.

“Please…please…I need…” She chokes out broken cries, unable to form the right words.

He knows what she needs. Rugan pulls his hand away from her clit, replacing it with his mouth. He folds his tongue to cradle her clit, sucking at it hungrily. Deftly he rearranges the position of his arm beneath her thigh, sliding his fore and middle fingers into her. She shudders with relief at the sensation of finally being filled. He thrusts in and out of her slowly, gathering slick before he presses deeper. His fingers curl upwards, firmly stroking her walls until he finds the sweet spot.

The grip on his hair tightens as he finds it and she gasps and arches her back. Her pussy clenches tight around his digits. He picks up his pace now, flicking quick licks across her nub and thrusting his fingers firm and steady against her core.

She groans, rocking her hips into his face. Her cunt squeezing tighter and tighter around his fingers. His erection throbs painfully in his pants. Desperate, he releases her thigh, clumsily undoing the strings of his trousers while he lavishes her clit with swirling licks.

After a moment of blind fumbling, his cock springs free and so needy the cool air on his precum-soaked shaft sends a tremble through him. He palms himself for some relief, spreading precum over his shaft and pulling the foreskin back over the swollen head. The friction causes him to nearly spill then and there.

Not yet. Not yet. Not yet. He pleads with himself, tightening his fist around his cock.

Rugan turns his focus back to Sanya, flicking his tongue over her clit while he pressed firmly at her core just the way he knew she liked. He needed her to come before he spilled on the floor. He needed to be inside of her. He needed her. He chokes back a sob as he sucks desperately at her nub. His fingers pick up their pace as he feels her cunt grip him tightly. Her breath hitches as her thighs flex. His vision darkens as she squeezes tightly around his head. He maintains the pace of his fingers, pressing his tongue flat across her clit.

The hand she was steading herself with jolts forward, gripping the edge of the counter for dear life as wave after wave of bliss runs through her. Rugans leans his face against her soft curls, thrusting steadily into her with his fingers until she releases her grip around his head with her legs. The blood rushes back to his head and he takes the opportunity for a cheeky lick at her cunt, startling her with a jolt of overstimulated pleasure. She pulls him back by the back of his hair, forcing him to look up at her.

He smirks up at her, with red lips and his chin smeared in her wetness.

It takes her a moment to catch her breath. She looks down at him, still lust-hazed. “Take your fucking pants off and get in that bed.” Sanya manages to gasp out as she moves her legs from over his shoulders.

“Yes, ma’am.” He teases, knowing full well how very much the term grated on her.

She releases her grip on his hair, giving him a sharp slap to his cheek. “Now,” She orders, “Before I change my mind and kick you out instead.”

Rugan stands, chuckling while she eases herself off the counter. The moment her feet touch the floor, he pulls her in for a quick kiss, slipping his tongue into her mouth. She moans into it, enjoying the taste of herself on his lips. He places a hand behind her waist, trying to press their bodies together.

Sanya jerks back, pushing him away with a firm palm against his chest. “Don’t you dare wipe cum on my clothes right before I leave.”

“Slipped my mind, love.” Rugan smirks and kicks her abandoned boots out of his path as he saunters backward. His turgid cock jutting out from the opening of his pants and bobbing with each step.

She knew better than to believe him. The asshole had done it more than once. With a glare, she turned her attention to unlacing her bodice before he had a chance to ruin it.

Rugan kicked his boots off and haphazardly to the side, watching her intently as she pulled her laces free from their fixtures and let the bodice fall freely to the floor beneath her. He backs up towards the bed, pulling his breeches and underclothes down in one go, tossing them to the side with his boots.

Sanya follows him across the room. Her eyes trace hungrily from his throbbing erection to his smug face as she pulls her blouse off. With a wink, he pulls his shirt off and tosses it across the room.

When he reaches her low-lying bed, he sits down against the headboard. With a hand loosely around his cock, he strokes himself lazily while watching Sanya remove her layered skirts. Releasing their ties, she lets them pool to the floor where she stands before she gets into bed.

Sanya joins him on the bed, throwing a leg over his thigh to straddle him. Tenderly she brings a hand to his cheek, running her fingertips over the thin scruff. A mixture of emotions paints her face as she traces the contours of his jaw. The sadness in her eyes makes his heart ache. He opens his mouth to beg her to stay, but she catches his open lips with hers, driving the words from his mind. She moves her hands to his shoulder and she braces herself as she slides slowly onto his cock. They both groan loudly into the kiss as she adjusts to accommodate his girth.

Rugan clenches his eyes shut, gripping her tightly by her ass cheeks as she takes him to the hilt. Desperate and already too close, he holds her still. Leaning his head back against the wall, he pulls away from the kiss, savoring the relief of her wet cunt around him finally.

“Gods, you’re going to be so popular…” Rugan gasps, running his hands across the soft skin of her thighs.

With a frustrated glare, Sanya places her hand over his mouth and hisses at him, “Just shut up and fuck me. Before you ruin it, prick.”

He grimaces at his idiocy but obeys. He slides his hands to her back, wrapping one behind her waist and another at her shoulder as he thrusts up into her. She moans, leaning forward leaning her chest against his. The hand on his mouth slides to his shoulder, nails digging into the skin as she rolls her hips down to meet his thrusts. Strong arms pull her close, crushing her against him while he pumps up into her tight cunt desperately. His cock throbs and he can hold back no more. Rugan buries his face against her neck as the muscles of his core tighten. “I…” He whimpers against her skin.

“Yesss…” She pants.

Rugan squeezes her tightly, holding her in place as his thrusts become sloppy and erratic. With a final thrust, he cries out loudly as he spills inside of her. His grip on her slackens. His hands slide across her smooth skin sending delightful shivers through her.

Sanya whispers gentle kisses across his cheeks as she lifts her hips only to sink back down onto his waning erection. Their mingled fluids drip out of her and across his groin. He runs his fingers up her back and into her hair, running his nails across her scalp. She moans, arching back into his touch while he tries to memorize the sight of her spread across him. His chest aches and he pulls her in, kissing her deeply.

♦ ♦ ♦

Cleaned enough, Rugan lays on his back with Sanya tucked against the side of him. “I'll make something of myself.” He whispers into her hair, tracing patterns into the bare skin of her back.

“I know you will," she murmurs into his neck. He feels a smile form, pressed against his skin, and knows immediately that she’s thought of something dumb.

“Well then, out with it.” He braces himself for a joke.

“It's bad.”

“It always is.”

She hits him playfully but shares her joke anyway. “You're going to make everyone Ru the day they ever met you.”

He shakes his head. “How long have you been holding onto that one?”

“Ten years, give or take.”

“With jokes like that maybe it is a good thing you are leaving.” He scoffs. But the flippancy doesn’t stop how much the realization hurts.

♦ ♦ ♦

Midmorning shines through the battered shutters. Rugan watches dustmotes float in the streaks of light as he lazily traces the space where Sanya had laid next to him. True to her word she had left before sunrise without fuss. Rugan cursed himself for not being able to stop her. Drunk on the afterglow of her, he had slept peacefully deep and hadn't noticed as she got out of bed, bathed, and went to meet her caravan with her life on her back.

Now he was left with only the consequences of who he was: unwanted, alone, poor… and about to be fired again. He had been due at work at least three hours ago, the final allowed error after a string of last chances from every farmer and tradesman who could still find pity for the boy who got left behind.

He needed to get the fuck out of Hilp.

[pjsk-headcanons]

got this done really fast...woohoo we all say in unison globe anon is not dying we chant hshssshsshhhshjjhsh

house SEKAI - midnight dream|space

-formed by entire group

-starts with miku and KAITO

-if you wanna leave, there are physical alternatives other than pausing the "untitled" track. you can leave through the front door (forgot to mention this for theater SEKAI, whoopsie daisies)

-each member has their own respective room

-day/night cycle. you can only tell by the windows though, and there are not smooth changes (day->night, no sunrise or sunset). it gets cloudy if someone is upset, and it will rain depending on which member it is.

miku: acts like a loving sibling? comforting and cheery. depending on the member, she'll act like a younger/older sister (for kanade, she'll act like an older one). doesn't specifically specialize in doing anything, but she can catch on pretty quickly. hair is darker (like...like #00679a colour check it out) and goes to her waist.

rin: unfocused and childish. she can get jealous pretty easily (silly). likes doing household chores with her brother to calm down or just chill. part of shiho's feelings. joins the SEKAI post ~1st anni.

len: quieter than rin, but still immature at times. feels responsible for rin, so tries to take any blame. sounds like an adult at times. part of tsukasa's feelings. joins the SEKAI pre ~2nd anni.

luka: overreacts and likes being dramatic. sees all the "not fun" chores (whatever you think) are fun. always takes jokes seriously (silly)? part of akito's feelings. joins the SEKAI post ~2nd anni.

MEIKO: kind, but can get a bit awkward at times (really bad at understanding feelings.) probably the closest figure in the SEKAI to a mother. part of kanade's feelings. joins the SEKAI pre ~1st anni

KAITO: hello niigo KAITO fans! he is still here! just thought his canon character was too good to leave out. he's just a bit more considerate if someone looks like they're about to cry.

where is fox anon when we need them ong that nasake/shiho analysis was so fun to write and hshhhhhh i am jumping thinking about hinomori/shinonome event... more about that in a different ask but YES AKITO DOES SPORTSSSS HE DOES SOCCERRR ITS HIS MAIN HOBBYYY (other than mds but you get it) i'll answer the questions from the last ask later today or tmrw (if you have anymore PLEASE say them i cannot stress this enough)

have a great day mod!! think im going to chill now though oopsie daysies

🌐 anon

.

[hellslayersomething]

thoughts on all the DA4 news this past week, from a tired old veteran who's been wandering the bloodied plains of the DA fandom since Origins' release:

I still don't believe that this game actually exists and won't until it's in my hand, in my PS5, I've clocked 50 hours, and I hit credits.

After the news came out that there were 7 companions, I told a friend I would need a solid 4/7 of them to be pre-existing characters in the canon. Harding, Neve, Lucanis, and Emmerich put it at exactly that number, so good show there.

The "Hero Shooter" character reveal trailer was a massive mistake. BioWare and the influencers they're paying had to spend the past two days doing frantic PR to convince people that the game doesn't actually look like that, it's not indicative of the game's tone, it definitely feels like Tevinter Nights and not Fortnite, and it's not a fee-to-pay live service game. They should have led with the gameplay video.

All of the people freaking out about Lucanis being labelled a "Mage Killer" just goes to show that DA discourse truly is a circle. (Also, read "The Wigmaker Job", it's so good.)

The dialogue suuuuucks. Wow, it's been a while since I've encountered a game that respects its audience's intelligence this little. [Earthquake] Harding: "The tremors are getting worse!" [demons show up] Neve: "And we've got demons!" Is BioWare expecting the core player base to consist of people who have never encountered media before? The extent to which the game over-exposits is quite actually mind boggling. I'm genuinely curious if there's anyone who watched this video who didn't come out of it feeling insulted by the game's lack of trust that you have basic cause-and-effect recognition skills. I know people like to bandy about "media literacy is dead", but surely it hasn't gotten so bad that players need to be told out loud "Watch out for lightning" when a boss shoots lightning at them. I'm hoping this was just included for the sake of the gameplay video, but several of these very bad lines seem pretty integral to what's happening on screen, so I guess we'll see.

The dialogue and voicing for the trash mobs is especially bad. I hate to say the word, but I truly think "cringe" is applicable here.

Nice FFXIV reference. (Listen, if this game is going to play follow-the-leader with any one other game, since apparently DA can't get away from that habit, FFXIV is the one I'd want them to chase. Certainly a better fit than Overwatch.)

The battle system seems fine. Reminds me of DA2's, which was perfectly cromulent. Sincerely, I don't expect deeply satisfying gameplay from DA, they've never delivered it before, no need to start now. Passable is fine.

Happy to see the DA2 dialogue wheel return too. Hope that means the invisible personality system comes along with it.

No rivalry system :( Again :(((((

Seriously though, the marketing for this game is a massive mess and their marketing lead should probably be out of the job. All of the news from this week has led to increased confusion about what the game is, what it's called, whether it is DA4 or not, whether it's a single player RPG or not, whether it's an effective franchise reboot or not--and they're all but shadow-dropping it (theoretically) after 10 full years of releasing no other Dragon Age games. This franchise has close to no momentum (many people considered it outright dead until this week), and now that they're ready to start actually talking about DA4, they've completely stumbled out of the gate and given themselves only 3-6 months to come up with a PR plan to correct for that. Embarrassing, frankly.

I guess that's it. The new gameplay video has returned my mood on DA4 from "absolutely the fuck not" after the character reveal video back to a resounding "I nothing this game", which is...actually maybe a worse place for me to be. The last time I went into game feeling a hollow nothing from the promotional materials, it was FFXVI, and we all know how that turned out for me. Anyway, in conclusion:

[coffeeheartaddict2]

When live has other plans (10/16)

Dawn of a new day

Book: Open Heart (AU)

Characters: F!MC Casey Valentine, Ethan Ramsey, Naveen Banerji, June Hirata, Tobias Carrick

Warnings: language, sexual references, mentions of addiction

Word count: 2513

Category: Angst

Rating: Mature

Summary: Ethan discusses with Naveen about his revelations. A long term coma patient wakes up restarting an old rivalry and June decides to go directly to the source to find out the information she desires.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Pixelberry.

Authors note: who knew that I was capable of starting to set up a happy ending this far out? The next few chapters will have some of the key points of book 2 from canon and the impacts that it has on Ethan and Casey in this world. There are some changes too but all will lead to happy ending. This chapter is actually not too angsty but it does deal with some heady issues.

🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞

Ethan awoke. He had slept better after been shook by his nightmare but he was still out of sorts. He knew he needed to make changes, address the issues that he had but where to begin. He made his coffee and a light breakfast and went to work. He went to the office and started prepping for his day. There was a knock on the door. He was pleasantly surprised to see Naveen.

“Did you not sleep well last night?” Said Naveen as he entered.

“Is it that obvious?”

“This is a purely social visit my boy.” Said Naveen, “I could not help but notice you seemed a little preoccupied yesterday? Is it to do with Casey?” He asked concerned.

“No Naveen, myself and Casey are as ok to be expected, I am hating the pre Miami setting we have found ourselves in, I think she hates it too but that is not the reason.” Said Ethan. He took a steadying breath.

“My dad came to see me the other day. My mother had reached out wanting to see me. I decided to open that box.”

Naveen sat there shocked. Ethan had told him at an earlier time about his mother walking out on him and Alan. He had the distinct impression that he would never speak to her again.

“Why did you reach out?” Asked Naveen, “I always thought that if you saw her again that it would be too soon.”

Ethan runs a hand down his face. “You would be right Naveen but it occurred to me, especially after our last patient that ignoring the past can be detrimental.”

“So how did it go?”

“Disconcerting.”

Naveen looked puzzled. “How so?”

“She is an addict Naveen. She stated she that was addicted to alcohol and prescription medication and I presume more illicit substances.”

“You presume?”

“I asked if she was reaching out for financial assistance and she said no, she did not want me to subsidize her habits.”

Naveen nodded before asking.

“Did she state why she did what she did?”

“Yes, she resented her whole life. She loved us but resented us so she left.” Said Ethan trying to hold back the tears.

“Am I any better than her? I do not resent my life but the hours I work, how much I drink, the pushing of people away and avoidance.”

Naveen squeezed his mentee’s shoulder in support.

“The fact that you know that there is an issue and be able to identify them is a start.”

Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed in frustration.

“These issues have fucked so much up, Naveen…”

“It is not too late to rectify the mess you feel you are in,” said Naveen, in a comforting tone. “I will give you the names of some counselors who specialize with these issues. Some are affiliated with Edenbrook, some elsewhere.”

“Thank you Naveen.”

Meanwhile, Casey was down in the ICU checking on the patients when she heard a noise that sounded like someone falling. She turned around to see a patient on the ground. She pressed the call button and went to tend to the patient. Danny came in.

“Oh my god, Stephanie!” Exclaimed Danny.

“W-w-where a-am I?” Stephanie stuttered.

“Stephanie, you are at Edenbrook Hospital.” Says Casey. Danny gives her the chart and Casey had to do a double take. Stephanie had been in a coma for seventeen years. Casey knew this was big. She took the file and took it to the team. Despite the length of time in a coma, Stephanie’s mental faculties seemed very intact. June proposed a research grant, stating that waking up from a benzo overdose was so rare that a study would help others in the situation. Ethan agreed with June. June and Casey were put in charge of selling the idea to Stephanie and her parents.

Casey and June made their way to Stephanie’s room where they met Mr and Mrs Hill. They were still in shock that Stephanie was awake, Mr Hill even admitting that when the call came he had thought it was to advise them to come and say their goodbyes. They were apprehensive about telling her that she had overdosed. June stated that she feels that it may have not been deliberate, stating that one of the side effects can be forgetting and accidentally double dosing. Casey stated that they wanted to do a study, but it was upto to Stephanie. They entered the room, a physiotherapist was there with her. They waited until she was finished. And spoke to Stephanie. Casey spoke about the research they were hoping to do. Stephanie seemed overwhelmed and Casey suggested that she speak to her parents about it. Casey hoped she would do the study.

Later that evening June met with Dr Tobias Carrick. He enjoyed the sex normally with June but today he could tell that there was more to her pent up sexual frustration.

“What’s up June?”

“Nothing”

Tobias looks at June incredulously. June rolls her eyes.

“We have had a coma patient wake up after 17years…”

“Yeah I heard about that from the younger Dr Emery. I must say I am intrigued.”

“Yes, someone waking from a benzo overdose is so rare…”

“What if a coma can be prevented? At the moment there are very limited treatment options for an overdose.”

“I can see the gears in your head, it will piss off Ethan you know.” Said June.

“And?” Says Tobias. “Either your study or my study will be ground breaking, hell I could probably kill two birds with one stone with mine but the way I am helping you.”

“How so?” questioned June.

“Well, he has entrusted his protege, why is he entrusting her with something so important? Yeah she saved Naveen and being attached to a study like this would do wonders for her career but it will give you hopefully more intel on that situation.”

June nods her head thoughtfully. She kisses him and they proceed with their night. June had hoped to leave his townhouse before Tobias awoke but she was surprised to see him awake, with a smug grin on his face.

“I have just made an offer to the Hill family. It appears that Edenbrook and Kenmore are not the only hospital’s interested in Stephanie, but you or me have the edge as they are keen to stay in Boston.” Said Tobias.

June smiled a mischievous smile,”well may the best hospital win.”

Tobias chuckled and then he went and got ready for his day.

The day was uneventful, Casey was still cautiously optimistic of Stephanie wanting to help with the study. She had noted that Ethan seemed troubled and she was unsure what to do. They had what they said they would go to after his sabbatical but she remembered that pre Miami he was trusting her with Naveen. Surely what they had now was not the end game. As much as she wanted to approach Ethan, she also was reluctant to do so. The memory of that morning where he stated that he felt betrayed by her was still too raw and if he still felt that way then it would be pointless to go there. So she did as she had been doing and kept on keeping on. Ethan could see that Casey seemed troubled. As much as he wanted to tell her everything he still held back. What had happened was a wound that had barely been covered and he was not ready for it to be reopened. He understood the why but how it all went down in the end still hurt. He did not like the pre Miami setting they had found themselves in. He knew this is not what he wanted but with everything else going on he did not want to add to his pain.

The next morning came. Casey made her way into Edenbrook and she was surprised to see Stephanie being wheeled out by her parents. They spot Casey.

“I am glad to see you before we leave.” Said Mr Hill.

“Leave? Did we do anything to upset you?” Asks Casey, still confused.

“No, quiet the contrary. We are appreciative truly for what you have done for Stephanie but we received a really good offer from Mass Kenmore…”

“Dr Carrick sounded really nice and I know you would have come up with a great offer but they are allowing me to be at home from the get go. No offense but even though I was in a coma for most of it, seventeen years in hospital is a long time.” Said Stephanie.

“I get that, truly, I hope it all works out for you.”

“Thank you Dr Valentine.”

Casey sees them off and is then annoyed. Ethan comes up behind her.

“Do you know this Dr Carrick from Kenmore?”

Ethan freezes. He knows exactly one Dr Carrick and he knew what he was up to. Just then Casey looks up and sees him.

“So you know him then?”

“We were friends until we were not. We were one and two in our year at Hopkins.” Said Ethan. “Our competition with each other grew toxic and we have not been friends since before we graduated.”

“So he is basically restarting the competition again?”

“In a way it never fully ended. It is infuriating however.”

Casey nodded and then headed in. Meanwhile Ethan was still fuming. He knew that Stephanie would be the talk of the medical world and despite him seeing the positives of Tobias’s study he could not help but wonder that there was an ulterior motive. June then walked in and saw Ethan. She asked what was wrong.

Ethan sighs in frustration.

“Stephanie got poached by Kenmore.”

June hoped her surprise was convincing.

“Really?”

“Yes, seems you can not take the competition out of med school.”

June was waiting for a bigger explosion of anger.

“What? No reprimand? You put myself and Dr Valentine in charge of keeping her here and we failed!”

Ethan raised an eyebrow.

“The family had offers from as far away as California. I am glad that she will be studied.” Said Ethan. He then left the office. June was bemused. A massive opportunity was now missed and no reprimand. She got out her phone and messaged Tobias.

Well done on getting our patient. Ethan was annoyed but you will be surprised at how pissed he is not.

June receives a message back.

“Oh he would have been pissed, especially if I am involved but not pissed at you and Casey? Was not expecting that!

June then decides that covertly getting her answers was not going to work. So she decides to get the information directly from the lady concerned.

Meanwhile, Ethan stumbles upon Casey at Derry Roasters. He orders his Vienna and another Espresso Romano for Casey. He walks over and sits down.

“It is not your fault for Stephanie leaving” says Ethan.

Casey is shook from her daze.

“Sorry Dr Ramsey but how am I not to blame?”

“You did your best, from what I understand, what sold them on Kenmore was that she was able to go as an outpatient from the get go.”

“That is fair but it still sucks.”

“It is annoying but they also said something about the prevention of a coma so if successful it will revolutionize how an overdose is treated. I can not fault that. It is the ulterior motive I can not stand.”

Ethan decides to bite the bullet.

“Aside from Stephanie, how have you been?”

“Yeah, being busy. Work, reading up on diseases, trying to eat and sleep.”

Ethan nods. “Can we try to be friends Casey?” Asks Ethan. “I know we said pre Miami before we ended things but surely neither of us meant it to be this way?”

“I know what you mean, me accusing you of treating me as an obligation probably did not help.”

Ethan winced.

“You are right there. I think the day after it happened was the wrong time to have an all out discussion about it.”

“I never wanted to hurt you, it was a rock and a hard place situation.”

Ethan takes a breath before continuing.

“I get that you did not intend too but I guess neither of us put pregnancy up on the list of things that would happen.”

“You are right there Ethan. But to answer your question, I would like us to be friends again.” Says Casey, smiling. Ethan smiled too and they finished their coffee in companionable silence. He wanted to tell her about his meeting with his mother but he was not ready to tell her yet, even though he wanted to.

A few days go by and June is still trying to figure out how Ethan is not super pissed at herself and Casey. She bides her time and finally catches Casey alone.

“Shall we have lunch Casey?” Asks June.

Casey looks at June suspiciously.

“I just want to get to know our newest team member better outside of the office.”

Casey was still suspicious but she agreed. They went to an Italian restaurant near the hospital. They ordered their food. June started off light, asking about what drew her to medicine, college etc. their food arrived and June felt it was time to go for the jugular.

“What is the deal with you and Ethan?”

Casey raised her eyebrow and then said, “Is that any of your business?”

June was affronted.

“Can’t a girl find out how your history is going to impact the team?”

“History is history June. Myself and Ethan have worked enough together to keep work at work.”

“Were you sleeping with him to gain favour?”

“Excuse me? Did I what?” Exclaimed Casey.

“Did you sleep with…”

“No I did not sleep with him to gain favour.”

June is surprised.

“What so he decided to conduct an inappropriate relationship because he could?”

“It was not a relationship. It was an arrangement, everything was consensual, we agreed to end the arrangement before he went on sabbatical.”

Said Casey rather firmly.

“And now?” Said a June. “Ethan’s moods, especially in relation to you are giving me whiplash.”

“We are colleagues. He is the lead of the team and I am the junior fellow. There never was and never will be any special treatment from Ethan to myself. Regardless of our relationship status which at the moment is that of boss and subordinate.”

Casey gets up and leaves. She walks a few steps and stops.

“I do not know why you thought I was a threat to the team, it is sad that it appears to be your default setting.”

She walks away and June sits there stunned. While June finishes off her meal she messages Tobias, telling him about lunch and how according to Casey, they are currently only boss and subordinate. Tobias, like June was suspicious if that was indeed the truth. Little did Tobias know that he was going to get an opportunity first hand to see Ethan and Casey together.

———

Authors note: next chapter will be the softball game with some perspective from Tobias. I am looking forward to writing that from his perspective. Thank you for reading this far.

Tagging: @jerzwriter @jamespotterthefirst @genevievemd @cariantha @tessa-liam @liaromancewriter @potionsprefect @alj4890 @zealouscanonindeer @youlookappropriate @bex-la-get @crazy-loca-blog @a-crepusculo @schnitzelbutterfingers @binny1985 @socalwriterbee @lucy-268 @trappedinfanfiction

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[cipherapologism]

~ Brain Fog ~

Kaku x OC

(#n/sfw #smut #fishwoman!OC #older woman/younger man #angsty pre-Water7 mission shenanigans #during canon time-skip shenanigans #sex dreams #inappropriate use of devil fruit #inappropriate use of CP9 interrogation tactics #dubious consent)

--

It's not all the time, but when Kaku has sex dreams, the cruelest of them recall his final night with Glow.

--

He's seventeen and his mission is to befriend her. He doesn't know more than that- wasn't told more. But he thinks he's done well over the months. She treats him almost like a brother.

He doesn't know yet that it will be their last night together - it's a little over one month too early for him to be collected. He wakes from a nightmare. The specifics are violent, bizarre and confusing. Lucci and the others have been taken from him- or he from them. They- he's- dead or gone. Forever.

Hearing his panicked intake of breath, Glow wakes with a start, half rising from her bed across the room and bumping into one of the privacy screens between them because her orb is too slow to light her way.

"Kaku? You good?"

His body tenses, rigid with humilation. "I'm swell! Thanks for asking! Just swell."

"Nightmare?"

His silence must be enough of an answer because he hears her sit back down on her broad sleeping mat.

"If you can't sleep - I'm here if you want to talk about it." She always wants to talk. She's always loud, cheerful, fun.

"I'd rather not - talk about it, if it's all the same to you, Glow."

"Yeah, sure. I get it. Nightmares suck. You can still join me if you don't want to go back to sleep yet though."

In memory, it goes like this: after a moment of anxious swallowing, he makes his way through her little beach shack, to her bed, in the dark, and they sit together a while at the edge until she nudges his shoulder with hers. Her little orb hangs soft blue light around them.

"I'm glad we're friends, kiddo."

"We've been over this, I am one -" Kaku holds a single finger up, "- year younger than you -"

"Liar. Try three," she says fondly.

(She doesn't know it's five. She's uncannily perceptive but Kaku is a very good liar.)

She says, "you've been a huge help around here and I like your company. So just, don't hide if you're not okay. I won't laugh at you."

"Why wouldn't I be okay?"

She stares at him with her luminous eyes. "Kiddo, you drowned...only days ago. I still can't believe I got you breathing again. That would mess with anyone's head."

(He can't count the number of times he has been waterboarded as part of his training. He thinks the first time, he was thirteen. At seventeen, wakening to Cove's mouth on his and strong hands bruising his chest definitely makes the second accidental drowning of his life worth it - to a boy used to violence, it's a stunning first kiss. But that's irrelevant.)

His eyes sting, blurring, and it takes him so by surprise how sharp it feels to have her care. He ends up telling her about the dream after all - the little he remembers. He fashions a childhood and calls Lucci and the others his siblings, all of them orphans raised together. That latter part is true. He keeps the details sparse, but she seems to understand what they mean to him.

"Where are they now?" She holds his hand between hers, scarred and so gentle.

"I don't know." It's not a lie. He isn't privy to the missions they've been sent on. He confesses, "I miss them."

They're quiet for a moment again before Glow tells him about her own nightmares, her bobbling angler light growing dim. She finishes building the boat she will call the Rosy Barb and sets out from this South Blue island to find where she came from.

(She doesn't know everything Kaku knows, courtesy of the government's education. He has thought it best to keep his mouth shut.)

The keel sunders as soon as the boat plunges into the open sea. Glow is an anchor - a devil-cursed hammer - sinking endlessly down into the dark, unable to claw her way back up to the stars and wind. Again.

Kaku squeezes her trembling hands and says: "I'm glad we're friends too. I would never let you set sail in a vessel that falls apart so easily."

Not long after that, they lie down, and he finds himself gladly settling into her embrace. Until they both fall asleep with his cheek pillowed on her shoulder, she rubs his back and tells him about her sillier, more nonsense dreams instead to make them both laugh.

By the time Glow wakes, well into the afternoon, he is gone.

--

Seven years later - reunited with her and trapped by circumstance on her fishing sloop, the Rosy Barb, with her and her two-person crew - Kaku's sex dreams play this scene out quite differently.

Every variance is just as vivid, gut-clenching. Seventeen again, but more stupid, more horny, wrapped in her strong arms, pillowed on her soft chest. He's dying to touch her, made helpless by her sleepy warmth and the smell of orchids in her fine, pink hair. Sometimes he does muster the courage to touch her, eagerly scrambling into her flimsy sleeping clothes. He's new to this, clumsy, fumbling, but she moans, teases her fingers through his hair, calls him her handsome, young buck. When she touches him back, he's a trembling mess, coming apart under her net-callused hands. He swallows sobs of relief when she holds him close and lets him rut senselessly between her legs, her sharp teeth buried in his neck, yielding his blood to her loving, hungry mouth.

More often - distressingly - he is the full, awful culimation of his twenty-four years alive: a ruthless government-trained assassin, a wellspring of spilled blood. In shadow, he lets himself into her little house on the beach - too easy with just bug-net curtains at every entrance - and then her bed. Dream-mumbling, she rolls against him to fill the slight dip his weight makes in the dense sleeping mat. She will only awaken, shuddering and soaked, when he relentlessly pulls an orgasm from her with his fingers. She whimpers his name, bruising his biceps with her grip when he cages her in his arms, and he just laughs softly. He's so much stronger now. He whispers against her mouth that he's learned a lot in seven years, and he'd love to get started showing her...

Kaku wakes from one such dream at the end of his rope. He wrestles out from his stifling sleeping-bag on the deck calmly, quietly. He jams his ballcap on, and yanks it down over his eyes. He's so hard it's nearly torture, but he moves entirely without sound across the deck to the cabin where his unwitting seductress sleeps.

Except...it's only early evening, and the Rosy Barb's captain is not sleeping. Music plays on the radio snail in the galley - Soul King's Bone Down- oh come on. Cove is making dinner and looks surprised to see him suddenly in the doorway, shirtless.

"Good nap? I didn't bother with anything too elaborate because it's just the two of us eating tonight." She's throwing together a stew and talks to him over her shoulder, so she doesn't notice he's flushed from his freckled chest up to his ears.

His black-swallowed eyes can't stop looking at her when her gorgeous, muscled back is turned to him. Her naked, tattooed shoulders should not be making him feel this unhinged. He's made a terrible mistake, coming here, even if he hasn't moved another inch through the doorway; the memory of all his other sordid dreams have followed him down to the cabin. He closes his eyes, lest he see all too clearly how lovely she would look bent over the counter.

Then, what she has said finally filters in. The thread of his restraint vibrates at the snapping point. He opens his mouth but Cove has more to say.

"Not that you would know, snoozing away all afternoon. The log's already pointing to the next point, but...there's supposed to be fireworks later. I don't know if we're moored close enough to see here. Mich went to wander the night market. Shay went with her- decided she just had to go too when she heard there was a boxing ring with cash prizes -"

"You didn't want to go?" He asks, throat dry.

"Well, first I thought I'd wait to see if you planned to come back from that nap any time today. Am I working you that hard, oh Master Shipwright?"

"Cove." The rasp of his voice finally makes her turn around. She doesn't know his grip is white-knuckled on the outside of the door frame. He clings to composure - would be easier if he didn't feel like he is losing his mind - and grits out, "excuse me, Captain. Ma'am."

She's amused. "Yes, I answer to all of these. Can I help you, Foreman?"

He is a shipwright. He's dealt in wood and nails too long - one of Water7's shining heroes - to deny that he likes it. Loves it, honestly. He's tired of pretending otherwise. He's going to build a bed in her kitchen, something comfortable that can be stowed away and replaced with a sturdy table and booth seating. Of course, the thought of a bed in the kitchen below the half-loft where she already sleeps is not helping his restraint, knowing all the dreams he could make come true if he wrestled her into it.

After much too long, he answers her. "If you let me cross this threshold, I cannot walk back from it."

She laughs quizzically. "What are you talking about? Be a good boy and go wash up for dinner....you can keep your shirt off though. If you like." And she winks at him, like she used to when they shared a joke, like he never betrayed her trust all those years ago. Is this another dream?

Obediently, he goes to the basin and washes up to his forearms, scrubs the sea-spray and sweat from his face, gratefully. He sits at the little galley island for dinner and eats. And lusts. He's going to have her on the floor, if she's not careful. Pin her hips and peel off her athletic two-piece swimsuit and loose, cropped tank-top.

The food is hot, delicious as always - fragrant fish stew and chewy flat bread to mop up the juices. He updates her on his progress, running a full diagnostic on her sloop, and she beams when he notes there isn't much for him to do; the vessel has been well-cared for. After dinner, he washes the dishes while the captain puts away the leftovers, in case her two crewmates are hungry when they return. Then she stands near the open galley window - smoking her pipe of seaweed - and watches him work.

He says, "how about tomorrow I get started on building that hideabed- like you asked? I'll be glad to, Captain. It's the least I can do, to make up for my behaviour."

She snorts. "Oh it will take more than a futon before you're off the hook, Foreman - but thank you! It will be nice to have more accomodation on board, for guests. I expect you'll do a good job seeing as you're the first one sleeping in it once it's done.

He frowns. "I'd do a good job regardless, thank you very much."

He looks over and her gaze has slipped south, mouth crooked around the end of her pipe. She's watching, intently, as he dries his hands, working roughly at each digit with the towel before folding it and putting it aside. He imagines being able to put away his desires just as easily. Then he imagines putting his reservations aside and folding her.

He leans against the sink. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"Oh come on, Master Shipwright, I'm blowing out the window -"

He clarifies, speaking softly. Dangerously. "I'm talking about the dreams, Cove."

She pauses for too long, holding smoke in her mouth before letting it curl out slowly. She sets her pipe down on the counter.

"I don't know what you mean -"

"Hogwash. You never told me what your devil fruit does, but I've figured it out. It's the fog. Dreams are just memory, aren't they? Made of the same stuff, and you can control both in the fog. Even if I asked, I bet I wouldn't remember."

She watches him, something careful in her expression. "I don't see any fog now. Do you?"

That, he has to admit, is true. The watercolors of late evening are vivid and beautiful through the galley window. The golden hour paints them both. Kaku moves up into the captain's personal space, his body angled to corner her in the galley. Cove makes a strange, strangled sound, perturbed at his sudden closeness. She's taller than him - possibly even stronger, thought not by much - but he's quicker and has taken her by surprise. He pins her. Not without effort. The pungent incense-like smoke from her pipe makes his head swim- makes his tongue thick. She bucks against him but Kaku doesn't yield.

He says: "That might be true now, but not when the sun goes down. Do you know what I dream about? Night after night, out there on the deck. Do you design them personally?"

Her pale grey eyes dart over his face. "Of course not -"

"I know this trick, see, picked it up not long after I landed in Water7," he interrupts, lying as smoothly as he spreads her legs apart with his knee. He palms her inner thigh firmly, the hard ridge of his hand so close to the apex of her swim shorts. Her light fizzes brilliant pink but it's a feeble distraction when her pulse thrums so musically.

"So allow me to repeat myself, Glow -"

"You can't call me that," she shudders, breath coming quick and hot, trapped between the counter and him - the rock and the hard place. "I left that name back home -"

He leans in, shorter than her by half a head but it doesn't stop him growling in her ear. "You haunt my sleep and torment my waking moments with fuel for more. I think I should get to call you what I like, ma'am. Tell me again, that you don't weave my dreams together to torture me -"

"Did you ever stop to think you haunted mine first! When you were my friend and then you left with no word, only to send back a fake death notice!"

She's trying to distract him with his guilt, which won't work in this moment, and he tells her as much. "You can't wriggle out of this one."

Her pulse speaks truth to her hurt, but he could tell that from the look on her face. Her pupils are swollen, dark with emotion, as she scowls down at him. Somewhere in the middle of all this, his animal senses come alive, flooding the back of this mouth with a richness he can taste. She smells incredible - of dinner, sweat, orchids, coconut sunscreen. There's something else too, damp above his hand nestled between her thighs; hot, a little iodine-y...

Cove switches tactics. She tugs his cap off - too fast, always too fast for him - and leans in, butting her forehead to his. This close, her teeth are a threat he hopes she'll make good on. Her hands rove his hair, neck, the hard plank-like muscles of his back and shoulders. Even so, he refuses to loose her from his net. Her skin is so slippery soft but she won't winnow away from him.

He asks her: "Back then, was that nightmare I had your doing?"

She doesn't answer, doesn't meet his eyes, but he doesn't need her words. Her blood hums for him.

He accuses her: "Dreamweaver."

"No, Kaku. It doesn't work like that. Not on purpose anyway. My influence on dreams is limited- it's only when I have dreams that it sort of...ripples out. Memory is my domain, and within the fog only, like you said. I'm sorry -"

All truth. Nevertheless, he schools his expression into clinical disinterest. Then he presses his hand firmly upward into a softness that cleaves to him eagerly beneath her swim shorts. All the better to feel her pulse pounding, oh, flooding over his fingers. Cove's breath catches and the confession spills out of her:

"So maybe I felt a little vindictive when I first saw you again!" A lovely deep blush colours her pink skin. "So maybe I cursed you to a few sleepless nights of dwelling on your past lusts. I never imagined you'd dream of me -"

Again, truth - although it takes a moment to extract it from her racing pulse. It's a few more moments to bring back his train of thought when it sinks in just how little is in the way - should he just slip her shorts to the side, seek her pulse somewhere deeper inside her -

She gasps at the suggestive slide of his hand, then wonders, "And what kind of place is Water7 that this sort of skill is useful?" Her legs are shaking, and she won't stop touching him like she's soothing a wild beast. He swallows back the sudden flood of hot saliva behind his teeth, somehow keeps his voice level with cold, hard interrogation.

"How to read truth from a pulse? A lot of pirates out there like pulling the wool over the eyes of honest shipwrights with a smile and a handshake. It's nice to know when it's coming."

"Is that what you're doing? From my pulse-? That's really something. You gotta corner and feel up all those pirates too, Foreman?"

Her teasing rumbles through him like a storm. He hitches her into his arms, hands splayed under her thighs. Every thought beyond the wet drag of her cunt against his naked abdomen is sent forcefully from his mind.

He whispers against the corner of her mouth, rich, heady smoke from between her lips curling over his own. "Oh ma'am no. That's just for you -"

--

"FIREWORKS! CAP, EYELASHES, YOU'RE GOING TO MISS IT!"

At calamitous footsteps and shouting on the deck Kaku jerks awake, bolting upright in his sleeping bag. It's no longer evening. The sky is black overhead, until it isn't, explosions of rainbow sparks blossoming with a distant roar and crackle. The sea is clear - a fogless night.

Kaku puts his head in his hands, ignoring the cacophony between the crew and their captain. He does not emerge again until his- what, his sanity? Sense of self? - is bolted back up inside the iron cage of control he keeps it in. Like an animal, it bares teeth at him through the bars.