#dilapidated objects

[littlepawz]

I am intrigued with combining the remnant of memories, fragments of relics and ordinary objects, with the components of technology. It's a way of delving into the past and reaching into the future simultaneously.

~Betye Saar~

[thebigbiwolf]

Spittle - Part 1/2

Summary: The chocolate seems innocent enough - if you look past the Infernal writing on the wrapper, and with so few pleasures in the wilderness, you all but jump at the chance to sneak yourself a small treat.

Unbeknownst to you, the bar is infused with succubus spittle. Just one square is rumored to contain enough potency to send a mortal into the throes of ecstasy.

This is what happens when you eat half the bar.

Fic Tags: Sex Pollen (kinda), aphrodisiacs, succubus magic, a bit of dom!Astarion, unprotected piv, overstimulation, he talks you through it (iykyk), more tags will be added later.

Fic Warnings: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Dubcon (if you squint), Language, No use of Y/N, magical influence

Read on AO3: Here

A/N: Remember the dead spider? I remember the dead spider. Anyways, the reception I've been getting on Starvin', Darlin' has me wanting to thank everyone with a one-shot. This got away from me so I went ahead and split it into two parts.

I've never written anything like this and it was significantly more difficult than a multi-chapter fic. I hope everything comes across the way its supposed to! And a huge thank you to my beta @imaginarydromedary for...you know... encouraging me to post this, despite everything.

From what you could tell, there wasn’t much to the apothecary. 

As you push open the dilapidated doors, your first thought is to search for supplies - anything that could help if things went south on your way to the goblin camp. 

Dried herbs hang from the rafters beneath a thin veil of cobwebs, filling your lungs with a pungent clash of scents. Empty bottles lined the shelves along the wall, caked in several months worth of dust. Large chunks of the building were missing where stone met splintered wood, some areas almost entirely overtaken by greenery.

You step over broken shards of pottery, scanning over the floor and countertops for something - anything that may be of use, but to your disappointment, it seems like the shop was entirely ransacked long before your arrival.

You sigh deeply, knowing you’ll likely never hear the end of this from your companions. It was your idea to search the village. You were the one who suggested taking out the goblin scouts, exerting everyones’ energy, and now you’re afraid you’ll have very little to show for it.

You catch a glint of gold, an object reflecting the sun's rays beneath a pile of rubble. You kneel down to brush away the surrounding debris, thankful for even the smallest promise of coin before your hands catch on… some sort of serrated edge?

You pull at it, and it easily comes loose. It's a thin, rectangular block, just barely larger than the length of your hand. You wipe away some of the dirt with your sleeve, revealing an intricately designed foil wrapping underneath.

As you speculate what this might be, you hear footsteps approaching from behind, light and familiar. You turn to face the elf with a smirk.

“You’re supposed to be the stealthy one.” You chide at him, playfully, “Or has my blood put a little skip in your step?”

Astarion scoffs. “I’ve been here the entire time, watching you fumble around in the dirt.” 

Crimson eyes study you, then the object you’re holding. He places his hands on his hips, head cocked to the side with a raised brow. “Is that what you’ve dragged us all the way here for?”

“First of all,” you waggle a finger at him, “You’re especially grumpy when you’re tired. I’ll have to make a note to prioritize your beauty rest. Second, I haven’t finished looking around, but check this out.”

You hand the bar to him as you stand. The cool skin of his fingers brush against your own, and you’re irritated with the way your heart skips at the brief contact. Why did the one man you found attractive in your camp have to be such a primadonna? And such a huge pain in the ass? 

Astarion’s eyes scan over the textured paper with suspicion, angling it towards the light to get a better look. The golden wrapping is stamped with an image of red lips On the back, letters twist and curve in a language you don't recognize, following a single circular pattern where they meet in the center. You’ve never seen anything like this, neither in your travels, nor within the city walls of Baldur’s Gate.

“Where did you find this?” 

You shrug, then point to the pile next to you. “It was buried right there.” 

He silently stares at the foil, mouth pursed, until your patience begins to wear thin.

“Well, can you read it or not?”

His nose scrunches. “Of course I can’t read it. It’s written in Infernal.”

That’s… odd. Why would an ordinary apothecary sell goods made by devils? Or, worse, for devils. Unless, of course, it was some sort of marketing trick, perhaps a play on the phrase ‘sinfully sweet’, or some other cringeworthy branding.

You take it back, turning it over in your hands before tearing at the corner of the wrapping. It's sectioned into dark, rich squares, and smells indisputably like chocolate.

“It looks like candy.”

“An excellent observation.” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now, can we go? We’ve spent more than enough time here already.”

You roll your eyes and stuff it into your bag, setting off for camp, vampire in tow.

–

During dinner, you decide not to tell the others about what you found, knowing Astarion’s likely already forgotten the event. You set down your empty plate, thanking Gale for tonight’s meal. He smiles at you and bids you goodnight as you excuse yourself to your tent. 

You pick up your rucksack, thinking fondly of the dessert that awaits you inside. Having lived at the beck and call of your companions for weeks on end, you can’t help but smile at the idea of selfishly indulging in a small treat like this.

You tear open the rest of the wrapping and snap off one of the squares, immediately popping one into your mouth. It melts - buttery in texture, with a smokey, slightly bitter flavor. You can’t remember the last time you’ve eaten something so rich. Maybe weeks of the same rations have made you easier to impress, but this felt especially notable.

As you break off a second piece, a strange tingling sensation begins to spread across your lips - a pleasant buzzing that starts at your neck and spreads down through your chest. 

Strange, but not entirely unwelcome. You’ve heard of such inebriating chocolates, ones laced with alcohol or species of flowers that numb one’s senses for a short while. All harmless, of course, and you don’t have watch tonight. You may as well enjoy yourself. If worst comes to worst, Shadowheart is just outside with an assortment of spells and potions. Always better to ask for forgiveness.

It only takes you minutes to finish half the bar. You set the rest next to your bedroll for later and turn to blow out your candles, enjoying the lingering physical effects of the chocolate. Your skin feels flushed and delightfully warm as you settle down for the night.

When sleep finally takes you, it's dreamless, at first. Your consciousness sways, floating in an empty abyss, until colors begin to bleed onto the blank canvas of your mind.

A trickle of red morphs into the shape of familiar eyes, piercing you with their intensity..

Droplets of white spatter over a dark background, diffusing, blending into whisps. They curl and twist before settling into soft, coiffed fibers. 

Hair , you recognize immediately, his hair . His eyes.

Astarion. 

His image fully takes form, as if it had been waiting for you to make the connection before entirely revealing itself. 

He reaches out and seizes you, grabbing painfully at your hips as you crash into his body, hands exploring you - tight, possessive, squeezing at every inch of exposed skin before settling on the curve of your ass. He digs into your flesh with the blunt edge of his nails.

His lips press hot, wet kisses to your throat, mouthing just below the ear, before dragging his tongue along your nape and sucking, hard . You whine at the pressure, eliciting a grin from the elf, so characteristically pleased with the pathetic little noise he’s managed to pull from you.

“You thought sleeping would allow you to escape this - to escape me , unscathed?” He growls against your skin, his voice almost unrecognizable - as if it’s layered beneath a lighter, somehow more arrogant, feminine one.

“No, no, no. Wake up, darling. You’re in for a very long night.”

–

You startle awake, gasping - loud, labored breaths struggling to make use of the unbearably thin air. The edges of your tent bleed in and out of focus, spinning at a nauseating pace as you attempt to recollect yourself.

You wipe at the sweat collecting on your brow, the muscles of your arm heavy and aching, and find that your skin is absolutely drenched. 

Hot. Why is everything so hot? 

It's as if you're being cooked alive beneath your blankets, strangled beneath the furs. You throw them off; normally soft to the touch, the fibers now only worsen the prickling beneath your skin.

Could this be some sort of illness? A fever? 

No, this doesn’t make sense. Everything feels off. 

Fleeting thoughts of Astarion cross your mind - quick flashes of a sinful smile that was not his own.

It didn’t quite match the one you’d silently come to admire, and now that you think of it, the hunger in his gaze was much too intense for the reserved elf. 

His hands, his mouth, the way he touched you -

Your abdomen cramps, bringing your thoughts to a screeching halt.

A stabbing, visceral pain; a knife plunging into your organs. It overwhelms you, forces your body to curl into itself. You hold your pelvis, grunting, and grasp at your sheets. Tears sting the corner of your eyes.

This is - well, you have no idea what this is. 

You can’t think past the pounding in your head, the throbbing in your midsection. You're compulsively twisting, writhing, begging the gods for some sort of reprieve, but it's then when you make the most mortifying discovery of the night.

You’re soaked .

N ot just your smallclothes, which may have been understandable given your strange dreams, but through your damned pants. Not even the sheets were spared. 

“What  in the hells…?” 

You run your fingers over yourself, only intending to confirm the horrifying reality of your situation - that this is not, in fact, some sick, perverted nightmare, but the lightest touch sets off every nerve. 

You wail at the sensation: one massive wave of bliss giving way to several small jolts of pain. 

Pleasure to the point of agony.

The shock of the sudden orgasm courses from your sex through every limb, clenching and releasing pitiful, warm slick. It leaks freely out of you into your already thoroughly ruined underwear. 

Your heart pounds. You stay like that for what feels like a lifetime, toes curled, limbs twitching, waiting for your body to settle. 

After a minute or so, your breathing evens, and the thick haze surrounding your thoughts begins to lift just slightly, along with the suffocating heat. 

But something within you knows this isn’t the end - knows this isn’t enough . A desperation lurks beneath the surface that you can’t quite name. It screams at you. You need more.

‘Aw…’ A familiar, feminine voice prods at your mind. You quickly recognize her, the woman from your dreams who wore Astarion’s image.  

‘All alone, are we? Empty and needing to be filled? Doesn’t that hurt?’

It does. It aches unlike anything you’ve ever known. The lingering buzz of your orgasm just barely quells the worsening cramps, and they’re beginning to rear their ugly head again not minutes later.

You choke out a sob. “Wh- why are you doing this? What do you want?”

Sharp, wicked laughter fills your head, echoing off the walls of your skull. ‘I’m not doing anything, dear. Just enjoying the show.’ She hisses, ‘I told you, it’s going to be a very long night.’

You must be hallucinating. This fever - whatever this is, is simply cauterizing your senses, or possibly interacting with the tadpole? But the tadpole doesn’t speak, not like this. Never so clearly. Not with words.

Think, please. There has to be a reason this -

“Is everything alright?” Shadowheart raps on the canvas of your tent. “I heard a yelp. Are you hurt?”

Shit.

‘Ooh, this one might do!’  You feel an unwelcome… eagerness flood you.

No. No. Absolutely not.

You try not to panic. 

Under no circumstances should she or anyone else come in here.

The best strategy may be to ignore her - pretend you’re still sleeping. It seems like a good plan, but before you have a chance to follow through with it, another sharp contraction hits. This one is somehow even worse than the ones before. 

You pull your sheets up to your mouth to stifle your whine, but the half elf’s ears are sharper than most. “I’m coming in.”

She opens the flap to your tent and gasps when she sees you there - skin flushed pink, doubled over and covered in sweat. 

“Gods, what’s wrong? What’s happened?” Her hand reaches out towards you. 

Without thinking, you swat it away with your own. Your skin tingles at the contact, and the essence of a smile crosses over the threshold into your mind. The intruder giggles with satisfaction.

“Don’t,” you plead, “Don’t touch me.”

She scans over you, taking in your humiliating state. Her face twists with concern. “I need to know if you’re feverish. Please. You look awful.” 

‘Well, I think you look delectable.’

You groan.

At this point, you know it’s no use fighting this thing on your own. You go back and forth on whether you want to tell her the whole truth, about the voice in your head and its influence on your body, but the idea mortifies you into silence. 

Regardless, a cleric is likely your best chance of fixing this literal mess, so you nod, close your eyes, and brace yourself.

Shadowheart’s palm meets your forehead. It’s somehow worse than you anticipated. Even the simple, chaste touch sends you reeling, as if her soft hands are caressing your entire body. Flashes of heat wash over you, burning your skin, threatening to pull you back under another wave of ecstasy. 

It’s too much. You try your hardest to suppress a moan, but the muffled sound manages to escape from between your tightened lips, pitiful and broken.

The disembodied voice squeals with delight.

She quickly retracts her hand, clearing her throat. “Apologies. I can confirm your temperature is… elevated, but the rest…” She shakes her head. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

You want to scream, cry - anything to release your frustration, but you keep your mouth shut, not wanting to risk making any more unsavory noises.

“I believe I can give you some relief by treating the fever, but I’ll have to consult the others on the rest. This doesn’t look like any ordinary sickness.”

Consult the others? No. Gods, no. Nobody can know about this. Is she mad?

You intend to protest, beg her not to share this with anyone, tell her whatever death awaits you on the other side of this would be preferable, but she’s speaking an incantation before you have the chance.

A bright, green aura envelopes you, cooling your skin and ever so slightly easing the cramps. With the pain dulled, it's as though you can finally think again. 

You want to laugh. This situation is so utterly ridiculous that you’d find it hilarious, were it anyone else, but with the modicum of relief comes exhaustion - eyelids heavy, vision blurring with weariness.

“Get some rest. We’ll figure this out.” 

Her reassuring words are the last thing you hear before you’re overcome by darkness.

[brewed-pangolin]

MDNI 18+

Captain MacTavish doesn't play music when he fucks you anymore. Instead, he'll find some classic 90s action flick and set the volume to 11. Then proceed to bend you over every flat surface within sight as the distinctive baritone of Arnold Schwarzenegger echoes around your apartment.

You question him after a few times. Asking why he doesn't choose his usual playlist. He answers with a nonchalant, 'wanted to change things up a bit'. You don't question him any further.

And he breathes a sigh of relief. Because God forbid you ever know that he nearly blew his cover to Don Henley's 'Dirty Laundry'.

The memory of your supple lips around his cock invading behind his eyes as he took position behind some dilapidated hotel. The beat muffled and distorted through the broken speakers, yet still he recalled the way your tongue flattened so perfectly around him, nearly causing him to bust in his pants as he momentarily lost all focus on his main objective.

Once they RTB, he decides not to join the rest of the team as they watch Terminator 2. The echo of your screams while he railed into you doggy style still too fresh in his mind. He'd rather take care of business in the privacy of his own quarters. And to the subtle and enigmatic nuances of Enya's 'Sail Away'.

Captain MacTavish Masterlist

[apollogeticx]

✧˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ LABOUR ♡·˚

— [♡] ; souls tied by fate will inevitably cross paths again. ｡°. gojo satoru

tags: endgame gojo satoru, afab!reader, slow burn, pregnancy, regret, hurt/comfort, angst, co-parenting, vulnerable gojo satoru, past suguru geto x reader, past rejection, longing, bittersweet, I'm dramatic so I write dramatic shit, chapter one of ten

wc. 2.7K

prologue | part 2

The decision settled in your heart like a stone—cold, hard, and undeniable. You couldn’t stay at Jujutsu High anymore, not after everything that had happened. There was nothing left for you here but the constant reminder of Gojo’s rejection, and the emptiness it left inside you. Suguru Geto had offered a new path, one that resonated with the bitter anger building in your chest. It was risky, dangerous even, but at this point, you didn’t care. What did you have to lose?

The world outside Jujutsu High seemed vast and unforgiving, but it was nothing compared to the loneliness you felt within its walls. Geto’s name was whispered among the students with fear and disdain, but you saw something different now. He had the strength to break away, to challenge the system that had let him down, and if anyone could understand the pain of rejection, it was him.

The first step was to find him, which was easier said than done. Geto was no longer a visible presence in the sorcerer world. He had gone underground, building his own network of cursed users and spirits. The whispers about his whereabouts were few and far between, but you clung to the faintest rumors like lifelines, searching for any clue that would lead you to him.

Your chance finally came one evening, as you overheard two upperclassmen talking in hushed tones about a recent sighting of Geto. They mentioned a remote area where cursed energy had been felt, a place known for being a hideout for rogue sorcerers. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

You left that night, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and determination. You knew the consequences of what you were about to do—if anyone found out, you’d be labeled a traitor, just like Geto. But that didn’t matter now. All that mattered was getting away from the pain that had consumed you and finding a new purpose.

The journey was long and arduous, taking you through unfamiliar streets and rural roads. With each step, the doubt in your mind grew louder. What if he didn’t want you? What if he turned you away, just like Gojo had? The thought of facing yet another rejection made your stomach twist in knots, but you pushed forward. You had to know. You had to try.

Finally, after what felt like na eternity, you arrived at the rumored hideout—a dilapidated building on the outskirts of na abandoned village. The air around the area was thick with cursed energy, almost suffocating. You hesitated at the threshold, fear creeping up your spine, but you steeled yourself and stepped inside.

The interior was dark, lit only by the faint glow of cursed energy radiating from various objects strewn about. You could sense the presence of others, though you couldn’t see them. Shadows moved in the corners of the room, watching you, but you kept your focus straight ahead.

And then, you saw him.

Suguru Geto stood at the far end of the room, his back turned to you as he spoke quietly with one of his followers. Even from this distance, his presence was commanding, the air around him heavy with power. There was something about him that felt both intimidating and strangely familiar, as if you were looking at the reflection of everything you had been feeling—the bitterness, the anger, the sense of abandonment.

He turned around slowly, his gaze landing on you with a piercing intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. His dark eyes seemed to see right through you, reading every thought and emotion as if they were laid bare before him. For a moment, you wondered if you had made a mistake—if this had been a foolish, reckless decision.

But you had come too far to turn back now.

“What do we have here?” Geto’s voice was smooth and calm, but there was a dangerous edge to it. He studied you, his expression unreadable. “You’re not one of mine.”

You swallowed, your throat dry, and forced yourself to speak. “I came to find you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I—I’ve been studying at Jujutsu High, but I can’t stay there anymore. I’ve seen… I’ve read about what you believe in. And I… I want to join you.”

There was a flicker of amusement in Geto’s eyes as he raised na eyebrow. “You want to join me?” he repeated, his tone laced with skepticism. “And what exactly do you think you have to offer?”

Your heart sank at his words. You knew you were nothing compared to the powerful sorcerers that surrounded him. You were just a student, someone who had been cast aside by the very person you had admired most. But you also knew that your desire to serve his cause, to belong somewhere, burned stronger than anything else.

“I don’t have much,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I’m not the strongest sorcerer, and I don’t have any followers. But I understand how it feels to be abandoned, to be rejected by the world. I’m ready to serve your purpose, whatever it takes.”

For a long moment, Geto said nothing, his eyes never leaving yours. The silence was suffocating, each second stretching into eternity. You stood there, exposed and vulnerable, waiting for his judgment. In that moment, it felt as if your entire life hung in the balance. If he accepted you, you would have a new purpose, a new place to belong. But if he rejected you…

Finally, after what felt like na eternity, Geto’s expression softened, and a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“You’re eager,” he said quietly. “That much is clear. But eagerness alone isn’t enough. My cause isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s dangerous, and it requires a level of conviction that few possess.”

You nodded quickly, desperation creeping into your voice. “I understand. I’ll prove myself, if you give me the chance.”

Geto regarded you for another long moment, as if weighing his options. Then, with a slight nod, he turned away from you, signaling the conversation was over. “Very well,” he said. “If you want to join me, go back to Jujutsu High. Pack your things. Leave everything behind. Once you’ve done that, come back. If you’re serious, I’ll know.”

Your heart leapt in your chest at his words—he was giving you a chance. It wasn’t a full acceptance, not yet, but it was something. You bowed your head quickly in gratitude before turning to leave.

As you stepped out of the hideout and into the cool night air, your mind raced with a mixture of excitement and fear. You had taken the first step toward a new life, toward leaving behind everything that had hurt you.

Now all that was left was to return to Jujutsu High, pack your things, and leave for good. There was no turning back now.

The night was unnervingly quiet as you made your way back to Jujutsu High, the soft rustling of leaves the only sound accompanying you. The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light casting long shadows across the ground. Your mind buzzed with the events that had just unfolded—Geto had accepted you, even if it was only tentative. The prospect of belonging to something, of having a purpose again, gave you a strange sense of comfort, but it was wrapped in na unsettling realization.

To fully embrace this new path, you had to leave everything behind.

As you approached the school grounds, a wave of nostalgia hit you. The familiar hallways, the training grounds, even the library where you had spent so many hours—all of it felt like a distant memory, as if you were already na outsider looking in. These places had once held significance, but now they were nothing more than relics of a past life. You had made up your mind; you would abandon all of it for a chance at something more—something that could give meaning to the ache you carried inside.

The dormitory was dark and still when you returned to your room. Your belongings were strewn about, a quiet reminder of the life you had lived here. You hesitated for a moment, standing in the doorway and letting your gaze drift over the small space that had been your home for so long. It was strange how quickly it all felt irrelevant.

With a deep breath, you began packing your things. You moved with mechanical precision, folding clothes and stuffing them into your bag, taking only what you absolutely needed. As your hands grazed over small personal items, you realized how little they meant now. There was no point in holding onto these things—mementos of a life you no longer wanted to be part of. A gift from a classmate, a framed photo of your team during a mission, a charm you had once carried for protection—they all seemed to mock you now.

Your hand hovered over the chocolates you had made for Gojo, the same ones he had so casually rejected weeks ago. They had been sitting untouched for so long, the once carefully crafted gift now rotting and forgotten. A bitter taste filled your mouth as you stared at the box, the last remnant of your foolish hopes - now laying in your trashcan.

As you zipped up your bag, you felt a strange sense of liberation. You were finally doing it—leaving behind the person you had been, the person who had been too afraid to act, too afraid to take control of her own fate. You were stepping into a new future, one where you could be strong, where your pain had a purpose. Suguru Geto had shown you that.

You slung the bag over your shoulder, taking one last look at the room. It felt distant already, like a ghost of a life you once knew. Without hesitation, you turned and left, walking silently through the darkened halls of Jujutsu High. Every step away from the dorms felt like shedding na old skin, leaving behind the memories and emotions that had weighed you down for so long.

Your feet moved automatically, each step taking you further from Jujutsu High and further from Gojo, you didn’t dare look back, afraid that if you did, you might falter, might hesitate. You had made your choice. You had committed to this path, and there was no turning back now.

The night air was cold against your skin, and with every step, the familiar halls and grounds of Jujutsu High faded into the distance. There was na ache in your chest, a deep, gnawing pain that threatened to overwhelm you, but you forced it down, telling yourself that this was the right choice. That Geto would understand, that his ideals would give you the strength you needed to find purpose.

By the time you reached the outskirts of the town, the sky had started to lighten, a soft glow spreading across the horizon as dawn approached. You kept your head down, avoiding the few early risers who were beginning their day. No one paid you any attention. To them, you were just another traveler, just another person passing through.

Your destination was clear—the same dilapidated building you had found before, where Geto’s presence had been strongest. The cursed energy in the area was unmistakable, and the faint pulse of it called to you like a beacon, guiding you back to him.

As you walked, the reality of what you were about to do began to settle in. You were leaving everything—your friends, your teachers, your life as a jujutsu sorcerer behind. The people you had trained with, the ones who had fought alongside you, they would all consider you a traitor. But for some reason, that didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. You were tired of being invisible, of feeling like na outsider in your own life. With Geto, maybe you would finally belong somewhere.

After hours of walking, you finally reached the hideout once again. The building loomed before you, dark and foreboding, just as it had before. There was a tension in the air that hadn’t been there the first time, as if the entire area was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

You hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside.

This time, the space felt different. The shadows seemed heavier, and the cursed energy more oppressive. You could sense other presences here—Geto’s followers, cursed spirits lurking just out of sight, their eyes on you, watching, waiting. But you didn’t waver. You had already made your decision.

As you ventured deeper into the building, you found him in the same spot as before, standing with his back to you, his long dark hair spilling over his shoulders. He was speaking with one of his followers in a low voice, but the moment you entered the room, his attention shifted. Without turning around, he acknowledged your presence with a quiet, “You came back.”

His voice sent a shiver down your spine—not out of fear, but because of the power it carried, the certainty in his words. It was so unlike the doubt you had felt at Jujutsu High. Here, in Geto’s world, there was no room for second-guessing. Everything he said, everything he believed, had a purpose. You wanted to be part of that.

“I did,” you replied, your voice steady despite the nervousness you felt. “I left everything behind, just like you said.”

Geto finally turned to face you, his eyes sharp and assessing. He looked you over, taking in the sight of you with your bag slung over your shoulder, your expression determined despite the fear you tried to hide. A slow, almost approving smile curled at the corner of his lips.

“And why, exactly, should I take you in?” he asked, his tone calm but laced with a challenge. “What can you offer me that my other followers can’t?”

You had expected this question, but it didn’t make answering it any easier. You had thought about this moment the entire way back, rehearsing what you would say, but now that you stood in front of him, words failed you. What could you offer? You weren’t the strongest sorcerer, you weren’t experienced in battle. All you had was your conviction, your desire to follow him.

“I—I’m not the strongest,” you admitted, your voice faltering for just a moment before you regained your composure. “But I’m ready to dedicate myself to your cause. I’ve seen how the world works, how it doesn’t care about people like us. I want to change that, to be part of something greater.”

Geto’s eyes remained fixed on you, his expression unreadable. He studied you for what felt like na eternity, and you could feel the weight of his judgment pressing down on you. Then, finally, he spoke again, his voice softer, but no less commanding.

“Conviction is important,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “But dedication without strength is a liability.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say anything, Geto raised a hand to silence you. “Still, you’ve come this far, and I can see that you’re serious. I’ll give you a chance to prove yourself.”

Relief flooded through you, though it was quickly tempered by the realization of what that might entail. Geto wasn’t someone who handed out second chances easily. Whatever he asked of you, it wouldn’t be simple.

“You’ll stay here, for now,” he continued, gesturing to the room around you. “Train with my followers, learn from them. When the time comes, we’ll see if you’re truly ready to stand by my side.”

You nodded, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and excitement. This was what you had wanted—a chance, a purpose, something to fight for. And now, Geto had given it to you.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, bowing your head in gratitude.

Before you could fully process it, a voice rang out from the entrance of the hideout, sharp and commanding.

“So, this is where you ran off to.”

Your heart froze in your chest.

Satoru Gojo stood at the threshold, his blindfold gone, revealing his piercing blue eyes that glowed with a mixture of anger and something else—something deeper, more intense.

He had found you.

notes: thank you for reading the first chapter! if you wanna be tagged just let me know!

taglist: @username23345 @arminswifee @tomiokasecretlover @ffyona1214 @tojirin @eggrollforyou @ironicsss

©apollogeticx ⋆ all rights reserved.

[spurbleu]

soap x personal trainer

soap isn’t a stranger to “at home videos”.

immovable object, insistent drive. cannot put the weight down. on leave, he goes through adrenaline withdrawals. house arrest is tough on a motor like his- powered by gore oil and whistle grime. tank empties rapidly when it’s fed normalcy and the gravel on his running trail. it’s a substitute for substance- that, up until now, never kept him sated.

till of course, you appear on his feed.

exhaust comes in short breaths. nose damp with as much sweat as his forehead. body drools and quivers, muscles spasm- because of you.

and you didn’t even have to touch him.

just smile as you guide him through the third set of reverse fly’s. all the gumption of a captain, dressed down in a pastel matching set, sweat stains it a darker color on the dip of your back and between you thighs.

course he gets smitten. obsessive. equally as addicted to the adrenaline of gunmetal and violence as he is to the soft curve of your ass below the defined lines of your back. parallels. offer him a full belly and heavy balls.

and when he finds out you offer personal training? at some dilapidated corner rental that’s falling apart at the seams and needs brute strength and a cock attached to military income? goner.

you’re in the middle of recording your video for the week, when a knock comes at the door. heavy, demanding. you open it, and in front of you stands an ox with a mohawk and a handsome smile.

“aye heard ye do personal training?”

[zedecksiew]

Monument vs Shrine

In "Replica, Aura, and Late Nationalist Imaginings", the political scientist Benedict Anderson (most famous for his Southeast Asia scholarship and that definitive critique of nationalism, Imagined Communities) muses on the Lincoln memorial:

Within a temple explicitly mimicking "the religious edifices of a safely pagan Greece";

Mazda Corp floodlights designed "to ward off unnatural, indifferent sunlight";

The abstract enshrinements of "Lincoln's memory" in the "hearts of the people", while neither Lincoln's actual remains or any rites for people to perform are present;

The sense that ultimately the most reverential thing to do there is to take photographs.

+

The Lincoln Memorial; the Jefferson memorial next to it; both figures repeated again on Mt Rushmore; both figures repeated ad nauseum on dollar bills.

These monuments are designed to proliferate. Not only must they create a sober, stately experience for the visitor---but they must also do so consistently, because they are built for visitors: the mass audience of the national population.

Otherwise they must be physically replicable: a memorial to a particular national hero, erected in every city.

The very format of monument-building get copied:

Post-colonial countries, in need of new myths, choose to manufacture national cenotaphs of their own, in imitation of Western models.

Malaysia has Putrajaya, a federal capital sprung ex nihilo from palm-oil agricultural land, its buildings all arches and onion domes and imitation arc de triomphes in inhuman scale, its avenues broad and utterly unwalkable in the tropical heat.

+

At such monuments the citizen is cast as tourist.

Of this state-sanctioned object of devotion you are encouraged to take photographs, sell merchandise---ie: continue the process of replication. With every copy nationalism is reified.

God forbid you tweak the official monument with your own meanings, though! While writing this post, I found the following story, from December 2023:

"Lincoln Memorial temporarily closed after being vandalized with 'Free Gaza' graffiti"

+

Anderson's essay cites instances where the personal and irreproducible sneak back into, or leak out from, or vandalise, national monuments:

"Early in the 1910s,"---in Manila's Cementerio del Norte, a municipal cemetery planned by an American urban designer---"a small pantheon was constructed for the interment of Filipino national heroes."

This monument was to emulate the Pantheon in Paris, where "great Frenchmen" of the national canon are memorialised.

But the Filipino version failed.

"Today, hardly anyone in the Philippines is aware of this dilapidated pantheon's existence ... What has happened is that the Filipino Voltaire and Rousseau have managed to escape, summoning devoted, often familial bodysnatchers, to convey them to home-town shrines."

+

Not that the municipal cemetery itself is deserted. Custodians and their families live in the very mausoleums they care for.

Further, Anderson describes All Saints' Eve in the Cementerio del Norte, when thousands pour into its precincts.

But these multitudes adjourn to their own myriad family graves and small ancestral shrines: spending the day with immediate loved ones, "drinking, praying, gambling, making offerings ..."

Most of the Philippines' presidents have mausoleums in Norte, "but no one pays attention to them ... and only their separate descendants come to attend them."

"There is something exhilarating here that one rarely sees in national celebrations, maybe because the structure of the ceremonial is not serial, but entirely cellular."

+

Hometowns re-exerting themselves within the nation; ordinary people scrawling meaning onto the edifices of the uppercase-P People. A multitude of the singular, instead of a single mass.

Despite nationalism's efforts to centralise and clone a national identity, still we mutate, still we bootleg, still we graffiti, becoming once again ourselves.

And---particular to post-colonial societies---in doing so we casually continue the work of liberation, sneaking the idea of freedom away from our own architects and elites and prime ministers, who would seek to seize its meaning for their own purposes.

The churches or mosques or temples to demos that the federal government builds are ours to transform. To take from. To ignore.

"No need. We've got our own shrines at home."

+

National heroes become local saints and slip out of national control.

Does the Filipino government really control the various Rizalista sects? Karpal Singh is now a datuk kong, without his political dynasty's consent.

Across Melaka and Negeri Sembilan there once existed shrines dedicated to Hang Tuah, Malay folk hero, now a powerful figurehead of Malay-Muslim ethno-nationalism.

One such shrine existed at Tanjung Tuan:

With a plain altar---more a porch, really---of poured cement, for folk to leave food offerings;

Sunlight mottled from the surrounding forest, and fluorescent lights from a nearby gazebo;

A large rock, with an indent on its crown, said to be Hang Tuah's actual footprint;

The idea that this was a sacred space, where you could come to ask the spirits of the place for love or children.

The shrine that existed was sited in a forest reserve. It was swept clean of leaves by locals; its adherents belonged to all faiths and ethnicities; following the transactional logic of folk religion, those who had received its blessing would've paid for its maintenance.

+

"Existed".

Because the Religious Department of the State of Melaka destroyed the Hang Tuah shrine sometime in 2022, for the crime of idolatry.

A double heresy. An affront to both orthodox Sunni Islam---

But also to the Malaysian state, that sanctions Sunni Islam as its official religion; whose nationalism requires its mythic hero to have only the attributes and magics the state ulama and historians say he must have---and no others.

Local shrines are destroyed, because the nation-state intuits them to be threats to its exclusive franchise.

+

Image sources: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States_five-dollar_bill https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arc_de_Triomphe https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Putrajaya https://www.facebook.com/PilipinasRetrostalgia https://www.globaltimes.cn/content/984521.shtml https://www.facebook.com/PerakPress https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Malays_(ethnic_group)

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

So, in addition to a preview of the Norm one-shot, I've got this look at part one of a long-form two-shot that's been sitting in my drafts since I was about halfway through my first run of the show. I have a (now quite old) ask that fit the vibe of it perfectly, and I've been whittling away at it when the inspiration strikes. I still have quite a bit of work to do on it, including edits, as I'm predicting a final length between 13k-15k words. Could end up more, as I'm really terrible at this sort of estimation, but I wanted to let everyone know I'm still hard at work in the smut mines even if posts have been light lately. Please enjoy a preview from this upcoming Cooper Howard/The Ghoul piece:

Faim Pour Deux

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Reader

Warnings: smut (18+), angst, drug use, jealousy, mild violence, age gap, sexually rusty old men, amateurish strip teases, nipple play, fingering, dry humping, reader not-so-subtly trying to tempt Cooper to fuck her until he snaps.

"Why don't you get a little more comfortable, darlin'?" Cooper asked, his tone brighter now, a step closer to the normal, cocky timbre you'd known him to have, but still soft as the patter of the rain on the dilapidated roof as he gestured to your unzipped vault suit. "Hop up and take that off for me."

You didn't hesitate to follow his instructions, though you struggled to figure out how to back up off of his lap as your feet dangled off the floor. Cooper offered no assistance, sitting back to watch you slide yourself backwards towards his knees, your cleavage spilling out of your undershirt as you pushed yourself with your hands. Once you found your feet, cheeks already hot from your fumbling dismount, you toed out of your boots before clearing your throat, hands coming up to your navel to grab at the cool metal zipper where it hung, half-undone.

"Take a couple steps back so I can see all of you."

This command took you somewhat by surprise, but, again, you obeyed, double checking the floor behind you before taking two steps back, avoiding his eyes. Rethinking your approach, you grabbed your left sleeve by the wrist in your right hand, tugging it awkwardly to free your arm, jerking the tight material down over your sore bicep in a rather unsexy move before twisting to repeat the move on the right.

Twilight was quickly turning to night, and the few chem lamps you'd set up only provided enough light to see well a few feet in front of you. Shyly, you stole a quick glance his way, struggling to make out any details at this distance, save for the shape and slight glint of his flask as he lifted it to his mouth and took a long draw off of it. His entire upper body was almost completely shrouded in the deepening shadows, but you could see those eyes, sunken deep into that face, glittering darkly at you, trained on you.

"Slowly, now." came that rough voice once more, slightly muffled by the back of his hand passing over what remained of his lips. "Gimme a little show."

You felt your face instantly flame up twice as hot as it had been, your already fluttering heart shifting up another gear into a full-on thunder. You had no idea what he meant—undressing itself wasn't enough of a show? Were you supposed to sing and dance while you did it? Recite US Presidents?

A handful of heartbeats passed, and you realized you were hesitating, but the ghoul in the corner didn't say anything. Your focus shifted, warily, back to removing your remaining sleeve, choosing to work it down from the shoulder instead, this time, focusing on the "slowly" until you could figure out the "show" part. After a few moments, you'd worked the top half of the grimy vault suit down to your hips, letting the arms hang loose at your sides.

If Cooper objected to the way you were going about things, he kept quiet about it, which would be uncharacteristic. He sat, still staring at you, reclined back in the chair as he reached for something else on the table beside him. The familiar sound of a shaking Jet container filled the air as you grabbed the stained, barely-mended tank by the hem, peeling it over you head, leaving you in nothing but your now sad, ratty bra above the waist. The hiss of the canister buzzed down your spine as the material passed over your eyes, giving you goosebumps as you looked to him once more, feeling drawn to that gaze. Your hands moved back to your waist to push the garment the rest of the way down, brushing across your soft abdomen on the way.

The ghoul interrupted you, wordless, his mouth fixed in a sort of pucker as he held the hit of Jet deep in his lungs. He snapped quickly, sharply, his free hand raising up off of the scuffed chair arm, his sewn-on index finger pointed to the ceiling, drawing a series of tight, quick circles with it. You'd seen that gesture before, you realized, feeling that squirming feeling in your gut again. Quickly, you turned to face the door, your back now pointing at your companion.

The feeling of his intense stare still burned into your back, but knowing that, at least for a moment, he couldn't see your face, couldn't read every single thought and emotion off of your like he seemed to so often be able to, let you breathe slightly easier. The arousal that simmered between your thighs was rolling into a boil as you pushed your rear out, back towards him, bending forward ever-so-slightly at the waist as you slowly, slowly rolled the increasingly restricting suit down over your buttocks.

You could swear you heard him sigh in the dark.

Shimmying until the entire garment hit the floor, pooling around your ankles in a faint cloud of dust, you stepped out of it as delicately as possible, sliding it beside your bag with your foot. As you straightened back to your full height, you decided to turn and face him, making eye contact as he took another hit from the inhaler, setting it aside as he leaned back fully into the chair. He tilted his head sideways at you, studying you for a few quiet seconds.

"Let your hair down." he said, voice strained with exhalation.

It took a moment to wrestle your hair down from the old elastic that kept it out of your face, but when the tendrils tickled down your back at last, it made you shiver, your body tingling.

The old man was silent for several seconds, looking you up and down with an expression that was tough to decipher. You'd almost begun to worry that he didn't like what he was seeing before one of his hands snaked down from the arm rest into his lap, palming at his crotch visibly. The other hand extended towards you, that deadly trigger finger crooking towards you commandingly, his gaze never leaving you.

"C'mere, kiddo."

[fratttymatty]

Bro, It's Haunted

(All characters are 18+)

It was the perfect night for a paranormal investigation. The kind of night when a full moon hung low in the sky, casting eerie shadows on dilapidated buildings, and the air was thick with the smell of old dust and mystery. A group of nine friends—paranormal investigators and self-proclaimed nerds—had been itching for their latest adventure. They weren’t just any nerdy crew; they were a tight-knit group of gay, liberal, and openly eccentric thirty-year-olds. They had faced haunted dolls, cursed objects, and even poltergeists. But tonight’s location was a bit… different.

The Alpha Sigma Pi frat house, once the pride of their small college town, had been abandoned for years. No one had lived there in at least a decade, and rumors about the place circulated like wildfire. No one dared go near it anymore—except for the team, of course.

The nine of them gathered in the parking lot, adjusting their equipment and checking the cameras on their phones. There was Nate, the confident team leader with a deep love for horror movies and a perpetual dark hoodie; Jesse, the sarcastic and dry-witted one, constantly cracking jokes but deeply sentimental when it counted; Finn, the tech genius who could hack anything and had a fascination with all things supernatural; Liam, the sensitive one, who was always the first to believe in things like ghosts and spirits; Ollie, the curious but quiet skeptic who had a soft spot for astrology; and then there was the rest of the crew—Emory, Miles, Theo, and Xavier—each one an essential part of the quirky, nerdy ensemble.

They stood in front of the house, which loomed like a forgotten monument to a time long past. The windows were boarded up, the paint peeling, and a thick fog curled around the crumbling structure.

“Alright, so the legends say this place is haunted by the spirits of the worst kind of frat boys—those who never grew up and are stuck in the 'glory days' of their youth,” Finn said, adjusting the strap on his backpack, filled with ghost-hunting equipment.

“Yikes,” Liam muttered. “Not looking forward to meeting that kind of energy.”

"Eh, at least we won’t have to deal with them 'till we're dead and rotting," Ollie quipped, eyes scanning the dark silhouette of the house.

The team filed into the front door, which creaked open easily, as if welcoming them in. The inside of the house was just as abandoned as it looked on the outside—empty beer cans, broken furniture, and posters of former college athletes lined the walls. It smelled like stale alcohol and faded memories.

“This place is definitely haunted,” Jesse muttered under his breath, looking around. "Either that, or these are the vibes of my worst nightmare."

“Let’s get to work,” Nate said, trying to focus the team. “We’ll split up. Emory, you and I will check the basement. Theo, Jesse, check the upper floors. Finn, Liam, and Xavier, you’re with me on the ground level. Ollie, you’re on monitoring. Keep an eye on the cameras.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, and the investigation began. At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. They set up their cameras, EVP recorders, and motion sensors. Every now and then, a strange creak echoed through the house, but that was hardly enough to draw anyone’s attention—until it started happening.

The first person to notice was Theo. He stood frozen in the hallway, staring at an old photograph hanging crookedly on the wall.

“Uh, guys,” he said slowly, “this picture looks weird.”

The photograph was of a group of young men, all smiling proudly in front of the house. But as Theo looked closer, the faces seemed to shift, almost imperceptibly, until the men no longer looked like their college-aged selves.

"Did… did those guys just move?" Theo whispered, voice quivering slightly.

Finn rushed over, but by the time he reached the wall, the image was still and normal. Nothing had changed.

“Bro, you good?” Jesse asked, clearly trying to joke, but something in his tone felt off. “Just a picture. Maybe you’re seeing things.”

It wasn’t until the lights flickered that the first real sign something was wrong occurred. The house itself seemed to breathe, the walls exhaling in a slow, deliberate shudder.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit them all at once.

“I feel dizzy…” Liam said, his hand reaching to steady himself against a doorframe.

“I’m good,” Jesse muttered, “but I swear I’m too good.” He let out a low laugh, as though something was tickling his brain, but not quite reaching the punchline.

Then things got… stranger.

One by one, the group started to change. At first, it was subtle—nothing more than a shift in posture, or the way their voices sounded. But soon, their bodies began to morph, skin tightening, muscle mass increasing, faces becoming more angular and chiseled. Their clothes felt tighter, their jeans more fitted—though most of them couldn’t quite put their finger on why.

"Hey, bro, I feel kinda… strong all of a sudden," Miles said, flexing his bicep absentmindedly. “Like, I wanna, I dunno, lift something heavy. Bro things.”

“Bro?” Jesse blinked, his voice coming out in a deeper tone. His hand shot out to slap Miles on the back, but instead of the usual playful gesture, it was almost an aggressive, over-the-top bro hug. “Yeah, man! Let’s get that pump going.”

“I… I don’t know what’s going on…” Theo’s voice trailed off. He ran a hand through his hair—hair that was suddenly much thicker and styled differently. He felt the front of his shirt and blinked as if waking up from a strange dream. “What the hell? Why am I—?”

“It’s the house,” Nate said slowly, his own voice shifting into a more gravelly, assured tone. He glanced around at his friends, realizing, with growing panic, that they weren’t the same people they’d been an hour ago. “We’ve been taken.”

Finn turned around in disbelief, his fingers instinctively adjusting the collar of his polo. “Nah, man. I feel good. Like, really good. Like, I’m the king of this house or something.”

The transformations continued—tighter jeans, broader shoulders, more swagger in their steps. Their personalities were shifting too, as if something in the house was rewriting their identities. The sarcastic and clever remarks gave way to cruder jokes, and deep thoughts were replaced with loud cheers about football and frat parties.

By the time they had all fully transformed, they stood before one another—completely unrecognizable from who they’d once been. Their names had changed too, though they couldn't remember exactly how or when.

Nate was now "Chad," Jesse was “Brock,” Theo was “Kyle,” Finn became “Tyler,” Liam became “Brad,” Ollie was “Zach,” Miles was “Jake,” Emory was “Ryan,” and Xavier was “Max.” They looked at each other in confusion—before bursting into raucous laughter.

“Bro, this is sick!” Chad (formerly Nate) shouted. “I feel so… alive, you know? Like, we’re living in the moment, man!”

“I dunno about you guys, but I love being 21 again,” Brock (Jesse) chimed in, punching Kyle (Theo) on the shoulder with a laugh. “This is what life’s all about, man! Football, parties, and, like, grilling stuff, y’know?”

They all laughed again. They had no memory of their past selves—no interest in returning to who they once were. The house had changed them, and now they belonged here, in their new lives.

“Who needs ghosts?” Max (Xavier) added with a chuckle, slapping a high five with Zach (Ollie). “We’re the real menace now, bros.”

And so, the abandoned frat house stood—alive, buzzing with energy as its new inhabitants reveled in their transformation. The doors closed behind them with a final, definitive slam, and the house hummed as if content, its newest bro occupants already planning the next big party.

The Spellsisters were a tight-knit group of ten liberal, nerdy, 28-year-old paranormal investigators who prided themselves on their intellect, critical thinking, and love of all things supernatural. But when they stepped foot into the abandoned Delta Kappa Omega sorority house, they had no idea they were about to face something that would completely change them.

The team consisted of:

Cassidy – The level-headed leader, calm and collected, always keeping the group grounded.

Lana – The intuitive one, deeply attuned to spiritual energy and the vibes of any place.

Sierra – The techie, always with gadgets in hand, trying to find logical explanations for everything.

Ella – The free-spirited dreamer, often lost in mystical thoughts, fascinated by energy fields.

Bailey – The pragmatic skeptic, always on the lookout for rational explanations for the unexplained.

Tessa – The tarot card reader with a sharp wit and a skeptical edge, always questioning the unknown.

Zoey – The empathetic one, sensitive to emotional energies and trying to understand the deeper forces at play.

Emilia – The witch-in-training, passionate about crystals, herbs, and mystical rituals.

Riley – The scientist, logical to the core, though secretly intrigued by the supernatural.

Morgan – The dramatic one with an epic flair for storytelling and a surprisingly deep intuition.

They had come to investigate the Delta Kappa Omega house, a once-vibrant sorority that had long been abandoned and was rumored to be haunted by the spirits of its former sisters. Now, as the house lay in ruins, they were determined to uncover the truth.

"This place is... heavy," Cassidy said as the group stood before the house, the old, dilapidated structure looming before them. "It feels like it's holding onto something... dark."

"Yeah, dark energy," Sierra muttered, fiddling with a device meant to detect electromagnetic fields. "This place is off."

“I don’t like it,” Bailey added, scanning the area with a frown. “It’s like something’s watching us.”

“Well, we came here for answers, not to get freaked out,” Lana said, looking up at the house with determination. “Let’s do this.”

As they entered the house, the air felt charged with an unnatural energy. Dust swirled in the air like a ghostly mist, and remnants of the sorority’s past—old furniture, faded photographs, and posters of smiling young women—lined the walls, now decaying with age.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Zoey murmured as she stepped cautiously into the living room. “The vibes here are… weird.”

“Well, whatever it is, we need to figure it out,” Cassidy said firmly, taking charge. “Let’s split up, cover more ground. Stay in contact. If you sense anything… strange, let me know.”

The group split into smaller teams: Cassidy and Riley headed for the kitchen to investigate, while Zoey, Tessa, and Morgan set up their base in the living room. Lana, Sierra, and Emilia went to the attic, where the coldest, most oppressive energy seemed to gather.

It didn’t take long before something went terribly wrong.

The house began to hum, an eerie vibration that rattled the walls. A heavy, oppressive feeling filled the air, and a sudden dizziness struck all of them, as if the house itself were rearranging their minds.

“Something’s not right,” Cassidy said, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter to steady herself.

"I—I feel weird..." Bailey said, her voice trailing off. She glanced down at herself and froze, blinking rapidly. Her loose, comfortable jeans and hoodie had been replaced with a form-fitting, trendy crop top and high-waisted shorts. She was now, suddenly, perfectly toned—her stomach flat and abs defined. She ran her hands through her hair. "Wait, what the hell just happened?"

Cassidy looked at herself in the same reflection—her shirt was now tight, and her body had shifted in ways she couldn’t explain. Her once wild hair was now perfectly styled, and her makeup—subtle yet flawless—somehow appeared. “Is this… real?”

“What’s happening?” Riley asked, tugging at her jacket. It now clung to her body in a way that was completely foreign to her. Her voice, once confident and logical, now had a higher pitch, more energy, and a certain tone to it. She caught sight of her reflection in a broken mirror. Her jeans were now tight and trendy, her hair styled in soft waves. "I look… good."

Lana, standing near the window, twirled a lock of hair and glanced at herself in disbelief. Her long hair had become voluminous waves, framing her face in a way that made her appear effortlessly glamorous. Her baggy clothes were gone, replaced by tight pants and heels that somehow made sense. "Oh my god, I look amazing," she said, flashing a grin at the others.

"Okay, I’m freaking out," Sierra said, now feeling herself. Her hoodie was gone, replaced with a fitted jacket that hugged her body, accentuating her curves. Her hair was styled with perfect volume, and her usual intellectual focus had been replaced by something a little... lighter. “I look, like, totally different. And I kind of love it."

“I don’t know about you guys,” Zoey added, glancing down at her now-bodycon dress, “but, like, I’m feeling myself right now. Like, I could totally get used to this."

“What is going on with us?” Tessa asked, her voice oddly high-pitched and bubbly now. She fidgeted with her hair, which had grown shinier, thicker. "Like, I’m literally glowing right now. What happened to us?”

"I—I don’t even care," Bailey said with a shrug, her voice now more carefree than before. "I’m, like, so over the ghost stuff. I feel hot."

Cassidy, the former leader, stood still, her hands on her hips. Her old, rational thoughts slipped away, and a strange new energy surged inside her. “Honestly? I’m kind of digging this whole vibe. I feel like we should just go out and party. We can figure out the ghosts later.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Tessa laughed, flipping her hair dramatically. “Why deal with spooky stuff when we could be living our best life? I’m, like, ready for a night out.”

“I need, like, so many more outfits,” Zoey giggled, now twirling in the middle of the room. “I’m obsessed with how cute I look!”

Lana spun to face the group, her attitude completely transformed. “Let’s hit up a frat party. I need some attention, and I’m ready for it.”

“I’m like, so ready for this,” Sierra added with a wide, confident grin, brushing her hands through her hair. “We’re totally in charge now.”

Each of the Spellsisters had undergone a full transformation—not just physically, but mentally, as well. Gone were the curious, thoughtful, and empowered women who had walked into the house. In their place stood something else entirely: young, fashionable, superficial versions of themselves, obsessed with parties, boys, and their looks. They were no longer concerned with the supernatural or solving any paranormal mysteries.

Their names had changed along with everything else:

Cassidy became Carmen – the bubbly, fashion-obsessed, carefree girl who only cared about herself and looking perfect.

Bailey became Brianna – the ditzy, energetic girl who was all about fun, partying, and catching attention.

Zoey became Zara – a sparkling, happy-go-lucky girl obsessed with shopping, boys, and being the life of the party.

Tessa became Tiffany – the fun-loving, ditzy girl who lived for drama and self-love.

Lana became Kylie – the confident, flirtatious sorority girl who was always the center of attention.

Sierra became Sienna – the outgoing, trendy girl who always knew what was in style.

Ella became Ellie – the ditzy girl who cared only about getting Instagram selfies and looking cute.

Emilia became Mia – the fashionable, self-centered girl who only thought about herself and her future popularity.

Riley became Riley (yes, Riley kept her name, but now her personality was transformed into that of a carefree, boy-crazy party girl).

Morgan became Madison – the dramatic, always-the-center-of-attention girl who thrived on admiration.

The house had claimed them, and they no longer cared about ghosts, spirits, or mysteries. They were new people, and they were loving their new lives of shopping, partying, and social media fame.

“Ugh, I need a cocktail,” Kylie said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Let’s go hit up a party or something. Who even cares about ghosts anymore?”

And just like that, the Spellsisters were gone. In their place, new, ditzy, party-obsessed sorority girls had emerged. They were more than happy to leave the house’s haunted mysteries behind and step into their new lives.

After a strange, eerie night spent in the haunted Delta Kappa Omega house, the Spellsisters had transformed into something completely different. Gone were the intellectual, nerdy women who had entered the house. In their place were confident, party-obsessed, fashionable girls—completely unconcerned with the ghosts or the mysteries they came to uncover.

At the same time, across town, the former paranormal investigator guys—the Bro Hunters—had undergone a similar transformation in the Delta Kappa Omega’s brother house, Alpha Sigma Pi. Just as the Spellsisters had been turned into bubbly sorority girls, the guys had turned into frat boys—cocky, straight, and eager to hit the nearest party scene.

Cassidy, now Carmen, stood outside the Delta Kappa Omega house, looking up at the massive structure, her perfectly styled hair fluttering in the breeze. She twirled her keys in her hand, glancing down at her new, super-cute outfit—a tight crop top and high-waisted shorts that accentuated her toned body.

“God, I look so good right now,” she muttered to herself, checking her reflection in the window. “I’m literally going to make all the boys fall for me.”

“Carmen! You look like a snack,” Zoey—now Zara—called from across the street. She was leaning against a car, her eyes covered by oversized sunglasses despite the fact that it was nearing dusk. “Like, I swear, you’re hotter than anyone on Instagram.”

“Oh, stop,” Carmen giggled, flipping her hair. “But, like, you’re right.”

“You know what we need to do tonight?” Zara said, a mischievous grin crossing her face. “We need to party, girl. And I know just the place.”

Across the street, a group of frat boys were walking out of Alpha Sigma Pi’s mansion, all loud, cocky, and looking for their next big adventure. Among them were Jax, Max, Zane, Derrick, and Brock—each of them now fully immersed in their frat boy personas, with names to match their new identities.

“Oh, hell yeah, tonight’s gonna be lit,” Jax—formerly Jake—said, his grin wide and confident as he checked out his reflection in the nearby window. His frat brothers—Max, Zane, Derrick, and Brock—flanked him, all dressed in the tightest, most stylish clothes that fit the frat look perfectly.

“We’re gonna own this town,” Zane said, flexing his muscles and striking a pose. “The best party in town? It’s gonna be at our place.”

Brock slapped Zane on the back. “Dude, I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to get some attention tonight. Some real attention.”

“Well, we’re gonna get more than attention,” Max added, cracking his knuckles. “I’m thinking we’ll get ourselves some new girlfriends tonight.”

Just as the frat boys approached their cars, they saw a group of girls walking down the street toward them—Carmen, Zara, and the rest of the new “Spellsisters,” all of them laughing and chatting, their heels clicking against the pavement.

Brock’s eyes immediately locked onto Carmen. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath. “She’s fire.”

“Yo, check it out,” Zane said, pointing at Zara. “She looks like she’s ready for some fun.”

“Hell yeah,” Max said with a grin. “Looks like we’re not the only ones looking to have a good time tonight.”

“Yo, ladies!” Jax called out, flashing a confident smile. “You girls lookin’ to party or what?”

Carmen turned around at the sound of Jax’s voice, and her eyes immediately scanned the group of guys. She felt an overwhelming rush of energy, her pulse quickening. This was it—this was exactly the kind of attention she craved. “Uh, yeah, we’re looking for a good time,” she said, flipping her hair back with an exaggerated flourish. “What’s your deal?”

“Oh, we’re definitely looking for some fun,” Jax replied, stepping closer. His new, cocky swagger was undeniable, and Carmen could feel the electricity between them. “I’m Jax, and this is Max, Zane, Derrick, and Brock. We were just about to hit up a party at the frat house. You down?”

“We’re totally down,” Zara chimed in, flashing a sweet smile that had a hint of mischief. “I’m Zara, and this is Carmen, Ella, Tessa, and Sienna.” She winked at Jax. “We know how to party, trust me.”

“Well, that’s what I like to hear,” Jax grinned, his eyes scanning her body. “You sure you can handle us?”

“I can handle anything,” Zara replied, crossing her arms confidently. “And you guys look like you could use some serious attention.”

Brock stepped forward, grinning. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to make this night unforgettable. Let’s make sure you get the full frat boy experience.”

The Spellsisters and the frat boys laughed together, the instant chemistry between them undeniable. With every word exchanged, the former nerds and introverts grew more confident, their carefree personalities fully taking over.

As the night went on, they moved into the frat house, music blasting and the sound of laughter and chatter filling the air. Carmen was inseparable from Jax, Zara kept flirting with Max, and Sienna couldn’t seem to get enough of Brock. Tessa and Derrick were in the corner, gossiping and laughing about their latest party experiences, while Ella and Zane were dancing together, their chemistry undeniable.

“I’ve never had more fun in my life,” Carmen whispered to Jax as they sipped drinks and stood near the dance floor. “Like, why would I ever go back to my old life?”

“You don’t need to,” Jax replied, his arm casually draped around her waist. “We’ve got everything we need right here. Who needs the paranormal when we can have real fun?”

“Exactly,” Carmen said, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “Who needs the ghosts?”

And in that moment, it became clear—both the Spellsisters and the frat boys had left behind their old, nerdy selves. They were no longer investigators or skeptics; they were now young, fun, and living for the moment. The ghosts that once haunted the Delta Kappa Omega house? Well, they were just part of the past. What mattered now was the party, the attention, and the fun of their new, carefree lives.

And, of course, there was a whole lot of dating going on—because in this new world, the only thing they cared about was each other, the fun they were having, and their new, exciting, drama-filled lives.

(From row 4, 2, 1 left to right, Brock, Zach, Ryan, Tyler, Max, Jake, Kyle, Chad, Brad.)

(From row 4, 3, 2, 1 left to right, Sienna, Zara, Tiffany, Brianna, Ellie, Kylie, Riley, Madison, Carmen, Mia.)

[just-some-random-blogger]

Editorial

Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: "Can I read your diary?" "No." "Please." "I said no." "Pretty please?" "Ellie." "P l e a s e?" "No."

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: Fem!reader, writer!reader, slice of life, mom and dad problems, some meta references, me being corny, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: This can be read like a p2, or within the same universe at least, of this fic but also as a stand alone whatever you want babe Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx

"Ohemgee look!" Ellie calls, running through rubble and debris, making her way off to the rack of magazines with both ripped and dilapidating issues, and ones still very much intact and still in plastic wrapping.

She grins and begins to rummage the rack, "what was the magazine you used to write for again?"

I follow after her, tilting my head at the selection, "I've written for them all actually."

Ellie turns to me, cocking her head out, "whaaaaaaat? Seriously?!"

I shrug, "I was a freelancer."

"That's so fucking cool man!"

I roll my eyes, "yeah, cool, up until you had to pay rent," I turn over my shoulder as Joel walks over to us, then goes down the other aisle, continuing to survey the shelves.

I point, "there's some bleach over there."

Joel looks at it then back to me, "do you want it?"

I shrug.

Joel rolls his eyes and grabs it.

Ellie rips through the pages of one magazine and turns to me, "do you know who Tom Holland is?"

I walk over to her, looking through the available magazines, "actor. He was Spiderman at one point."

"What does that even mean?" Ellie shakes her head.

"It means he played Spiderman in films for a period of time."

"Oh," Ellie turns back to the page, "you in this issue?"

"Honey, I have no idea what date it is today," I reply as I examine other magazine covers. I recognize one of them and take it. Ellie immediately loses interest in the magazine she had, dropping it to the floor, coming close to me, pressing her cheek onto my shoulder as I flip through the pages of the magazine.

The telltale smell of the ink and paper makes me smile. I bring the object close to me and smell it. I chuckle, moving it to Ellie, "smell?"

She gives it a sniff then looks at me.

"Smells nice, right?" I smile.

Ellie gives me a weird look, "... I guess?"

Joel, from afar, comments, "signs of a druggie. Watch closely, Ellie."

I snort. Ellie looks over her shoulder and chuckles, turning back to me. She leans in as I flip the pages, breathing in deeply. I bring the magazine close to her again. She pulls back, sighs, and looks back at me, "I don't get it."

I laugh under my breath, "maybe I am a druggie," I give her a look. She mimics my wacky expression. I then survey the crumbling supermarket and sigh, "or maybe... it's really just not the same."

Ellie watches me as I go through the magazine.

She perks when I make a sound. I scan the pages and begin to laugh as I point to the corner, "and behold."

"HOLY SHIT!" Ellie gapes. She takes the magazine from me and begins to eagerly read the work upon seeing my name on the side. Ellie's jaws are parted as she goes through the text.

I laugh, brushing her hair back amorously.

"JOEL, SHE'S FAMOUS!" she shouts as I begin to walk off to the said man.

Joel grunts, "congratulations."

I chuckle as reach Joel and his push cart full of whatever he deemed important enough to take. He mumbles to me once I'm close enough, "sold your soul to the devil for shit."

I grab the box of thumbtacks on the shelf and place it in the cart, "I was told it was actually just a minor demon."

"WHO'S PEDRO PASCAL?" Ellie calls.

"Actor," I turn over my shoulder and call back. I then turn back to Joel, "was he the one in that Marvel film?"

"I don't give a fuck," Joel shakes his head as we continue going down the aisle.

"OHEMGEE YOU SAID IN YOUR ARTICLE YOU HAD A CRUSH ON HIM?" Ellie laughs.

"I honestly don't remember babe!" I reply to her.

"IS THIS HIM?!" she shouts and begins to run over.

Ellie pants as makes her way to us with a bunch of magazines in her arms. She rips one of them open once she is next to me, throwing the rest in the cart. Joel eyes Ellie after doing this.

She then points to a stylishly suited man with mustache and a debonair smile. The image of him instantly jogs my memory. I gasp and pull the magazine closer to me, "no wait, I remember. I did have such a big crush on him. He was so sweet and he made me laugh the whole interview."

"OHEMGEE!" Ellie giggles, "that's so cheesy of you!"

Joel grunts as he pushes his cart over a rocky part.

I grin at the sight of magazine Pedro Pascal. Ellie then begins to look between the magazine and Joel. She tilts her head then suddenly points, "oh my gosh, Joel looks like him."

"What?"

"That's why you like him," Ellie grins, "he looks like your actor crush!"

I give her a look, "Joel looks nothing like him, Ellie."

"What do you mean?! The mustache, the eyes, everything! That's Joel."

"Maybe if you showed me a pic of Joel in his heyday, I'd pretend to believe you. But that would honestly be such an insult to Pedrito."

"Pedrito," Joel scoffs under his breath, "Ellie take those magazines out of the cart. We are not taking them."

I steal a look at Joel as hold back a laugh. I shake my head, "rip the page of my article out. I'm feeling sentimental."

Later that day, on our stopover, I was curled up, sitting at the roof our car, looking between my notebook and the ripped page of my magazine laughing to myself. It was an amazing feat to find this in the middle of everything.

"Can I read your diary?"

I look down to my side, smile dampening slightly, "no."

"Please."

"I said no."

"Pretty please?"

"Ellie."

"P l e a s e?"

"No," I raise my brows at her. I motion to Joel who was going through some of the abandoned cars, "go help Joel."

"He told me to wait in the car because I'm a nuisance."

I scoff out a chuckle, "you're not a nuisance, baby."

"I know," she reaches out to me, "but if you feel bad, let me read your diary."

I roll my eyes, "why do you want to read my diary so bad?"

"Why do you write to much?"

"If I didn't, one of us would be dead," I said.

She gasps, "I get killing Joel, but me? You could never, you love me!"

I don't get to reply as Joel comes back and orders me to get off the roof.

Later that night, Ellie wakes up to the sound of arguing. We were camped in the middle of the woods and promised no one else would be camping. She shoots up from her sleeping bag and sees two people arguing from afar. She panics, turning to see the two sleeping bags by her side were empty, then she realizes that they were the ones fighting.

She pretends to go to sleep.

The sound of bickering intensifies.

Ellie gathers from the hushed growls there had been an accident.

In the morning, Ellie would find out whatever happened last night got the adults to non-speaking terms. She does not have the guts to ask, even through the silence of the long drive.

"Go left," I coldly dictate.

Joel turns left.

Ellie nibbles on her lower lip as she leans forward between the two front seats. She looks over to me. She looks over to Joel.

"So..." she says.

No one responds to her.

She notices how I lift my leg up when we pass a hump. Ellie points to my foot, "what happened to your ankle?"

"Accident," I turn to her with a soft smile.

Ellie looks worried, "is it broken?"

"Sprained," I retort.

"Twisted," Joel cuts.

I turn to Joel, "I've had worse sprains from running before."

"Oh, I'm sure you did!" He turns to me, "then you went back to your apartment-"

I turn away from him.

"-and put fucking ice and hot compress on it."

I sigh as I look out the window.

"I mean I'm sure you can do that now-- oh wait," Joel turns back front, "you cant!"

Ellie leans back into her seat, thinking of something to say to change the subject. She leans onto the window, eyes widening, "ohemgee, look, it's a family of-"

"I wouldn't have gotten in an accident had you not snuck off at-"

"I didn't sneak off!"

"Oh yeah," I turn back to him, "you made it a point not to wake me."

"You're a heavy sleep-"

"I'm really not, Joel!" I bark, "you wanted to do some heroic shit by doing a run all by your-"

"YEAH AND I REGRET DOING IT ALRIGHT!"

"WELL YOU SHOULD BECAUSE YOU'RE SO FULL OF SHIT WHEN YOU SAY THAT YOU-"

"I'M FULL OF SHIT!?!"

"YES YOU, YOU DIPSHIT! IS THERE ANY OTHER HILLBILLY FUCKER HERE THAT GRINDS MY GEARS SO FUCKING MUCH I WANT TO FUCKING -"

"YEAH WELL YOU'RE A FUCKING PRETENCIOUS RAT WHO HAS NO IDEA HOW TO SURVIVE BECAUSE ALL YOU USED TO EVER DO WAS GET ON YOUR LITTLE COMPUTER-"

"THAT MAKES YOU FEEL SO FUCKING HAPPY RIGHT? THE FACT YOU WORKED IN MANUAL LABOR AND-"

"NO IT DOESN'T MAKE ME FUCKING HAPPY-"

"SHUT UP!" Ellie rips through the verbal abuse, "SHUT UP! SHUT UP! Shut up!"

Joel and I look turn away from each other, heaving in anger.

The tensions worsened once he had to go on foot.

"Ellie," I say, turning to the girl, "you have a choice. Do you want to go with me, or do you want to go with Joel?"

"We're sl-" Ellie panics, "we're splitting up?!"

Joel says something under his breath that I wholeheartedly ignore.

I release a breath and motion vaguely, "we're getting two different things," I point to the left, "one is in the tunnels, which stinks worse than shit," I point to Joel on the right, "and one is up in building, but you have to climb, like, a hundred levels."

"49," Joel grunts.

I shrug, not bothering to look at him, "your pick, El."

Ellie looks between me and Joel. She begins to overthink what was happening. Before I could tell her it wasn't a big deal, she blurts out, "can you walk by yourself?"

I purse my lips, feeling somehow defeated by the fact her question meant she was choosing Joel. I nod once, "I told you, I've had worse."

Joel scoffs.

"My ankle is fine," I speak sternly.

Ellie nods, "okay. I want to wait in the car."

Joel and I turn to each other when she says this. I quickly turn back to her and furrow my brows, "you sure?"

She nods, "I'm kind of tired actually... we woke up... pretty early."

I nod slowly and ask, not looking at who I was talking to though, "you good with that?"

Ellie turns to Joel. She looks back where his sights were, watching me stretch my neck. Joel nods once, "don't go outside the car."

Ellie turns to Joel and nods back, "I wont."

Ellie burns time by going through some of the pages from magazines she had ripped out for herself. Once she was bored of that, she began to count the windows on all the buildings she could see. Once she was bored of that, she began looking for something else to read.

And then it struck her. The diary. It was here, fresh for the pickings.

Ellie wastes no more time. She opens a random page.

Day ~98 with Joel & Ellie

I didn't write for two days because we nearly died, Suzie.

Who's Suzie?

I'm glad we didn't. I'm glad you're still here. If you were a real person, you would have wanted to die after what we went through, considering the state of you, pages falling off and all. Ellie would have roasted you for your appearance.

Ok... Suzie's the diary?

I would have loved to have been her teacher in literature. She's got an amazing mind. She uses fuck as a punctuation though.

Fuck yeah!

Joel would have been her substitute math teacher who actually taught PE. He'd be really good at math though actually, he'll teach you how to compute rates and interest. He's good at that. He's practical. He's safe. I love him Suzie. I love them both.

Cute, she thinks. Ellie skims the page and tries to part the others that were stuck together. She gives up on that and decides to read something else.

Joel gave me a hicky-

Nope.

Joel nearly broke my back af-

NOPE.

I FUCKING HATE JOEL SO MUCH

Better.

I DONT UNDERSTAND WHY HE ACTS LIKE THIS

Ellie squints at the furious handwriting, unable to read parts of the passage.

I DON KNOW WHAT PLANET HE THINKS KEEPING THE FACT HES INJURED FROM ME IS A GOOD THING LIKE I WOULDNT NOTICE LIKE SUDDENLY I WOULDNT CARE

Ellie tilts her head at the next words she reads.

I HATE THAT HES SO SCARED OF EVERYTHING HE MAKES ME WANT TO EXPLODE

She ponders on what the text she read meant cause- well... Joel's not afraid of anything. She reads something else.

I look at your face and I feel like the noise doesn't have a sound. I feel your calloused hand touch me like I'm the most precious thing, even when they hurt me so bad. Don't push me away. I love you so much. We can do things together. We should do things together. I can stay up late sometimes. I can stay up late with you. Why don't you trust me? You're strong and capable. I love you. I am not. I am nothing to you. I am nothing. I am weak and timid. But with you I am everything. Why won't you believe me? Why won't you trust me? I love you. Joel. Ellie. I cant take care of you. I can take care of her. I love you. please believe me.

Later that night. We've set up camp by the woods.

"You want this?" I ask Ellie as I give her the other half of my food. She reaches out for it, but pulls her hand back when Joel barks, "don't take that."

I shoot him a look, "I'm not hungry any-"

"Like hell you are!" Joel snaps, "you didn't eat anything in the afternoon."

"I wasn't hungry then either."

"So what?" he chews exaggeratedly, "you're going through something? Or you're doing this to get back at me?'

I scoff and shake my head. I walk off.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" Joel screams as he watches me walk off.

"I'm going to take a PISS by the fucking LAKE!"

Ellie watches Joel as he watches me.

Ellie looks at the fire in the middle of them. Joel mutters under his breath. She licks her lips, "you know... it's... okay."

Joel turns to Ellie, giving her an incredibly annoyed look, "what?!"

"... you don't have to always be the strong one," Ellie mumbles as she looks off to the distance, "she's really strong too."

"You mean bullheaded," Joel grunts as he finishes the last of his food.

Ellie turns back to Joel, finding that he was looking at the same direction she had been. She brushes crumbs off her, "you worry about her. She worries about you-"

Joel turns to Ellie.

"I'm worried about my eardrums..." she trails off, looking to the dark sky, "but strangely enough, I'd rather go deaf with all your screaming than never be able to see you fight again."

Ellie pauses. She scrunches her face up and looks down at Joel. She raises a finger, "I was trying to be sentimental but I feel like that just makes no sense."

His nostrils flare, "you should leave the sentimentalities to-"

AHHHHHHH!

Joel shoots up from his spot and looks out to the source of the scream. Ellie shoots up as well, tense as she looks between Joel and the dark unknown, "should we-"

"Wait here," Joel says, grabbing a gun as he quickly makes his way deep into the woods.

Ellie watches as she uneasily fidgets on her spot.

Joel listens intently to the sounds around him. He slows then continues after hearing what he did, gun up and ready.

"Joel?" I call out as I walk. I repeat his name as I continue through the forest. I grunt when I step on a rock with my bad ankle. I lean against tree as I wince in pain. I try to stretch my injured ankle. It's a bad idea. I hiss.

I hear my name get called out. Before I can even look, there is a hand on my arm.

I turn and see Joel looking at me with a concerned expression. I whimper as he takes my cheek in his palm and shift to face him. He quickly asks, "are you okay? What happened? Is someone here? Did you fall? I-"

I silence him by placing my hand on his cheek, "Joel."

Joel's brows tense.

I sigh and shake my head, "I was... I was spooked by a racoon that brushed against me while I was peeing."

He lets out a breath. His shoulders relax and he lowers his gun. He then puts his weapon away and wipes his face. I chew my lower lip and grip on his bicep.

Joel turns to me as I give him a look. I gulp, "I also... stepped on a rock, and... my ankle hurts... like... really ba-"

I am cut off when Joel bends down and picks me up in his arms. I squeak and grip tightly on him. He grunts when he begins to walk off. I begin to feel agitated as he strains, "Joel-"

"Shut up," he blurts, "I can fling you into the sun if I want."

I lick my lips as I adjust my arms around his shoulders, "but what about your back?"

"What about my back?" he mumbles, "you haven't been eating and it shows. I would run a lap with you in my arms."

"..."

"You have to stop skipping meals."

"... I'm not hun-"

"I didn't ask if you were."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"Joel."

"What?"

"I don't like it when we fight."

Joel scoffs out a chuckle.

"I'm sorry."

He sighs as he continues walking back to our camp. I caress his cheek. He looks down at me, blinking slowly, "I'm sorry too."

Joel looks back up and I begin to fiddle with his collar. A smile plays on my lips, "you know when you say 'too', it's like you're just agree-"

"I'm sorry," he blurts.

I hold back my chuckle, "well now it really feels like you're just agreeing with me."

"Do you want me to drop you?" he rolls his eyes as he gives me a quick look.

"I don't mind," I smile, brushing his hair back, "I like it like this. When I'm injured," I stroke his jaw, "you always do what I ask you to."

Joel clenches his jaw as he eyes me darkly.

I chuckle softly, rubbing the line between his brows, "hey."

"What?" he quips, no longer looking at me.

"I love you."

He purses his lips. His chest releases a deep breath of air. Joel spots Ellie from afar, and she very evidently spots us as she calls out. She runs over to us, "holy fuck, what the fuck happened?!"

I turn to Ellie and smile, "I'm being dramatic," I call back.

I reach out to her and caress her cheek, explaining my incident with the racoon.

At this point, we all had our sleeping bags set up and were getting ready to go tot be.

I give Joel a kiss on the cheek before he pulls away after helping me in my spot.

Ellie catches this then places a hand on her chest, "oh thank fuck you guys made up."

I turn to Ellie as she brings her sleeping bag close to mine. She says, "it was because of me right?"

I watch as Ellie looks out to Joel, who does nothing but set up his own bag close to mine.

Ellie begins to ramble, "I took a page from your book and got really sentimental with Joel."

I snicker, "did you, now?"

"Yeah," she raises a hand, "I talked about... going deaf and not being able to... hear you fight or something-- honestly, it was really cringy."

I give her a look, "are you indirectly calling me cringy."

"Absolutely," Ellie speaks without missing a beat as she nods her head.

I scoff, "you're so mean."

"No," she shakes her head and beings pointing, "he's the mean one, I'm the funny one, you're the sentimental one."

I laugh and shake my head at her words, "okay, sweetheart. Whatever you say."

The three of us are now cozied up in our bags.

"Good night mom and dad," Ellie says.

"Night, my love," I mutter, brushing her cheek, "I love you."

"Love you, mommy," she says softly then a little louder, "Love you, Joel!"

I grin and turn to Joel, "I love you, Joel."

Joel rolls on his side, facing away from us.

I curl up in my blanket and release a breath.

"I love you... I love you."

[summer-nights19]

HELLO!! i saw your tokyo debunker fic requests posts, may i request some fluff with jin, rui, or jiro ?? Bonus if it involves a date, flowers, or a kiss that is NOT on the lips ♡

Thank you for the request, Anon. It's so cute <3

Since he's my favourite of the three, I went ahead and did Jin

Roses and stars

After a very long first day with Vagastrom, you'd finally made it back to your dorm. Honestly, the entire thing had been exhausting - the Vagastrom ghouls were difficult to work with and also didn't seem to like you very much - so you couldn't wait to curl up in your bed and sleep. As you moved to open the door to your dilapidated dormitory, you felt your foot kick something on the floor. Startled, you looked down at the object, your curiosity rising.

Someone had left a large bunch of white roses by your doorstep, along with a little note. Feeling your heart flutter in your chest and your face heat up, you picked up the roses and went upstairs to put them in an old vase by your bed before you finally looked at the note, which was written in a neat, slanted cursive.

Dear MC

I'm taking you out tomorrow afternoon after you come back from Vagastrom. I'll pick you up from your dorm.

Jin

Your heart leaped when you saw the name on the page. Sure, you'd had a crush on the Frostheim captain ever since you'd first worked with him, but you'd never in a million years dreamt that he might feel the same way.

"Stop it, MC. It's probably not that kind of outing. He definitely just wants to discuss Darkwick business, " you told yourself firmly, but, despite this, you couldn't help but hope that your initial instinct was right. Eventually, you let your exhaustion take over and fell asleep while still clutching the note, your dreams haunted by a certain tall, blue eyed man.

***

After finishing up at Vagastrom the next day, you'd headed straight to your dorm. The closer you got, the more violent the butterflies in your stomach became and the more nervous you felt. You hadn't had time to pick out a decent outfit to wear, so you'd have to rush getting changed. Not that it mattered, because it definitely wasn't that kind of outing, right ?

As soon as you got to your dorm, you flung yourself into the door and changed at lighting speed. Just as you were finishing up with your hair, you heard a knock on the front door. Taking a deep breath, you went to answer it.

"Hi Jin," you smiled at the man in front of you, who looked as devastatingly handsome as ever. As he looked back down on you with his cold blue eyes, the hint of a smile played on Jin's lips as well. Without hesitation, he took your hand in his own and led you out of your dorm. You looked away, blushing. His hand was a lot larger than yours and unexpectedly warm.

"So... what did you need to discuss with me today ?" you asked, a part of you still clinging on to the hope that this wouldn't be about business matters. Jin sighed, rolling his eyes slightly.

"I'm taking you out, Y/N. I thought the flowers would have made that clear,"

You swore your heart rate tripled at hearing his response.

"Yes, sorry ... I just wanted do be sure. They were lovely, by the way, so thank you. Where are we going ? I don't have an R&R permit for today I'm afraid..."

Jin smirked at you and you felt a knot forming in your stomach.

"It's a surprise. And don't worry about the R&R permit, I have handled everything,"

As you walked the rest of the way to the Galaxy Express in companionable silence, you wondered what Jin could possibly have in mind. Knowing him, it was probably something fancy and expensive, like dinner at a fancy restaurant or a beach trip on his private yacht. When you finally got on the train, you sat next to each other, your leg brushing against his. He still hadn't let go of your hand., and his eyes were feasting on you as if you were a three course meal.

"Look outside," Jin gently shifted your chin towards the window in front of you, and what you saw nearly took your breath away. You were right in the middle of an endless field full of white roses just like the ones he'd gifted you. All around you, silver stars twinkled all over the purple sky, casting an almost azure glow on the roses.

"It's beautiful," you whispered, still awestruck by what you saw. "I didn't even know the Galaxy Express stopped here,"

"That's because it normally doesn't, but I bribed the conductor so he'd take us here today," Jin explained, looking smug. Your delighted look pleased him more than he wanted to admit. The Galaxy Express stopped in the middle of the field, and Jin led you out to the middle of the field, which was completely isolated. It was like you were the only two people in the world.

With a serious expression on his face, Jin let go of your hand and produced a small velvet box from the pocket of his expensive coat, which he handed to you.

"MC ... ever since you started at Darkwick academy, you have invaded every corner of my mind, and, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop myself from growing closer to you. Now, I simply don't want to - you are thr only person who makes me feel this way. Be my partner, MC,"

You met Jin's serious gaze with bright eyes and a smile that lit up your entire face, which he found even more beautiful than all the roses in the surrounding field.

"Jin, there's no one more precious to me than you. Of course I'll be your partner,". As soon as you replied, Jin smiled at you, any trace of coldness gone from his eyes. Silently, he opened the box he'd given you and took out a sapphire pendant, which he fastened around your neck. Then, he leaned in and gave you a gentle kiss on the cheek, his lips cold and smooth, before taking your hand in his own again and guiding you to sit down on the grass in the middle of the roses.

You didn't know how much time you'd spent like that, with his arm wrapped around your waist and your head on his shoulder as you talked and watched the stars - all you knew is that it had felt like heaven.

Masterlist

[boxheadpaint]

love artist impressions based on data of exoplanets but for some reason absolutely thrilled by the Shittiest Actual Photographs we have of them. the obvious thing is that unlike stars, exoplanets are 1)small and 2)not usually emitting any strong visible light. this makes them near impossible to get a clear photo of and every image you see of a fully defined sphere with colors or clouds is entirely from the mind of an artist based on the available data and conclusions of said data of that particular insterstellar piece of Thing. every photograph of the real physical object is always Very small and ... doesn't tell you much because the planet itself only takes up maybe 3% of the image

if i had to take a guess, to get any visual on them you need them to be reflecting the light of their nearby star At An Angle Facing The Camera, and slash or giving off their own infrared light, and even then theyre still So Small that they show up as just little glowing jellybeans

when it comes to Different Kinds Of Stuff In Space just being able to barely see these things that we know exist makes me bizarrely nervous and delighted, not for the fear of like oh aliens are gonna fucking get me or anything but i think for just being aware of something unfathomable far out of our reach. like an ant suddenly realizing that its living on a massive globe larger than anything its ever understood and on the other side of that globe is like, a dilapidated barn or something else seemingly inane in the grand scheme of things and the ant has to sit and think about what that barn is like for the thrill i suppose

[cyber-dump-171]

Chapter 5: Call a doctor!

Objection! Stand your ground! Marvelous! (Twisted Wonderland x Reader)

← Chapter 4 | Masterlist | Chapter 6 →

Word count: 6.5k.

WARNING: brief mentions of injuries, and various diseases.

Note: We're starting with Heartslabyul's arc!

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You awoke while the night sky was still dark, gray clouds blending together as they covered the round silver moon. Your skin feels cold to the touch, and the tips of your fingers are numb from the freezing weather. 

As your teary eyes scan your surroundings, a vague feeling of disappointment combined with dread grips your heart. Despite everything you experienced the day before, a small voice in your brain had convinced you this was a dream. A bad nightmare, fueled by stress and sleep deprivation from your insomnia, had created this elaborate and fucked-up scenario. 

Unfortunately, the small blades of grass that prickle your back tell you that you're still trapped in this world with no way to go back to your home.

Feeling the sleepiness leave your body, you groan as the bones of your stiff back crack loudly as you stretch your arms above your head, and like a chain reaction, your movements inadvertently wake your other two roommates who were snoring soundly next to you.

Fígaro is the first to open his eyes, slowly removing his right hand that had accidentally landed on your stomach while tossing and turning in his sleep. Man, he moves a lot. While he sleepily runs a hand through his tangled locks, Yuuken rises next to him, some dry leaves and twigs stuck into his hair as he rubs his eyes using his fist. “Mornin',” he grumbles with a yawn, and you both reply with an incoherent string of words along the same greeting.

You kick off the heavy sheet; your skin feels sticky and oily from exposure to the dirt and the ungodly heat emanating from Fígaro. “Somebody has the time?” the Finnish man mutters beside you, turning to his side as he snuggles further into the pillow. Yuuken drowsily stares into the distance, ignoring the conversation. “I’ll go check,” you reply with a yawn.

Your legs feel like jelly as you get up and wobbly make your way to the Ramshackle dormitory to check the hour ticking away on the miraculously still-alive wall clock you found yesterday during your “cleaning” spree. As you grumpily open the dilapidated door, you encounter three particularly annoying faces.

“Ooooooh, good morning, child!” the chubby ghost greets you happily, the other two semi-invisible dumbasses behind him giggling annoyingly as if the prank they were playing was so hilarious. Too tired to argue with them, you push past the cold figures and squint to see the clock hands moving behind the dirty, yellowed broken glass. 4:18 a.m. Well, at this point it might be best to just start the day… you highly doubt you’ll be able to go back to sleep.

“Awwww, leaving so soon, friend? We hope you come back alive! The dust misses you,” mocking laughter echoes through the rotten walls as you leave the house without looking back, you feel something pulsing in your brain trying to give you an unnecessary headache. You’ll deal with the ghosts when you return, for now, it’s best to get a move on.

The howling wind from last night has died down to a light breeze, but the temperature has dropped considerably, as little puffs of warm steam leave your mouth with every breath you take. Judging by the dead leaves littering the ground and the bare branches, this place is either in the middle of autumn or approaching winter. 

Unfortunately, as you return to your makeshift campsite and feel the sharp wind cut against your skin, you're made painfully aware of the lack of sweaters, as your world was still in the middle of summer when you were abducted. Shivering from the cold, Yuuken steals the blanket that was lying on the ground, wrapping himself in the fabric to protect himself from the air. Fígaro doesn't seem to mind the temperature, lying in a star position while looking at the sky. 

At this point, it's best to start the morning routine.

So the three of you unanimously decide to check the “lost and found” first for any kind of warm clothing or other items that might help you get through the next few days. Since Crowley covers food and water, you suggest using your first paycheck to buy some underwear, toiletries, and maybe some cleaning supplies. You want to avoid repeating the events of the previous day and be able to sleep comfortably in a bed without worrying about bugs or dirt.

Fígaro adds, with a yawn, that to speed up the process of getting more money, it would be wise to sell any valuables you have with you, such as jewelry and watches, unless they have some sentimental value. You gently nudge the Kendo student walking sleepily beside you, pointing out the sad expression on the Finnish man's face as he stares at his decorated fingers.

Though you and Yuuken quickly intervened that he shouldn't feel pressured to sell his valuables, the blond man simply shrugged you off, having already taken off most of his jewelry except for a silver ring with a small chalcedony stone that sits on his index finger.

“Thank you for your concern, both of you, but most of these were from sponsored merchandise or gifts from acquaintances. This is the only piece that is very precious to me,” he whispers as he lovingly looks at the ring. Without much thought, you step forward and deposit any loose jewelry that you had little to no attachment to, only keeping a black leather wristwatch that you bought with your first salary.

While it hurts to sell what had been hours of part-time work, at this point surviving and seeing your family and friends are the only thoughts that drive your decision. Yuuken seems to think so too, as he drops a sterling silver thumb ring on the pile.

Fígaro stores the jewelry in a well-worn cross-body bag he found in one of the sheets the ghost had used to prank him the night before. It had seen better days, with pieces of fabric torn off in various places and several indentations on the black leather straps from stress. Although the blond man complains about the quality, he insists that it will work. He gives you a small smile before gently ushering you to continue your path.

The rest of the way is quiet, except for a few yawns and some brief but awkward banter. Back inside the huge building, you lead your two roommates to the library, remembering the twists and turns on the map you examined yesterday. 

You highly doubt that you'll be able to find so many clothes or useful materials in there, after all, the "lost and found" is usually a big cardboard box that the secretary sticks under the desk, right?

You were dead wrong.

As the friendly ghostly librarian led you through the room where the bookcases were so high you swore they touched the roof, the last thing you expected to find was a utility closet labeled “lost and found”. Even more impressive was the fact that every single shelf in there was filled to the brim with various items.

“Feel free to take anything. Most of these articles have been in here for over a year and no one has come to claim them. I'm sure you'll make good use of them!” with a cheerful farewell, the sweet ghost disappears, leaving the three of you staring at the room with open mouths and owlish eyes.

“Well then, let’s give these things a good home,” Fígaro states as your hands and fingers begin to dig through the shelves, picking out various items, examining them, and either taking them or putting them back in their place. You're able to find four sweaters in good condition that could help protect you from the cold.

You end up taking other items like a scarf, a (surprisingly) clean water bottle and a thermos, a portable sewing kit that was missing a few threads and needles, and a small fiction book. But the most valuable item of all, and the one that you could hardly believe had not been claimed by anyone to this day, was a tablet with a shabby charger attached to it.

“I call dibs!” you announce quickly before grabbing the rectangular device, feeling like a gremlin as you chuckle mischievously and eye it like a piece of gold. Yuuken lets out an “aw” behind you, disappointed that you beat him to it, while Fígaro gives you a dirty look, questioning your behavior before shaking his head with a chuckle. “I think we’re good, I don’t know what else to take,” the Kendo student mutters under his breath while doing one last look over the shelves.

“If we’re missing something, we’ll make a mental note and return here. But, we should get a move on, or else we won’t have time for breakfast,” you indicate while gazing out of a nearby window, observing as the twilight merges with the sunny colors of the sky. “Goodness… let’s first head to the showers.”

As you hurriedly leave the library, Yuuken and you exchange some jokes while Fígaro quietly laughs at your childish banter. You fail to notice a pair of green eyes curiously examining you from the dark. Again.

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You’re absolutely, 100% sure that what you’re currently doing is illegal.

This has to violate some type of law, right? You're well aware that Crowley could potentially be sued for violating child labor laws, especially since even though you're 17, your parents have to sign a contract and the crow can only make you work a certain amount of hours.

Also, even though you have some first aid certifications, you don't have a medical permit to work, much less administer medication. Holy crap, you don't even have supervision! What if you screw up?

Well, the headmaster of this institution didn't give a damn, because after showing you how to work the system, he gave you a comforting pat on the shoulder and quickly left the infirmary.

You feel a little nervous as you’re left alone in the office, but you lift your spirits as you promise to do your best to take care of the students.

And here you are. The warm, bitter liquid touches your lips as your fingers type away on the tablet’s screen, opening a new email account. It's a moment of peace since you began your shift, and by God, you never imagined how reckless some students at this place could be. You expected them to be more rowdy than usual for an all-boys school, but treating over twenty different injuries in four hours is a cause for concern.

It started pretty normal, with headaches and scraped knees that weren't that big of a deal. Just some medicine and a note to rest and avoid exercise for the day. Then it went up a notch when two students in white and red suits stormed into the infirmary, holding their hands as they'd suffered first-degree burns while making tea. All that was needed was to place the reddened skin under cool water, apply and prescribe petroleum jelly, and bandage the wound.

And then it got weird. 

A boy had crashed into a tree while riding his broom and required help removing the splinters. Then, two students were suffering from the effects of a faulty spell and needed to be prescribed a special concoction (thank whatever deity for the digital medical encyclopedia installed in the infirmary's computer). Another student was accidentally turned into a monster during a fight, and you had to subdue the creature until the spell wore off.

And now, you're currently dealing with a person who has contracted "fisherman’s fever" from a failed experiment performed in potionology class.

The device in your hand vibrates as a shrill but catchy tune plays over the speakers, indicating the timer is up. You place the dark green ceramic coffee mug that has the cringeworthy inscription "Adulting is hard AF" on the white desk and take a look at the potion brewing in the glass pot. 

According to the medical encyclopedia, to treat the disease, the scales that appear on the person's skin must be delicately removed using a sharp object. Then, to cure the internal effects such as the transformation of human blood into cold blood and the appearance of gills, the person must drink a special tea made with a bizarre combination of ingredients three times a day for a week. 

You sigh softly, the scent of mint and mandrake permeating the air as the rays of the morning sun stream in through the window, adding some color to the gray infirmary. As your weary eyes watch a series of hot bubbles appear and quickly burst at the inner corners of the pot, you grab the metallic spatula spoon and carefully stir the liquid, which has taken on a muted cyan hue. A voice behind you coughs, drawing your attention, but you keep your gaze on the tea.

“Is he going to be okay?” the student's friend, whose name you learned is Kyle Blackwood, asks from the side of the bed, worried eyes watching his friend's tanned skin turn an awful shade of pale green. 

After straining and then pouring the scalding liquid into a ceramic mug, you approach the stiff bed, avoiding the metal bucket on the side with the remnants of the shiny green scales you removed with a scalpel nearly half an hour ago. You softly nudge the shoulder of Hyde Sage, the sick student, to wake him up from his stupor. 

“He'll be fine so long as he doesn't skip his tea. If he gets worse, like his skin turning blue or you see some gills on the side of his neck, take him to a hospital,” you indicate with a stern tone, hoping that the threat of a hospital visit might scare the first year into not skipping the medicine. 

Unfortunately, the rumor that you and your roommates are magicless people spread faster than you had expected, as such, some of the students you had attended decided to disobey your instructions, refuting under their breath that what would you know, being from another world and without magic.

You are grateful for your interactions with customer service that you gained from your many part-time jobs. Despite being bad and even traumatic memories, you learned quite a lot on how to deal with stubborn people. This was no exception; instead of giving in to the anger or being intimidated by their comments and mocking grimaces, you kept a neutral expression and listed all the possible side effects of what would happen if they didn’t get their injuries or sickness treated.

Of course, you never lied, after all a small wound can develop into a catastrophic disease. It worked most of the time, their faces turning pale at the large list of infections and illnesses, and they quickly snatched the medicine from your hands, consuming it as fast as they could before they exited the office. Some quietly thanked you, others didn’t say anything. 

Other times, when they were particularly argumentative, they were scolded by friends or classmates who brought them into the infirmary, telling them to shut up and just take the pills. You silently thanked them with a small smile, and they returned the gesture with a nod.

As you place the mug on a nearby table, both Hyde and Kyle let out a gasp as their eyes widen at your words. Still, many of the students are relatively nice or are too preoccupied with schoolwork to bother you or deny the treatment, such as the two teenagers sitting in front of you. Sensing their distress, you shake your head, gently patting Hyde's shoulder to ease their panic slightly.

“Don’t worry, it’s a worst-case scenario. Your fever has gone down, and your skin is starting to return to its normal color. Just, make sure to not skip the tea,” your lukewarm fingers gently press against the student’s forehead, a sigh of relief slips past your lips as you feel the earlier fever has subsided. Your free arm slides under his back and pushes, silently instructing him to sit up.

Kyle jumps at the opportunity to help him up as well, fluffing up the pillows and tucking them behind his back to make him more comfortable. As you hand the freshman the hot cup and tell him to be careful, you chuckle to yourself as you watch his nose scrunch up at the strong smell. “Bottom’s up, bud. Unless you want to become a fish.”

Hearing your words, he panics momentarily before judgmentally staring at the rather viscous liquid and bringing it close to his lips. As soon as a drop sneaks past his open mouth and lands on his tongue, Hyde physically recoils, a shiver shakes his shoulders and makes his skin crawl. He almost places the mug down in disgust, but pushes forward, remembering how much a trip to the hospital costs. Kyle gingerly pats his back as a sign of support and comfort.

Meanwhile, you return to the desk, moving your attention to the enormous metal cabinet that houses a variety of pills and medicines. You crouch down and open the compartment underneath, the door sliding open with a loud, unpleasant squeak, giving way to rows of glass bottles of various sizes and other medical paraphernalia.

Your fingers brush gently against the various containers as you calculate how much liquid is left in the pot. After a few seconds of mental calculations and the clatter of glass, you successfully locate and pull out a bottle to store the remaining tea; your ears perk up as you hear the clink of a ceramic object on a table and the rustle of sheets and clothing.

In one swift movement, you uncork the bottle, place the strainer over the opening, and begin to pour the liquid into it with ease. You unconsciously hold your breath as all of your mental concentration is focused on avoiding spilling as much as possible, although a few drops do escape and gently run down the side of the crystal. Two pairs of footsteps approach you as the last few drops of the tea land inside the bottle.

“This should give you 7-8 cups of tea. Drink it at a temperature of 65°C and don't let it cool down, it will lose its effects,” you screw the cap on as tightly as you can to avoid spills and turn around, running into the two students. Hyde's complexion looks much better, and a small smile is now appearing on his face instead of a terrified expression.

Gently, you hand him the bottle and your free hand grabs two small notes you wrote while the tea was boiling. One has a checklist written in blue ink, while the other is a more formal sheet of paper. "Here are the instructions on how to make the tea and this is your excuse to skip the rest of your classes today, deliver it to the headmaster. Then, return to your dorm, set the alarms for your tea, and try to rest today to regain your energy."

Both students nod eagerly at your instructions, gently taking away the notes from your tired hands. You’re relieved to see Hyde in a much better condition than when he arrived, remembering Kyle's panicked yells as he dragged him to the infirmary office. He was limp and couldn’t stop shivering, his skin was clammy and his eyes were constantly rolling to the back of his head. As you dismiss both of them, you’re taken aback when the two of them suddenly bow with big, happy smiles on their faces.

“T-Thank you very much, Mx. (Y/N)!” you scratch your head sheepishly at the way Hyde addresses you, not expecting such a reaction. “Don’t mention it… just doing my job. Also,  (Y/N)’s fine. No need to be so formal,” the two return to their original positions before nodding merrily. As they walk towards the door, they wave again, the crimson and yellow ribbons tied to their left arms fluttering slightly as they move.

Soon, the door to the infirmary closes softly, and the office is plunged into a comfortable silence as the footsteps and lively conversation of the Scarabian students fade into the distance. You sigh as you lazily throw yourself onto the swivel chair, which creaks loudly under the sudden weight, and bring your fingers to massage the temples of your forehead.

‘That should be patient number #21… I better fill out the form and get to cleaning if I want to finish opening my accounts.’

Your hands land on the gray keyboard that sits in front of you, several of the letters blurred or missing, showing the constant use of the device. The monitor comes to life as you move the mouse, the cursor hovering over the “+” symbol and opening a new window, displaying an empty patient form. Without wasting a second, your fingers tap out different combinations, forming words to fill the empty boxes.

Time passes; outside, the birds chirp a happy tune and the clouds dance in the sky as you click the “Send” button and a message appears on the screen informing you that the form has been successfully accepted. As you stretch your arms over your head, your bones cracking stiffly, the rectangular device that’s been sitting idle for nearly an hour vibrates and the screen turns on to reveal a new notification.

Beyond satisfying your dire need to consume technology and geek content, the tablet is a key factor in your survival. In an unfamiliar world, where you don't know its customs, let alone its politics, the most important thing you need to do is nourish yourself with information on how to navigate this new labyrinth. Therefore, the moment you reset your device to its factory settings, you opened several accounts on various social media sites.

Strangely enough, many of the sites looked like bootleg copies of the ones you had back at home, right down to the bizarre similar yet different names. You almost burst out laughing when the words “MagiCam” appeared on the screen, immediately understanding what the application should be about. Thankfully, this also meant that you'd be able to navigate it much more easily since the UI was the same as Instagram’s.

In the brief respites of peace you’ve had during your turn, you’ve also understood a little more about how Twisted Wonderland works. Feeling calmer now that you know more about Night Raven College and the island where it resides, you then examined the world map and learned about the various continents of this world and who inhabits them.

You’ve also started to delve deeper into the magic of this world, but the concept still feels rather foreign and confusing, so, you’ve decided to wait until you’re in a calmer environment to pay closer attention to the details. Still, in your opinion, you’ve made good progress, and you make a mental note to share this information with your new roommates when you reconvene at lunch or later in the day.

You throw your head back, and the upper half of your body languidly lies against the chair's comically small backrest. You still feel a bit sore from yesterday's events, even after taking a hot (almost boiling) shower and replicating some of Yuuken's stretches. It also doesn't help that you've been running around for most of the morning.

You're tired... you want to go home.

As you stare blankly at the false ceiling, your mind wanders to the dark places you tried to avoid yesterday...

Will you ever be able to go home? Are your parents okay? Is Momoko okay? How long have you been gone? Does time pass differently here than it does in your world?

... Are you actually dead? This world feels so real, but you can't help but wonder…

Thought after thought flashes through your mind, as the earlier feeling of dread comes back with a biting force, stabbing at your stomach and tearing at your brain, making you feel sick. “Stop,” you silently beg to yourself, wanting the cursed string of detrimental questions to just end. And yet, your inner self continues to produce more and more, completely ignoring your desperate pleas. 

Fortunately, you don't get to lose yourself for long as you're jolted awake by a hasty banging on the door to the infirmary. It startled you so much that you nearly fell out of the chair, the tip of your shoe smacking against the underside of the desk, followed by the clanking of glass, reminding you of the dirty dishes you didn’t wash. “D-Doors open!” you stammer with a shaky, feeling your heart pounding against your chest as you wobble out of the chair.

In a matter of seconds, the door opens, and a familiar man with orange hair peers in, his eyes widening in surprise as they fall on your figure. You instantly remember him from the entrance ceremony, a phantom feeling of warmth still lingers on your shoulder. 

“The fu-!? H-Hey! Long time no see~!” he attempts to mask his shock with a cheerful tone before opening the door further and standing awkwardly at the entrance. “Um… do you know when the nurse is coming back?”

Without saying a word, you raise your right hand and point your thumb at yourself, swaying slightly back and forth, making the lab coat you wear over your navy blue sweater rustle. “I’m the temporary nurse. Do you need help with something?” even though his face is one of happiness, you notice that he is nervous due to his pale complexion and a slight tremor in his hands.

“O-Oh… Cool! Uh…” the orange-haired man stutters, sticking his head out of the room once more and whispering unintelligible words to someone standing outside. The exchange continues for a few more seconds, each one more confusing. Finally, with a frustrated groan, he returns and opens the door wider. “Sorry for that! We need a consultation!”

A bit weirded out by his behavior, you silently point toward one of the beds, ushering him to enter the room. You hope this consultation will be fast. As he opens the door wider and signals for the other person to come in, you turn around back to the computer and quickly open an application that pulls out a screen showcasing the list of all the students of Night Raven College. 

As a precaution, before you can do a consultation or even prescribe medication, you must ensure the student isn’t allergic to any specific ingredients, takes some type of chronic medication, or has any important medical history. That way, you avoid any mishaps and save yourself a possible heart attack and a phone call to the hospital. Thankfully, the school has a nifty medical system that allows you to check for these kinds of things, all you need is a name or ID number.

Behind you, the shuffling of feet and the hushed voices weirded you out even more. ‘What’s up with the secrecy?’ Ah well, time is precious, and you want this consultation to be over quickly, so there’s no point in beating around the bush. With your gaze still focused on the screen, you click on the search bar and speak to the people. “Alright, what’s the name of the patient?”

As the question leaves your lips, a tense silence follows. You suddenly don’t dare to turn around, an uneasy feeling settles itself in the pit of your stomach as you wait for the answers. As the clock on the wall quietly ticks away the seconds that feel like minutes, somebody finally clears their throat and speaks. “Uh… Riddle Rosehearts.” 

An eerily familiar voice speaks out, and you promptly turn around to watch a guy with green hair and glasses enter the room, a small and thin arm slung around his broad shoulders. And you feel the world fall apart and tear itself at its core as a head of red hair wobbles beside him, gray, piercing eyes turning to observe, widening at your figure before a recognizable scowl etches at his face.

"What in the Seven's name are you doing here?" fucking great, the last person you wanted to see, the tiny tyrant has come back to torment you again. Was the yelling match of yesterday’s night not enough for him? You take a deep breath, repeating to yourself that you won’t win showing your annoyance; you need to be a professional. Instead, you simply shrug your shoulders, maintaining an apathetic expression.

"Beats me, dude. Ask the crow man, not me," as you quickly type in his name into the application, Riddle scoffs as he’s helped to walk further into the room. "Do not address the headmaster in such a way. Have you not been taught to respect your superiors?" you roll your eyes at his comment, focusing more on his medical profile as he settles in one of the beds. Good, everything seems in order.

You don’t waste much time, reaching over to one of the desk drawers and pulling out a black bag containing a diagnostic kit and a clipboard with an empty consultation form. “I have, thank you very much. But I find it justifiable to insult the man who thought it was a good idea to stick me and the other two inside a dilapidated house,” you reply, slightly irritated as you place the stethoscope around your neck and head over to the bed.

The orange-haired man, whose eyes were intently focused on his phone’s screen, suddenly perks up at the mention of the house. “What!? Are you living in Ramshackle? I thought they were going to demolish that thing,” he mumbles the last part sheepishly as you pull a chair over to where the three men are standing.

The green-haired guy perks up at the name of the dormitory, his worried eyes suddenly landing on you. “How did your night go there?” you glance away from the prying eyes, scratching your cheek as you remember how stiff your back still is. “Awful, we ended up sleeping outside… Anyways, what's up? What are we dealing with?” although the orange-haired man seems more interested in hearing about your night, Riddle interrupts the conversation with a sharp cough.

“I'm completely fine. I just contracted a simple cold,” he remarks nonchalantly, covering his mouth with a gloved fist. However, even though the boy tries to pretend that he's fine, you notice that his chest moves up and down rather quickly, his cheeks are also slightly flushed, and small beads of sweat trickle down the sides of his face.

‘Difficulty breathing... I can cross out asthma, anemia, and anaphylaxis since his allergy chart is clear. A common cold wouldn't have him panting this way unless he overexerted himself with a clogged nose... Hmmm, it could be some kind of respiratory infection, but I need more details…’

Before you can intervene, however, the green-haired man shoots a glare at the housewarden as he angrily crosses his arms, his pose resembling a mother scolding her child. “A simple cold? Riddle, you were puking your guts out just a few minutes ago and you can barely walk!” he reprimands with a frown, and the redhead simply clicks his tongue in frustration. “As I said, I'm fine. It's nothing I can't handle.”

You jot down your observations and the glasses man's comments on the clipboard, nodding quietly as your brow furrows. “Besides the vomiting and shortness of breath,” — you feel slightly insulted as you notice Riddle’s eyes monetarily widen in surprise at your last observation. Man, he thinks you’re not capable, huh? — “Are you feeling any discomfort or other symptoms?” at your question, the housewarden ponders for a few seconds before his hand drops from his mouth. “Just a stomach ache.”

“Is the pain mild or severe?” the man shakes his head, placing a hand on his abdomen to indicate the source of the disturbance. ‘I can also rule out hepatitis at the moment. Seems to be from the core.’ “In between,” you simply hum at his response as you take more notes. “When did the symptoms start?” you finally raise your head to meet him, taking notice that he has difficulty keeping his eyes open.

He takes a deep breath and a hand shoots up to massage his temples. As you’re about to recommend he lays down on the bed and you’re three steps away from dialing Mr. Crewel, he speaks. “A-About two… no, one hour ago. I just feel dizzy. I’m fine,” he keeps repeating the last sentence as if to reassure the people in the room, but honestly, it makes you more nervous.

“Well, it might be a stomach bug rather than a cold. I’ll check your vitals before we move to treatment,” you announce before standing up and silently motioning for Riddle to remove his blazer. As you put on the earpieces of the stethoscope, his shaky and clammy hands pull off the piece of cloth, the glasses man stepping in to help. “Oh, my bad. I didn’t ask for your names.”

The orange-haired man jumps at the opportunity, flashing you a dashing smile as he holds up two fingers to his face, forming a peace sign. “Hey, hey! I’m Cater Diamond, but you can call me Cay-Cay!” he announces cheerfully, winking in your direction. ‘Well, what a charmer.’ You make a mental note not to call him that nickname, you'll just stick with Cater.

You simply wave back as you take a seat in front of Riddle and look in the direction of the green-haired man, who nods at you. “Trey Clover, vice housewarden of Heartslabyul. Good to meet you,” he replies as he flashes a small smile, though his gaze shifts to worry as he looks back at Riddle. An annoyed cough from the tiny tyrant interrupts your greeting. 

“If we’re done with idle chatter, I would like to get out of here and return to my duties as soon as possible,” he grumbles as you simply roll your eyes and adjust the stethoscope. “Alright, alright. Take a deep breath,” you command in a toneless voice as you hook a finger around the collar of his shirt and harshly pull down, revealing a patch of milky skin. 

A furious blush spreads across Riddle's cheeks as he short circuits for a second, a million thoughts racing through his mind as he feels your lukewarm fingers poking at his chest. He finally comes down to earth as he feels the cold nip at his exposed skin and he swears he feels on fire. “W-What’s wrong with you!? A-A warning would’ve been nice!” he shouts, almost slapping your hand away if it wasn’t for the glare you threw him back. 

“Damn, you go, Riddle, getting some action,” Cater quietly giggles as he covers his Cheshire grin using his phone, which causes the housewarden’s face to turn even redder. “Shut it! Say a word of this and I’ll have your head!” the orange hair chokes on his laugh at the last words of the red hair. All of a sudden, the preppy attitude of the man is drained alongside the color from his face, instead, it’s replaced with an awkward laugh as he gingerly scratches the back of his neck.

‘What the hell is that reaction?’ Sure, the phrase elicits a rather daunting reaction from anyone who hears it, but, to pale at such words? That’s quite suspicious, but you frankly don’t want to stick your nose in the business of people who are already aggressive to strangers, especially when it comes to the tiny tyrant. You also don’t have the energy to bother, unless it becomes a bigger issue. 

“My bad, sorry. But, you need to calm down or else I won’t be able to measure your heart rate,” you retort between your teeth, drawing Riddle's attention back to you. “Calm down!? Easier said than done! Are you even sure you know what you’re doing?” his booming voice does nothing but irritate you as you tighten your grip on the stethoscope. “Yes, I do. Now, shut up and let me do my job.”

About to respond angrily to your comment when he's stopped by a warm hand patting his shoulder, Trey giving him a small smile as the cold chest piece of the stethoscope touches his skin. The housewarden reluctantly agrees and gives you a nod. “Take a deep breath,” you instruct again in a low voice, listening carefully to Riddle's worryingly slow heartbeats. Each time you hear a “thump”, you draw a line on the clipboard resting on your leg, mentally counting up to fifteen; the entire room holds its breath as you remove the device after a while, your lips tightening as the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach returns with a vengeance.

‘Only 14 beats… this is bad,’ you swallow dryly as you waste no time calculating his heart rate, multiplying the number of beats by four and silently thanking your 12-year-old self for choosing first aid classes over rowing at summer camp. Unfortunately, the fleeting feeling of accomplishment soon fades, replaced by anxiety as you watch the number from the equation over and over again. “Holy shit…”

“Is everything alright?” you accidentally ignore Trey's worried voice, too consumed in your panic, as you run back to the computer and check Riddle's medical profile again. Again, he has no hereditary diseases or disorders, and his allergy chart is empty and clear. His normal heart rate, listed under his blood type, shows he has 75 beats per minute, so why the hell did your calculations show his current heart rate is 58 bpm? That's below average!

‘Is it bradycardia? It could be that he just developed it, but that doesn’t explain the vomiting or rapid breathing… Perhaps he has arrhythmia? Did I make a mistake in my calculations?’ you turn around to address the trio, wincing as you observe a powerful shiver shake Riddle’s body. ‘Whatever it is, I don’t have the proper resources, much less the adequate experience to deal with this.’

The red-haired man irritates you, his attitude is obnoxious, but there’s no way you’re letting him die here. “I’m calling an ambulance. Riddle’s heart rate is worryingly low and his conditioning is worsening. He needs professional attention.” 

The three men's eyes widen in pure surprise, the shock is so severe for Riddle that he starts coughing loudly, the green-haired man next to him jumps in fright at the sound, but quickly concentrates on calming him down, gently patting and rubbing his back.

Cater reacts the fastest, shaking his phone with a pale face as he looks at you, terrified. "I'll call them!" he types restlessly on the keypad as you approach the bed to help Riddle get comfortable and calm his reaction. 

But strangely, before Cater can even press the call button, a hand shoots up from the bed and rips the phone out of the orange-haired man's hands, causing him to choke on air, startled by the sudden movement.

It was Riddle.

“NO! I’M NOT TAKING ONE STEP IN THERE! I’M COMPLETELY FINE!”

… Huh?

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Tag list:

@rotknox @agaygothicmushroom @sherryclover @mielle-estelar @yuriluvr2000 @Shironakuronatasa @yourlocalhot-simp @stvrbrighttt @tearsofgenshin @mewmew-dream @lehn2206 @coleisyn @ama-ewe

[lexirosewrites]

Phantom of the Opera AU!!!! My very favorite Andrew Lloyd Webber creation!! Especially the 25th anniversary performance at Royal Albert Hall!!!!! There's a free upload on YouTube but the person has their very annoying notification sounds going off every 5 seconds, so I personally bought the video YouTube offers😅

O!Steve is a shy but talented soprano, he's been training with the Loch Nora Opera House since he was all but dumped there by his rich father following his mother's death, his mother often spoke of an Angel of Music in her final days

A!Eddie who is a wealthy Viscount within the Hawkins nobility, he was childhood friends with Steve before Steve fully presented as an omega & he as an alpha, the Harrington family were savvy business owners who had the Munson noble family as one of their investors, he learned violin from Steve's mother

A!Henry/Vecna/One who is the possessive & obsessive Phantom who took particular interest in Steve a year after he came to the Opera House & trained him as a singer while grooming him using the delusion tht he's the Angel of Music his dead mother spoke about

Idea for an excerpt:

An auction takes place quietly within the theater of a dilapidated opera house. A music box in the shape of a pipe organ with a figurine of a demonic faceless dog is auctioned off as Lot 665 to an old man resting in a wheelchair, attended to by a man servant.

The servant retrieves the music box at the old mans request. The man holds the music box carefully, examining it. Then he speaks, as if to himself.

"A collectors piece indeed, every detail exactly as he said. He often spoke of you, my friend. Your velvet lining, and your figurine of lead. Will you still play when the rest of us are dead?"

END EXCERPT IDEA

Blah blah blah the reader travels back in time to many decades ago when the opera house was dazzling & noisy with rehearsals & full of life

Scott Clarke the owner of the Opera leads an interested Owens & Hopper through the audience up to the stage where the cast of the current production were rehearsing, Clarke reveals he's sold the opera to the two gentlemen & promptly leaves upon a suspicious noise followed by a back drop falling.

Something something something

Steve replaces the prima soprano as she refuses to work under the tyranny of the phantom. He gives an astounding standing ovation of a performance tht Eddie happened to b watching.

He reunites w Eddie upon retiring to his dressing room, they share a tender moment, & Eddie invites Steve to come w him & his companions to dinner. Steve tries to object but is persuaded & Eddie leaves exuberant. Then the Phantom speaks, disapproving of this bold suitor & his advances upon his student. Steve apologizes & begs the Phantom to forgive his moment of weakness where he forgot abt his duty as a singer for the Angel of Music. Henry/Vecna/One brings Steve to his domain beneath the opera house & indeed beneath the capital of Hawkins entirely. While Eddie rushes to open the door at the sound of an unfamiliar voice in Steve's room, but it is too late.

Steve is gone w his Angel.

Steve awakes in the Phantoms lair & somehow sees the face beneath the mask, horrified he tries to run, but Henry/Vecna/One catches him & extolls abt his ugliness while deluding himself with talk of Steve growing to love him. Then abruptly he brings Steve back to the theater.

Something or other

Steve reunites w Eddie & begs to never return to the Opera while also fearing for the safety of those still in the opera. The two affirm their love for the other, and Eddie promises to keep Steve safe. Of course the Phantom hears all of this, and begins plotting.

Some time later...

A masquerade is being thrown in the opera house with every cast member & benefactor in attendance. Steve is nervous & Eddie reassures him. Then suddenly the Phantom is there! Interrupting the masquerade! He demands his opera be put on, tht Steve play the prima soprano, & tht his box be left empty. He's already killed the worker in charge of the ropes as proof of his ire.

Steve goes to the graveyard where his mother is buried. He sings a song his mother taught him, and then there is the Phantom! Ready to grab Steve & steal him back to his lair! Eddie charges onto the scene just missing the chance to apprehend the offending Phantom & contents himself w comforting his soon to be wife.

The rest of the plot happens, & while in the end Steve & Eddie r safe, able to leave, & more in love than before...

the Phantom of the Opera seems to have disappeared into the night with no evidence of his death or survival

oooh Phantom is one of my favorite musicals! I lowkey thought Eddie was gonna be the phantom at first, but a happy ending is nice too I guess😂

[writeforfandoms]

State of My Head 3

Find the series masterlist

Here we are folks! The final chapter! There will be a bonus scene soonish, so keep an eye out for that. But this is the last actual chapter, with the promised happy ending. 

Warnings: Canon typical violence, blood, injury, death of a minor character, swearing, shifter behavior, cat behavior, Gaz finally realizes he was an idiot.

Word count: 4.7k

You still hated the helicopter rides. Even though they were necessary. But you still huddled into your seat, holding tight to the grips. At least Gaz and Soap had stopped teasing you, most of the time. 

This op was a little less straightforward. They didn’t have as much intel on this location, which was why Price was sending you in first. There were supposed to be weapons, but there was no clear intel on how many weapons or exactly which kind.

That was part of your job. To find the weapons and report back. 

The heli landed and you hopped out, taking a moment to look around. You’d been dropped off away from the objective - there was a bit of a hike to the buildings. Apparently this was normal for them. 

You were just looking forward to shifting so you could run ahead. 

Price motioned for you to follow him, which you did. By now, this was routine. You weren’t combat trained, so you stayed in the middle of the group. This time, Gaz covered your back. 

Price halted in a good cover spot, and you immediately shifted. 

“Straight back here,” Price reminded you as you crawled out of your clothes, though he didn’t need to and you both knew it. By now, it was just habit.

You meowed softly at him and lifted one paw, tapping his boot twice. And then you trotted off towards your destination. 

The set of three warehouses were a bit removed from the road, big parking lots nearly empty. They had that dilapidated look about them, run down and tagged with spraypaint. They were set outside of town, far enough away that you doubted anyone would be able to hear things going on here. Good for the people of the town, at least. The route from Price’s chosen spot to the parking lots was covered in vegetation, trees growing tall and wild, bushes providing plenty of cover spots. A series of hills rose behind the warehouse, providing further cover. 

It wasn’t a bad location for a secret weapons cache, really. Unremarkable. Isolated enough to operate without suspicion, but still with easy access to a major road. Not bad at all. 

The chain link fencing around the area was new. Still easy enough to squeeze under. Sometimes you were glad you weren’t any bigger. 

The lack of outside lights worked in your favor, allowing you to get close. You paused outside to listen. 

Definite movement inside. Footsteps. Murmuring. The click of a lighter. A side door opened several feet from your hiding spot, letting out a guard, and you held very still.

“Think they’re gonna show?” The guard had an accent, sounded Russian to your ears.

“Boss thinks they will.” A second guard stepped out of the building, lighting a cigarette. This one sounded American. 

“What makes him so sure?” The Russian didn’t sound disbelieving, just bored. 

“Eh, who knows?” The American blew out smoke, rolling his shoulders. “Not like I’m the boss’s right hand man.”

The two both laughed at that, and you tensed. There was something wrong here, very wrong. Who were they expecting? 

A radio crackled on the Russian’s hip. “Got movement from the northwest,” someone reported in, muffled but audible. Also American. Northwest. You froze, not quite sure which direction you’d come from. 

“Guess the boss is right.” The American grinned, teeth very white in the darkness. “We better finish up if we wanna get in on the fun.”

“Assuming the snipers don’t get the bastards first,” the Russian agreed. “But who knows? They are supposed to be very good.”

“It’s the same assholes that blew up the cache two weeks ago. They’re good.” The American sounded almost eager, thirsty for bloodshed in a way that made all your fur stand on end. He put out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe, free hand reaching over to smack his companion in the shoulder. “C’mon, man, hurry up.” 

You’d heard enough. You remembered the cache two weeks ago - Soap had come back exhilarated and smelling of smoke. 

They were expecting your guys. Somehow, they knew. 

This was a trap.

You bolted, running as fast as you could, no longer quite so worried about stealth. 

But you did pause outside the fence, because they’d mentioned snipers. Okay. Think like Ghost. Where would you set up if you were a sniper? 

A quick look found at least four spots you could check. After you warned the team. 

It took a lot less time to get back to them, since you were less concerned about stealth and more concerned about speed. Consequently, when you arrived in front of Price, you were panting. Shifting took only a moment, leaving you crouched in front of them. 

“They know,” you gasped, not giving them time to ask you questions. “Expecting you. Snipers, guards.” You waved back at the building.

Price’s eyes narrowed. “You sure?”

You nodded rapidly. “Heard two of them talking.” You swallowed against your dry throat, ignoring the chill of the night air against your skin. 

Price blew out a slow breath, gaze flitting between you and the buildings in the distance. The other three all stood still and silent, waiting on his orders. 

“Right. No use walkin’ in to a trap. Get back to exfil.” 

There was a ripple through the group, the tension of a thwarted op paired with the knowledge that they’d been given bad intel. You, at least, couldn’t think for a moment of anything other than the fact that if you hadn’t gone first, they’d have walked blindly into that trap.

You swallowed, glancing between them. Gaz was already reaching for your clothes, Soap and Ghost on alert. Price was not going to like what you did next. 

So you just wouldn’t give him a chance to yell at you.

“Meet you back there,” you said, and shifted. You were gone again before any of them could try to grab you, and you knew they couldn’t risk shouting after you. 

You ran ahead of them and veered off course. It was dark, but your eyesight was better in the dark than any human’s, especially shifted. So you saw the movement of a sniper, likely scanning for your guys. 

You launched yourself at the sniper, yowling. You were no bigger than the average housecat, but you had surprise on your side, and claws. He yelped as your claws dug into his shoulders and arms around his tac vest. A gunshot briefly deafened you, but rather than run off, you lunged for his hand, biting down as hard as you could. He dropped the rifle, swearing, trying to shake you off. 

You let go of him and ran again. You doubted he’d go after you, and you were too small a target to shoot at with any accuracy. Especially as you zigzagged away.

So you went on, following the sounds of a radio and check in calls. Your ears flickered, pinpointing the source of the noise, before you crept up. 

This one was a woman, tense and alert, scanning for enemies. Your tail flicked back and forth as you debated your approach. You could get to her hands first, incapacitate her. But you’d have to move fast, both to catch up with your guys and to not get shot. 

Her radio crackled again and she turned towards the sniper you’d already attacked. 

You leapt at her hands, scratching and biting. You thought it would work.

It sort of did.

She yelled and swore and swung away from you. But she didn’t drop the gun. 

Instead she swung it at the same time you jumped for her.

Pain burst in your side, sharp and sudden. You tumbled out of the air, landing on your feet and howling. For a moment you wondered if you’d be able to move, if you’d even be able to make it back to exfil–

“Fucking animal,” the woman spat, and aimed the rifle at you. You scrambled for cover, the shot so loud it hurt your ears. Warmth slid down into your left ear, muffling your hearing. Another shot and your back right leg buckled under a line of searing heat. 

A third shot. For a moment you expected to feel pain, to keel over. 

Instead the sniper went down, blood and brain matter sprayed across the ground behind her.

One of your guys must have shot her. Which meant they were still here.

Running was immediately out of the question. Your ribs shifted, and that crunching feeling should probably be very concerning. Your injured leg didn’t want to hold your weight. 

Leaving you to limp along on three legs, woozy, struggling a bit to breathe. There was no way this was going to end well for you. 

A soft call of your name had you jerk, swaying a little on your feet, before you looked up at Gaz. He hissed out a soft curse, scooping you into his arms. You did your best to not make pained sounds, and failed. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded, holding you securely even as he ran back to join the others. “You could have been killed!” 

“You’re explaining that later,” Price growled, ushering Gaz into the heli before him. “Damned foolish.” 

You managed a weak meow, shaking your head, trying to unblock your ear. Blood spattered across Gaz’s front and the seat, but you could hear better at least. 

“Fuck,” Gaz breathed, buckling in quickly. “Cap, should we–?” 

“I don’t know.” Price sat next to him, also buckled in. A moment later the heli was lifting up, the faint lighting inside allowing you to see the captain’s jaw clench tight. “Not a damn vet.” 

The motors were so much louder as a cat, and you pinned your ears back, still sensitive from the gunshots. And then meowed pitifully at the sharp pain from your left ear. 

Price called your name, and you jerked your gaze to him. Your jaws had parted so you could pant, trying to get more air. 

“Shift back,” Price demanded, firm tone mostly masking his concern. “We can’t help you like this.”

You thought about that for a moment. Shifting was going to suck. Your ribs were almost definitely broken, and would not magically be fixed. Not to mention the sheer strain of shifting that much - coupled with the blood you’d already lost, there was a good chance you wouldn’t be able to stay conscious.

Then again, if you didn’t shift, there was no vet on staff. And it was a lot easier to bleed out as a cat than as a human. 

So you shifted, immediately gasping in pain at the jostling on your ribs, tears springing to your eyes.

“Easy, love,” Gaz soothed, shifting his grip on you to keep you securely against his chest. “What hurts?”

“Ribs,” you gritted out, shutting your eyes. “Ear. Thigh.” Your heartbeat pounded in your head and at your throat, far too fast. It was getting hard to focus. 

“Thigh is still bleeding,” Soap pointed out from across the way, frowning. 

“Yeah, spotted that,” Gaz gritted out. One big hand pressed a cloth down onto the seeping wound on your thigh, hard. You whined, hands scrambling for something to help anchor you. The heli jolted, not a lot, but enough to make you bite your tongue to hold back a shriek. 

It was too much - the burning in your ribs, the ache in your thigh, the pounding of your pulse. Your eyelids fluttered - you knew you should stay conscious. 

But it hurt, and it was hard, and you were less inclined to fight as the adrenaline left you. Shivering hurt, but you couldn’t stop yourself. 

“Hey, hey, don’t you dare fall asleep on me.” Gaz sounded more panicked than angry. Someone wrapped a blanket around you, and you blinked slowly. 

Price nodded once to you, though he didn’t speak, since he was on the phone with someone else. Of course he was on your left - you couldn’t hear him quite right, things still muffled on that side. 

Trying to focus was way too much effort anyway. You just wanted to sleep. 

Vaguely, you could hear Gaz behind you, chanting, “No no no–” But it was too much to keep your eyes open, to ask him what was wrong.

Your eyes closed as everything faded. 

Soft, rhythmic beeping drew you out of sleep. Opening your eyes was a monumental task, one you accomplished in increments until you could see the boring white ceiling above you. 

Didn’t look like your room, though.

Huh.

You felt like you should be freaked out about that, but you felt too weighted down to get freaked out about anything. You blinked slowly, trying to remember what happened. 

The soft breathing in the room finally registered, and you blinked again and lifted your head. 

Gaz was asleep next to you, head pillowed on his arms at the edge of your bed. That looked uncomfortable. No way he should sleep like that.

But parting your lips to try to call to him just made you cough, your throat dry and scratchy as sandpaper. Coughing jostled your ribs, pain flaring bright and sudden, clearing the last of the cobwebs from your brain. With the side effect of tears leaking from your eyes as you tried to calm down. 

Big, warm hands cupped your cheeks, thumbs smoothing over your skin. “Easy, love, easy does it,” Gaz murmured, gaze flitting over you, as if he could do anything to help. “Best thing to do is to breathe normally, yeah?” 

You stuttered through the first few breaths, slowly calming down until you were relaxed again, Gaz still leaning over you. You blinked slowly up at him, lifting one shaky hand to cover his. 

“What happened?” You barely got the words out as a whisper, but you managed. 

“Water first.” Gaz released you with one hand, slowly, as if he was reluctant, and pushed a button to lever the bed more upright. He held the water for you, making it easy for you to just drink through the straw. 

You slow-blinked at him again when he set the water aside. That was better. Not great, but better. You tapped the back of his hand gently. 

“Right.” Gaz blew out a slow breath, gaze darting from you to the side table to the machines next to you. “You’re in a hospital, Price is wrangling the doctor. You remember getting shot, yeah?” 

“Thigh,” you agreed. 

“And the tip of your ear.” His fingers strayed, brushing against the left side of your head, which did feel thick and muffled. Huh. 

“Damn.” You huffed. “Gonna look like I got caught in a spay and release program.” 

His snort was surprised and a tiny bit wet. “That’s what you’re worried about?” 

“Still got my pride,” you mumbled, tipping your head a little to nuzzle into his palm. 

“Yeah, well.” Gaz cleared his throat. “You… almost didn’t make it, love.”

You blinked at him, feeling incredibly slow. “How?” 

“Not sure.” Gaz scrubbed his free hand over his face. “Guess you lost more blood than we thought, or something. But you were struggling by the time we got you here.” He swallowed hard, looking haunted. 

“Too many shifts,” you muttered, trying to grab him with your free hand, and then glowering at the tug and pinch of the IV there. “Must’ve drained me more than I thought.” 

“Have you been hurting yourself to help us?” Gaz sounded a little appalled, his gaze somehow more frantic as he looked you over.

You shook your head a little. “Doesn’t hurt,” you reassured him. “Normally not a problem. Just… takes energy.” You hummed softly, nestling your cheek further into the warmth of his hand, nose near his wrist. He smelled much better than the hospital room. 

Gaz huffed softly, shoulders relaxing again. “You’ve got stitches in your leg,” he murmured. “And a few broken ribs.”

“Called that one.” You fought to keep your eyes open. You didn’t want to go back to sleep, didn’t want to lose the warmth of his gaze, the feel of his skin on yours. Didn’t want to go back to the distance he held you at. 

“It’s okay if you wanna sleep more,” he murmured, leaning in closer. “You need to heal.” 

“Don’t wanna sleep.” You nuzzled into his palm again even as your eyes closed against your will. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Gaz murmured, low and solemn, like a promise. “Just rest, love.” 

As stubborn as you wanted to be, you obeyed, his scent soothing you back to sleep. 

He was still there when you woke next, as was Price. This time, you felt less groggy, but definitely still not normal. 

“We will have a conversation about that stunt,” Price said as soon as your gaze focused on him. “When you’re not stuck in bed.”

“Joy,” you drawled, though you relaxed a little at the knowledge that you weren’t about to be reamed. Not yet, anyway. 

“Another few days here and you should be fine to come back to base.” Price tipped his head, watching you carefully. 

“‘Kay.” You grimaced as you tried to breathe deeper, the ache in your ribs reminding you why that was not a good idea. 

“That’ll take a while,” Gaz murmured sympathetically. “Ribs are the worst.”

“Be easier as a cat.” But you just made a face, displeased with the prospect of months of recovery. 

“After the stitches come out,” Price interrupted, giving you a stern look. “Not before.”

“I know.” You couldn’t help but pout a little. 

Price snorted. “Get some rest,” he ordered, taking a single step forward to pat the top of your feet. He shot a look at Gaz that you couldn’t decipher before he turned and left.

Leaving you with Gaz again. 

“How’re you doing?” Gaz shifted closer to you, his knees knocking into the side of the bed. 

“Okay,” you said slowly, watching him. Now that you were less out of it, the sudden closeness and concern were… odd. You knew it was him, you knew his scent anywhere. Even in your sleep. Had he hit his head at some point? No, Price wouldn’t let him get away with not getting that treated. 

“What?” Gaz blinked at you, gently curling his hand over your free hand. 

“You’re… different.” You stopped yourself from saying more. Kinder. Softer. More like you remembered from the beginning, when you’d decided he was your person. 

He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing, and looked down at your linked hands. “Yeah,” he agreed softly. “I, uh. I’m sorry. Been a real ass.” He rubbed the back of his neck, managing to look up at you from under his lashes. 

You slow-blinked at him again, resisting the urge to headbutt him. For multiple reasons. Not least of which because it would hurt to move. “Coulda been worse.”

“You’re not supposed to excuse my shitty behavior.” Gaz frowned disapprovingly. 

You shrugged and then hissed as your ribs reminded you that yes they were still broken. “It didn’t change anything.” 

Gaz looked at you like you were a little crazy. “What do you mean?” 

“Well.” You licked your lips and swallowed. Your turn to be nervous. “I wouldn’t have… I mean, I still… Hm.” You pursed your lips. Damn humans for being so insistent on words. Any cat would have known by now! 

“You still… what?” Gaz leaned closer, eyes focused on you. 

Soap saved you from having to explain, waltzing into your room with water and pudding. “Price mentioned ye were finally up! How ye feel, hen?” 

“Alive,” you grumbled, tilting your head to look at him. “You brought food?”

“Just some pudding.” He offered it up and even opened it for you. Because he was a good friend. 

“When are these bandages coming off?” you asked in a grumble, already annoyed at the reduced hearing in your left ear. 

Soap shrugged. “Couple more days. Leg will take longer.” He tipped his head. “Why?”

“Wanna see how bad it looks.” You grimaced. You were a cat, after all. You had some vanity. 

“Badass, more like.” Soap reached over to touch you, paused, and redirected his hand to very gently pat the top of your head instead. 

“Not made of glass.” You looked down at your lap, scowling a little.

“Hen. Broken ribs suck. Ah ken.” Soap crouched so he could catch your gaze. “Ye’ll hurt for months. No need to go lookin’ for more hurt.”

You blew out a breath and then winced. Okay. Right. “Good point,” you admitted. 

Soap grinned. “Has this dafty even tried t’ keep ye entertained?” 

You blinked at Soap. “Uh. Define entertained.”

“Means no.” Soap reached over you to swat Gaz’s shoulder. You half-expected them to devolve into tussling - you’d seen it happen before. But they didn’t, this time. Instead Soap snagged another chair, pulling it up to your bedside with a flourish. “Right! Have I told ye ‘bout my sisters?” 

The days passed slowly, but they passed. The hospital was boring. But you did rest, because you were forced to. Gaz was there every time you woke up, even in the middle of the night. Trying to get him to go had earned you the most pathetic puppy eyes you’d ever seen, and you were a bit ashamed of how quickly you caved to him. 

Which was part of the whole problem, really. He was still your person, even if you weren’t his. 

Gaz was the one who helped you from the bed to a wheelchair to make it out of the hospital. Gaz was the one who sat in the backseat with you, helping brace you and talking you through the pain of every bump in the road. Gaz was the one who brought you back to your room, who sat with you and insisted you boss him around telling him what you needed. 

Honestly, it was baffling. Completely baffling. It still felt a bit like he’d been replaced with a pod person, or something. (Except your nose would’ve picked that up.) 

The bandages around your head finally came off, and you examined the rough half-circle taken out of the top of your ear, completely silent, while Gaz hovered over your shoulder. 

“It’s not bad,” you grumbled at last. “Still looks like I got caught by a spay and release program.” 

“Have you ever?” Gaz held your gaze in the mirror.

“No one ever caught me,” you said with a haughty sniff, lifting your chin. “Until you. All. You all.” 

Gaz drew in a deep breath, his hands settling very carefully on your shoulders. “We never finished our conversation.”

“Which one?” You didn’t quite have to feign ignorance - you’d fallen asleep talking to him more than once, recently. 

“About what a shit I was.” He paused. “And why you’re so eager to sweep it under the rug.”

“Oh. That.” You swallowed, gaze skittering away from him. 

“Yeah, that.” He shifted closer to you. 

You hummed a soft note, not quite sure how to get out of this conversation, not sure if you should. Then you sighed softly. “For the record. You are an idiot.” You clenched your jaw and then released it. “If you were anyone else, I’d hold that against you for a long time.”

“What about Price and Ghost?” 

“Trust me, I’ll be reminding them that they hated me and use it to my advantage.” You smirked. “Cats have long memories when we want.” 

“So why aren’t you holding it against me?” 

And therein lay the problem. You fidgeted, making a face. “Alright. So. There is one major way we differ from, say, house cats.”

“Okay…?” Gaz looked bewildered but rolled with the apparent change of topic. 

“We choose one mate for life. Usually the female chooses. ‘S why Mama’s the matriarch.” 

Gaz blinked and then his eyes blew wide as he breathed out your name. 

“I made my choice three days into my stay here.” You forced yourself to hold still, to hold his gaze. 

“You… But… Even when I…?” He looked… a little devastated, a little hopeful. Pained, definitely.

“Yes.” You shrugged carefully. “The whole damn time.” 

Somehow, you weren’t quite sure how, Gaz managed to move around you, getting to your front and kissing you, soft and sweet. His fingers trembled against your cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed, moving back just enough so he could speak. “I’m such a damn fool. You nearly died and I–” His breathing hitched. 

“Easy,” you murmured, lifting one hand to cover his. “I’m okay.” You paused. “Well. I will be okay.” 

“Made me realize what an idiot I’d been,” he continued, pressing his forehead to yours. “Made me realize I love you.” 

Your breath caught, your eyes going wide. “You… do?” 

“I do.” He huffed, breath warm against your lips. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.” 

“Already forgiven.” You smiled slowly, carefully nuzzling his cheek. “Told you. Can’t hold a grudge against my person.” 

Gaz smiled. "Feel like I should scold you for being so forgiving about this, but it works to my advantage." 

You chuckled and then winced. Right. Ribs. "I'll be happy when those stitches come out," you grumbled, glowering down at your leg. 

"Just a few more days," Gaz soothed. "Are they bothering you? Itching?"

"No. I just want to shift." You made a face. 

"You don't like being stuck, do you?"

You swallowed hard, because that was… a little too accurate. "Right." 

Gaz kissed you again soft and slow and sweet. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing, you'll give me a complex." But you smiled, leaning in very carefully to nuzzle his cheek. "Just don't do it again. My forgiveness has its limits."

"Promise I won't." He kissed you again, apparently unable to help himself. 

Not that you were complaining. 

Your only real complaint was that anything more was out of the question. For the moment. 

Gaz held your hand as the stitches were removed. The on-base medic gave you some advice (that you didn't actually pay attention to) before leaving. 

You waited until the door was shut to shift. It hurt. It hurt more than you expected, left you panting softly. 

But you were once again on four paws. Much better. 

"You alright?" Gaz crouched down to be on your level, concern clear in his eyes. 

You chirped and licked the tip of his nose, smug. This felt much better. 

He chuckled quietly. "Can I pick you up?" 

You chirped again, walking carefully closer to him. Walking hurt, but not as badly as when you were human. 

It took a little figuring out, but Gaz picked you up and cradled you against his chest, one arm securely under your paws. You started purring immediately, rubbing your cheek against his chest. 

The only times he put you down the rest of the day were when he absolutely had to.

Best of all? He went back to hand feeding you, grinning through the teasing from Soap. 

You purred the entire meal. 

Finally, he headed back towards your room for the night. "You ready for bed?" He asked softly. 

You mrrped at him and tapped his hand. He blinked down at you. You looked very carefully down the hall, towards his room. 

"You… want to stay with me?" 

You chirped an affirmative. 

"Well… alright. Just for tonight." He continued down to his room, setting you gently on the bed. 

You gave him privacy to change for bed, padding up to his pillow to lay down next to it. Curling up was a no-go, so you laid carefully on your uninjured side. 

Gaz settled down with you, kissing the top of your head. "Sleep well, love."

You closed your eyes, purring gently. There was no way you were just staying in here tonight. If you had your way, you'd never go back to your room. 

You could be very persuasive when you wanted.

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Revenge is a Dish Best Served Bloody

PART THREE: VIOLENT DELIGHTS

Part One // Part Two // Mini-Series Masterlist

Also on AO3

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Bounty Hunter!Reader

WC: 4.9k words

Chapter Summary: The climax, in more than one sense of the word. Justice is finally served, and all the other pieces fall into place.

Warnings: MINORS DNI, THIS FIC IS 18+, canon typical violence, some descriptions of blood and gore, arson, drug use (chem called Buffout), implied mutual pining, smut, fingering, unprotected p in v (dont do it at home), radiated creampie (there’s RadAway dw lol), dirty talking, dom/sub dynamics, multiple orgasms, aaaaaaaaaand that’s all i can think about rn but lmk if i missed anything!

---------

Sounds in the middle of the night, a distant clamor that sharpened into voices as you regained consciousness. You sat up, disoriented and wide-eyed. The ghoul crouched nearby, immediately alert, hand on his holster.

“What’s–”

He put a finger to his lips, fixing you with a glare and a slight shake of his head. Dread immediately curdled in your stomach. Ever so slowly, you lifted yourself onto a crouch, grabbing your crossbow. 

Moonlight faintly filtered through a window caked with years of dirt and grime. The near complete darkness made the shadowed objects around the room morph into ominous, bulky shapes, exacerbating your fear. There was a momentary silence, in which both of you stayed still, listening.

The two of you had holed up for the night on the top floor of another dilapidated building. It sat on the outskirts of what used to be Shady Sands, a town that had been re-bombed years prior. The risk of running into trouble was much higher, as there was a lot more foot traffic. There was still plenty to scavenge, after all. 

And not only did you have to worry about mutants or raiders, but also knights of the Brotherhood of Steel. One of their bases was closer than you’d like, and you’d heard the rumble of their choppers in the distance while you skirted the enormous crater where the city once stood.

According to the ghoul, you were only a few days away from Axl’s main compound. Without either of you acknowledging it, you’d slowed down the pace. The moments of silent companionship stretched like lingering summer sunsets, and yet somehow, they were still not long enough. At times, you even felt the same way you’d felt at the outcrop, bordering on serene. 

It seemed surreal that your destiny was just within reach. Though you had been preparing for years, letting grief and rage carry you through even the toughest obstacle, you felt hesitancy for the first time. A part of you did not want to face the stark reality of it quite yet, not knowing how things would go down once you got to your destination.

 It wasn’t necessarily that you had a fear of death – you lived so closely with it that you didn’t flinch at its inevitability. Only at its abject cruelty; The way it striked indiscriminately, with disregard for those left behind. 

What you worried about was living through the whole ordeal and coming out the other side alone. The ghoul had no fealty to you, much less… attachment. You’d fooled around a couple more times throughout the journey, but it was all carnal pleasure – a lesson that your body was not just an instrument of brutality and survival. You’d let yourself become soft and pliable, like putty in his hands.

But that wasn’t to say he was tender, necessarily. There’d been no kisses between you – though you sought them in earnest – and he had not yet taken you, as he put it. His biting remarks weren’t nearly as sharp anymore, though, and you’d caught him being more protective of you. Not to mention, he always made sure you were never lacking RadAway.

For your part… You thought it was gentleness you felt, though you still couldn’t quite put a name to the way you were feeling. Perhaps just comfort was enough to describe it, interestingly enough. 

Barks of laughter sounded a little clearer, reminding you of the situation at hand. A few crashes followed, like things were being thrown about. It definitely sounded like they were inside the building, you realized with growing terror. How close were they? And how many of them?

“I should go give these visitors a warm welcome, don’tcha think?” the ghoul whispered, unholstering his gun. “It’s only polite.”

“Don’t you mean we?” You whispered back.

“No, y’ain’t comin’ with. I don’t need you getting in the way,” he said as he stood up. “Not many places to hide up here, so you best start lookin’.”

“You can’t just make m–” You started to protest, also standing up, but in two silent strides, he was right in front of you, holding your chin firmly.

For the briefest second, he seemed to be debating something. His eyes searched yours as if he would find the answer there. Another crash, most likely on the floor just below, and his lips thinned into a grim line as he made up his mind. 

“Listen…” he said, no time to waste. “The name’s Cooper. Holler it if you need help. Keep an eye out, but don’t let anyone see you.”

With that, he let go of you and slipped out of the room, not looking back once. You stood there for a moment, dumbstruck, his name rattling around your head like a pinball. 

But you had to shake yourself out of it, quickly scanning your surroundings for a place to hide. He’d been right about there not being many options, but you hadn’t realized there were virtually none at all in that room.

Except… there was a broken window on the far wall, and you avoided stepping on shards of glass as you made your way over. Right outside, there was a rusted fire escape, ladders leading up and down. 

You leaned out of the windowsill and looked up at the night sky, spotting the big and little dippers. It was lucky that the moon was almost full, not leaving you completely blind. You swung one leg over the windowsill and begged the stars – anything up there that could be listening – that the fire escape didn’t collapse under you.

It groaned slightly as you lowered yourself onto it, making you wince, but thankfully it was pretty sturdy. Still, you tried not to think too much about the height, stifling the vertigo that threatened to creep in. It was then that you heard yelling, accompanied by a barrage of gunshots. You felt a sharp pang of worry for Cooper, but you knew he could hold his own.

Out in the open, you were even less safe, but while you couldn’t really see anyone down below, you knew better than to descend. So, you used the more precarious ladder to ascend instead. Muscles tense as it shook and rattled, your palms sweating, but it held your weight. 

Breathlessly hauling yourself onto the rooftop, you first made sure you were alone before lying on your stomach near the edge, crossbow ready. The scuffle continued below, and you hoped all the noise didn’t attract even more unwanted guests. 

Time seemed to take a liquid form as you waited, slipping through your grasp unnoticed, your focus on the unrelenting night. The animal instinct to survive had kicked in, blocking out your fear and slowing your heartbeat down. 

Your father’s patient voice was at the back of your head. “Remember, when it comes down to it, calm and focus is what it takes. You’re more likely to make a mistake otherwise, a deadly one.”

Suddenly, a whistle rang out – a high note shortening into a low one. You didn’t move at first, but then you adjusted your position slightly to try and get a better look at the source. A head poked out of the broken window below, and your finger was instantly on the trigger.

Cooper raised his hands in mock surrender, an amused, sly grin on his face. Your muscles immediately relaxed as you exhaled the breath you’d been holding.

“Jus’ me, cowpoke,” he drawled. “It’s clear now. Get your ass down here before I come get you.” 

You found yourself smiling with relief as you put your weapon away, climbing down the ladder with less care than when you were going up. You stumbled into him as you dropped back onto the fire escape, losing your balance. 

“Woah, easy there,” he said, steadying you but keeping you close. “Y’really missed me that much, darlin’? I was only gone for an hour.”

You shoved away from him, rolling your eyes. You noticed he was splattered with blood, some having transferred onto your clothes. None of it seemed to belong to him, though, which was another small relief. 

“How many?” You asked, deflecting his question. 

“Too many for my likin’, and y’know I like myself a crowd,” he said. “Most of ‘em had Axl’s brand, others seemed like newbies. Fuckin’ amateurs, all of ‘em.”

You swallowed with bitter distaste as you heard that name. Surely the death of a group of his men wouldn’t go unnoticed, so that meant you had less time to make a move. The two of you had discussed some plans of attack, but you hadn’t chosen any course of action yet.

You thought of the bottles of Buffout you’d scored in Filly, unbeknownst to him. You’d gotten them as a last resort, not stupid enough to believe the two of you would be able to take on a whole compound of raiders just as you were.

You crossed your arms over your chest. “What now?”

“We loot ‘em, and then we get a move on as soon as dawn comes.”

“No rest for the wicked,” you sighed, even if you were no longer tired.

“Ain’t that the truth,” he chuckled. “But you were a good girl tonight, listenin’ to my orders.”

You bit down a grin and climbed in through the window so he couldn’t see the flustered look on your face. He checked the hallway as you gathered the rest of your stuff, and then you followed him out of the room, unable to stop the warmth spreading in your chest.

“Cooper?” You whispered, barely wanting to disturb the silence. “Thank you, again.”

Silence hung for a moment, and you thought he wouldn’t respond at all. 

“That’s twice now,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at you. “Don’t think I’ll forget your debt after all this.”

That warmth exploded into fireworks and oh, you knew you were doomed either way.

—-----------------------------------

The compound was larger than you’d imagined, visible from a great distance. As soon as you’d crested the hill, you’d felt like a stone dropped into your stomach. The sun had set an hour ago, so the cover of darkness was to your advantage. No turning back now. 

But before Cooper could take another step forward, you grasped his arm without thinking. He frowned as he looked down at your hand, then up at your face.

“Y’ain’t havin’ second thoughts, are ya?” He asked. “Little too late for that nonsense.”

You shook your head. “It’s not that, it’s just… maybe we need to reassess our strategy before we do anything hasty. I could use some more rest, too and–”

“Quit it,” he snapped. “What’s the matter with you? You anxious?”

How could I not be? You thought to yourself. You were braced for a fight, itching for it, even. It had made sleeping impossible the previous nights, no matter how much Cooper had tried to force you to rest. The constellations in the sky seemed to brighten the closer you got to the compound; Guiding the way, granting you strength.

But you wanted one more moment with him, just as you were then. So you gave into foolishness, pulling him in as you stood on your tiptoes to bring your lips to his. He flinched, surprised, gripping you in return. You were ready for him to shove you away, but when he didn’t, you placed a hand on his chest.

His lips were chapped, but not unpleasant. Warm, too, and set firmly at the first delicate brush of your lips. You heard a grunt low in his throat as he felt the tip of your tongue swiping at his bottom lip, coaxing, and it was then he snapped out of his shock. 

The way he kissed you was rough and hungry, with a certain desperation you knew he would never admit out loud. Your tongues tangled, exploring each other’s mouths – though, truly, his was dominating yours. He gripped your hair, keeping you from escaping, even if it was the last thing you wanted to do.

But before you could get too deep into the kiss – reaching another point of no return – he pulled back, searching your face. Felt fire in his loins as he saw the glazed look of desire in your eyes, but he had to bat it away for the time being.

“Should’ve jus’ said you were needy,” he murmured. “But then again, you always are.”

A faint smile at his teasing, but he noticed the turmoil beneath. “Cooper...”

He let go of you, sobering up and slipping back into his usual prickly demeanor. The times called for it after all; He knew you needed that strength, too. He cleared his throat and glanced back at the compound, trying to think. An idea suddenly came to mind, and he couldn’t help a lopsided grin.

“I say we burn the whole place to the ground,”  he said, tilting his head towards it. “And when they’re runnin’ around like chickens with their heads cut off, I’ll carve you a path towards him in the chaos.”

You froze, eyes widening, momentarily unsure of what to say. “I thought you said you had business with him, too.”

He shrugged, looking away. “You’ll settle the score for the both of us.”

The enormity of this statement — this unspoken gift — rocked you to your core, making you take an involuntary step forward. You thought to reach out to take his gloved hand, a rare sob clogging your throat, but you knew it would ruin the moment. 

You would find a way to thank him later, when all was said and done. 

—————————————

It was both fortunate and unfortunate that the raiders had stocked up on so much fuel. To them, it was most likely a precious commodity. To you, well… It was merely a means to an end — A conveniently deadly one. 

In the darkest hour of night, Cooper had slipped into the encampment, silent as a shadow. You decided to knock back some Buffout and wait for the mayhem to start. He’d told you to stay hidden until the fire had really taken, but you were already bouncing around impatiently, starting to feel the effects of the chem.

The sharp tang of the fuel reached you in the breeze, and you clasped the handle of his machete with a white knuckled grip. Though you had weapons, he’d insisted you carry it, just in case. It brought you some comfort to have it, as if it was an extension of him.

In the distance, there was the sound of a small explosion. You jumped, but didn’t make a move yet. Those within the encampment started to rise, their voices confused and alert. Every single one of your muscles were poised to run, your senses screaming at you to spring forward. Pupils fully dilated, mind sharper than ever. You briefly wondered if that was how prey drive must feel. Buffout’s no fucking joke.

Instead, you slowly skirted the perimeter, keeping to the shadows. The voices raised and beneath them, there was the dragging hiss of fire igniting, catching hold of everything in its path. 

Another explosion, this one much closer, if the subtly trembling earth was any indication. And so commenced the cacophony of chaos, though there was one word among the screams that you were able to distinguish – Ghoul!

The fire was rapidly spreading, so much so that you could feel its incandescent heat, sweat beading all over your face. Show time. You sprang up from your haunches and scurried to the nearest opening.

Things were blurry from then on. You had more than a few close brushes with certain death, but every time, without fail,  a whizzing bullet would be your salvation. But that wasn’t to say your machete went unused, blood spattering you like a warrior’s anointing. 

Axl’s main quarters were, unsurprisingly, harder to break into. Cooper took care of it, disposing of the raiders that were guarding their leader. The room was cramped with all sorts of loot, including hundreds of caps, perhaps more. Weapons, as well, and not to mention an assortment of Chems.

Axl himself was a large man with long, wild hair that was streaked with grey. He was wearing armor made of scraps and he was riddled with scars, one of his eyes missing. The one remaining glared at the two of you – just as mean mugged as you remembered – but he only seemed to recognize Cooper. 

“Surprised to see me?” Cooper said, grinning easily. “Suppose you were so cocksure I wouldn’t discover your ruse, sendin’ me on that wild goose chase.”

“It was a perfectly valid bounty, guess you just didn’t read the fine print.” Axl smiled cruelly in return, his eye returning to you as you took a step forward, teeth bared. “Who’s this bitch? Your guard dog?”

In the next moment, his knee exploded in a spray of blood and gore as Cooper shot him, ripping an agonized howl from his throat as he collapsed.

“Since nobody taught you any fuckin’ manners, I thought I might as well do it,” Cooper said, trying to sound bored despite the rage in his tone. 

“You stupid motherfucker! I’m gonna … Kill you for this!” Axl managed to growl, writhing on the floor in torment, pathetically trying to drag himself towards any nearby weapon.

Cooper ignored the threats and nodded towards you. “All yours, cowpoke. Best hurry now, fire’s still spreadin’.”

You held his gaze, hoping your eyes could communicate all you wanted to say. Things took a dreamlike quality, time narrowing down to that very moment. You nodded back, and there was the ghost of a smile on his face. You drifted forward, the past and the present intermingling in your mind. 

The memory of your father’s laughter. Years of adventures and survival and the foolish belief that you would always have each other. The startled look on his face as the bullet went straight through his jugular. How he’d pushed you to safety right before his body slumped over. The glimpse of his killer’s face, which had branded itself in your mind. 

Now, you had it in front of you once more, right where you wanted it. And not a hint of doubt clouded your mind.

You raised the machete over your head–

“This is for my father, you son of a bitch.”

– And swung it down in a swift, deadly arc.

—------------------------------------------------

You weren’t sure how you were walking, but you knew you needed to get a safe distance away from the burning encampment. Cooper held you to him as you trembled all over, adrenaline leaving your system in hot and cold waves.

“There, there, you’re alright,” he soothed, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “We’ll stop soon, I promise. Come down’s a bitch on that one, ain’t it?”

You nodded, having confessed to the Buffout earlier, cold sweat running down your back. “I feel like I need to sleep for a thousand years.” 

He chuckled. “I’ll give you a night, sweetheart. Maybe a couple, If I’m feelin’ generous. I ain’t done with you yet, remember?”

You peered up at him, one corner of your lips curling up in a smirk. “Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” he confirmed. “Matter of fact, I think it’ll take you those thousand years to repay all your debts.”

“I can start tonight.”

“Easy there, cowgirl. If I were you, I’d use my time wisely and rest,” he said pointedly. “You know I don’t play around.”

“Hmmm, I don’t know, Cooper. I’m still feeling pretty restless,” You said, lying through your teeth. Exhaustion ran deep, but that wouldn’t stop you from seeking him, eager to become soft once more. At his mercy. 

He hummed in thought, eyes flicking down to you, nonchalant. “Guess I might just have to put you to sleep, huh?”

You grinned, biting your lip and pressing yourself closer to his side. You found a small, rundown shack to hole up in, and he poked his head in to make sure there were no rad roaches or mole rats. 

There was barely enough space for the two of you, but you didn’t mind. He threw his coat on the floor and you set your stuff down before he was cornering  you. He tugged off his gloves, tossing them aside. 

“First thing’s first, gotta get you out of these filthy clothes,” he husked, hands settling on your hips, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt.

He undressed you methodically, enjoying the slowness of it. Revealing more and more of that soft skin he loved to touch, and peeling away the brutality of the night. A hum of appreciation as his hands began to roam, tugging you closer and lowering you onto his coat in an all too familiar way. 

“Much better,” he murmured, feasting his eyes and making sure you were unharmed in equal measure. 

A few scrapes and bruises, but you’d live. He’d done a good job, all things considered. He let out a low, appreciative whistle, barely able to keep his hands to myself.

Your eyes were shiny with want as you looked up at him, lips parted, body taut with anticipation; Shuddering for an entirely different reason. His nails trailed up your thigh as he leaned forward, hovering over you.

“Well, ain’t you the gift that jus’ keeps on givin’?” he rasped, kissing a spot on your jaw just beneath your ear. “All mine to unwrap and play with.”

You nodded, moving your face so his lips would meet yours. But he held back with a tsk.

“Say it f’me, darlin’.”

“All yours,” you sighed, a teasing smile on your lips. “For the next a thousand years or so.”

“That so?” His hand came up to grasp your face. “We’ll see about that.”

He kissed you then, tongue invading your mouth, licking your upper lip in a way that had you whimpering. It was lazy and indulgent, his free hand slowly trailing down your front. 

The same hands that had caused so much destruction now coaxing a fire of a different kind. The night’s events were banished to the periphery of your mind, a languid haze taking over. 

And then his fingers reached their target, and he moaned into your mouth as he parted your slick folds and discovered just how wet you were. Unfurling like a flower at his touch, chest heaving, arching against his hand.

You keened as he plunged two fingers inside you, the pad of his thumb pressing against your clit. Drawing circles in that teasing way he knew would have you bucking under him.

“That’s it, nice and slow,” he husked, pulling back to look at your face. “Make those pretty sounds for me.”

It was hard to hold his gaze — much less focus — as he deftly managed to pump his fingers and move his thumb. Your brain nearly short circuited as he found a rhythm that had you dangerously close to the edge… but also left you craving more.

“Fuck,” you gasped, clutching the wrist of the hand that held your face, if only to anchor yourself to something. 

His grin was roguish. “Yeah? Gonna give me one like this?” 

You tried your best to keep it at bay, wanting to save it for the melding of your bodies, but he could feel the flutter around his fingers. 

“Please, I-I want your cock…” you pleaded. “I need you inside me.”

A soft chuckle to conceal the low groan in his throat, the hunger growing within him. 

“In time,” he said. “Nobody said anythin’ about you only cumming once, honey.”

With that, his fingers doubled their effort. Your back arched off the ground as you felt pleasure quickly building inside of you — a dam ready to burst. 

A choked sound left you as you tumbled over the edge without warning. Muscles clenching as you felt the orgasm rippling outward, blissfully emptying your mind of anything else.

“There’s a good girl,” he praised, feeling the tight squeeze of your cunt around his fingers, his cock twitching painfully in his pants. “See? I knew you could give it to me.”

Your head swam as his hands withdrew. You heard the soft rasp of his zipper being undone and the clink of his belt. Eager, you looked down as he nudged your thighs further apart with his knee, slotting his body between them.

The slick, flushed head of his cock encircled by his fist, pumping himself — large and hard and textured just like the rest of him. He let spit fall from his mouth onto your clit, spreading it with the shaft of his cock as he rutted against you. 

Your legs jerked a little with the stimulation against your still puffy clit, but needy whines still poured from your lips like the sweetest melody to his ears.

You knew better than to tell him not to tease you, instead hitching your hips to meet his movements. He growled, barely able to hold back by that point. You softly sighed as your knees pressed against his sides.  The head notched at your entrance and he pushed inside, thrusting shallowly to open you up further as he reached halfway. 

“Fuckin’ hell, you’re tight,” he rasped as you clutched his arms. “Greedy cunt can’t help squeezing me, huh?”

Before you could even try to respond, his hips snapped a little more roughly, finally burying himself to the hilt. A shared exhale as he bottomed out, fully stretching you. 

“C-Cooper,” you breathed. “Fuck, please, keep going.”

“I’ll take care of ya, don’t you worry,” he said, voice ragged.

He grasped your hips hard enough to bruise, pulling back only to slam forward again. Tugging you to meet his thrusts – long and deep – and you submitted amiably. Soon, the room was filled with the obscene, slapping sound of your bodies joining. Your moans spiraling in a hypnotic repetition, your eyes heavy-lidded as you lifted your head to get a better look of him driving into you.

“Takin’ me so well,” he groaned. “Pretty lil pussy made just for me.”

Your ankles pressed against his lower back, urging him on, not wanting to separate from him for even a moment. Sweat dotting your brow and stray tears of overstimulation on your lash line. You were everything worth adoring, in his eyes. 

One hand reached up to paw at your breasts, which he’d been watching bounce with each one of his thrusts. Pinching the nipples between his fingers, drawing a small yelp from you, but feeling you clamp down on him at the mix of pleasure and pain.

“O-oh, I’m s-so close… Cooper,” You gasped, and he felt your legs start to tremble. 

“Go on, sweetheart, give it to me,” he urged, pushing your legs further up and adjusting his angle. “Wanna feel you come all over my cock.”

Somehow, he felt much deeper that way, pounding at your cervix in a way that had you practically yowling. A momentary dizziness as if you were teetering at a great height… and the second orgasm hit you ruthlessly, forever ruining you for anybody else that wasn’t him. 

He let out a long, rough groan, and heat flooded inside of you as he also came. He fucked you through it, hips stuttering as he emptied out. 

In the come down, you were both panting hard, drunk on endorphins. All energy sapped out of you, lying boneless on top of his coat. He chuckled at the sight of you, something dangerously close to fondness in his amber eyes.

“Little late to ask if you got protection, huh?”

“You know I keep that RadAway on me,” you rasped, smiling weakly. 

“Atta girl. And speaking of,” he murmured, pulling out of you and leaving you achingly empty.

Your vision swam as you watched him tuck himself away, making his way towards his pack. But by the time he found the distinct yellow IV bag, you were slipping into the best sleep you’d ever had. 

—————————————

It was well past morning by the time you woke up. The sun was high, and you felt its heat wafting in through the doorway. Cooper wasn’t around, but you were relieved to see his things were still there.

You noticed he’d cleaned you up to the best of his ability, but you were still naked. You winced as you sat up, stretching your arms over your head. Slowly, you stood up and gathered your clothes from around the small room. 

Still, despite all the aches, you felt as if a huge burden had been lifted off your shoulders. The pain of remembering had turned into a dull throb which would take more time to fully heal. At least now you could focus on the good memories, no longer haunted by the need for justice. 

Freedom was at your fingertips – to choose, to live. Even the sky seemed a little bluer that day.

As you finished getting dressed, you heard the clink of spurs growing closer, his figure hovering in the doorway. 

“How’s my little killer?” Cooper said, leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his chest.

“Like I’ve been run over,” you said, grinning. “But good, otherwise.”

“Good. It’s about time we get up outta here. I let you rest more than enough.”

A flutter in your chest at the word we, reminding you that perhaps your freedom would be partial, but you didn’t mind as long as it was in his company. 

“Right, where to next?” You asked, hauling your pack onto your back. 

He shrugged, sly smile tugging at one corner of his lips. “The world is our oyster, darlin’. We can go wherever we damn please.”

You mirrored his smile, thinking that underneath that tough, seemingly unbreakable exterior,  he just might be feeling the same way about you. “Lead the way, then.”

-----

The End.

[hiskillingjar]

rosemary's baby

Relationship(s): Ren Hana/Reader, Fox/Reader Rating: Explicit Contains: Extremely Dubious Consent, Sexual Coercion, Brain Break, Breeding, Impregnation, Bondage, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat Length: 3000+ words

Summary: Fox always wanted a baby of his own. You should be so lucky to be the one to give it to him.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50675575

"Such...perfect...breeding material."

Your eyes shot wide open and terrified at the dark intention behind his words, pulling tightly at the thick bondage that was keeping you belted and spread out on his bed (was it even his? Had you been given the luxury of seeing his real self yet?), like a medical specimen pinned down and ready for examination, for dissection. 

Your heart hammered desperately fast underneath your rib cage as he paced around the bed, his tail wagging idly behind him, a dreadfully amused look in his golden eyes.

"Oh god," You murmured softly, looking back towards the ceiling and doing your best to steady your breathing, lest you hyperventilate and send yourself into a panic attack.

"I know, pet, I know." He chuckled, a little breathlessly, his voice dripping with a cruel kind of desire as he leaned down towards you, the soft wisps of his hair grazing your cheeks as he ran a claw down your trembling body, assessing you like breeding stock . "But I know what you crave. I know what your body wants, even more than you do. And I know what I crave as well..." He said, then kneeling on the bed and moving close to you, the claws replaced by the soft pads of his fingers. He hadn’t worked a day in his life, not properly. "Such gorgeous breeding stock…and you're so fertile right now. I can smell it."

"Mmph..." You whimpered helplessly, your expression tight and your face hot as you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to squirm underneath him a little more, trying to get away from all of this.

You were more scared of this than anything else he had done to you, more than the filming room, more than the threats of auction, anything. He had invaded you countlessly before this, of course, but never to such a degree that he would take away every ounce of bodily autonomy that you had, reduce you down to an object to be used for something so invasive. 

You could feel your sense of humanity dilapidating with every second as he tilted his head, still assessing you with a hungry look on his smiling face.

"Your body is perfect for the task. And yet, here I am," He didn’t even try to hold back a laugh as his touch trailed down your sternum and to your trembling belly, his expression lost in thought for a moment, like he was thinking, imagining what he could do to you. "Without a litter to call my own." His voice was soft for a moment then, considered. "Maybe I'll fill you up and get the job done right now."

Your eyes shot wide again as he placed a hand on your thigh and pinned it still, forcing your body open for him, the cool air on your hot cunt making you flinch again.

"No, nononono, please, don't," You babbled, your words pleading and desperate as your eyes began to well with tears, your face flushed and hot. “Fox, sir, please, I don’t want it, please please please, don’t-”

"Mmph, are you thinking those thoughts, my pet?" He whispered with a salacious grin, his tongue darting out to lick his teeth in a lustful leer as his eyes roamed over your face, taking in your tears, your desperation. It seemed that your pleading was just getting him all the more excited. "Are you already thinking about a litter of my puppies growing inside of you?"

You wanted to sob, you were so wound up and frightened of the idea, but you couldn’t deny that you were thinking about it quite intently, now that he was saying all of these awful things. Your face was flushed and your body invited him closer, however involuntarily you would have claimed it to be, as his touch trailed down to your inner thighs, feeling the smear of pre-cum against your skin.

"Isn't that what you want, my pet? Your body certainly wants it," He breathed out a sigh, his voice dripping with perverse lust, the grip on your other thigh tightening just a little further, his claws digging into the soft skin, marking you with bleeding red. "You're craving it, aren't you? Even if you protest otherwise." He whispered, bringing his face close to yours again, his nostrils flaring, scenting you. 

You whimpered again, jerking your head upwards, away from his invasive gaze, and biting your lip as he took a long inhale of your scent, sweat, tears, pre-cum pooling down your thighs at the sound of his threats, how fertile you already were. 

Could he even smell that? 

"A puppy of my very own. You could give that to me, pet. Isn’t that a wonderful thought? Aren’t you proud?" He breathed out an unsteady exhale, looking down at you with an expression of relentless hunger despite how frightened you were, despite how much you were trying to avoid his gaze. "Or perhaps two or three, filling your womb with my litter." He whispered, his mouth practically watering at the thought. "So many pretty, little puppies..."

“God,” You moaned helplessly, whimpering as your body squirmed and twisted even more. Your fluttering eyes went to the ceiling again as you pulled at the belts around your wrists, praying for a God who wouldn’t listen, your lips trembling and babbling prayers for somebody, anybody. “This isn’t a dream. This is happening, this is really happening…”

"Mmmph,” He ignored your pleas and moaned softly, pressing his face into your middle and straddling one of your spread legs, pressing his hips down against it, letting you feel just how excited this idea was already making him. "Such soft flesh, and those breasts…” He mumbled hotly into your skin, nipping and biting as he stared down at you like a man starved, trying to meet your eyes and show you just how much he wanted this. “So swollen and red and ready to feed my children."

You gasped, high and keening and desperate, as he dipped his head and tongued your nipple to emphasise his point further, as his hands went up and caressed your tummy, groping the soft flesh (imagining how it would look when you were carrying his young). 

You would have to get used to sharp teeth on your breasts though, if you were to carry his young, as they would surely have teeth and fangs like his...god, he even had you thinking about it. Little babies with fur and ears and sharp teeth, suckling at your breasts…it was the thing of horror stories, and yet, you felt your clit twinge at the idea.

"Your body was made for this," He breathed out raggedly against your breast, his voice dripping with lust and desire as one hand went down to your other thigh and pushed it upwards, spreading your legs, getting you ready for him to take as he pleased. "A body made for breeding, pet..." His other hand then went up to your breast and groped hard, threading a claw through the ring through your nipple as he nipped and sucked at the other, making you shriek. "All those lovely curves. Those full hips, those legs...those breasts made to be nursed by hungry, hungry pups." He whispered hotly, breathing against your ear as his hips continued to rut down erratically. "Imagine it. My puppies filling you, and…hah, and sating themselves by your flesh."

"Mph..." You moaned softly, your eyes fluttering as he pressed himself against you, his whispered words hot and breathy in your ear as he groped your thigh, your chest, rutting himself down against you so that you could feel just how hard he was.  

Would he let you play mother, you wondered? 

Would he let you leave the role of a pet, a barely living and breathing sex toy that he didn’t even have a name for, and actually be a person again? 

Maybe it would be worth the invasion, if he promised you that small mercy.

"Look at me. In my eyes.” He snarled then, the hand on your thigh reaching up and gripping your chin, pressing your head back against the pillows of the bed and staring down into your eyes, his own almost feral with desire. “You could be a perfect little breeding doll, for me and me alone. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to serve me?"

You tried to pull back as his grip on your chin tightened a little more, his claws digging into your soft cheeks and piercing your skin, making you look up into the mad glint of his eyes, his tongue licking his jaws again indulgently. 

He really meant every word of this. 

He was serious.

If there was a God, they weren’t going to save you. Not from this. 

Maybe a part of you was relieved by that, that you had no chance of being saved from this life that Fox had been so generous to give you. 

A small part that was growing with every day.

"And I'll never sell you either," He then shook his head with a little smile, an expression you hadn’t seen on his face before, that gave away a boyish innocence that you didn’t expect to ever see from Fox. "You'll belong to me, forever, I can promise you that mercy, pet. You’ll give me as many puppies as I want, and I’ll keep you, forever and ever, and make you mine…”

You whimpered helplessly, your wide eyes watering as you took in an unsteady breath, before you were jerked out of the quasi-trance that he had put you under, as he shifted to kneel between your spread thighs, and reached down to unzip his suit trousers.

"NGH!" 

You grunted loudly as you were suddenly, without warning, stuffed full with his hard cock, sliding inside of you with barely any effort you were that wet, your eyes squeezing shut out of impulse as your body grew tight and tense, your muscles straining against the belts that bolted you to the bed. 

You could already feel the base of his knot swelling as he rutted his hips down against yours, your body moving in time with him. The sensation by itself wasn't wholly overwhelming, you had taken him plenty of times and in much worse scenarios, but...that combined with the ideas he'd put in your head throughout all of this was making you cry out and whimper.

"Imagine how lovely you’ll be, nursing our babies. Those little sweet little puppies that came from you," His voice was a ragged whisper in your ear, looking you over as he thrust his cock deep inside you, in and out, a relentless machine working hard for what he wanted. "Feeding them from your body, taking care of them, loving them...do you...do you think you could do it?" He then purred, his voice uncharacteristically soft as he brought a hand down to cup your breast again, toying with the swelled nipple as a means to tease, not to torture. “Would you do it for me, baby?”

You bit your lip as he groped you, as he toyed with all your most sensitive spots and got your mind hazy and delirious with pleasure, so you couldn’t possibly say no to his offer, but you couldn't deny that even without the pleasing sensations, it was...a pleasant thought. 

Taking care of your children with your body, tending to little beast-kin pups that looked like him and you combined, conjoined, a mixture of the very best of your features and the very best of his. 

You had nightmares about the prospect in your real life, but that was a lifetime ago now. That was an entirely different person. The person you were now understood what a privilege it would be to do this for him, to carry and birth his young. 

He was always so generous with you. 

"Do you want that?" He whispered, his voice almost sounding sincere as he continued to thrust into you, as the hand on your chin went upwards and cupped your cheek gently, a sign of affection usually reserved for lovers. “Do you want my children?”

"Yes...yes, sir," You panted, your mind half-mad (all mad, certainly) as you took desperate lungfuls of air, just trying to keep present and conscious when you were so close to losing yourself.

"Good girl, gooood girl," He purred with his own delirious smile, his hands gripping your body, his caresses becoming more possessive, more lustful, and more demanding. "Say it again...say you want it with your words, baby. Come on now."

"I want to be your breeding doll," You moaned open-mouthed, your body arching and your head thrown back as you thrashed underneath him, like you were possessed, losing yourself in your own pleasure as he slowly eased and pressed even deeper, his knot spreading you wide open. "I want your puppies!"

His own face was a little flushed just hearing you, and his breaths became ragged and his expression feral and hungry. 

"You'll do it all and you’ll do it so perfectly, sweetheart,” He murmured, his breathing heavy and his hand squeezing your chest even harder, marring your skin, your soft flesh. “You'll be my pet, my little breeding doll, yes, yes, always. You'll raise my litter of beautiful little puppies...they'll be our family. Do you hear me, pet?" He growled then, a mad grin of sharp teeth growing wider as he looked down at you, his whole body shaking with lustful excitement. "Do you hear me? They’ll always have us, always…we’ll never abandon them or hurt them, will we?"

“No, sir,” You murmured, your voice slurring as your cunt swallowed his knot greedily, your muscles clenching so tight that Fox couldn’t resist a long moan, pressing his forehead against your collarbone as he pounded even deeper. 

“Good girl,” He growled, his golden eyes growing dark with desire as he glared back up towards you. “You’ll be such a good mother, such a good mommy…”

You whined softly, pressing your naked body up against his (the best that you could while you were still belted down), totally boneless despite how much you were struggling, as he pressed a hungry kiss to your mouth, claiming your lips in a rare display of possessive affection for you. His eyes were wide with excitement, his body pulsing with desire as he claimed you completely. 

His breathing came out short, heavy inhales against your neck once he pulled away from the kiss, as his mouth continued to work desperately for more of you, bites against your jaw, your neck.

“I caaan’t,” You whined desperately, squeezing your eyes shut and panting against his skin as he placed a hand on your throat, his lips against your cheek, almost a kiss. “Nghh, too much, please…”

His grip on your throat tightened slightly. It's not quite a choke hold, but it's getting there.

"Shhh..." He whispered softly, his mouth breathing hot and heavy against your cheek, giving you a little nip, adorning you with more bruises that tied you to him. "You can do this, mommy. You want this. Need it. "

Your eyes rolled back into your skull as he gripped your throat even tighter, your breath stuttering and your body incredibly tense as you focused all of your attention on normalising your breathing, feeling the pulsing heat of his cock pounding into your cunt. His grip on your throat was slowly tightening just a little more, the pressure now bordering on actual choking. 

He wanted you to feel him completely, and for you to give him everything you had.

Your sanity, your mind, your body, your womb.

“Tell me you want it,” He demanded with a shocking amount of finality to his words, biting his own lip so hard that it was almost rupturing the skin, making himself bleed from his own desire. “One more time, so I know. So I know…”

"Breed me," You pleaded, your eyes fluttering as you looked up at him, like he was the God that you were praying to. "Give me your puppies, Fox, please..."

Fox’s fingers tightened around your neck as he heard your desperate words, his lips trembling just a touch against your cheek as he let out a low grunt from the very back of his throat. He pulled back from your cheek and ran his tongue over the patch of marred skin on your shoulder, his teeth slowly beginning to sink into you again, his mouth tasting with desperation to be even closer to you. 

You couldn’t hold back a pained moan as his mouth worked aggressively against your skin, as he devoured your body with lust, hunger, and pleasure, his sharp teeth puncturing the delicate skin of your shoulder and his hips somehow moving faster and more erratically, on the very precipice of pleasure himself. His breathing was heavy as he felt your body surrender completely to the pleasure, and all he could think about is giving you more and more of it.

"I've got you..." He whispered, a low growl against your neck, his words catching just a touch as he pressed a bloody kiss to your jaw. "I'm not letting you go until I'm done with you. "

"Never let me go," You slurred softly, your mouth staying open with desperate gasps as his grip on your neck tightened even more, your vision starting to go fuzzy. “Never let me go…”

With that, with a vicious snarl from the very back of his throat, a second aggressive bite pressed into your shoulder, and his claws digging deep into your chest, marring you with bloody injuries as he always did, he stilled with a spasm, and you felt him spill deep, deep inside of you.

Finally letting go of your neck, Fox drew back and pressed his body against yours, his grip on your chest slackening as he let out a deep and long sigh of satisfaction. He buried his head against your neck uncharacteristically, searching for the warm space between your shoulder and your jaw, and his mouth resting against your skin as he panted, doing his best to recouperiate as you lay slack underneath him

You were barely conscious as you took in your own heaving breaths, but you could feel him move your thighs to rest over the top of his knees, hitching your body up and…well, giving his puppies the best chance inside of you.

You didn’t stop a delirious smile coming to your face as you felt his seed inside of you.

You would lie here for days if you needed to. 

To give him what he wanted. And what you surely wanted now too.