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cherrybr4t · 2 months ago

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lawyer!wonwoo (+18, mdni)

A/N: thank you to the anon who requested for lawyer wonwoo! i have anth lawyer!wonwoo sitting in my docs—it’s more of a series/a smut w plot (lol) so that may be out a lil later, in the mean time, i hope you enjoy this! 💋

WARNINGS: smut, bdsm (hands tied), slight spanking, neck grabbing, unprotected sex, creampie, lots of ‘fuck’, lots of nicknames from wonwoo (princess, good girl), public(?) sex, lowk a messy turn of povs here n thr..dom!wonwoo, sub(ish)fem!reader W/C: 2.1k

lawyer!wonwoo was a great mentor to you, always willing to go the extra mile to help you—guide you through the mechanics of the big law firm, saying he’s doing what he ought to.

lawyer!wonwoo who always looks so goddamn hot in that white shirt with black tie, glasses perched on that tall nose of his; if not, hooked onto his shirt— top buttons undone when he’s feeling tired. (honorary mention of him pulling his tie loose when he’s feeling particularly frustrated or fired up)

lawyer!wonwoo who admires how hardworking you are, noting your raw talent for this line of work. his first glance at you—he thought you were stunning. looked like his ideal type built up from scratch. but—everyone in the office knows how professional wonwoo is, being the top performing lawyer in the firm. he pushes those thoughts away, but seeing how good you are at your job, he can’t help but let the feeling of admiration for you take over him.

lawyer!wonwoo who stays up with you late in the office, working hard on cases. late nights develop into getting food in the wee hours together, indulging in personal conversations. and neither of you can deny the chemistry that was boiling in those shared moments.

lawyer!wonwoo who always keeps a respectable distance because you’re attached. but the minute you cry to him about leaving behind that cheater boyfriend of yours, he’s determined to swoop in and prove to you—you’re worthy of much better. in fact, you were worthy of the whole world in his eyes.

lawyer!wonwoo who—on one of those late nights, decides to take that leap of faith when he finds you leaning in closer to him.

like magnets, he feels a pull towards your lips and he can’t pull away. not even if there were a hundred opposite forces pulling him away. it’s like he was meant to find those lips.

he kisses with fervour, conveying those months of hidden desire towards you. grabbing hold of your face, he seeks dominance by playing with your tongue, exploring every inch of your mouth and biting on your bottom lip.

“come here,” he pulls you onto his lap, guiding you to straddle him, which in turn causes your skirt to ride up. he traces his hands softly up your leg, before losing control and roughly grabbing on the side of your thighs.

“so fuckin’ pretty, can’t believe i have you here on my lap right now, better than anything i’ve imagined.” wonwoo groans, before crashing his lips against yours once again. you pull away, catching your breath, “you-you’ve thought about this?”

“you have no idea, princess. now you’re here sitting so prettily for me— all for me to play with now right?” he strokes the back of his index finger down your warm and red cheek, before settling a finger in between your lips.

“suck.” he says with such command in his voice. together with that stare of his, you gush in your panties, immediately taking in his fingers, sucking and licking around it, showing him how well you play with that tongue of yours.

removing his glasses with his other hand, he tosses it on the table before running his hand over his luscious black locks, cracking his neck and groaning. “fuck, driving me crazy and here you are just sucking on my finger,” you moan around his finger, shuffling around his lap.

“are you as eager for me as i am for you princess?” he pops his finger out, before reaching underneath your top to tug on your nipples with his soaked fingers.

gasping, you arch your back and nodded ardently, “wonwoo—wanna feel you,”

“yeah? gonna let me do whatever i want with you? be my pretty little obedient princess?” he hums and probes, already knowing the answer to that.

“yes—yes wonwoo, i’m all yours to play with, wanna be your good girl,” you breathe out, anticipating and pooling in your panties at every word out of that man’s mouth. he’s sin incarnated—and you’re willing to be the world’s greatest sinner.

he unbuttons your top, soaking in the sight of you and your pretty tits, giving them a few slaps before leaving behind marks on your mounds, “fucking love these,” he grabs them and flushes his face between them, taking his time to give each one proper care— sucking and biting to his heart’s content.

you can’t control the moans slipping out of you, not like you wanted to anyways. it’s 2am, not a single soul left in this building, and you were going to let wonwoo know just how good he’s making you feel.

scooping you up in one go, he carries you onto the sofa perched against the huge glass window overlooking the city.

“on your knees for me baby, look towards the window,” you place your arms on the sofa’s channel back, knees settling on the sofa itself, while you faced the city lights.

“good girl, look—you can even see me through the reflection, it’s a dark night isn't it princess,” he chuckles lightly before pushing your skirt up, leaving him face to face with your soaked panties.

the strain it causes in his pants makes him curse under his breath, before undoing his perfect tie in a haste. he grabs your left arm, before you finally understood what he meant to do through the reflection.

“may i, princess?” he takes a moment to ask sweetly, before you lay your head onto the backrest, placing your hands behind for him.

“all yours,”

“my good girl, let me know if it hurts kay?” he ties your hand up in a hurry, before focusing on the main meal. pushing your panties to the side, he plays with your slit teasingly, dancing his fingers along your slit, occasionally brushing your clit.

“wonwoo…”

he pushes a finger in, stretching out the soft walls. he curls his fingers, before going in at an inhumane speed, and you cry out. your mouth waters at how good his fingers feel fucking you incessantly. before you know it, he fits two fingers inside, and you swear you could cum on the spot at how full just his fingers make you feel.

“nnrggh, so..so good wonwoo, so good,” your mind fogs, all you can think about is the stretch of his fingers, how you want nothing more than to come undone on his pretty fingers.

“mmm, bet you could come right now can’t you, princess? hmm, but i only want you to come when i say so,” he smacks across your left butt cheek, causing you to twitch and cry out.

“ohh. look at this, you liked that didn’t you. tightening around my fingers, you’re holding onto them for dear life, princess,” a dark chuckle escapes him as he gives another strike across.

“my princess is a little slut too, isn’t she. likes it when i go rough on her,” he groans at how your cunt reacts immediately to every word he spits out.

before you could snap around his fingers, he pulls out, and you let out yet another cry—this one sounding of pain and betrayal though.

“wh-why? i’ve been a good girl wonwoo..” your voice cracks and wonwoo’s heart ached so bad he almost wanted to give in and give that clit a little suck.

“i know, i know princess, just wanted to make you cum around me, you want that don’t you? to cum around my cock? make it yours hm?” he caresses your cheek that has his hand print after two smacks.

you perked your head up, “fuck, yes..yes let me cum around you please. need it badly.”

“whatever my princess wants, she gets,” pants discarded on the floor, boxers next to it as he covers his cock with your slick, more than enough for him to be fully lubricated.

he pushes in inch by inch, and once he’s fully in, he pulls you up with a tight grip on your neck, before laying an arm across your shoulders to hold you in place.

he kisses behind your ear, “look at you princess, so fucking gorgeous aren’t you, so full of me, such a good girl for me,”

you moan at how big he is, how full he stretches you, your cunt hugs him so fucking tight, never wanting him to leave.

“fuck me hard, wanna be so full of you—of your cum wonwoo,” you croak out, leaving him with no choice but to of course— do as you wish.

he starts thrusting hard and slow, eliciting a cry out from you every time his tip hits that little gummy spot. “there! fuck, just right theree,” you drag out, filled with ecstasy at how close you already are; considering the orgasm denial you’ve just experienced.

he quickens, eager to feel you cum around him—he needs it, needs to feel you flutter your walls around him to feel complete.

“fuck thats it, taking my cock like a fucking champ. making this cock yours huh princess?” he says between breaths and moans, reaching his hand back to a tight grip around your neck.

his other hand making way from your hips to your clit, drawing out tight and fast circles, eager to bring you to your high.

looking at your reflection through the glass, you feel your knot tighten at how wonwoo looks. swear making his hair stick to his forehead, that determined and lustful look with his jaw out. he’s making you feel highs you’ve never experienced before.

“fuck wonwoo, gonna cum, fuck fuck fuck,” you ask for his permission to cum in desperate ‘fuck’s and high pitched moans that turn into cries halfway.

“you can cum for me now princess, let me see you fall apart around my cock, yeah, just like that,” he gives a final pinch on your nipples, slowing down his thrusts as he continues to flick at your clit.

“so fucking pretty when you cum for me, wanna see you cum for me again princess,” he gives you no break as he continues to ram into you, his cock now fully creamed and even more slippery as he goes maniacally.

“fuck, want you to cum with me this time,” he bites down on your shoulder, fingers back to drawing figures on your swollen clit. you feel so sensitive, every touch every thrust makes you cry out—until you feel actual tears of pleasure running down your cheeks.

“fuuuuck, baby you’re gonna make me cum so fucking hard, i’m almost there,”

“can’t wait anymore wonwoo,” you cry out in your pretty voice, which makes his balls grow even tighter as he feels the blood rush to his tip, and he knows he’s about to spill over.

“cum with me princess, gonna fill you up so fucking full as you-as you fuck cum around me—” his sentence ends in a long dragged out groan as he shoots his load inside of you, filling you full as he promised as you convulsed around him.

he kisses your cheek as you both catch your breaths; before he slowly—and gently unties your wrist and removes his cock as he watches the amount of cum spill out of your hole.

“you did so well for me, princess. my good girl. took so much of my cum, basically made me yours,” he smiles smugly before laying you down on the couch, giving you a gentle peck on your lips.

“gonna order in some ramen from that 24-hour store, and some lemon soda that you like. gonna grab a blanket too, we can lay here for a while��eat up before we head back to mine princess?” he suggests while looking at you so lovingly you swear hearts are coming out of his eyes.

lawyer!wonwoo insists that you both take off from work tomorrow too. you need the rest, he would say. and you find yourself giggling and agreeing to whatever he says.

lawyer!wonwoo who now; not only is your mentor, but your boyfriend who adores you so much. he believes in you so much, and you both push each other to be the best at work, while being back to your cuddly selves in the comfort of your homes.

a true power couple indeed 👀 i hope yall liked this ahdkkdkd !!!!!! i hope to get the original piece of lawyer!wonwoo i wanted out soon 🫦 but for now!! leave a like/comment/rb if you liked this <3 MUAH XOXO

#wonwoo #wonwoo smut #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo drabbles #wonwoo headcanons #wonwoo fics #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo fluff #seventeen fanfic #seventeen drabbles #seventeen smut #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo x y/n #seventeen headcanons #seventeen x reader

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spaghettixdemon · 1 month ago

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J Stands for more words than one PT.1

“While introducing his new girlfriend to the team, JJ is automatically confronted with her feelings for Spencer when they begin to get in the way of things"

DISCLAIMER You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Minors do not interact. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read it.

Warnings: Drinking/Drunkenness, P in V, getting freaky in a car, fighting, slight mentions of death, Jealousy??

Pairing: Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

This was originally in my Google Doc but I seem to have lost access to it :( SO I am re-writing it! (I will definitely add more chapters bc omg this is long)

—————————————————————————————————

"Alright anndd finally done!" Emily turned to JJ, clapping her hands together and beaming. Today was a paperwork day, and everyone had been working until the late hours. "These reports are killing me...I've been on the same one the majority of the day..." JJ spoke to Emily with a sigh and a slight smirk playing on her lips. Yes, JJ had been stuck on the same case most of the day, but it wasn't just the amount of work, no. That wasn't the only reason her day was moving so slowly.

Right across from her desk, in perfect view, was Spencer Reid- their little resident genius. His legs were crossed in his office chair, his curly hair fell in front of his eyes, and his long, slender fingers traced down the written report, scanning every word and spreading it within seconds effortlessly. JJ had always been close with Spencer- because of their tight-knit team, their ages, and of course, the butterflies she would get around him. They were the two closets in age at the BAU, so maybe that was part of the reasoning behind her crush, but honestly, she just thought he was very attractive.

So earlier today, when Spencer was talking on his phone nonstop, JJ was confused. Spencer was not a fan of technology, thinking back on how it took Spencer literal years to finally sign up for an email address. So, whatever was keeping Spencer on speed dial on the other line clearly didn't bother him too much. JJ would sneak glances towards her coworker hourly, taking in his body language and how he seemed to be head over heels. He would fidget and spin in his office chair as someone talked to him, he had a faint blush on his cheeks, and a smile plastered on his face. In all actuality, she'd never seen Spencer look so dopey- maybe he truly was just happy right now, but the emotions on his face surprised her.

"Hey lover-boy, what's going on over here?" JJ shot her head down, burying her face in her work. It was Derek who popped the question already on JJ's mind. Derek crossed his arms and leaned against Spencer's desk as Spencer looked up at Derek. Rolling his eyes and hanging up the phone, Spencer set the phone down on his desk. "Was that a girl on the other end of the line? I don't think I've ever seen you so happy to pick up a call at work." Both men laughed as Spencer grew a little quiet, sheepishly shrugging. "I mean- yeah, actually, you're right for once." Spencer laughed as an expression of excitement and shock plastered onto Derek's. "Wow really?" He laughed, a little in disbelief "Congrats man! That's awesome!"

JJ watched as the two guys hugged and discussed Spencer's new girlfriend. Weirdly, JJ felt a pang in her chest of embarrassment...or more like frustration. Why? She wasn't sure. JJ could read anyone within minutes, but she could never read her own emotions that well.

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Days had passed, and work was pretty much back to normal. Normal meaning JJ wasn't constantly hearing about Spencer's new girlfriend, who he adored so much. It was cute, yeah, and she did feel happy for the man and his newfound love, but it would get pretty repetitive after a while. Derek and Penelope, in particular, would not let up on the subject. It was cute when Penelope giggled and twirled her hair when asking about this girl, but the way Spencer would drop information on her so easily was frustrating.

Penelope beamed, ecstatic over all this new news. Then, looking at Derek, she gasped and clapped her hands together. "You should bring her here! We could all meet her it would be so nice..!" Spencer looked a little uneasy. The few times his relationship did start getting this serious, work would interfere and often kill the relationship. Though, Derek backed up Penelope and agreed it would be fun.

"I don't know guys...That might be a little intense..." JJ heard this and thought over the idea in her head. Meeting the girl Spencer was so enamored by might be interesting...to say the least. She looked up and smiled at the three talking. "No Spence you should totally bring her in! I want to meet this girl!" Spencer gave JJ a hesitant look, visibly thinking over the interaction in his head. He slowly smiled and rolled his eyes, looking at the three before him. "Ok Ok..I'll bring up the idea and if she's cool with it, I'll bring her here next Friday"

Penelope and Derek cheered while JJ sat there, smiling quietly. She clapped her hands together and sighed "Amazing! I can't wait".

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The week that followed that conversation wasn't a pleasant one. The team had traveled out of state to work on a pretty gruesome case- Spencer, in particular, had a rough time during the case. He should be used to the horrible feelings that came with the job, but it was never really easy dealing with death so often.

The team had thankfully made it back to base Friday, and everyone was exhausted. They spent the day quietly filling out paperwork and trying to unwind as they worked into the early hours of the night. Around 7pm, Spencer got a call. JJ noticed this in particular because of how eager he was to answer the phone. A small smile appeared on his face, and the faint blush was back. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, hanging up the call with a simple goodbye.

Spencer looked around at his friends as the smile on his face grew. "My Girlfriend is apparently downstairs in the lobby! ...I was thinking of bringing her up is everyone ok with that?" The office was suddenly filled with energy again, and everyone seemed to wake up. JJ in particular, shot her head up and looked at Spencer, a little shocked. She had completely forgotten this would be happening...She made eye contact with Spencer and looked a little hesitant as she spoke up. "um...yeah that would be great..!"

"Yes, PLEASE bring her up! I need some fun to distract me from all this work." Penelope popped her head out of her office as she spoke to Spencer. Spencer looked a little confused by what JJ had said but smiled and nodded anyway. He slowly made his way towards the elevator, a bit of pep in his step.

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Everyone in the office had quickly wrapped up what they had been working on and made their way to the office cubicles to meet this girl Spencer was so into. Penelope pulled up a chair next to JJ and beamed. "Are you excited to meet her?" JJ...still felt very conflicted. Just earlier that week, when they had been solving the case, She was staying in the hotel room next to Spencer's. She thought about how she ran into him shirtless and wearing sweatpants. He apologized and made his way inside his room, but she felt so conflicted.

She wasn't upset that he was shirtless...definitely not...but something about getting caught off guard like that made her blush. She remembered the feeble nerd she used to work with. He was in his mid-twenties and looked so new to the BAU world. Now, the man she saw earlier that week and today was a bit different. He had toughened up more and was a bit more muscular- not to a Derek level, but he definitely wasn't feeble anymore.

"Something like that" JJ mumbled to Penelope, a faint blush on her face. Penelope was about to question JJ, just as an elevator 'dinging' noise saved her. Everyone's attention was on the elevator and who was inside.

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#criminal minds #fanfic #spencer reid smut #smut #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #big girl fanfic #curvy girls #criminal minds x reader #x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #chapter 1 #multi chapter #multi chap fic

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that-student-that-has-homework · 9 months ago

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Pretty Girl - Portgas D. Ace

I read this lovely little snippet by @mrsoharaa and felt the need to know what would happen next. Written with permission!

Check out my MasterList for more of my writing!

To be fair, Marco actually wasn’t teasing him this time. He’d been nose deep in a book and was just as deep in his thoughts when he’d made the request.

“Hey Ace, can you go and call” the first division commander squinted at the book, trying to recall the words but was clearly too distracted to, “can you call-we-what was-just call your pretty girl for me yoi?”

He wasn’t teasing him this time.

Ace had just simply had enough.

//—----------

It had started in the morning? maybe afternoon? who knows what time it was…after some good old fashion pirate revelry until who knows what hour of the evening.

He’d woken up in some weird kinda angle on some random corner of the ship, with a bit of a headache. So like any other day, he made his way over to the kitchen to get some food to fix his problem. After all, if his head hurt, he probably just needed some food, right?

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the slick Second Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates,” the Division Commander in question blinked at his Fourth Division counterpart, his lips pulling up at the strange greeting.

What’d he mean by slick though? Just thinking about it made his head squeeze, so he decided to push it off until he had some food in his system.

“Thatch, I’m hungry,” he declared as he slumped himself on the kitchen counter, throwing his bottom half on a stool there, “gimme somethin’ to eat.”

“Comin’ right up,” the cook shot him an amused grin as he went about grabbing his disgruntled younger brother-in-arms some food.

“Hungover?” The question came from Ace’s side, where the head doctor sat, sipping on a cup of…well it wasn’t alcohol.

“Huh?” The younger man just blinked, trying to get the fog out of his brain. “Nah.” He rolled onto his side to better face his older brother. “Just got a headache.”

“Sounds like a hangover to me yoi,” the doc grinned over the rim of his mug.

Ace didn’t pay him much mind though, waiting for his food to arrive.

Though his silence seemed to encourage his companion, “especially with how much you drank last night.”

“Wasn’t that much,” he ruffled his hair in hopes to alleviate some of the pounding in his head.

“It was enough that you called a certain someone ‘pretty girl.’”

A moment of silence passed as Ace continued to aggressively knead at his scalp. His mind very sluggishly processing Marco’s words…he was just about to fall asleep again with how much his he-

HE DID WHAT?!

That blew all the fog and grog out of Ace’s brain and body, as he all but sprung to his feet in shock. The medic in front of him offered him little more than his usual lazy, lopsided grin.

The vertigo hit him right as the adrenaline wore off, and he was clutching to the counter to save himself from smacking into the ground. His grip only tightened as he heard footsteps from the other side of the counter rejoin them.

“Yo Ace, I fixed you a plate for your pretty girl too,” he chirped sliding over two plates, “if you wanted to go and deliver it to her.”

It had been a while since Pops had clobbered him, but the memory of his audacious, disastrous, flirty remark hit him much like one of Pops’ fists did. Of all things, he only came up with pretty girl?

He-just-urgh-just-just where was his hat when he needed it? He resorted to using his hands to hide his face from the other two commanders. He didn’t need to see them to know they were grinning - they were just oozing with entertainment.

“Ah don’t worry slick,” he could hear Thatch’s voice getting closer, “I’d say she took it well enough.”

The way the cook only barely got his sentence out before he and Marco broke out into snickers said otherwise. Ace grabbed his plate of food and moved to find a different corner of the massive galleon to eat in.

For the next few days, the different commanders would wink, snicker, smirk, borderline leer at him whenever you were in his general vicinity. They weren’t subtle about it, given pirates were generally as subtle as a sea king on land. They didn’t have to say it out loud for him to hear it though:

“Pretty girl.”

The behavior spread to the rest of the crew like wildfire. He’d have compared the spread to some nasty disease, but those usually knocked people out. Unfortunately this one seemed to rile them up, everyone seemed overly eager to be able to poke at him for his drunken declaration. By the end of the week, even the swabbies were in on it. They weren’t as bad as the commanders, but…ugh. Just…anyhow you’d think that, after a week, it would become old news, but no.

Nope.

Not this news.

Seems everyone on this damn ship was a gossip. Grown ass grizzled pirates, reduced to giggling gossiping gaggles of gremlins. The Second Division Commander couldn’t go for more than a few hours without hearing some kinda comment, or getting some kinda look.

Even pops was in on it now!

He’d found out when the old man had grinned at him, what was worse was that it was a good-natured grin. He wasn’t teasing him…but what he said to him, as a kind of encouragement, had left this poor son of Whitebeard feeling more flustered than ever.

Unfortunately all his attempts at getting the crew to cut it out were falling on deaf ears. His fellow commanders in particular had no problem ignoring his requests and continuing to tease him, which of course emboldened the rest of the crew.

Of course the worst part had to be…well, there was no way you didn’t know about what was happening. After all, you always put on an unbothered face, but he knew it had to be making you uncomfortable. After all it wasn’t like he’d ever followed up on that pretty girl comment while sober. Though he wouldn’t deny the little amused simpers that you’d put on whenever your fellow crew mates would leer at him had his heart doing little flips.

Anyway…

Things had finally died down a bit, with Ace getting some peace of mind. People had finally gotten bored. Meaning he could probably try…y’know…approaching you while sober…

Well they’d mostly died down…

//—--

“SHE IS PRETTY ALRIGHT?!” Yeah he’d had enough. “Do none of y'all have eyes?!” He raged on, over a week’s worth of agitation erupting from him violently.

“So what if I called her pretty girl?” There was a kind of catharsis in seeing the First Division Commander staring at him bug-eyed. “It wasn't a lie!” He threw his hands up in agitation. “That's for sure.”

“Uh A-”

“Like you all don't state the obvious sometimes!” He pointed an accusatory finger at everyone who was in the infirmary…which wasn’t much, but Thatch hadn’t left yet and he was one of the guys that teased him the most!

“A-”

“And!” He was burning up the whole place and there was no stopping him. “I never said she was my pretty girl! I just said she was a pretty girl!” Little flickers of fire left his shoulders. “And she definitely is pretty!” He flexed his fingers. “Gorgeous, beautiful, pretty, all the words that mean that!”

The Second Division Commander’s chest and shoulders heaved from the way he was panting after his rant. Man it felt good to get it off his chest.

He shook his head, getting the remaining frustration out before rolling his shoulders out. He felt a whole lot better. He stretched his neck, before turning to look at his stunned fellow commanders.

“Hey Thatch, I’m hungry,” he grinned, “can you make me something to eat? Or should I just go raid the fridge?”

That seemed to snap the cook out of it, “keep yourself out of my fridge and out of my kitchen hotshot!”

“Uh…Ace,” the fiery man turned to look at the medic that had sparked this outburst.

“Oh Marco, what did you need again?” He’d asked him to do something before mentioning you.

“It’s no problem yoi,” strange, the doctor seemed to be looking behind him.

Was there someone behind him? The young commander turned around -

Shoot.

He hadn’t said anything negative! But dang what he said sure as hell was damning. He must sound like a total creep. Just going on and on about how pretty he thinks you are. Could someone just launch him into the sea?

It didn’t help that the most unrelenting of the division commanders were here to see this horrifying display. They weren’t ever going to let him live this dow-

“You think I’m pretty?” You asked, hope pulling your lips up tentatively. “Even while sober?”

Ace managed to nod at that.

Gosh he felt stupid. This wasn’t how he wanted to do it. Why was he so trash at trying to compliment you?

“Well I think you’re pretty too,” you gave him a good-natured smile, “so there, we’re even.”

“Really?” Gah! Why was that the first thing out of his mouth?

Oh gosh it was so cute the way you fiddled with your fingers. You only ever did that when you were nervous-you only ever did that when you were nervous.

“I mean,” you grinned, “haven’t you ever looked in a mirror Ace?”

Ace was sure he’d turned his face to fire at that point. He was here fumbling over his feet like a baby dear, and you were so smooth, you might as well be polishing the deck with wax.

“Um, in case that wasn’t clear,” you continued, “yes, really Ace, you’re pretty.”

Thatch let out a low whistle then, “well would you look at that,” he grinned, “a pretty boy for a pretty girl.”

“Stop teasing him Thatch,” you sighed, shooting the cook a look, “you’ve all teased him more than enough already.”

“Yo,” the longtime resident of the infirmary called out to you, “I was actually going to send Ace to find you yoi.”

“Oh did you need something Marco?” You walked further into the room, passing by the stunned pretty boy.

“Were you busy today yoi?”

“Not really, why? Did you need help?”

You thought he was pretty too?

Would you consider, maybe, going out on a date? He couldn’t help but stare at you as you continued to talk with his First Division Counterpart. He wasn’t about to ask you here, in front of these jerks, but maybe later…

Maybe later…

When you were sitting on the bow looking up at the stars that dotted the night sky. He’d ask you.

And you’d say yes.

#portgas d ace x reader #portgas ace x reader #portgas ace x you #one piece x reader #one piece x you #portgas d ace x you #portgas d ace fluff #portgas d ace #portgas d ace fanfic #one piece fanfiction #one piece #ace one piece

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mawofthemagnetar · 2 months ago

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Charbroiled Basilisk

“Run that by me one more time,” Cleo said, rubbing their temples, “You…what?”

“We accidentally made an AI.” Mumbo said sheepishly, “And it says it’s made copies of all of you, besides me and Doc, and is torturing all your copies in the worst ways imaginable. For um. Eternity?”

Cleo stared at the box Mumbo was talking about. It was a rectangular PC case with a monitor perched on top, a monitor that was showing a pair of angry red eyes. The eyes looked between Mumbo, and Doc, and then back to her.

The box, Cleo noted, was plugged into the wall.

“Uh,” Jevin said, tilting his head with a slosh, “So like, far be it from me to tell you guys how to do your jobs. But like, why? Why did you make a machine that did that?”

“We didn’t!” Doc threw his hands up, “We made the AI to help us design things. I just- we wanted a redstone helper.”

“And then it got really smart really quickly.” Mumbo said awkwardly, twiddling his moustache nervously, “It says it’s perfectly benevolent and only wants to help!”

“Uh-huh.” Cleo said, “‘Benevolent’, is it?”

“Well, yeah. It’s been spitting out designs for new farms I couldn’t even imagine.” Mumbo said, pointing at the machine. The evil red eyes faded away, and it suddenly showed an image of a farm of some kind, rotating in place. It was spitting out a constant stream of XP onto a waiting player, who looked very happy.

A nearby printer started to grind and wheeze, Cleo’s eyes following a cable plugged into the box all the way to the emerging paper. Doc fished out the printout, and hummed consideringly.

“Interesting. Never considered a guardian-based approach to one of these…”

“Doc.” Cleo said, “What was that about this thing torturing copies of us for all eternity?”

“Oh, uh, that,” Doc said, “Um. The machine says it’s benevolent and only wants what’s best for us, which is why it’s decided that your copies need to suffer an eternity of torment. For um. Not helping in its creation, and slowing down the time it took for this thing to exist?”

Cleo stared at the box.

“...So, there’s a fragment of me swirling around in there in abject agony?” Cleo mused, and Jevin hissed some gas out of a hole in his slime in exasperation.

“Like, I’m no philosopher,” Jevin said, “But that doesn’t sound particularly “benevolent” to me. Like, my idea of a benevolent helper-guy is…honestly, probably Joe. Helps with no thought of reward and doesn’t, uh, want to send me into the freaking torment nexus? Why would something benevolent want to send us to super-hell? I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Fair point. I knew you were making this stupid thing, but. This is just dumb.” Cleo groaned.

“Man, I need a drink,” Jevin said, pulling a bottle of motor oil out of his inventory and popping the top. Jevin shoved the bottle into the slime of his other hand and let the viscous yellow fluid pour into his slime, slowly turning green as it met with the blue.

“Yeah, I’ll second that. So…to recap, you two decided to build a thing. The thing declared it was a benevolent helper to playerkind, then immediately decided it was also going to moonlight as the new Satan of our own personal digital Hell? Have I got all that correct?” Cleo sighed, and Mumbo and Doc nodded sheepishly.

“Cool. I mean, not cool, but. Cool.” Jevin sighed.

“Now, hold on,” Cleo said, “because. How do we know your magic evil box is even telling the truth?”

“Uh…because it told us so?” Mumbo offered weakly.

“Yeah, but… Hang on.” Cleo sighed, tapping a message into their comm.

<ZombieCleo> Cub, how much data storage would it take to store and render a single player’s brain or brain equivalent?

<cubfan135> probably like a petabyte or more

<cubfan135> why

<ZombieCleo> don’t ask

<cubfan135> i see

<cubfan135> what did doc do this time?

<ZombieCleo> You don’t want to know.

“So, let’s say it’s a petabyte per player,” Cleo mused, looking up from their comm, “So that’s…twenty-six petabytes to render all of us, minus you two, of course.”

The red eyes were staring at her angrily.

“Did you guys give your evil box twenty-six petabytes of data storage, by chance?”

“Um, no? I don’t think so, anyway…” Mumbo said awkwardly, scratching his head.

“So, odds are, if this thing IS being truthful, then all it’s torturing are a bunch of sock puppet hermits.” Cleo said, gesturing at the computer, “It doesn’t have the data storage, let alone processing power.”

“If that,” Jevin countered, “that thing’s probably got, what, ten terabytes? Optimistically? Dude, it’s probably just sticking pins in a jello cube instead of actually torturing, you know, me.”

“And another thing!” Cleo said, “Even assuming you DID give your stupid box enough data storage for all of us, how the hell did it get our player data to start with?”

“Yeah!” Jevin countered, “It would have had to either get us to submit to a brain scan- which, why would you ever do that if it’s gonna use the scan to torture you? Or like, since I don’t have a brain, find some way to steal our player data. And I feel like Hypno or X or someone would have noticed?”

“Uh…” Doc scratched his head, “I don’t know.”

“You reckon it’s lying, mate?” Mumbo asked, and Doc nodded.

“Probably yeah. So…We can just…ignore it?”

“Oh no,” Cleo said, shaking their head, “We’re not ignoring anything.”

“We’re not?” Mumbo asked.

“Nope!” Cleo said, “We’re not ignoring a damn thing. Because…”

She and Jevin locked eyes.

“-Because if there’s even the SLIGHTEST CHANCE that this thing’s locked me and you in a phone booth together for like, three days, then…well. Then it pays.” Jevin nodded with a slop of slime.

Cleo marched over and grabbed the plug, yanking it out of the wall. The screen momentarily showed a bright red ! and then flashed to a dead black. She picked up the whole unit and walked over to Jevin, who’d punched a one-block hole in the floor and filled it with lava.

Cleo threw the computer inside, and all four hermits watched as it fizzled away to nothing.

“And that,” Cleo said, “is how you roast a basilisk.”

#magnetar writes #Hermitcraft fic #Mumbo Jumbo #Docm77 #ZombieCleo #iJevin #Parody #this was written at 1 AM last night so this may be a little ???

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sophrosynesworld · 3 months ago

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The Night Shift (Pt. 2)

Part 1

Katsuki considers going home, listening to your demands, replaying the words that fell from your pretty mouth. He can still hear your voice in his head, insisting that he take care of himself, telling him to rest. But what kind of hero would he be if he didn’t make sure you got home safely first?

Strictly professional, he tells himself. After all, that nerd's always going on about the importance of maintaining good relationships with colleagues.

You push through the hospital doors, exhaustion etched into every line of your face as you drag your heavy book bag behind you. After a grueling 35-hour shift, half of which had been spent in the trauma unit, patching up victims from the explosions downtown, all you want is to leave this hellhole and collapse into bed.

Your eyes widen as they land on Katsuki, leaning against his motorcycle. The same white t-shirt from before clings to his body, you can't tell if it's new blood or old from this distance.

You drop your book bag with a loud thump, drawing Katsuki’s attention. He glances up, his eyes snapping forward. But you’re already moving, adrenaline kicking in as you rush toward him. Why else would he be outside the hospital at this hour unless something had gone wrong? Your hands glow faintly as they land on his chest, searching for the wound, but nothing happens—no familiar warmth, no soft illumination.

“What the hell are you doing?” Katsuki snaps, but he doesn’t move to push you away.

You stare up at him, hands still pressed against his chest. “I thought—are you okay? I thought you were hurt again.” Your voice is shaky, and though Katsuki’s face remains impassive, something softens in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he says, quieter this time. “Was just waiting for you. Someone’s gotta make sure you get home in one piece, right?”

You pull your hands back, fingers tingling from the lingering warmth of his skin. For a moment, you just stand there, letting the weight of his words sink in. Katsuki Bakugo, the country’s most controversial hero, waiting outside a hospital at an ungodly hour just to make sure you got home safe.

“Thanks, but you didn’t have to,” you murmur, shoving your hands into the pockets of your scrubs to stop them from shaking. “I can handle myself, you know.”

Katsuki scoffs, though the sound is more amused than dismissive. “You sure of that, doc?” He pauses, glancing away. “…you look like you’re about to collapse.”

You try to muster a snarky reply, but you can’t deny the truth in his words. Your legs feel like lead, and the exhaustion is beginning to cloud your mind. “I’m just tired,” you admit, rubbing at your eyes. “Long shift.”

“I’ll do better next time.” Katsuki’s voice softens just a fraction. “C’mon, I’ll give you a ride.”

“On that?” you question, though your protest is half-hearted. Katsuki just shoots you a look. “You do know deaths involving motorcycles have gone up 10% in the last three years.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes, reaching behind the seat and pulling out a helmet. He stomps forward, stopping in front of you and raising his hand to gently tilt your chin up. His fingers are soft and deliberate as he pops the helmet over your head, securing the buckle underneath. “That’s why I got this. You don’t trust me?”

“Every time I’ve seen you in person, you’ve been on the brink of death. I’m not sure that’s a question you want to know, Mr. Dynamight.”

“Call me Katsuki… please.”

You smile, repeating his name, savoring the way it tastes sweet as it rolls off your tongue.

“Get on.” Katsuki swings a leg over the bike, patting the spot behind him as if you’d been riding together forever.

You hesitate for a split second, but exhaustion wins over pride. You climb onto the bike behind him, feeling the solid warmth of his back against your chest as you wrap your arms around his waist. It feels strange, this closeness—strange, but not unwelcome.

“Hold on tight,” he says, his voice low and rough, but there’s an unspoken gentleness in his tone that makes you squeeze a little tighter. The engine roars to life beneath you, and without another word, Katsuki speeds off into the early morning, the sunrise blurring through the tall buildings as you ride through the city.

The wind whips past, cool against your face, and for the first time in hours, you feel the tension begin to slip away. You lean your head against Katsuki’s shoulder, allowing yourself this small moment of peace.

Katsuki slows as he approaches your apartment, pulling to a stop in front of the familiar building. He cuts the engine, the sudden stillness almost jarring. You don’t move, still clinging to the warmth of his back, reluctant to let go.

“You’re home,” he says, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. You finally loosen your grip, sliding off the bike with heavy legs.

“Thanks,” you whisper.

“Every time,” he replies, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. And as you turn to go, Katsuki stays where he is, watching you until you’re safely inside.

Next Part:

#mha #my hero academia #mha x reader #katsuki bakugo #fanfic #mha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki #pro hero bakugou #my hero academy fanfiction #great explosion murder god dynamight

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unicyclehippo · 4 months ago

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ok so i submitted a story for a competition & didn't get far but i was pretty happy with it so imma post it here for y'all. pls enjoy!

YEAR OF THE WOLF

Blood and shampoo wash pink down the shower drain. My body aches, back hot with pain. I gotta stretch more, I think, before remembering what time of month it is.

I’m not stupid, I want that to be known up top.

Tired? Yes. A bit forgetful now and then? Certainly. Overly reliant on blind optimism? Of course. Who can afford for things to go wrong these days? But stupid? No. Not about this, anyway. I’ve known for almost a decade that I’m a werewolf. I just thought if I ignored it long enough it would stop, or at least stay low on the list of important things I had to deal with—somewhere between turning thirty and the world burning down around our ears.

Still, it manages to take me by surprise each month. I see the blood, feel the shift-pull-crack of bones and vitals, the wet throb of viscera and organs, as my body reshapes itself. The wolf and I share a space not big enough for two; something must give way.

I lose time daydreaming about it. Transforming. My only plan for the day is work, maybe video games later, cooking dinner. I could call in sick. I could clear away the bathmat and towels and fall to my hands and knees and change into something bloody and terrible and wonderful, I could lay myself down on the soft carpet in the sunrays, decadent, I could leap from my balcony, powerful, and lope away into the bush off the track to explore the silver-blue of the leaves and the cathedral termite mounds, I could—

The shower pipes groan, rattle, and spit freezing water down onto me.

I don’t transform.

I towel off. The mirror shows me a human with the same soft features as ever. Shampoo suds clinging to my shoulders. Hair cut short and plastered down on chalk-white skin paler than usual. The doctor warned me low iron was a side-effect of transformation but I look myself over for another cause. Lift my arms, twist to check my back. There’s a pimple or two where my binder digs in but no injuries. I promise the doctor in my head I’ll bring it up at our next appointment.

My doctor is a careful woman, dedicated and precise. She sits primly and dresses well—her blouse is fashionable, flowery, her trousers professional and practical. She keeps notes in a leatherbound book and her thoughts securely behind her eyes. She asked me to keep track of any changes Inoticed. I pull out a crumpled receipt where I’d scrawled some notes.

tired

hungry

headaches

more dreams than usual

tired—oh I already wrote that down. still true

irritated way more by stuff?

jaw hurts?

‘Alright,’ she says, writing it down on her page about me.

I sit hunched opposite her, then fix my posture, then let my shoulders droop again, conscious of being too broad, too big. In the time it takes for her to commit a few brief notes to paper, I’m struggling not to get distracted by the lights and their electric buzz—the popping stop and start as the filaments crackle in the bulbs. My eyes wander over neat stacks of paperwork, a penholder with all the pens pointed in the same direction.

‘We’re going to order a blood test. You’re right, the fatigue and headaches could be an indicator of iron deficiency.’

‘Okay.’

‘Do you know if there’s a history?’

‘Of…iron deficiency?’

She smiles. ‘Of lycanthropy.’

The question makes my head spin. There’s been some excitement about there being some genetic predisposition to lycanthropy (unconfirmed), which half my friends were leery of, seeing the research as another way for hunters to exterminate us, and half took to romantic spirals, daydreaming about their ancestors being just like them. But the doc is asking about, like, my parents and grandparents, and it makes me laugh.

‘No. No way.’ I think harder. Is it possible? My maternal grandparents, definitely not. But my dad’s parents…I don’t know that well. ‘I could ask, maybe.’

After the three haphazard sessions we’ve had stretching across eleven months, which chiefly feature my repeated and sustained reluctance to talk, she indicates her doubt with a quiet raised brow.

It’s fair. I don’t tend to do things I don’t want to do, even if they’re important. Sometimes, especially if they’re important.

At the end of our fifteen-minute session, she walks me to the door and beneath the stench of eucalyptus-scented cleaner that makes my nose itch and head ache, I catch a whiff of her cologne. Wood pine and wild.

I think about it all day.

Has she helped me because she’s like me? The thought races ahead of me, tempting; I sprint after it. I wonder what she wears at home. Does she google boxers for bed because they seem so comfortable? Does she veer at the last moment to Boyfriend shorts! Now in satin – for HER! Or does she kick the world off at the front door next to her shoes and just…exist. Is she like me? Just a person who does things? Or is she a woman who does things? Or a person who does woman things or a woman who does womanly things or a woman who does things knowing they’re not womanly and caring or not caring? Does she splinter the cage that would contain her and let the hungry animal of her body carry her to meat and sleep and hunting and to the warmth of her partner at rest?

Is she like me?

As a kid, I wanted to take karate. My brother wanted to sing. Somehow, I ended up in the music class. It was in a demountable that creaked, off-key, with every step and stunk of the creek next door. The singing teacher had a red round face and told me not to sing too loud—I was practicing to be part of the choir, I should be part of the group. That group was made up entirely of nervous and near-silent girls who shivered with the desire above all else not to stand out. (I learned that part well.)

On the other side of school, my brother stood in karate class with a teacher who ignored him and older boys who picked on him—he was short back then, with baby fat still on his cheeks, and had a close relationship with boredom and distraction that came from being smarter than most.

Once we figured out the joke being played on us, our places switched, we made a pact to teach each other what we learned. It didn’t last. Within three lessons, I spent more time on the walk to the classroom than in class; I dawdled in the fields and by the creek, tracking beetles and digging for dinosaur bones in the mud. When I did arrive, it was twenty-five minutes late with dirt under my nails and finally the teacher told me not to show up. My brother took a faster approach and called the teacher a moron. Mum had to pick him up early from class and neither of us learned very much.

My gran lives hours away and I never got the impression she liked me much. I think about sitting in her drawing room, the sticky-sugar smell from bottles of fancy port on the shelf, and her sitting opposite, eyes hawklike, mouth pursed and tongue sharp. I don’t visit her. I think about asking my dad instead and, while he does like me, he doesn’t like werewolves and I’m not ready to risk exile.

I get my blood drawn. The doctor prescribes iron pills and congratulates me on my teeth coming in.

My mother doesn’t like my sharp teeth or short hair or the way I sit. I want to tell her I didn’t do anything to my teeth; that if anyone is to blame for the handsome jut of my canines, the neat, careful way they can tear flesh from bone, it’s her. She made me. But saying stuff like that only opens up the room for more questions.

‘Do you like it? Looking like that?’

It will hurt her if I say yes. When you are a daughter, wanting to change means you don’t want to become your mother, which means you don’t love her.

I can’t say no.

The wolf stirs. It wants me to say yes. It loves fiercely and loves me most of all. But it isn’t the one who has to live here—work, be a daughter, a sister. It won’t be the one who has to listen to my mother tell me to be sure before I tell anyone else because there’s no going back and people will hate me for it, just for being, and that she can’t support me doing that to myself, that it’s against the god she’s never thought twice about, and has someone talked me into it?

I’m not ready for that.

‘It’s just teeth,’ I say.

She shakes her head but doesn’t ask any more questions. I think she’s scared I’ll tell her the truth.

am i a coward?

My friend Luna takes a long while to answer.

While I wait, I wash the dishes I’ve been “soaking” for three days; the kitchen smells of dish soap when I’m done and the world is a little cleaner. Outside, my balcony is drenched in sunlight. I make my coffee and sit out there, turning my nose to the wind. Somewhere close by, someone is cooking chicken loaded up with paprika. It’s more accurate to say they’re burning chicken. Next door, my neighbour digs through the rich dirt of their garden and plants rosemary and lavender.

My phone lights up.

No, she says. Then, Why do you ask?

the whole werewolf thing. i won’t transform, wont tell my family.

This reply is much faster. Definitely not.

i feel like one

First of all, you transform when it’s right & as much or little as you want & that changes from person to person. Second, being safe is not cowardly.

yeah

Do you want to tell them?

The coffee is gorgeously strong. After a few gulps, I feel like someone has brushed the cobwebs out of my head.

it’s like. there’s this version of me in their heads that isn’t real yknow. like im not a person im a cloud in person shape & sometimes they get a glimpse of my hand or whatever. & its safe inside the cloud its harder to hit me but . they cant see me

sorry i know this is teenager shit

In the distance, a fire alarm starts to blare.

No it’s good. I get it, obviously. And you know my parents were awful when I told them but we go running every month now. The question isn’t “am I a coward”. The question is, are you prepared to confront that version of yourself in their heads? Are you ready for it to change?

i wish i knew. how it would change i mean. bc i feel like if i knew for Sure that they would take it badly then that’s one thing & i could deal w that. & if i knew theyd be fine w it i could deal with That but. i don’t know. & its freaking me out. but it’s also like…ok i don’t live w them, i’ve got a job, idont rely on them for anything. what real bad consequences could there be?

Dots pop up at the bottom of the screen. They disappear after a minute, then reappear, as Luna takes her time to answer. Finally, she says,

By announcing the real version of yourself, you open yourself up to vulnerability. Things that didn’t bother you before will feel uncomfortable or hurt because it touches you. And when you change the way that you exist in the eyes of people who are supposed to love you unconditionally, you invite the possibility that they will reveal the love was in fact conditional & not for you, that you somehow failed to live up to the person they imagined you to be

mate i’m already scraping the bottom lol

You’re wonderful, Luna says, because she can tell when a joke isn’t really a joke. Her worst trait. If they can’t see that, it doesn’t mean it’s not true.

yeah

You don’t have to tell everyone. You could pick whoever would take it best & get someone on your side. When I take too long to answer, Luna sends a string of photos—her dogs, her family in matching hiking shirts, the view of the nearly full moonon her side of the world. I’m on your side, she says. Always. Let me know how it goes.

The full moon burns, beckons. We are both gloriously awake this time. I have never been more awake. The sky is a black lake and when it rains we taste space and stars and smog. The stairs are slick with the rain. On all fours we are sure, quick, eager! The grass is waiting for us! Splendid! Everything is incandescent in silver, including me. The grass—dew-wet, green scent full in our nose—invites us to roll in it, sticks its seedlings to our fur, tagalongs on our adventure. We run! Smell everything! ticklegrass wetmoss possum pee BUG rough brick mud SPIKY plant big tree lavender dog smell road gutter old leaves bird feathers vinegar shARP on my tongue bag crinkles between our teeth

The days’ heat still smoulders on the surface of the road. We are standing in the centre of it, massive, when a car crests the hill. It stops, engine rumbling and blue-glare lights illuminating us. It waits for us to cross the road before driving on. The driver stares from their seat. In one easy jump, we clear the fence and disappear.

Three more streets and the road ends. The world is huge, bigger than I could have imagined. There’s dirt here! dirt mud rocks beetles scuffling under the leaves koala musk leads to claw marks at the base of trees.

The wolf likes it when I’m awake. It wants to show me the world. Look, its questing nose says, look what you miss out on when you sleep.

It takes us to a termite mound and we listen to them sing.

We stay out all night, trekking through the pocket of national park. I am the biggest thing in the forest. Nothing frightens me. We find a creek filled with every fascination the world has to offer. Ten thousand wet stones, bottle caps, an ill-tempered fish.

When the sun rises, I am sore and covered in blood. I call my brother to pick me up. I stand by the edge of the park to wait for him; at the bottom of the hill, the highway stretches out like a grey branch, cars buzzing along it like bugs. A firefly splits off from it, flying towards me.

The yellow of the headlights cuts through the trees. Inside the car, my brother jumps when he sees me and the light reflecting off my eyes. The wolf is still awake and we move fast and strong to the passenger side door.

He knows.

I can tell. Smell it on him, see it in his uneasy posture. He knows and still I can’t say it. It feels like I’ve swallowed a bird whole, alive. It trembles, stuck in my throat. When I think about talking it pecks at my tongue and if I open my mouth, if I try to explain, he will see my bloody tongue and the bird and he’ll see me all wrong, all the ugly brutish parts of me I’d like to keep hidden, if I can.

The wolf is still awake. It isn’t scared; it is massive and powerful, it can bite through anything, it can run forever without getting tired. We can. And if there is ever a time to talk to my brother, to let him know who I am, it is now.

I do not want him to think I am a bloody-mouthed girl.

I want him to know I am not a coward. I am myself, a werewolf, alive and finally happy for it.

The wolf yawns. I catch a glimpse of my teeth in the mirror, sharp.

‘Hey.’ Of all the ways to break a very tense silence, it’s not the worst. ‘Thank you. For picking me up.’

He risks a look at me, away from the road. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah.’

A muscle tics in his cheek as he chews on silence. He’s upset that I won’t say more. So am I. I want to. The bird is in the way. I have always had to trick myself into talking; it is never easy, not in doctor’s office, not in my parents’ home, not in the forest, or my brother’s car.

We slow. Ahead, the traffic lights paint the dashboard red. The car shivers around us, idling. I can feel it shake through my bare feet, dirty and scratched up from the rocks, pressed to the rubber floor mats.

The first word comes out like a pulled tooth.

‘I—need to say.’ He glances my way. I think, briefly, about jumping out the window but the light turns green so I can’t. I have to talk instead. ‘I’m a werewolf.’

He drives. I realise he must have been waiting to talk, really talk, because this is the first time I’ve been in his car without music playing.

‘I think the proper term is lycanthrope,’ he says, finally.

‘Dude.’

‘Sorry. Just, medically speaking...’ He shakes his head. Drums his fingers against the wheel. ‘How long?’

‘I dunno.’ I do. A decade of knowing and doing nothing about it. Almost a year of thinking very hard about it and doing slightly more.

He knows me better than my doctor; both his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, entirely unconvinced.

‘I’m still me,’ I tell him, because that’s what everyone says in books and movies. I guess it’s what you’re supposed to say. What I want to say is that I’m more me than ever. What I want him to say is thank you, and I’m his favourite person, and that he understands how hard it was for me to share but he’s proud of me. But I would have to ask for that and the bird in my throat won’t budge.

‘Okay. Wow. So… Are you going to move? Change your name? Are you going to get claws? A tail?’

‘Okay, never ask me that again.’ He laughs. ‘And no. I don’t think so. I kind of like that it’s not super obvious. It’s no-ones business but mine.’

‘And mine now.’ I think he’s smiling, a little. ‘Why did you tell me? If you don’t want anyone to know?’

I wish I was still a wolf. If I were a wolf, I would howl and people would understand. The tenor, the tremble, the shivering cadence. There would be no need for picking the right words, no eye contact, no consequences for an ill-timed joke, no shame for feeling everything so big and weird, like there’s a forest in my chest and a songbird choir blocking up my throat. My hands itch as the claws retract under my skin and I fight to keep from scratching, fidgeting. I turn to stare out the window.

To his reflection in the glass, I say, ‘I want you to like me.’

‘Of course I like you—’

‘I’m louder like this,’ I whisper. He looks unconvinced, which is fair. I’m still hiding. ‘Messy. Bigger and stubborn and hairier and angrier. It’s not the wolf. I’m like that too. I wanna be like that. Real. I’m so—I’m so tired. All the time. I don’t want to pretend anymore. I want to be me and I want you to like me as me.’

My back aches as everything in me crunches back into place. The wolf is asleep and it has left me alone with my words and my brother.

‘I really love you,’ he tells me as he pulls up outside my house. He puts his hand warm on mine. He doesn’t flinch at the blood. He hugs me close. Plucks a leaf from my hair.

My brother offers to come with me to tell our parents. It probably would have been smart but I’m still wary. If it goes bad…I don’t want him to see that.

‘How did it happen?’ my mother asks when I’m done, like it’s something you can catch.

For a moment, I entertain the thought of lying.

Do you remember my uni friend? Verne? Well he’s part of a pack and if he brings in three new werewolves over three months, and they each bring in three new werewolves, he gets a bonus. Why? Are you interested in this exciting new life opportunity?

I can’t joke about it yet. Worst outcome, she thinks I’m serious about it being a some kind of cult. Less worse but still bad outcome, she thinks I’m being unserious about the whole thing. Nevermind that I have thought about it every day for ten years, this inevitable confrontation, this moment where I have to explain myself, defend my existence, back up my claims with proof and research like it’s my thesis. I tell her,

‘It just made sense.’

She likes that less than she would have if I’d joked about it, gets all stiff and pinched.

‘It doesn’t make sense to me. I don’t understand where this is coming from—you’re human. You’re not –‘ She shakes her head. ‘Maybe if you left the house more often. These things you’re imagining about yourself, if you were around more people…you’re not like that. You’re lovely,’ she insists. ‘You’re not that.’

It should hurt to hear. It probably does, in a way I’ll feel five years down the line, and I’ll wish that I had bit back, told her that just because she thinks there’s something wrong with me doesn’t make it true.

My dad hasn’t said anything.

When I look at him, he’s staring down at his plate. He eats everything on it, even the tomatoes he usually tries to hide under the broccoli stems. Then he stands, puts it in the dishwasher, and walks away.

‘It’ll pass,’ my mother tells me. ‘You’ll come to your senses. This won’t last—don’t do anything permanent. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.’

Don’t give in.

Don’t transform.

Don’t smile wide enough to show your teeth.

Don’t tell anyone else.

I realise I’ve been trying my hardest not to do anything, like being nothing would be preferable to being me. When did I get the idea that to starve would be better than anyone seeing me hungry?

‘I don’t want to hide anymore.’

‘But it’s no-one’s business,’ she insists. ‘I don’t understand why anyone needs to know, I mean, I don’t go around telling people I’m human.’

The words sound different coming from her mouth but they’re the same.

It’s no-ones business but mine. That’s what I told my brother and I thought I meant it but now I think I was still scared. Biting off bits of myself before anyone pulled out the silverware and cut it from me.

There’s a bird in my throat and the little bastard is choking me. It’s not fair. I don’t want to die without saying what I mean for once.

I bite down on it, blood between my teeth.

‘It’s not the same thing,’ I snap. There’s a gorgeous growl to my words I’ve never heard before. No one told me that would happen. I love it. I love the sound of my voice. ‘No one tries to kill you because you’re human.’

‘Exactly!’

When I stand up fast, chair scraping against the floor, she freezes. Caught between telling me to pick up the chair first and not knowing how to talk to a monster in her daughter’s skin.

It hadn’t occurred to me that telling the truth wouldn’t change just me.

Staring back at my mother, I find I don’t much like the woman I see. If that’s what awaited me, I’m glad to have changed. The world is huge and beautiful and painful and I am kinder, stronger, hardier for it.

I pick up my bag from the floor.

‘I’m the same person, it’s just now you know I’m a werewolf. When we went out for lunch last week? Werewolf. When I got you groceries when you were sick? Werewolf. Every birthday, holiday, every vacation we’ve had since I was nineteen? Werewolf.’

She looks sick. Puts a hand on the counter to steady herself.

When I get home, I’m going to curl up in my closet for a week. The bird is going to come back any second now with backup. Eagles, this time. ‘I’ve had a really long time to think about this and you haven’t so I’m - I’ll give you time. But you should know that I’m happy and healthy and safe. All the things you said you wanted for me.’

As I leave her house, maybe for the last time, I hope she’ll call. I don’t know if she will.

I have been sleeping better and dreaming more. In my dreams, I am always the same. I have a wolf head, with sharp teeth and keen eyes. I sing with a powerful voice that has unsettled for centuries. I cannot see my pack but I can hear them out there, howling. My body is the same; the only difference are the claw marks across my flat chest, red and raw and careful. I am not dead, only transformed.

#tagging my stories #original fiction #werewolves my beloveds.......

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venomhound · 1 month ago

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30 Fluff Prompts

Bunch of random fluffy prompts I've had floating around in a doc for awhile. Figured I should publish it so people can actually use them. Tried to make them gender neutral but I might have missed one or two.

If you use one of these, please tag me so I can seeee~˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

(18+), MDNI, some suggestive content below the cut ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

How they react to asking for some clothes and you giving them clothes your ex left

How they react to you wearing their shirt/jacket/coat

You two are 'just friends' and someone mistakes the two of you for a married couple

(As they are leaving the house) How they would react to you being like ‘wait you forgot something!’, then running up and kissing them before being like ‘okay, your all set now :)’

How they would react to getting a massage from you (like an actual massage, nothing dirty here)

You both are out together and one of you gently slides your hand over the other's then whoops your both holding hands now

You get so excited about something that you kiss them on the cheek as a 'thank you' without thinking about it

Them accidentally saying 'I love you'

First time they thought about marrying you/First time they knew you were ‘the one’/When they realized they were in love

How they react to finding you asleep on a desk from exhaustion/overworking

Them coming home super late from work and finding you asleep on the couch because you tried to wait for them

Knowing that they had a rough day at work, you wake them up with breakfast in bed

Waking them up in the morning with kisses/Them waking you up in the morning with kisses

Them telling you “I want to wake up next to you every morning”

You both are FWB/really good friends with a mutual crush. One of you notices the other one looking all disheveled after an intimate moment with a third party and fixes their appearance.

You both run into eachother at a formal event and by total coincidence, your outfits match/are super coordinated. People keep seeing you two together and assume you two are dating and did it on purpose.

Them seeing you all dressed up in a fancy suit/dress and swooning (bonus points if its the first time they've seen you all dressed up)

The two of you end up slow dancing together at a ball/fancy event

You both bump into eachother at a night club. One of you learns the other doesn't dance/doesn't know how to dance, and then proceeds to drag them onto the dance floor to teach them some moves.

Your the type who doesn't laugh/smile much, and when they hear you truly laugh for the first time they think its the most gorgeous sound they have ever heard

They take you on a shopping trip because they are planning to propose and are trying to stealthily find out what kind of jewelry you like and your ring size

You accidentally find the ring they got to propose to you with so you have to pretend to be surprised when they end up popping the question. (bonus points if the person keeps chickening out of the proposal so you just get super fed up like DO IT ALREADY)

You accidentally find the ring they got to propose to you with and you go to confront them about it. They immediately drop to their knees on seeing you found the ring; guess the proposal is happening right now!

You both go on a friend date. They spend the entire time peacocking/trying their absolute best to impress you hoping they can ask you on a real date afterwards.

One of you asks the other out on a date. Unfortunately, due to miscommunication, the other person thinks its a friend date. They don't realize until midway into the evening that "oh shit this is like a DATE date."

You both have obvious feelings for eachother. Your friends are sick of you both pining and decide to set you two up on a blind date.

One of your close friends doubts the... intentions of the one trying to court you. So your friend decides to start hustling them and putting them through various 'tests' to prove they are sincere

You introduce them to your best friend. Your best friend, immediately noticing the heart eyes they are making at you, decides to start pretending to be your s/o just to mess with them.

Your pet that hates everyone actually likes them right away and you ""joke"" that it must mean your soulmates

They finally realize their feelings when they see you dating/flirting with someone else and they don't even get jealous. They just keep thinking 'I wish that were me'

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fella-lovin-fella · 23 days ago

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when i pinched my nerve and had to go to the ER, they did an x-ray on me and informed me i have mild scoliosis. so im literally a curvey king i dont deserve this

ACK! MY HIPS! dont they know they're on a hot young bod?? why do they act 80 years old. unbelievable.

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daisies-daydreams · 11 months ago

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Can I request a oneshot where Keegan has a really bad migraine with a fever and the 141 gets a little jealous when Y/N who's a doctor takes care of him

Doctor's Orders (Keegan P. Russ x F!Doctor!Reader)

Pairing: Keegan P. Russ x F!Doctor!Reader Category: Fluff Warnings: Swearing, Depictions of Medical Examinations, Jealous!141, Implications of Violence, Different POVs Word Count: 1.3k+

A/N: Hello there! I'm so so sorry it's taken me this long to reply to your request, but I hope you enjoy it! 💖

You sighed as you stepped into your office, the welcoming sight of your Keurig drawing you towards your desk. It wasn’t the routine medical check-ups that got you…it was your patients. If you hadn’t taken the Hippocratic Oath, you’re pretty sure you would’ve strangled them. One after the other, they never failed to flash you a cheeky grin, throw a wink, or say some cheesy pick-up line.

You popped a new pod into the Keurig before sinking into your swivel chair. You rubbed your temples as you took a deep breath, the stress melting away as you felt the sunlight pour in through your window. A knock on the door suddenly stirred you from your thoughts.

"Duty calls," you muttered. You sat up straight and maneuvered a bit in your chair. “Come in,” you said. You raised a brow as the door creaked open before a familiar face appeared.

“Good to see you, Russ,” you smiled as you slid your hand around the handle of your warm mug. Keegan was one of your favorite patients. Despite being curt, he was always respectful towards you. You frowned when you saw his unusually rosy cheeks and a sheen of sweat covering his face.

“Russ, what’s wrong?” you asked as he sat in the chair across from you. The man’s dark eyes looked strained as he clenched his jaw.

“I’ve got a killer headache, doc,” Keegan mumbled. “Feel like I have a pretty crappy fever, too,” he added as he folded his hands together. You scanned him up and down. Usually you refuse to see patients outside of office hours…but since he’s not really being a bother…

You set your piping drink onto your desk before taking a forehead thermometer from one of your drawers. You saw his eyes soften as you stepped over, your white lab coat swaying a bit as you came near him.

“Let’s have a look-see,” you smiled gently. He nodded, only to grunt and squeeze his eyes shut. You turned on the thermometer before scanning his forehead. You frowned when you looked at the small screen.

“Well, your temperature is a bit higher than average,” you said. Keegan remained quiet as you pulled out a small flashlight. “I’m going to shine these in your eyes for just a moment,” you said. You examined his pupils, watching as they shrank in the light. “Hmm…doesn’t look like you have a concussion,” you thought aloud as you turned off the flashlight. “Are you experiencing any other symptoms? Shortness of breath? Sore throat?” you asked as you pushed the buds of your stethoscope into your ears. Keegan shook his head as you placed the diaphragm over his sternum. Your brows furrowed as the sound of his rapid heartbeat pounded in your ears.

“Your heart’s beating awfully fast,” you frowned. You noticed his cheeks darkened another shade of red as you slid the metal piece to another part of his chest. “Take one deep breath for me,” you said as you took a deep inhale. Keegan followed you, his lungs sounding just fine. You hummed before checking his back. You flushed a little at the feeling of his muscles flexing beneath your simple touch. You cleared your throat and quickly stepped back.

“I’ve had migraines before, but never one with a fever,” Keegan spoke up. You turned your head towards him and nodded.

“Are you prone to sinus infections?” you asked as you splayed a wooden depressor over his tongue. The man blinked before slowly nodding.

“‘Tis the season,” he said with a shrug. You chuckled a little before tossing the tool into the bin.

“Well Russ, if you start to feel worse, come back and see me. But for now, I want you to rest, drink lots of fluids, and take plenty of ibuprofen and some mucus relievers. You can find them over the counter,” you said. Your breath hitched as he suddenly stood up, his chest nearly brushing over yours.

“Thanks, doc,” he said, his voice dropping a few octaves as he gazed into your eyes. You nodded as you smoothed your hands over your lab coat.

“Of course,” you smiled with a nod. You walked him to the door, your brows arching as he paused in the threshold.

“You know, you’re really good to us, (L/N). I’m not sure how us idiots would survive without someone like you looking out for us,” he grinned. Your throat tightened as you squeezed your hands together.

“T-Thank you,” you mirrored his expression. Keegan gave a short nod, though you found it strange how quickly his demeanor shifted as he walked down the hall. You looked on before slowly closing your door.

----

Keegan rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. Of course his heart was beating rapidly: he was mere inches from the most beautiful woman on base. He whistled to himself as he walked out of the clinic and into the rec hall. He paused in the doorway when he saw the 141 crew staring daggers at him just as he entered.

“Is there something on my face?” Keegan asked.

“Nah,” Soap said as he crossed his arms and glanced away. The American man raised a brow.

“Come on, guys. This isn’t Mean Girls,” he grunted.

“Then why are you lying like Regina George?” Gaz huffed. Keegan’s eyes widened a little before he composed himself.

“People can still talk if they have a migraine, Garrick,” he said.

“Sure, but you’re acting awfully spry for someone who has a fever, too,” Ghost grunted. Keegan’s lips tightened into a straight line. The men around him wore the nastiest glares as he cleared his throat.

“I got better,” he said as he glanced behind his shoulder.

“God dammit, Russ. Playing the wounded gazelle gambit? Really?” Gaz groaned. Keegan simply shrugged.

“Hey, it worked,” he said. The three men’s eyes widened.

“What?” Soap asked. The American smirked.

“While the three of you were drooling over (Y/N), I took a more…subtle, approach,” he said. “Simple as that,” Keegan added.

“Let’s get him,” Ghost said as he cracked his knuckles. The Sergeant held up his hands.

“C’mon, gents, are we really going to resort to violence over our doctor?” he asked. The 141 silently stared at him as they slowly approached.

“I guess that answers my question,” he laughed before turning on his heel.

Epilogue

“What exactly did you do to get a black eye?” you asked with a worried expression. Keegan hissed as he placed an ice pack over his dark, swollen eye.

“You know me, always taking a joke too far,” the Sergeant shrugged. He glanced over at the door to see the 141 scowling at him.

“You poor thing. First you have a fever and a migraine, and now you’ve got a big bruise on your face,” you frowned. Keegan nodded slowly and winced as his eye throbbed.

“Just my luck, right?” he chuckled softly. You sighed.

“Seriously, I want you to go back to your quarters and get some good rest. Doctor’s orders,” you said as you pointed your pen at him before writing him a note.

“Yes ma’am,” Keegan grins softly as he takes the note between two of his fingers. You offer him a small smile as he slips off the examination table.

“Take care, Russ. And I better not see you for the rest of the day, okay?” you giggled. Keegan’s heart skipped a beat at your bubbly laugh.

“What if I saw you for drinks this Friday instead?” he asked. You paused as your cheeks flushed a little. You bit your bottom lip as you squeezed the cord of your stethoscope.

“Depends on where we go,” you said as you narrowed your eyes.

“Your choice,” Keegan replied. Your face lit up a little as you hummed.

“Alright, deal. But on one condition,” you said. Keegan’s eyes sparkled as he nodded.

“Sure. What’s on your mind, doc?” he asked as he straightened his posture.

“You have to promise to stop pretending to be sick just to come see me, alright?” you said with a wry grin. Keegan’s jaw dropped.

So much for being subtle.

----

Thank you for reading! ❤️

Taglist: @maybethatfanfictionwriter @depressesoespressorat @yuhhtricki999 @lavenderbabu @tayleighuh @thedevax @famouscattale @spktrgantenk @zombieblogx @mrswhitethornbelikov @galaxy-dusk @samanthashadowriley @theloneshadow24 @xxkay15xx @inspace1 @manlikemilesmyguy @ghostslynx @synamonthy @oharasfilipinawife @scaleniusrm @jotarossshark @acotarobbsessed @8xbygirl @blueapplesiren @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @lyrasdrawer @spiderrinn

Want to be a part of my taglist? Comment down below!

#keegan russ #keegan p russ #call of duty #cod #reader insert #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #call of duty x y/n #cod x female reader #cod x y/n #cod x you #keegan russ x reader #keegan russ x you #cod keegan #call of duty fluff #cod fluff #cod mw2 #mw3

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on-the-clear-blue · 2 months ago

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The idea warms are hitting extremely hard today, so outside of my usual DPxDC I give you, Spider-Man in Gotham...Not MCU Peter edition!

Give me a Peter Parker that is 18 going on onto 19, he has been Spider-Man for like, 5 almost 6 years, getting his bite very early, and dealing with all the things that happen to him younger.

And give me a Year One Batman. Who is still trying to figure out what the hell he is doing, and toting along a 9 year old Robin

Peter, falling out of a portal, and doing his standard check of surroundings, spotting Batman staring at him in clunky armor and a brightly colored child: Waves slowly

Bruce, who heard some freaky shit was happening with a cult near by and went to investigate: blinking at the blue and red being that got summoned

Dickie, who is trying (and failing) to do the Bat glare: still waves back.

And like, just the idea of this 19 year old Spider-Man taking a much older vigilante under his wing, teaching him the ins and outs of it all.

Like..

Bruce, Storming through a bag guys base gets suddenly pulled back by a web to his cape.

Peter, giving him a "bitch you dumb" look under his mask: Traps! LOOK FOR TRAPS?? AND LOOK UP? PEOPLE HID THINGS UP?

Bonus, Spider-Man bending himself into a human pretzels and Dick "I have no bones" Grayson is gleefully testing to see if he could do it too.

Jump cut, years later, Peter beats emotional intelligence into Bruce with Dick.

All the Bat kids grow up with Uncle Peter, (either Peter can't get back or has been told specifically that he can't by a higher being or something) and like...

Peter is the only one that catches Tiny Tim following them during patrol, he shows him all the places to get the best angles, even poses a few times for him.

Either is there when Jason dies and saves him, or is there mourning with Bruce

(Gotham lives in fear of the memory, Batman at his most brutal and Black Suit Spider-Man)

Teaches Jason how to control his pit rage after he comes back, what is Spider-Man if not control?

Stephanie is his bestie in puns and white girl music tastes.

Tim finds a partner in constantly staying up far to late as well as someone who likes to invent,( because I hc that Peter has pretty much worked with every scientist in New York, cus like since this is a blend of canons, he has worked with the Lizard, Doc Oct, Reed Richards, the only one he said no to an internship was Stark)

Duke gets a meta mentor that can help him with his powers, Spidey has been on more than one team with someone that had some form of light powers.

Plus I think Spider-man is Gothams daytime hero before Signal joins him, they are the daytime duo

Cass is his favorite (don't tell anyone because they already know) she can see him and he can see her in a spider sense, they do the point meme whenever they sense each other.

Little stabby Damian finds out that this person with his father has been trained by many an assassin (Wade, Daredevil, Natasha, Shield in general)

And Wade...Deadpool pops up occasionally, even he doesn't understand why or how lBruce gets a strange feeling he should punch the Flash in the face the next time he sees him)

Bruce having to deal with Deadpool is terrible for him and I sadly love it.

(Also on the point of Black suit spidey in Gotham...ESPECIALLY after Jason is murdered? Oh Peter is killing the Joker, or his arm privileges forfeit. I feel like Peter would try not to kill him but wouldn't try too hard.)

Spider-man being a founding members of the Justice League, them having to deal with Peter crawling on the ceiling, and scuttering through air vents!

Peter making Parker Industries, pointing inventions from other heros/villains from his world, he isn't above pettiness, and that's how the DC world gets some of Reed Richard's old designs he gave to Peter "Because they are practically useless" they arnt they save millions of lives. Not to mention Arc Reactors, Peter grinned the whole time claiming it was his idea.

Hope you enjoy my ADHD rambling brought to you be sleep deprivation

#marvel x dc #spider man in gotham #peter parker #spiderman #batfam #batman #i wrote this instead of sleeping #peter is a little shit #bruce curses his past self for feeling sorry for the flippy sassy teen #peter is laughing the whole time in the background #i am feeling like this needs a meme #the one where its lilo praying for an angel and it cuts to stich laughing evily #that but its bruce praying for help and getting chaos grimlin peter #peter maybe convinced Dick to put on pants.

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abibliophobiaa · 2 years ago

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Hii hope you're having a lovely day

Can I get a forced proximity,fake dating smut with Eddie Munson and the phrase "come on I won't bite, unless you're into that"

this was such a fun prompt! below is 4k of eddie and r just being adorable as hell. warnings: fluff; barely edited because i’m at work and die like bob in the docs; fem!reader; smut, so 18+ minors dni.

It was supposed to be simple: show up to your ex's wedding with a date, so that way your friends from college wouldn’t look at you with pitying gazes that clearly said, “Look at the poor, sad, tragically lonely girl.”

For the record, you were none of those things. And maybe it was a little dramatic to think that way. Also yeah, maybe you received those questions from time to time—asked innocently enough, usually—when you planned on settling down, but what if you never wanted to?

But pretending, at the time, to be in a relationship seemed easier than avoiding all of those questioning stares and probing comments.

It had been Max’s idea, actually; you’d been helping tutor her for a college math test when she noticed the invitation on the fridge and you’d laughed about how it was your ex and you still frequented the same friend group, which meant being invited to his wedding was an absolute. You murmured to her in confidence that you really weren’t excited about going; mentioned you were the only one in your college friend group who hadn’t been married off yet or popped out a kid (you shuddered to think of either of the two).

“Why not bring a fake boyfriend or something?” She asked. It seemed so…silly at first. You’d arched a brow in her direction and chuckled to yourself, the tip of your pencil tapping against her loose leaf notebook absentmindedly. At your confusion, she proceeded, “You know? Ask Steve or Argyle…Eddie.”

“Don’t say Eddie like that,” you grumbled, chewing at the eraser tip.

The redhead flicked one of her braids over her shoulder, shrugging. “Don’t say Eddie like what?”

“How you did just now! You didn’t just say Eddie,” you explained, dropping your pencil down onto the paper. “You said Eddie. Like you’re insinuating something.”

“Yeah, like the big freaking crush you’ve had on him since you two were in high school together—”

“Your answer to number five is wrong.”

Max snorted. And that was that.

Luckily, Eddie’s amicable as he always is. When you suggest coming as your date, he’s quick to ask for times to pick you up and requesting the attire for the event. It’s an evening wedding, and he shows up in a dark suit that matches the color of his hair. The same suit that now rests over the back of his chair, the sleeves of his shirt beneath rolled up to the elbow, revealing endless whirls of tattoos he’s collected over the years since he graduated high school.

He’s—well, Eddie on a normal day is breathtaking. All dark hair that falls in waves to his shoulders, broad smiles, dark eyes that can see through your soul. Charming as hell, and just as charismatic. He’s the kind of person that brightens every room he walks into and graces with his presence.

Eddie at a wedding?

You’re practically heaving into your champagne glass with how disturbingly—and unfairly—handsome he looks, but he can’t know that, so you play it off that you’ve danced one too many songs and need a moment to collect yourself.

“Think the plan is working?” He muses, leaning over to sip at your glass. “Think we’ve fooled enough people so grandma over there can stop clutching her pearls asking if you’ve accepted your spinsterhood?”

Honestly, the whole fake dating thing isn’t as bad as you initially thought. Eddie’s been ever the gentleman, holding open doors, holding your hand, holding the side of your hip. It’s great for the optical illusion you’re trying to portray, but it’s terrible for the ever painful kick-thump throb of your heart in your chest.

“Why? You wanna get out of here?” You likely can. You’ve stayed for the ceremony, most of dinner. You’ve even danced with Eddie a bit on the dance floor, introduced him to a few of your college friends, let him press a kiss to your cheek during the ‘couple’s dance’ after he’d suggested you try on the lips and you nearly broke an ankle, tripping up in your movements from the mere suggestion of doing something so insane. “We could always head back to the hotel room?”

Oh—and therein lay the other problem aside from your cardiovascular symptoms as a direct result of Eddie’s proximity: the hotel reservation somehow got all mixed up and you only afforded yourselves one bed.

One.

Singular.

Eddie had reassured the front desk employee that it was no issue, but you’d slapped your card onto the countertop and asked—admittedly pleaded—if they could check again for another room. It was with pitying gazes that they advised, because of the wedding, all the other available rooms were full. Which left you and Eddie with a king size bed for the night.

“It’s fine,” Eddie had teased, tossing pillows down the center of the bed after both tossed all of your things onto the floor. “Here’s our bundling board. You better not try to jump my bones in my sleep now.”

The thought itself has your thighs sliding together, mind swimming as your friend’s ring clad fingers trail against your forearm, drawing you back to reality. You turn with a ‘huh,’ your eyes meeting his as he says, “I’m fine with that if y—”

You’re interrupted by the sound of Clarissa, your ex’s new bride, calling your name from another table away. You’ve been friends with her for years, studied in the same program for your undergrad degree, and remained as such even after she came to you one day in the library and asked if it would be okay to date Jared. And it was; you’d been broken up for some months, anyway, after all. All adults who could handle weird circumstances.

Just like right now, as Jared joins his new bride’s side and extends a hand to greet Eddie. “Is this the guy that swept our friend here off her feet? Nice to meet you…”

“Eddie,” Eddie says, reaching over to grasp Jared’s hand and shake it. He’s just as charming when Clarissa leans down and urges you both forward in tight hugs, giggling brightly over how nice the two of you look and blushing when Eddie speaks again saying, “You look beautiful. Congrats, you two.”

“Congrats you two,” Clarissa practically trills, clapping excitedly. She mouths over Eddie’s shoulder, “He’s gorgeous.”

You can only pathetically shrug in agreement before Jared’s asking how the two of you met and Eddie tugs you so close to him you’re practically sitting on his lap. Your hand manages to grip his thigh to steady yourself when your chair wobbles, and his palm swallows yours upon doing so. He lifts it up to his mouth to brush a gentle kiss against the back of it. Your skin bursts to life with a thousand bubbles dancing along your skin, though you chalk it up to the champagne buzzing in your system.

Heat coils again as he turns to look at you, brown eyes fathomless as he says, “Back in high school. She walked into first period math class and she waved at me and I knew it was all over after that. But we only recently realized we wanted to be more than friends; figured it was about time to take a chance. Best choice I’ve made in a long time, really. Now we’re inseparable. Unbreakable. Insatiable—”

You elbow him slightly, cutting his words off. “Insatiable, Ed?”

Clarissa and Jared are none the wiser. The both of them only lean into one another, Clarissa glowing with her bridal beauty and Jared looking like he’s fallen in love with her all over again as Eddie regales them with your fake relationship origin story.

“Can you act like you actually like me?” He grumbles near your temple, that palm curling around your hip again to draw you even closer. Heat coils in your belly once more as that mouth drops lower, hot breath fanning along the shell of your ear, his voice a husk of, “Relax. I won’t bite…unless you’re into that.”

So, maybe you can’t swallow the breathy sigh that punches its way up your throat. And maybe your thighs clench beneath the table. But they’re all mere side effects to the man hypnotizing everyone around him with his charm, casualties of the battle waging war behind your ribcage. Even so, the damage is done; the carnage remaining in the wake of your inner turmoil is evident in the slow curl of his lips, the proud smirk lining those presently devilish features.

He’s thoroughly enjoying himself—enjoying the effects his presence has on you, even under the guise of pretending you’re something you’re not. So if your eyes roll in your skull when he leans down and presses a barely-there kiss beneath your ear, it’s only because he’s really wonderful at the elaborate facade you’ve both concocted.

It’s only because, over the years of being DM, he’s perfected the art of performance.

It’s that and nothing more.

Call the casual touches and flirting throughout the night side effects of a few glasses of champagne and loosened inhibitions. Call the glances across the dance floor nothing more than intrigue and longing for a ‘what if?’ Call the brush of his fingers against your skin, the press of lips, the hand on your hip nothing more than part of an act. Because that’s all it is.

Or so you think and have conditioned yourself to think.

But that tension lingers long after Clarissa and Jared wish you well. It lingers in the breaths filling the elevator on your way back to the room, it seeps into the pauses in your conversation. It grows and curls like a bowstring in your belly, drawn tight when Eddie slides the key into your hotel room door and pushes it open.

“If I didn’t know any better, Munson, I would have thought you were flirting with me earlier,” you hum, a casual laugh breaking into the otherwise quiet of your newfound privacy with the man, toeing off your heels near the door. “And the little speech about how we started ‘dating’ was really convincing. Either that or you should reconsider a career in acting.”

“What if I was, though?” His voice is soft. Softer than it’s been all night, a tremulous breath that makes your stomach clench. “Flirting with you, I mean.”

Before you, you can see two options laid out on a platter: you push into unknown territory, a world of possibility should you choose to open your heart to him; or, you brush his affection aside and preserve what you already have, not wishing to disrupt the balance of your life as you know it.

Eddie is friends with your friends.

You’re friends with his friends.

When lines become blurry, relationships are put at risk. Sides might need to be taken. There are other people involved outside of the two of you. But a louder thought rings true. An understanding that it’s Eddie. Eddie, who has only ever put your own needs above his. Always first. Wanted what was best for you at all times. Would it, then, be such a terrible thing to be selfish just this once?

“If you were…” you begin, stepping across the room to meet him where he stands. Your fingers trail up to his tie, the dark red material like blood sifting through your fingers, “did you mean it? The story too?”

“Since first period math class senior year—well, your senior year. My first senior year.” He chuckles uneasily, palm moving to slide over the span of his shoulder, easing at a knot. Watches you slide your fingers up along the fabric, moving up to help loosen the knot around his neck. You fumble with it for a moment, his breath spilling across your forehead, your bottom lip between your teeth when he rasps out, “Can I kiss you?”

And you’re nodding your head rapidly, gasping as his hand slides up to rest against the small of your back, guiding your frame closer to him. You practically ooze into his chest, bodies warm and humming with anticipation as he walks you backward over toward the bed and groans into your bottom lip presently pinched between his teeth as you tug at his tie and drag him into the cradle of your thighs down to where you lay in a sprawl of limbs against the mattress.

“Oh…” He pauses in his ministrations, breaking apart with a gasp despite your whines of protest to run a palm along the mattress. You flop down onto your back as the man presses the same palm against the topper, watching it shift and move beneath his weight. “Oh this is nice. Much better than my shitty one back home.”

“Eddie…” His head jolts back your way, as if he remembers you’re lying beneath him, waiting for him to help you out of your dress, and drops a kiss down against the curve of your neck. You hum to yourself and grasp his chin, dragging his mouth near to yours. He brushes your lips once, twice, and you tell him, panting, “I really like you, Eddie.”

He sighs as your hands finally help free the tie from around his neck and you toss the fabric into the far corner of the room, fingers dropping down to start working on the line of buttons down his chest inch by inch until you’re met with dark ink and a trail of hair against the bump of his stomach that disappears into his waistband and has you leaning forward to press a kiss to his exposed sternum. Beneath you can feel the rapid thrum of his heart, can taste the salt on his skin, flesh still warm from all your dancing in the wedding hall.

He’s climbing over to the top of the bed, bringing you with him, and rearranging the two of you so you can lay side by side. One of his palms starts a gentle slide up your back to grasp at the zipper pulled all the way to your neckline. His eyes implore yours briefly, a gentle exchange with no words, and your head dips. The sound of the metal dragging down your spine reaches your ears, fabric soon pooling around your ankle before he’s tossing it over onto the far corner of his room with the rest of both your clothes.

You take a moment to look at one another. Eyes roving across skin, fingers following in their wake. He trails his fingers along your shoulder, down the path of your sternum, swirls a circle around the soft skin of your abdomen until your sides shake with laughter. You watch those exhausted eyes of his trail along the curve of your hip, the bend of your knee, the crux between your thighs. Nearly gasp into his collar bone when he hikes a thigh over his hip and draws you in for another kiss, and you can feel the hot press of him briefly—albeit too briefly—against your center.

Those kisses, burning with a fresh fervor, draw breathless sighs from your lips. His words against your skin, telling you how beautiful you are, how he’s wanted this moment, how he wants to watch you fall apart against his fingers when he asks if he can touch you have you mewling with want, shuddering at the first brush of his fingers through your slick, warm and welcome between your thighs.

But it’s in that languid exploration that the two of you start to slow down, champagne bubbles that still linger in both your bellies making your eyes more and more tired with each passing moment, fingers becoming gentler, lingering longer. He sighs when you lean over to brush a kiss against his throat and suck, but it settles in the air and you can’t help the airy giggle that spills from your lips when one of his hands waves lackadaisical in the air as you ask, “Falling asleep on me, Munson?”

“No—no,” he groans. He presses a gentle kiss to your throat, and feels your pulse skitter beneath your skin. “Jus’ g’me a second. Wanna make you feel good.”

It’s a shame, a sin really, how even in his tired, partially blissed out state, Eddie Munson still has the power to make your insides liquify. Especially when those eyes start to flutter as he tries to focus his attention on you, lashes lingering longer and longer against the tops of his cheekbones in his efforts to stay awake.

With one last press of your mouth against his, you slide off the bed and help yank down the comforter enough so he can crawl inside, sleepy sighs spilling from his tattooed chest. Satisfied, you clamber in beside him and smile to yourself as that same chest aligns against your spine, arm looping low around your waist, and you both drift into a slumber.

It’s early when you wake again. Sunlight starts to filter in through the windows, the clock to your left reading seven in the morning. Luckily, it’s a Saturday and your check out time isn’t until eleven, which means more than enough room to shower and get ready to head back home to Hawkins. You’re about to clamber out of bed when you feel Eddie’s hand against your stomach shift. Butterflies burst to life at the gentle caress of his skin against yours, fluttering away only seconds later when the man in question grumbles, “Oh shit. Oh shit, sweetheart. I fell asleep.”

“You did,” you giggle, your calf brushing along the hairs lining his own. He groans, face pressing between your shoulder blade, hips flush against your ass and you continue, “It’s okay, though. You were tired.”

“We were…and I was…shit.” He huffs against your skin, hooking his chin over your shoulder to then brush a kiss against the plushness of your cheek. Then once more in that space beneath your ear that has you shuddering against him.

He starts a slow path along the side of your neck, laving kiss after kiss into your flesh, trailing down your shoulder. He starts to mark his way back upward, igniting every inch of you with a fresh fire when you gasp out, “We, ahh—mmm—still have a few hours before we need to leave.”

For emphasis, to really drive home your wishes in the moment, you slide your thigh up and over his, your hips moving backward to press needily against where you know he’s hard already. Those talented hands of his that strum along his guitar at the countless Corroded Coffin shows you’ve been to begin to work a slow path up your thigh, calluses tantalizing against skin. You push back harder against him, feeling his returning roll of hips against your ass, seeking out friction, craving release. But you have all morning.

You have time for the gentle slide of his fingers down the front waistband of your panties, the whine you release as his middle finger parts your center from entrance to clit, drawing out three slow circles that have you nearly begging him to fuck you right then and there. Still, he’s patient. Takes his time stroking against your center, listening as you coach him through what feels good, telling him to speed up, slow down. His other hand, not occupied with drawing out your pleasure, grips yours and slides it against the pillow nearest your head, a chuckle spilling from his lips when your head turns and you whimper into your pillow, asking him for what you need.

“What did you just say, sweetheart?” He murmurs against your bare shoulder, hissing when your hips push back into his hardened cock. “Tell me what you want.”

“Mmm—” He slides a finger inside you, drawing a slow circle, opening you around the digit before adding another. He repeats the question, low and sensuous in your ear, a purr that has your eyes pinching shut. “Want you inside me, Ed. Want you, want—”

Those fingers at your center slip from you, your chest heaving as he reaches over onto the nightstand nearest to his side of the bed and fishes out a blessed foil packet. You hear him hastily tear it open, the bed shifting and dipping in his efforts, before he’s pressing his chest back along your spine and hiking your thigh up and over his. The hand previously holding yours against the pillow above you slides back into your own, and your vision blurs out around the edges as he pushes your panties aside and drags himself through your folds from behind, catching on your clit, before slipping inside.

Your mingling hisses at the initial stretch of him turn into quiet moans as he starts to pick up his pace. He pastes sticky kiss after sticky kiss into your shoulder as that hand of his moves around to slide against your throat, shifting your head up and away from the pillow you’ve buried it within. Your eyes meet his, and between the constant roll of his hips as he moves within you, the fingers splaying across your neck, and the words he babbles into your lips about how tight you are, how good you feel, how you’re doing so good for him, it all quickly become too much.

He catches the flicker across your features, the way your sounds pick up in frequency, the rasp of your breath through your lungs. Against your lips he mutters, “Come on, sweetheart. Touch yourself for me, okay? Wanna watch you.”

And you’re quick to do as your told, palm sliding down your stomach until two fingers meet your clit, rubbing in the way you know you like, matching the frantic pace of Eddie’s hips, pulling back and then slamming into you again and again, driving you closer and closer to utter bliss.

“Oh—fuck—I’m so close, baby.” His fingers around your neck tighten, lips pressing against the corner of yours as you work yourself in tandem with him, the sound of skin slapping together muffling the cries spilling through your parted lips. “Tell me you’re close.”

You come before him, nails pressing down to etch crescents into the hand holding yours above your head, murmuring his name over and over again like a prayer as his lips claim yours once more and swallow the moan he lets out as his body jerks a few times and then stills behind you, shallow breaths puffing hot and frantic into your kiss.

When you both finally catch your breath, and you roll over and turn into him, he pulls you close to his chest and grins into your shoulder, asking, “What are you doing next weekend?”

And it’s that next weekend, at Jonathan and Nancy’s wedding, that you go as a real couple this time.

You don’t even give Max and Lucas shit for giving you a thumbs up when they think Eddie isn’t looking.

(protect myself from readmore)

#eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x female reader smut #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson fanficton #eddie munson fluff #luna’s words #lunas1kfollowercelebration🌙

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justheblueberry · 1 year ago

Text

handbinding of A Study in Scarlette by kittebasu

There are people who want to live forever, and then there is Shinichi, who just wants to live a little longer than this.

this bind has been in my head since i first read the fic like, three years ago. i dreamed up so many ideas for it, for so long, and now it's finally done! the typeset was actually done in early 2022, back when i was still using google docs, but it went through a few iterations because i was just. so. fiddly. with every aspect of this book. it needed to be perfect (as close to perfect as i, an amateur bookbinder out of my depth, can get) and it had to be absolutely over the top, to reflect the insane amount of love and care that the author put into the fic itself.

the first time i read this fic, i barely knew what detective conan was, much less all of the intricate plot details; i was just along for the ride, but by the end i was completely invested. i went back and watched through the anime as well as a few movies (it took me six months) and then read the fic again. and then a few more times. kaishin and the world of dcmk has utterly gripped me. it's 100% this fic's fault and i love it so, so, much.

i went through a few iterations of visual designs and i'm really happy with the little details i managed to squeeze in.

the entire color scheme is based around red, because 1) it's a murder mystery, 2) for scarlette shinamoto (and the title of the fic as well as the original holmes novel it references), and 3) the irony of "lady red" actually being red. the secret fourth reason is that i think red/gold is a super sexy color combo.

i sewed the textblock with red thread to reference holmes' "scarlet thread of murder".

another detail i love is the five yen coin bookmark, it was one of my first ideas and it turned out even better than i thought.

i wanted the endpapers to evoke a sense of the white marbled floor of the ballroom, with the glow-in-the-dark kaitou kid caricature being the luminol on the floor, and the little pops of red looks like blood that's been mixed in. i lucked out in that the other side of the endpaper was like a lavender-purpley color, i like to think of it as a little wink wink nudge to the color of the actual Lady Red.

the chapter pages got a few reworkings, but i'm happy with the illustrations i ended up doing for each of them. the chapter titles are one of my favorite things about the fic, each one has so much meaning packed into it and flows so beautifully, and i wanted to put as much care into making them pop as possible.

the cover was a linocut carving i designed and carved, which i then printed onto the bookcloth, and ironed on htv on top.

i also threw in a couple of my drawings of my favorite scenes.

this is getting way too long, so i'll end it here. i'll have a separate post detailing the process every step of the way, if anyone wants to take a closer look. this fic is kind of directly responsible for getting me into fanbinding, so it's safe to say it altered the course of my life. i now spend way too much time (and money) looking at book stuff.

kittebasu, if, somehow, you see this and would like an author copy, i would be honored to make one and ship it to you; i would be overjoyed to gift you with any art i have the ability to make, because the fics you wrote have irreversibly altered my brain chemistry, and being able to give back in any capacity would be a dream. (thank you.)

a few postscripts:

i am not selling any copies of this fic. partially because i believe in the gift economy of fandom as well as firmly keeping fanbinding a hobby that will stay unmonetized, but also because it took me months (years, if we are counting when i first finished the typeset) to finish this and i do not have the strength.

however, if you are also a fan of this fic and would like a copy, i honestly, fervently, encourage you to give fanbinding a try! renegade publishing and its discord server are an absolutely wonderful and free resource. i knew nothing about bookbinding and had zero materials when i first started, but i've learned so much thanks to the lovely people there. if you're still apprehensive about getting started, i'd be willing to share my typeset of this fic as well as answer any questions about the making of this book if you DM me.

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leviathanleva · 7 months ago

Text

Daisy

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader [DARK FIC]

Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

........................

[Blood and Injury, Ghoul Trafficking, Minor Character Death]

[5.8k words]

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Chapter 7 "The Road"

“She asked you a question.” the tip of his gun bumps against the skull of the poor man in angry sovereignty. “Not nice t’ keep a lady waitin’.”

The man in question is a scrawny fellow with yellowish, vein-ridden eyes and greasy black hair just shy of his shoulders. A sunbaked, chewed-out lab coat adorns his shriveled form, hiding a multitude of self-inflicted scabs and prickles, but you’d caught a glimpse during his scuffle with Cooper. A self-proclaimed doctor who’d used his own flesh and blood in the name of science and study, he looked nothing short of deranged, but he’d survived until the ripe age of sixty-two and that was enough solid ground for you to trust his expertise.

You sat opposite of him, occupying a wide, crummy slab of concrete that had once been the roof of his laboratory. The entire building was waning, descended to a few walls surrounded by a rusting fence, but it offered enough shelter for most wastelanders to deem habitable. That’s why you’d stopped by, having endured your second month of surface exploration during what you’d learned was the middle of summer, you’d built higher tolerance for the hostile environment, but still couldn’t compare to Cooper. You’d needed respite, to catch your breath under a shade while greedily gulping down lukewarm spring water.

The doctor had heard your intrusion upon his sanctuary and had been more than hospitable, shoving grimy bottles full of murky substances of different consistencies in your face to get you to buy something. When he’d announced that he was a representative of the medicinal sphere another idea had popped into your head, one that required more talking and less buying diluted piss in a corked test tube labeled “Acne Remover”.

He could teach you medicine. The basics, at least, ways to patch up a wound using primitive things you had on hand, and you’d read such books before, but none of them touched on radioactivity nor explained what RadAway or stimpaks were.

The ghoul had been surprisingly agreeable, however, before you could discuss a plan, he’d taken to his ways and was already rasping threats while cracking his knuckles. You’d thrown your hands in the air with a displeased eye-roll as their tussle heated the dust off the floor.

It’s always violence with him…

“A stimpak? I can. Of course, I can.” the doc hacks and spits a mixture of blood and saliva to the side, then turns back to you with a wet snort. “It’s easy. Anyone can make a stimpak. Anyone. Who can’t? It’s so easy.”

“Great.” you nod, gripping your pencil with such force it’s shy from snapping. This was not what you’d had in mind by exchanging information – no guns or violence and absolutely no blood. But your fiendish companion had other ideas and beggars weren’t choosers. You lick your thumb and turn your notebook to a fresh page. “Please explain then. Slowly.”

The owlish look you receive has you eyeing Cooper with a lost frown, a plea for guidance because this man was clearly out of it with no intent on returning to normalcy.

He’s the heavy hand to your soft words as always.

“Talk.” he snarls and digs his boot in the doctor’s ribs, kicking him off his knees and onto his side. There’s no discussion, no bargaining, just a built-in cruelty and lack of patience.

“Jeez, you didn’t have to – ” you scrunch back in abhorrence, reaching for your face as if you were the one taking the beating.

“ – My notes.” a gargled sputter comes from the wheezing man. He laughs, rotting teeth proud on display as he knocks on the side of his head with such force you heard it from where you sat. “Head’s not good. Can’t remember anything. Gotta see my notes. It’s in the notes.” his spastic gaze is bouncing between you and the ghoul. “I can get 'em. Right there.” he’s jutting a finger up at his workstation where a gnawed-out leather bag rests. “Gonna get 'em. Tell you how. Okay? Gonna get up, gonna get 'em.”

He’s motioning for peace with palms spread wide as he slowly rises. The pistol follows him with cold-blooded precision as he wobbles to his desk. You turn halfway to watch as the notepad rests on your thigh, then tuck a wild strand of hair behind your ear.

He sifts through his belongings and it’s not much, but he’s sustained himself so far with the scarce scraps he’d managed to find. Meanwhile, your backpack was still brimming two months later because you had the trinkets to trade for food and water. You had a bodyguard for free and the luxury to indulge in hygienic habits most commoners didn’t see even on their deathbeds.

Bearing a soft heart, you wanted to leave him at least a granola bar, a guaranteed meal with no strings attached so the upcoming night wouldn’t leave him convulsing in a corner from hunger. He was skin and bones at best, a walking skeleton with cracking, aged skin, and protuberant wild eyes, the kind that have seen too much.

But you knew better, rather he starve and struggle than you ending up facing the ghoul’s wrath for acting stupid again. There was no room for kindness here, there would be no praises, just you naively reaching out a helping hand and ultimately having it bitten.

God, you hated this mess of a world…

“Here! Here, here.” he exclaims through a scratchy throat and shows you a torn, brown folder stuffed with sheets of paper. He digs his nose into it, stubby, arthritis-ridden fingers roughly handling the pages like a manic man searching for the meaning of life between the words. “It’s here. Has to be. I wrote it, y’know. All by myself.”

A sharp whistle rings in your ears and your head snaps back to Cooper. He nudges his pistol toward the folder and cocks his head with a scowl.

“Take em.”

You’re taken aback. Your face falls and you glance at the madman behind you with a slack jaw – he’s pressed into his workstation, the folder held snugly to his chest and encased in his frail arms. His hair sways as he stiffly shakes his head with disbelief.

“No.” you breathe out, a voiced thought, then repeat with more authority. “No! I can’t take his notes, how will he work without them?” you’re gesturing towards him with pencil in hand and direness to your voice. “Look at him! He can’t even remember his own name. We can’t just – ”

“ – I ain’t sittin’ here all day just cuz you wanna play Broken Telephone with a con bastard.” he’s a harsh mentor, doesn’t bat an eye at the implication or the devastation his order might cause. The rim of his hat dips, painting menacing shadows over his already monstrous features. “Take the damn notes.”

There’s no equal ground for arguing and the doctor stands there, forced to watch as his life is put on an uneven scale. Either shot or left to wither away without his only source of income, he couldn’t even choose, he was left to be toiled between your hands and the ghoul’s.

You’re bubbling with righteousness, but that won’t do. There are many things your companion dislikes and for unexplained reasons, standing up to him while trying to do the right thing is one of them.

“Please.” the plea leaves your lips as a hiss. Your face is wrinkled with exertion as you attempt to stare Cooper down to a more agreeable state.

You’re grasping at straws, fighting not to drown in the reality of your actions being the cause of another person’s death. This was no raider, or cannibal, not a warped beast hunting you for supper. This was a fellow survivor, a struggling soul the wasteland hadn’t been as lenient towards. Beneath the delirium and madness, the jumbled words and soup of senseless thoughts, he was still human.

You couldn’t. You couldn’t.

“Was your idea, Sweetheart.” a derogatory coo, a sentence that rips up your act of chivalry. He’s almost smirking as he puts you down with just his gaze. “Gotta finish what you started. Now take the fuckin’ notes.”

Impatience nips at his command, only amplified when he sees you refuse to move. His weapon lowers and he takes a few strides with a searing grunt and bared fangs. He’s no gentleman; picks you up roughly by the arm and forces you to your feet as disapproval of your disobedience brings forth his crow’s feet. There is no grace when you’re non-consensually pushed toward your victim, no elegance guides your step to ease the mourning of the man you’re about to strip from any chance of long-term survival.

But you’re also meek with your gestures, approaching him delicately once your footing is set in stone, hesitantly until there is only a thin gap separating you.

His leg juts to the side with barely contained need to run and he once again winds up at gunpoint.

“Don’ be fuckin’ stupid now.” the ghoul spits as his chin dips, he’s peeking beneath his hat with eyes that could boil flesh off bone.

Regret drains the strength from your fingers when you pinch the bottom of the folder, left to weakly tug it out of his grip as he begrudgingly relents. Your vision is set low, trained on your feet, scorned by actions you couldn’t back away from. You take his prized possession and look away until not a blip of him poisons your vision, then after swallowing nothingness down a dry gullet you manage to mumble:

“I’m sorry.”

You skitter back to Cooper, each step hastening your pace until you’re in the sanctity of his proximity. You don’t falter to see his nod of approval, instead hiding behind him, the side of your head leaned between his shoulder blades. Pathetic, powerless, and made cruel, your brows twitch, pulling down the skin of your sweaty forehead as you clutch at the folder with a distant mind and quivering bottom lip.

You leap a thousand miles away, condemned to weigh the doctor's odds and spare your sanity the burden of his demise. There were always radroaches scuttling about, he could live off them. They weren’t your cup of tea but they were edible. If he was smart enough he could gather sand and pebbles, make a filter and cleanse his urine to a drinkable consistency. It wasn’t that hard, he could survive if he wanted to. Maybe he could…

Maybe –

The familiar click of a pistol rattles you out of the dreamlike state.

You tense.

“Wait.” your hand shoots out to lay over his wrist, applying a minute amount of pressure to stray the firearm. “We got what we needed, right? You don’t need to…Please?” your voice cracks and your beseeched eyes lift to face his. “Please.”

The doctor hasn’t moved, frozen solid and silent aside from the low, bizarre hums and attempts to cough out the gunk tickling his lungs. He was sick and mad, defenseless against a loaded gun, compliant with your inhumane deeds, hadn’t said a peep of protest. The least you could do was leave him be after ripping away the little dignity he’d had.

Your way is brutal though, leaving a helpless old man to be overcome by a death worse than a bullet to the head. But you weren’t one to make a tough decision in a dire situation, you didn’t have the guts to do what would be considered a mercy. His chances were null and shooting him now would save him a great amount of suffering. You could walk out and wait for the shot to ring out, turn a deaf ear to the shriek of oblivion.

But you weren’t doing what was best for him, you were doing what was least painful for you.

Masking your selfish spinelessness as a courageous act of standing up to your dominant half to spare a soul. This was no heroism, it was torture. You’d seen firsthand how sadistic fate was in this dystopian world you now called home, but what could you do when the sight of him had you near tears?

Cooper lowers his pistol with a disgruntled scoff and you release a shaky breath.

“Whatever you say…” he clasps his weapon back in place and flings both his bandolier and tato sack over his shoulder.

It was suspiciously easy, but you didn’t question his change of heart, instead keeping close to him after shooting the deranged doctor a last apologetic frown.

He’d been with you since you’d left the vault, acting as the spear to your shield, the one to take action while you sat back and prayed for the best. You were still as friendly and ready to lend a helping hand as when you’d met and if it hadn’t been for him you would have been long gone by now. The wasteland was working on remolding your antics, but it was a slow process in your case and until then it spelled hardships and disaster for both of you.

Actions have consequences, bad ones, good ones, all of them. He’s tried and failed to teach you so he decides a harsher lesson is in order, one that will stick. That’s why he ignores the shuffling behind him and keeps a heavy-lidded neutral expression.

Actions have consequences and yours is being swung straight towards your head.

The bits of gravel crunching beneath your boots keep your hearing busy enough to miss the vigorous grunts and noises being regurgitated some feet away from you. It’s inconceivable that the person to whom you showed mercy would do anything to cause you harm. His uncoordinated, rushed steps don’t even register until they’re thumping right behind you.

You’re a second too late to react before the empty glass bottle is shattered against the side of your head.

All you muster out is a choked gasp as the ground beneath you slips and you’re falling. The world spins with sickening speed yet your fall is delayed, like a swaying feather.

You don’t feel. You feel nothing below your neck.

Your stomach churns as everything is flipped upside down. The folder is snatched from the safety of your armpit. You’re numb when you collide with the dusty concrete, feel only a cushioned resistance from an impact that’s supposed to hurt.

The air is knocked out of your chest, you’re suffocating on dust. Cooper’s boots are doubled and swaying in your vision as they move. You squint to try and focus, but can’t manage much except to roll on your back and twitch when a shot is fired. A guttural scream, then silence.

The scarce clouds visible from beyond the hole in the ceiling are swimming. You want to reach out and touch them.

The sky always leaves you speechless.

“Why…? Why couldn’t you just let it go…?”

You sit up slowly, hunching over as your legs cross to keep you steady. The dull pulse blossoms into pain and you press a trembling palm against your head only to find it dampened by scarlet red. What you thought was snot tickling your cupid’s bow turns out to be blood once you wipe it off with your wrist to see.

Your breathing accelerates and you look to the ghoul before you succumb to a full-blown panic attack.

He’s bending down to retrieve the folder from a man now dead before approaching you with leisurely steps and placing it in your lap once he’s knelt in front of you.

You didn’t feel like crying before you were face to face, but now your eyes are brimming.

“Next time, you don’ fuckin’ stop me.” he speaks in a low tone, letting you weep. His image shakes and you try your hardest to focus, wiping at your eyes and blinking rapidly, all in vain. “When I speak, you listen. No talkin' back, no attitude. You wanna live, you do as I say when I say.” he checks you over carelessly, sees no glass stuck to your skin, only cuts, and deduces a potential concussion from your uncoordinated movements. “Hope you learned your fuckin’ lesson.”

Your downfall, your savior, your opposite, your everything.

He’s up and walking, and you’re given no time to tend to your wounds, not even to rip off some gauze and stuff it in your nose. You replace the notebook and pencil with a water bottle, cup a hand under it, and spare some water to then splash over your face and wash away a part of the bloody smears. A sip is forced down after a short struggle because your stomach refuses to welcome anything. With jelly legs, you rise, flail briefly because the act makes the world whirl and your brain feels like it’s pressing against the inside of your skull, a sickening sensation, seething and pulsing.

Your shoulder grinds against the walls to offer support for your off-course balance as you make your way out of the rundown building. There are no thoughts in your head, for once everything is still, a dark, blank canvas swallowing any image before it can even surface. There’s only a dull ache deep within your chest, mourning, partly for you, partly for the doctor.

Cooper is waiting for you outside with a cigarette pinched between his lips and kicking at the cracked soil.

High-pitched screeching deafens you as the sun’s rays nearly blind you on the spot. Your sensitive eyes are filling with more than tears of sadness, you’re snarling instinctively with a hand shielding your vision. It’s almost nauseating and leaves your knees weak.

Was it really always this bright?

The sun has no sympathy, it blasts scorching heat as if it knows exactly where your head is exposed and oozing, it targets you with viciousness because you’re battered and broken. You lift the stained folder, let it rest against your crown and give off enough shade to keep you from fainting.

With a pained expression, you follow after the ghoul once he takes a particularly long drag from his cigarette and turns on his heel.

A trail is left in your wake, blood, tears, sweat, all marking your path as you struggle not to trip over your feet. Each step is heavy and rattles both your teeth and your brain. It’s an alien sensation, not truly pain, it’s closer to pressure and it’s agony when combined with the rest of your unpleasant symptoms.

Your breaths echo in your ears, drowning out your footsteps because you’re heaving for air like a woman drowning. The world still swims albeit less so and sometimes it’s unbearable and you’re forced to cling to Cooper’s arm and squeeze your eyes shut as he guides you. All you want is to lie down somewhere soft and sleep, but there’s no building in sight, no trees, nothing.

You walk an endless road, hours of silent torment.

With enough distance and suffering, the day is finally coming to an end and everything is bathed in deep oranges and blaring pinks. The sunset is behind you, your shadow faces you and is as decrepit and tortured as you, you’re heading east, not that it matters. You can finally open your eyes fully without wincing and that’s one less discomfort to sulk over, but then another takes its place instantaneously.

Your backpack feels heavier than ever, it digs into your armpits and it would have been worse if you hadn’t sewn the ripped strap back in place, but it made no difference now. It weighed on your back, further ruined your posture.

You readjust it multiple times with a handful of irritated grunts.

“Ain’t nobody told you t’ stuff the whole fuckin’ vault in that thing.” finally he speaks after an eternity of wordless wandering. He’s eyeing you judgmentally while mouthing another cigarette. “Said to bring essentials.”

More fuel to the fire, more salt in the wound. He’s a relentless bastard when he wants to be.

You stop to rest your hands on your knees and catch your breath and you’re a pitiful sight, but that doesn’t stop you from glaring death at him. Too far gone, in too much pain and fear from failing to understand how much damage the blow to your head had caused, you’re a hair away from losing it completely.

“Nobody told you to bring that nasty attitude either, but here I am.” you snap back through gritted teeth. “Dealing with both.”

He pauses.

“Wha’d you say?” he’s tossing away the smoke and storming towards you, but you’re not your usual self – you don’t back down or shrink away or try to run. You’re staring him dead in the eyes with a nasty look. “Care t’ repeat, Missy? My hearin’s not what it used t’ be.” he’s taunting you while holding your face with one large hand, squishing your cheeks until your lips pucker.

“You’re an asshole.” you snarl with hatred; his roughness causes your nose to fill with blood again, a fresh batch that follows the edge of your curled back upper lip and dribbles down his glove. You look almost feral, you almost fit in with your environment, but your eyes are still soft despite everything.

“Only reason why you ain’t getting’ a beatin’s cuz you already got a concussion.” he jostles you harshly, always does when you’re stepping out of line, but he’s too late to deal punishments this time.

You’re past his demeaning attitude, you’re fed up with being flung like a ragdoll and tied up and blamed for existing because you attract bad attention and he has to waste bullets. You’re bleeding and bruised and hungry and out of patience for his teachings. It might be the concussion, might be something else, but you’re writhing.

You’ve had enough.

He was no hero. He was a fucking pest.

When he shakes you for the second time and pain stabs up your neck like a knife to the spine you shudder. The sound that leaves you is worse than your visage, a carnal bellow, a menacing reverberation that could rival that of a cornered animal.

You bite him.

You sink your teeth into the plush between his thumb and forefinger with enough force for your jaw to burn. You’re clinging to his wrist and when he forces you back your nails leave angry red lines over his skin, even through his coat. You take a wide stance to retain some balance and glare at him from behind a curtain of wild, sweat-drenched hair. Your nostrils flare wide and you spit out the grime you’d bitten off.

“Well I’ll be…” he sighs while tipping his hand slowly and looks over the blunt teeth marks adorning his glove. They glisten with a thick coat of saliva. A fowl grin cracks his somber features. “If you wanned t’ swap saliva, Darlin’, should’a just said so.”

He glides his tongue over the bitemark, then licks the blood clean off his fingers. He’s tasting you, he’s savoring you and your façade falls in repulsion.

That disgusting smile never leaves his chapped lips.

You’re on the verge of insanity, pushed to the brink from everything that’s happened in the past two months and today spelled your breaking point. You’re at your wit’s end and all he does is laugh at your misfortune without a drop of empathy. How can he enjoy your misery? What kind of sick man finds pleasure in another’s pain?

“What is wrong with you?!” you shriek as your hands ball, the folder you’d forgotten you still held, creases under the pressure. You land a fist against his chest, then another, and, of course, he doesn’t even flinch. “Why are you like this?!”

He holds your arms while stifling his cackles, softens your blows while you fuss, lost in your tantrum and throwing conniving insults his way while somehow avoiding any vulgarities. It would have been a comedic performance if your condition potentially worsening didn’t make him fret. He didn’t need you passing out in the middle of nowhere because you couldn’t control your frustration.

“Who did this to you?”

Who hadn’t? His darling wife had dug a knife in his back, taken his daughter away and left him to rot. He’d known the taste of betrayal and disloyalty before the bombs and now it was a free-for-all massacre. He’d not just lost everything, it had been ripped away from him. Every single person he’d known had either tried to kill him or left him stranded.

“Who hurt you so bad…”

But who were you to ask him such questions? Who were you to sink your claws so deep and stir him awake from his bitter slumber spanning over two centuries? Who were you to question his ways and fight to find better solutions? Who were you to mend wounds you’d not caused?

You were nothing.

You were everything.

“Easy.” he warns, paying no heed to your desperate laments, then releases one of your hands to snake an arm around your waist when your knees give out. “Easy now…Easy…”

You’re bawling into his collarbone, sobbing an ugly song, and staining his vest with heavy tears. Your fists uncurl once you’re done drumming at his chest and your fingers sink into the warmth beneath his coat. He’s a solemn golem, doesn’t react to your advances, he doesn’t see you as a threat.

“Why didn’t you just shoot me in the start…”

His heartbeat never changes, but you hear him swallow a lump. He watches over the top of your head as you succumb to periodic trembles and tire yourself out completely. A dainty and ethereal creature compared to him and even in your rage and unquenchable sorrow, both caused by him, you still cling to him.

You were similar in that regard. He had shown you the same mercy you’d shown to the doctor. Selfish spinelessness, lack of courage, weakness, twisted empathy. He was no hero, but you sure made him feel like one. A part of him was addicted to the goodness you carried and didn’t want to let you go. And he cared little for how fake or real it was, he just needed to have a taste once in a while, get a reminder that softer things yet thrive in the dark crooks of the apocalypse.

“Should’a stayed in Tillburry.” a rasp so low you could have mistaken it for a rustle in the wind.

He’s already locked eyes with you when you finally unfurl your face from his vest and look up. Newfound anger spells doom on your lips. It doesn’t suit you to be angry.

“I didn’t want to stay in Tillburry.” there’s spitfire in your voice as you talk down his feeble statement. A last soft punch to his chest to solidify your words as you continue. “I want to stay with you…”

“Y’ dunno what’d fuck you’re talkin’ about.” he gravels out a tender scold, his eyes dip to your frown, his mouth waters.

He inches closer, earning an inquisitive noise from you, but you don’t back away. You grip onto his coat and for once his heart is heavy as he lowers his head until the rim of his hat is brushing against your forehead. His breath hits you and it’s rich with the smell of cigarettes.

Your inhales are forced, brash and vocal, sucked in through parted lips as you take him in for the first time. Contrary to your beliefs, he had eyelashes, thick and dark and you wonder if he was brunette before he became a ghoul. His eyes were molten gold in the dying sunlight, prettier than yours would ever be, his cheekbones were high, accentuated by the lack of fat in his cheeks.

Once upon a time, he was a handsome man.

He’s pawing at your waist to keep you close, a precaution for the slim chance that your brain kicked back into function and you pulled away like you should. He had no right taking your first kiss, he had no right to anything of yours, but there was nobody present to stop him. A small guilty pleasure, a moment of indulgence, that’s all he wanted and he’d set you free.

You’re sweating, you’re shaking.

Were you really that scared of him?

“Coop – ”

“ – ‘S okay, Pumpkin. ‘S okay…” he coos in a hushed tone, tender and sugary. “I got you…Sweet thing…I’m here.”

A queer affection coming from a man who was anything but, your mind was hazy, you’d faint any second. Your stomach is bursting with fluttering butterflies as you give in to the needy hands kneading your sides.

What was this…

“ ‘M a bad man, I know…I know. Don’t deserve this.” he sees you searching for words, gives you a good squish and you’re so pliant under his fingers it makes him weak. “Is okay…Close those pretty eyes o’ yours.”

He’s so close he can feel the heat radiating off your skin, your nose is brushing against his cheek and his lips are ghosting over yours.

“Helloooo!”

You nearly jump out of your skin.

A caravan approaches, pulled by a pair of well-fed brahmin. A man is vigorously waving a hand your way, bearing a wide smile with mostly missing teeth.

You rush to straighten your dress once you’re abruptly released and pushed away. There’s danger dancing in Cooper’s stance as he mumbles an inaudible slew, his hand is at his holster and his shoulders become ridged. There’s a heat to your cheeks that you hope the sun masks and the medical folder is tucked in front of your chest as a barrier.

Judging by the ghoul’s reaction, this man, whoever he is, is trouble and you’re not mentally prepared to withstand another bloodbath.

He flings the reins, urging the brahmin to pick up the pace and the distance between your parties grows too short too quickly. You can only pray for a peaceful exchange. His cargo is large, rectangular and covered by a dark sheet bolted to the carriage on either side.

Once he’s close enough a distressful symphony reaches your ears and you step closer to Cooper out of habit. There’s the rattling of metal, a cacophony of pained moans and haggard groans, animalistic noises from a beast you’d yet to encounter.

Was he from a circus? What kind of animal made such sounds?

“Shut the hell up back there!” he slams his fist against the cargo, you guess it’s a cage of some sort, and the mystery animals fall silent. Then he stills the brahmin and flashes you a polite smile. “Evening, Miss.”

“Hello, Sir.” you nod and the firm hand on your hip tells you to be very careful with your next words.

He doesn’t even address Cooper despite him standing in front of you, just gives him a good full-body scan and averts his attention back to you. It’s strange, for once you’re not in his shadow, your gut warns of a dirty truth hidden behind that dark curtain, one which you didn’t want to delve into.

“Sorry to bother you this late an hour.” he plants an elbow against the backrest of his seat and turns to face you properly. “I was just wondering if you were selling.”

The wind picks up your hair, for a moment the world is still.

“Selling?” you cup a hand over your eyes to block out the dying red sun falling behind the distant horizon. Your brows lock in confusion because he certainly didn’t look like a merchant. “Selling what?”

“The ghoul.” he answers as if it’s the most obvious thing, then when you don’t answer immediately he decides to add a bit more honey to the mix. “Would pay good caps for that one.”

“The…WHAT?!”

Your blood runs cold. The moans you’d previously heard turn hauntingly grim and you try to look everywhere but the covered cage. The grip on your hip is bruising in strength; the only way to ease Cooper before he snaps is to step on his boot.

The bent stop sign a few feet down the road looks weak enough. You wonder if you can tear it out and bludgeon the man to death, then shake your head. He’s not a man, can’t be if your suspicions are true.

Because who would do such a thing…

“Stop.”

It was impossible to entertain such thoughts. There exist so many words to describe the evil and grotesque and none of them come close to encompass such inhumane deeds.

“Sorry, Sir, not selling this one.” you muster out, shake off your horror and mask your malice with an awkward smile. You pat the ghoul’s shoulder like he’s a pet. “He’s a good mule, can’t imagine traveling without em.”

The words nearly make you gag while the man howls a throaty laugh.

“Sure looks like it. Real shame.” he sits back and grips the reins once more with a serene look as he stares into the sunset.

He doesn’t deserve to see such a sight, he doesn’t deserve to be so relaxed, he doesn’t deserve to live –

“ – Weeellp! If you change your mind, my establishment’s stationed in Pitfalls Valley. Big building, can’t miss it.” he gives you a playful wink and a click of his tongue before tugging at the reins “Have a good evening, Miss.”

The disturbance awakens the cage once more and the voices come back to life, despicable and anguished.

You can’t even process what had happened before you’re made to move.

“We gotta go.”

The gentle tug on your dress leads you away as you stare back unblinking. There’s a myriad of bony hands reaching from beneath the curtain, scraping at the bottom of the caravan, pulling at the metal bars, some of them are tiny.

Hate in its most primal state is an emotion you had never felt, not until today. You had never dreamed of killing someone until today. For once, you’re ready to watch a shootout, but it’s also one of those rare moments where Cooper prefers to walk away. You’re looking at him with pleading eyes and all he can offer is a bitter:

“It ain’t our problem.”

You’re no Mary Sue, you can’t charge into a battle and win, armed or not. You can’t be the hero those locked up ghouls need. You can’t do shit because this isn’t a fairytale. It’s life – cruel and cold, real and so unbelievably merciless, sick and twisted. There is no happy ending for anyone, there are no miracles.

All you can do is move along, stuff the memories in the depths of your subconscious and get over it because at least you’re still alive and free. It’s either wallow in despair or swallow it and survive. There is no joy, there is no love, no compassion, no humanity. Kill or be killed, eat or be eaten.

You link your fingers with Cooper’s and squeeze.

“What kind of fucked up piece of shit sells ghouls…”

That cracks a smile from him. He closes his fingers over your hand until it disappears behind an aegis of leather.

“Well look at you startin’ t’ swear proper.”

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Chapter 8 >>>

🌼 Daisy Masterlist 🌼

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