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perpetual-fandom-brainrot · 6 months

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Temporary Relocation Ch. 2

Read the previous chapter here Basic premise: Reader has arrived on TF 141's base after a transfer due to a special experimental surgery and is now receiving the initial medical checkup. If you cannot handle reading about needles, blood, and/or medical procedures, I recommend you do not read this. Bold text where the medical section ends.

You flinched a little as you felt a needle being pressed into your skin, followed by a nurse murmuring, "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," you grumble to the best of your ability, "just wasn't expecting bloodwork." The woman's lips pursed in silent understanding as she watched the tube fill with the crimson liquid.

"Would it offend you if I said I admire you?" Her inquiry came as the seconds ticked by.

"Why?" You almost scoffed. It felt as though she was patronizing you just because you were a fresh face. Noting your irritation, she hesitated a moment.

"You're a soldier. Despite that, you took a surgery that could've ripped it away from you. It still could."

The nurse's words served to soften your expression, but they weren't what you found to be echoing in your head. In one ear and out the other, while your mind was ashamed of the fact that you'd prioritized the financial gain.

"Yeah, well," you grunted as she dislodged the needle once the tube was full, "we've all got our reasons for things, don't we?" Her focus on the tube left you without a verbal response to your question.

Next, your ears and tail were tested. What you could currently hear, sounds you'd probably be able to hear once everything was healed, the range of motion your tail currently had and how much it hurt when touched or moved in certain ways. That was how you found just how sensitive your tail actually was. Each foreign sensation shot sensations from the base of your spine up to the top. What the hell did they do with it? No other parts of your body ever had that kind of sensitivity.

The nurse hummed as she took all of the information down on your chart, you had zero doubt it would be confidential to anyone who didn't 'need-to-know.' As she read back over her notes, her expression only changed slightly. Enough you could tell she was thinking, but not for you to tell what was good and what was bad.

"They seem to have really intertwined your tail with your spinal nerves. I'll get this back to the main lab and send it off for data collection. In the meantime, take these," she handed you a bottle that contained the smallest pills you'd ever seen, "the dosage and when to take them is on the label. It should help dull the sensations from your tail. Pharmacy only signed off on this one bottle before you arrive. There's not much, but it should get you used to how the drugs work."

You nodded as you took the bottle, settling it into your pocket.

"If you don't have any other questions or concerns, you're free to go," she stated before writing some last minute notes.

"Actually, one question," you scrunched your face as you gently poked one of your ears, "is there an estimate on how long it'll take before the soreness goes away?" Not knowing how much longer you would be off-duty was driving you insane.

A moment of silence passed before the nurse found a conclusive answer in the notes, "you should get used to how things are in a few weeks. The soreness should be completely gone about two months from now. I can't say how long it'll take for you to learn how to use your new senses, that depends on you."

You nodded curtly, "thank you," before standing up and heading for the door. "And thanks for the meds, doc," you concluded before leaving.

Absent-mindedly wandering around base afterwards sent you to the canteen. You couldn't consciously remember the last time you ate anyway. You approached the main counter, discovering the remains of the lunch platters. Your selection turned out to be an amalgamation of sorts. Not that you could complain given the limitations. However, your last minute considerations were interrupted by a gruff Scottish voice from behind.

"They hurt?" He nodded towards your ears. You smiled softly as you turned to face him, plate in hand.

You shook your head as you responded, "not as bad as they did. Get an earful from that lieutenant earlier?"

"You could say that," he muttered. The irritation in his voice was evident, and the glaring look in his eyes made it even more so.

"Sounds bad, I won't push. Guy seems to have a real hothead."

"Only if ya know how to piss him off," he chuckled, "which doesn't take much. Nice to meet you, I'm Soap. Soap MacTavish," and he held out his hand for you to shake. So you did.

"Y/n L/n," you began, "might make my field name Whiskers when the time comes." Soap laughed a little.

"L.t'll definitely have fun with that one. Ghost isn't usually a jokes guy," he told you.

"He'll absolutely hate me, then," you concluded. "Wanna go sit? My mouth is watering knowing food is a foot away from it."

MacTavish promptly turned and marched towards a table, where Gaz was already sitting. Soap settled in front of a previously lonely plate, amalgamated similarly to yours with significantly less organization. Food instantly found its way to your mouth when your bum found the table bench.

"How'd the checkup go? All good?" Gaz asked. You nodded and partnered it with a thumbs up. He gave a solid nod in response. "Can you still hear out of your human ears?" You watched his eyes flicking up to your cat ears, then back to where your human ears were. Another shake of your head, this time you swallowed your food to talk.

"Nah, they rerouted my hearing network. My sense of balance is supposed to be enhanced by my tail, too, but right now it's too sore for me to find use in that," both Soap and Gaz were just staring at your ears while you explained. You felt yourself internally shrinking under the scrutiny, your body temperature rising in a way you prayed wouldn't be visible.

"What can you hear now, then?" Soap chimes in. Your saliva felt heavy as it went down your throat the next time you swallowed, then passively rested a smile on your face in hopes of concealing the sudden jitters.

"A lot more than I could," you admitted. Your tone sounded more cautious than you wanted it to. Willing your vocal cords to steady, you continued, "the helicopter was hell before I put the headphones on. Like I could hear the electricity signals coming from all of the buttons and wires."

"Bloody loud bastards, helicopters," he scoffs, but in agreement with your own distaste. "Can't imagine what it's like to hear everything comin' from 'em, I'd cross Scotland on foot to avoid that special little hell."

"Thanks," you ensured your tone was flat and void.

"Real reassuring there, sergeant," Gaz added. Simultaneously, the three of you let out some laughs, albeit small ones. "Did they tell you how long you'd be staying here before you could go on missions?"

Memories of the nurse's words had you groaning miserably, "a few months, at least. There's still a lot of variables with this." You felt like directly mentioning the nurse's comment about how intertwined your tail was would've been a bad move. Experiments have their kinks, after all. "At least I've got company," you shrugged off your previous frustration before sending a smile to Soap, "pretty entertaining company too, it seems."

"Always gettin' into trouble doesn't mean I'm entertainment," he playfully spat back.

"I don't know MacTavish, the lieutenant seems to have it out for you. You pick his nerves too often for anyone to get bored watching it," Gaz throws in.

"See? It's two against one! For someone with soap as a field name, you sure are bad at slipping out of situations," you sent a shit-eating grin to the mohawk-donning sergeant. He scoffed but sent a smirk of his own back at you.

"Not all of 'em, you'll see when you're finally on the field with me and the team."

"I'm sure I will," you responded as you moved to throw out your empty plate. "This was a good meal and a great chat, but I need rest. It's been hours." You don't wait for approval before turning and heading for where Gaz had gestured to personal quarters earlier, but you made sure to wave and call a "catch up with you boys later," over your shoulder.

------

Defeated and harsh sighs pushed their way up your throat as you closed the door to your personal quarters. This was your room, yet it looked just as plain as the rest of the halls of the base. At least your stuff had been very kindly dropped off for you already. You made quick work of adjusting the space to be as close to your own as possible. Personal trinkets, photographs, posters, and other small decorations littered the walls and desks alike when you finished. It was nothing too much- certainly not close to what you had on your own room at home- but it was nice at the same time.

Finishing making the bed was what had you deciding to take a shower. The switches were easy enough to figure out once you entered the bathroom, and before long you were under a stream of comfortably warm water. It had been awhile since you got to properly bathe, since you were in too much pain directly after the surgery to do anything other than sponge clean. You hadn't been allowed to do that yourself, either. Your tail couldn't be disturbed nearly at all for the first two weeks, back when you were still being held at the hospital. Memories flooded you as you washed yourself up.

You hissed in pain as the nurse gently adjusted your tail here and there. Even the slightest movements shot harsh jolts up your spine, but you were sure it'd be worse if you looked over your shoulder and watched all of it happen. You did your absolute best to stay still, contrary to your body's screaming urges.

"That concludes this set of testing," she stated. Her pen scribbles were the only thing that filled the room for a moment before she continued, "I'll send the next batch of staff in now."

You snapped yourself out of it, quickly disabling the faucet and stepping out of the shower before you could remember anything else. Fatigue blanketed itself around you and burrowed into the warmth of the clothes you changed into. A yawn pried your mouth open as you settled into your bed and carefully pulled your blanket over your body. It didn't take you long to fall asleep after that.

Read the next chapter here

#141 #call of duty #cod #ghost #john soap mactavish #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #johnny mactavish #temporary relocation fic #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #captain price #tf 141 #tf 141 x reader #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader

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maya-keery · 8 months

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Supernatural steddie because I love succubus Steve and Eddie who's just hopelessly in love

Eddie Munson who moves away from his home town in Chicago to quiet little Hawkins, Indiana. It's not supposed to be permanent, just a temporary relocation. He just needs to get away for a bit. Why not spend the summer in a ghost town that seems to be stuck in the 80's? (Maybe he's a slow-to-fame musician who relocates to Hawkins for inspiration after hearing the rumors about the town.)

He tries not to be put off by how weird everyone is. Everyone just seems sort of...off. Especially his absurdly hot next-door neighbor, who seems to have a new partner every night and herds around a group of kids during the day.

Complete with witch Robin OR werewolf Robin, vampire Nancy, and the kids are probably all werewolves too.

(Side bar everyone who writes mini fics in my reblogs I love and adore you)

#stranger things #the fruity four #steve harrington #eddie x steve #steddie #eddie munson #steddie au #babygirl steve harrington #steddie fic #rockstar eddie munson #supernatural au

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eddies-house · 9 months

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Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter One - Damn Mailbox

W/C: 5K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Relocating to the small town of Knife’s Edge in hopes of leaving your old life behind and starting brand new solves all of your problems, right? Wrong. It only creates more and one of them may live right next door. Side effects may include blaring music at 3AM, a scowling neighbor, and one too many shots of tequila on several occasions. (That The Bourbon will not be comping.)

A/N: I'm super excited to start this lil series, I've had this idea for a little while and I can never resist writing total opposites, it's just so fun to explore their dynamic when they want to reject each other so bad. Also a lot of this fic is inspired by Smoke Signals by Phoebe Bridgers (hence the name). As always I would love your feedback and any comments y’all have 🙂 OH and finally...the hugest largest biggest thank you to @uglypastels for beta reading and proof reading and all that good stuff, it was SO appreciated and really helped smooth things out ILY Z YOU'RE SO GOOD AT WHAT YOU DO 💜

Masterlist

Morning dew was like an old friend, someone you hadn’t paid attention to since childhood but felt so familiar with, so…safe. Maybe it was a little too ridiculous to find security in a few dew drops but arriving in a new town with a population of less than five hundred would have that effect. Twists and turns of windy roads unknown, trees larger than any house, and barely any infrastructure would all frazzle anyone not accustomed to its elements. Normally you wouldn’t get car sick but these roads were a beast you’d never encountered before in your life, stomach threatening to send back your lunch of tuna on white bread and a bag of Doritos. You refused to let bile even trace your tongue so with just enough self control, you swallowed any sickness down and pushed forward. Now you were hunched over in the driver’s seat, the door open as you sucked in the fresh mountain air, perfect lengthy blades of grass grazing the bottom of the door. Just before you, up the driveway made up of damp dirt, was home. A home you were a stranger to at the moment but hoped to at least become acquaintances with. Lower expectations created less disappointment. If you dive in head first, you can only guarantee yourself vulnerability and pain, slow and steady was the only pace.

It’s not permanent; you are just figuring things out.

It’s what you kept preaching to yourself during the altitude change, where flatter land transformed into large mountains, the tallest peaks coated in white. Where your ears popped and your brain felt pressure. And then shortly after, you were submerged deep into the forests, far from home, where you knew there was no going back for quite some time. It was a trial run although it didn’t feel that way when the moving truck packed with your life pulled up just minutes after you, delivering every piece of your life to some cabin in a secluded town that was nearly invisible on any map. Temporary was starting to feel foreign when everything felt more set in stone.

You’d think a town called ‘Knife’s Edge’ would steer you away and maybe that was the intent when it was first named; to ward off newcomers who had no business being out in the woods. But it only intrigued you. From what you could find out in a few tourism magazines, Knife’s Edge was not somewhere you went for a getaway, not according to the locals who were a tight knit community where everyone knew everyone. The economy relied on the small businesses down in The Village, on Main Street which according to your calculations was about five miles down the road and around the lake then up. That was the extent of knowledge you’d had on your new home and yes, maybe you should have gathered more information before daring to even place a down payment on some random cabin in the woods but when a new start calls, you either answer the phone or stare at it until nothing happens. The cabin was either yours if you paid the down payment or it would’ve been torn down and sold to the neighbor for more land which would’ve sent you on your way again, on a wild goose chase for a new place that you could fit into. Not that you were too sure that you’d even fit in here. But it seemed too obvious that this was where you were meant to be when the realtor advised that it was yours at a low down payment, a steal. So you’d try to make it work.

The moving truck’s door startled you, slamming against the top as two men got to work, unloading all your belongings. You figured this was your cue to exit your beat-up sedan to unlock the front door–wide-paneled and made of a beautiful dark oak. The crunch of pebbles and dirt alerted the movers to your presence where you let them know you were going to open up so they could begin their tedious process, one of them grumbling something incoherent in response. As you approached even closer, there were knicks and dents decorating the surface of the door but it seemed to add to the essence. The wooden steps creaked underneath your weight and upon glancing around the porch, you found two well built rocking chairs that the previous owner must have left behind. Other than that, there were pine needles and other debris from the surrounding nature caked in the corners, some scattered along the rest of the floor that would need to be swept up but it wasn’t an urgent task in comparison to actually setting up your bed and other necessities.

The lock was stubborn as you twisted the key but with one more persistent shove and turn, it clicked and you were able to push your way in, the hinges painfully squeaking as you made a mental note to pick up some WD40. The air inside was stale, smelling of dust and maybe a half hearted spritz of air freshener. Or maybe it was drenched in air freshener but it did little to nothing to cover up the smell of an old abandoned cabin; you weren’t sure. It was a modest size, the kitchen off to the right, tucked into the corner with a small island in the center. The living room was the first room you walked into from the front, the floorplan more open than you’d expected. A little to the left was a narrow hallway with shutter doors lining both sides, you assumed one side had to be the laundry. The door at the end had to be the bedroom and the door just before you embark into the hall had to be the bathroom but you had no time to explore right now.

Morning light trickled in through the kitchen window just above the stove, creating a beautiful hue against the wood paneling of the walls which you only noticed as you came back in, setting a box that was labeled ‘kitchen’ on the counter before rushing back out to retrieve more of your belongings. It was too early to be doing such strenuous work but that's what you get for securing a slot with the moving company first thing in the morning. In hindsight, you didn’t realize you were signing yourself up to meet said moving truck at 6:00 AM but in your defense, you’d never done this before.

By 7:00 AM the truck was fully unloaded and on its way out and with it went the grumpy movers, more than likely unsatisfied with the fact that they’d have to trek back down the mountain. You graciously offered them an extra twenty bucks which they gladly took but still appeared crabby nonetheless. Now for the part you had been dreading the most: unpacking each box and putting everything in its respective place. But first, you wanted to take it all in. You were right; the laundry was on the left side of the hall behind the shutter door and on the other side was a closet. The bedroom was settled right where you had guessed, at the end of the hall and rather than being empty, it now held your bed and mattress, sheets still yet to be found among the boxes labeled ‘bedroom’ in thick sharpie. The wallpaper was something you could do without but maybe you’d find time to peel it off later and replace it with something more to your taste. Currently the bedroom walls were lined with floral designs and pale blue stripes and if you could be honest, the design was a bit too busy for your liking. But it was a roof over your head for a good price so complaining was out of the equation.

At the opposite end of the hall, just off the living room was the bathroom, sporting a less off putting wallpaper of faded yellow and white vertical stripes. You first ensured your hygiene essentials were in place, toothbrush and toothpaste in a glass on the sink, towels on the rack, and soaps set up in the shower including shampoo, conditioner, and bar of Dove. Having these accessible was a priority, cleanliness being one of the most important factors of your daily routine.

Clothes were next and you’d forgotten a box in your trunk of your most worn items of clothing that you could pick through until you were fully settled. Lazily carrying yourself back to the driveway where your maroon sedan sat on top of the copper-toned dirt, you do a double take when you realize your mailbox was taken out, wood splintering out of the ground as the poor box lays among the grass at the edge of the street. From what you could remember, it was fully intact when you first drove up so you’re forced to conclude that the movers you’d tipped generously must have run it over and not given it a second thought.

The half of the mailbox that rested on the ground was a lot heavier than it looked and you would’ve thought it was made of cement just by the weight. You felt pathetic dragging it up the driveway, creating a prominent line in the dirt along the way. A brief break in getting the damn thing up to your porch has you about half way up the driveway, glancing around at your surroundings, only to finally take into account that you had a neighbor relatively close by, a cabin similar to yours only a few hundred yards away except it was a darker wood and a red pickup sat idle in front of it.

You braced yourself, catching your breath to continue hauling the mailbox back until you can figure out how to repair it when your eyes catch on figure, a man making his way down the steps of the cabin you’d just been analyzing. And you’re quick to shy away until you realize he’d already been looking at you, a cocky grin on his face as he slowly, almost tauntingly stepped off his porch. The way he walked closer reminded you of a lion declaring its territory, especially with the mane of curls he had, shaggy and brunette. He wasn’t close enough to allow you to examine any further; however, you caught the click of his tongue before he spoke.

“Gonna get splinters draggin’ wood around like that.”

It’s all he says, a toothpick between his teeth before he turns on his heel, combat boot digging into the soil and it’s only then that you realize he wasn’t offering assistance, he was simply picking up the hose connected to his spigot to rinse off his windshield which now that he’d drawn attention to it, was filthy with mud and leaves. He wore a red and black flannel which reminded you of a lumberjack but this man just didn’t fit that description based on your short interaction with him. Or rather his interaction with you. Your first indication was that he had no facial hair; he was clean-shaven. And his tight jeans that had black rips at the knees didn’t seem very suitable for a job that required a larger range of motion.

Without any further acknowledgement of your existence, he hopped in his truck and sped off around the bend without a care in the world. He was a resident douchebag and you’d never even spoken a word to him. You quickly realized you were still stood in the middle of the driveway with half a mailbox, grunting in protest as you lugged it the rest of the way up to the porch, leaning it against the railing for future contemplation on how to repair it or if you’d have to fork up money for a brand new one. That was a problem for future you and though future you would be pissed at past you for putting the responsibility on her, you had other things to sort out such as unpacking the rest of the kitchen so you’d be able to actually use it to feed yourself. And then of course you’d have to make your way into town a ways down the road to actually get groceries because not a crumb of anything edible was packed. Aside from a bag of Chex Mix that sat in the passenger seat of your car that you’d picked up at a gas station.

–

Going overboard was an understatement when it came to how much you’d actually gotten done. By 12:00 PM you almost had each room unpacked and put away, moving boxes discarded next to the front door to be thrown out later. Your plan was to finish off the kitchen and then go into town. Instead you finished the kitchen and moved from room to room with more motivation than you’d ever experienced in your life. Maybe it was the adrenaline of living alone, no one else could tell you what to do or where to put things. It was all up to you and maybe you were a little drunk off that power. Regardless, you were now worn out and that energy didn’t last very long. At least you had a freshly made bed for when you came back, that’s what you would reward yourself with.

If you go grocery shopping then you can come back and nap.

There were still various projects to be done, items to be organized, and objects without a home but for the most part, you could sleep peacefully with the work you’d done today. The floors were yet to be cleaned and the fridge still needed a good scrub down but that could wait until tonight after you properly refueled.

Humming to some song you’d heard on the radio earlier, you make your way out the door, patting your pockets for your keys and wallet, both of which you had before locking up and heading for the car. You rolled your eyes passing the mutilated mailbox, settling into the driver’s seat with an ache in your back from the grueling labor in the early hours of the morning. Shifting into drive and then rapidly back to park, you remember that these roads are foreign to you and that you could easily get lost and possibly become a bear’s lunch with your luck. With a tug, the glove box opens and reveals the map you had set in it before embarking on our journey. The map that was mailed to you of the town didn’t seem very complicated. But if you happened to make a wrong turn it could land you amongst some rocky cliffs which you thought better to stay away from. So you carefully examined the route to town, what the people here seemed to call The Village Square. You took the liberty of drawing your house on the map, a cute little doodle in blue gel pen and then proceeding to draw the rest of the route in the same blue so you’d always have it.

This was it. A fresh start where no one knew your name. This would be good for you. At least that's what you kept trying to convince yourself.

Goodbye someone else’s daughter and hello new self-made woman.

–

You weren’t lost. You were just…exploring.

Okay, you were a little lost but the signs for The Village Square kept passing you by and yet you found yourself also passing the same exact pine trees–and you knew they were the same pine trees because every time you saw them you thought ‘hey that kinda looks like a dog’. At some point it started to feel as if you were spawning in and out of some dimension until you finally turned into a lot directly behind one of the signs, sick of this game of hide and seek. There were no signs for parking which is why you’d passed by so many times in the first place, and now it seemed like you were behind a restaurant of some kind. This couldn’t be where everyone parked, right? Anxiety was pooling in your stomach and before you could sike yourself out, you ultimately decided to park and walk from here. You would only be a few minutes and hopefully you’d be able to muster up the courage to ask someone where to park from now on, even if it did make you seem like an idiot.

Leaves crunched under your sneakers, an obvious indication of the Fall season trickling one leaf at a time. As if you were a wary animal, you cautiously walked around the building, finding that it was someplace called The Bourbon; the letters written out in neon red lights that weren’t yet illuminated, the open sign in the window dull signifying they were closed. You let your eyes roam up and down the street, small businesses lined up all the way through and a few patrons, clearly with an agenda making their way along the sidewalks. It was a cute place, nestled in a little valley. Instead of plain old cement the sidewalks were cobblestone and overall it seemed to be a pedestrian oriented community with several cross walks and barely any traffic.

From here you had no idea how to get to Marvin’s Grocery, which seemed to be one of the only produce stores around according to your map. The others were a little more out of the way, your house conveniently only around five miles away from The Village Square. The shops you passed as you attempted to gain a sense of direction were exquisite. Mom-and-pop shops that either smelled of delicious baked goods or hunger-inducing aromas that filled your nostrils with savory goodness. The smell would haunt you in the best way for days to come. A candle shop piqued your interest, as well as a flower shop that bloomed so beautifully among the muted tones of the brick buildings around it.

Everything was so unlike what you were used to, back home things were more commercialized, built for quantity not quality. Here it seemed to be the polar opposite which you could appreciate. Corporations were the root of all evil and you had yet to see one single corporation among the several businesses you passed so far. People seemed friendly but also confused by your presence, offering you a meaningful wave accompanied by a puzzled expression written on every face you encountered. You were a stranger and it was becoming more apparent the deeper you found yourself in the square. Some people whispered and you happened to snag onto a few words, mostly grasping ‘is she new?’. In return, you graced them with a polite smile. It wasn’t like you to initiate small talk or approach new friendships. If they happened, they happened per the other party’s account, not yours, never one to try and stand out in the crowd only making this infinitely more uncomfortable for you, which was no one’s fault other than your own insecurity.

Eventually you were able to come face to face with the giant ‘Marvin’s Grocery’ sign which looked to be handpainted in big white letters outlined in black with a few cartoony carrots, a tomato, and a head of lettuce. Wandering around for an extra ten minutes and refusing to ask for help certainly wasn’t ideal but it did familiarize you with the shops you would soon be buying from on the regular. And it did give you a soft introduction to the small population of Knife’s Edge which despite the name, the people seemed lovely enough.

The store wasn’t the slightest bit crowded and it wasn’t very large either. A mother and her two kids skimmed one of the aisles while an older man pondered over the produce, apples specifically. Grabbing a cart, you begin gathering the items you had sorted out on a list in your head. First bananas, grapes, and blueberries, you didn’t want to bother with too much produce as it went bad fast and you were only one person so those would do for now. Then you moved on to pantry essentials, canned goods that you could stock up on and always have on hand. Green beans, corn, peas, baked beans, even soups such as tomato, cream of mushroom, and the standard chicken noodle.

You’d built up a cart full in no time, and by then, no one else was around so you noted that this time would be perfect to get your shopping done in the future so as to avoid as many people as possible. The cashier was a woman, probably in her early sixties who seemed not all that intimidating which you were grateful for. She smiles warmly and you appreciate the sentiment, grinning back at her as you place each item at the register.

“You’re new. But I bet you’ve already had an earful of that, haven’t you?” She lightly teases.

You laugh softly, avoiding eye contact while still trying to remain well mannered, taking notice in small glances that the woman’s name tag reads Donnie in bold red letters as well as the ‘help wanted’ sign perched up against the window. She seems friendly, a little rough around the edges though in the sense that she had several tattoos that disappeared into the rolled up sleeve of her blue crewneck sweater as well as a fire in her icy blue eyes. You could already guess that she was quite the character.

“Don’t let them scare you off.” Donnie carefully bags the eggs with a few more light items, her confidence radiating, as if she doesn’t even need to try, as if it just comes to her so naturally. Something you could only wish for every once in a blue moon. “We don’t get many newbies. They’ll get it outta their system.” Her voice is a tad scratchy but smooth otherwise, bringing a strange sense of comfort.

“Thank you.” A mouse may as well have been louder than you but you tried and that’s what counts, right? New people were not your thing but they would have to become your thing, moving to a place where no one knew you existed and all. Or maybe you could fly under the radar? It couldn’t hurt to become the mysterious outsider that spoke to no one although it wasn’t a very realistic ambition.

This was fucked. You thought to yourself in the solitude of your brain. Of course the second thoughts were coming now and not before you bought the damn property that tied you to this place. Initially, the idea was a temporary situation far from home but the deeper you delved into this town, the more permanent it started to feel. Not just anyone up and moved here and that was clear by the reaction you pulled from several onlookers. And yet you moved here, bought that damn cabin with the money left to you from your father’s estate, and ultimately, left everything you knew in a manic state. A mid life crisis in your early twenties.

“Miss, your change.” The woman broke through your thoughts and you must have shifted into autopilot, not even remembering handing her any money in the first place.

“S-sorry.” You mutter, collecting the filthy coins in your palm, shoving them into the front pocket of your jeans which you knew would be a pain to dig out later but again, that was an issue for future you. She hated your guts.

“No prob–”

It was abrupt, your exit but despite your rude departure, she called out “I’m Donnie!” and you never felt like a shittier person. She was welcoming you to her home and you didn’t even have the decency to introduce yourself. That’s how it looked at least, on the inside you were panicking and needed to isolate yourself immediately.

You must have looked like a maniac carrying your groceries in a near sprint toward the direction of your car. Everyone else seemed to move at such a mellow pace, not a single vein close to popping out of stress whereas you looked like you’d crumble under the slightest inconvenience. Which you would if you didn’t get to the car fast enough. A small misstep causing you to trip? No chance, you wouldn’t show your face again for weeks. Your groceries spilling all over the pavement because of said possible misstep? You would consider moving all over again.

Thankfully the majority of the walk back to the little lot behind one of many businesses was blacked out, your heart practically pumping in your ear the whole time. What you couldn’t black out from was the man-the same man from this morning smoking a cigarette as he stared at your car. Fear drenched you; you couldn’t gauge his expression with his back to you but you could guess he wasn’t going to be smiling with the way he was lingering, shuffling his boots back and forth in contemplation.

Announcing yourself felt like the most daunting task in the world, humiliation melting into your skin like an uncomfortable burn. Maybe some higher power heard your pathetic struggle because the crunch of your sneaker on a perfectly placed leaf called his attention to you, his head snapping in your direction instantly.

The urge to just run was strong but you maintained whatever cool was left within you, fingers waving at him weakly.

His expression was blank, unreadable. He didn’t say a word as you slowly inched your way closer to the vehicle, only eyeing your every movement like a predator protecting his territory, much like he did that same morning. The closer view of his face showcased his stoic yet soft features, eyes almost puppy dog-like but something glazed over them, a facade of some kind. Something that overtook the puppy dog nature they were capable of and replaced them with a cruel glare. The shape of his nose was endearing at least, rounded at the tip and tinted pink from the cold.

“You just park anywhere you want where you’re from?” He asks, gesturing vaguely with a tip of his cigarette toward the car.

Your shaky breath has him furrowing his brows at you, seemingly offended. It’s not in your nature to offend people but you can’t seem to stop doing it, especially today whether you mean to or not. But you definitely don’t think you mean to.

“N-no, ‘m sorry.”

“Sorry?” He mocks, scoffing before inhaling a puff of smoke once more.

“I-I uh, I’m leaving. It won’t happen again.” You rush out, all the while forcing yourself not to cry. “I just–I couldn’t find parking–I was driving around and—there was no–I couldn’t–”

“Don’t let it happen again.” He warns, stern but easing up on his intense demeanor.

“Promise.” You whisper, a tear betraying you and rolling down your cheek to which you quickly gather your grocery bags in one hand to swat away at your cheek. It’s too late, he already saw.

No empathy is detected in his stare, not that you feel you deserve any. It was just an observation. “Now, get out of my lot.” It’s a demand, a non-negotiable demand that if you were brave enough to argue, would probably have him towing your shitty little sedan.

So you nod, blinking back the water works as best you could while tossing your groceries into the passenger seat, him watching the whole time. With your seatbelt suddenly feeling like the most complicated thing in the world, you expect to look up and meet pure rage but instead your ears perk up at a few knocks on the window. Rolling it down as fast as possible with the manual handle, the man stands towering over you, cigarette abandoned sometime in between you getting in the car and struggling to remember how a seatbelt works. Did he have more choice words for you for illegally parking on what he deemed ‘his lot’? You really didn’t want to stick around to find out but you had no choice.

“Left on Main. Then right on Cherry.” His dark eyes hinted at hues of warm honey but they were briskly dismissed by his cold attitude.

“What?”

“Next time. So you don’t turn into my damn lot again.”

You still didn’t know what he meant by ‘his lot’ and you didn’t have the backbone to ask. You did however fully get the message that you were to never park here again and were now aware of which streets to search for to avoid it at all costs. You’d memorize every detail of it if it meant you could steer clear of the apathetic man before you. With a nervous nod, you were off, not once looking back just as he did that morning except he had more grit in his actions, you just came off as a scared church mouse. You never even caught his name and you didn’t mind not knowing it at this rate seeing as he was all bite and bark for no good reason.

This place never felt so far from home. Nowhere was home. Your heart was in a sense homeless, lost and longing for the connections that these people had with each other that you couldn’t seem to tap into even if your life depended on it. In all fairness, it had only been a few hours and you couldn’t gauge your success based on that but it was tugging on your brain like a parasite, eating away at your final optimistic thoughts.

I don’t belong here.

I don’t fit in.

The drive ‘home’ was flooded with tears and muffled sobs into your now sticky sleeve, coated in snot and if anyone were to pass you along the way you would look psychotic with how your face scrunched up at every exhale, doing your best to keep yourself quiet despite being the only one in the car. You were always doing your best. Always to please others. And it never worked.

~end~

Masterlist

tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson angst #bartender!eddie #eddie munson au #bartender!eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction

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sunkendreams · 4 months

Note

uhh asking for a request of bo and just anything that involves with duct tape 😭😭 gagging or bounding im happy either way

Also love ur work! 🩷💖

souvenir.

➾ pairing ; bo sinclair x fem!reader.

in which bo decides that he’ll take you as his souvenir — a pretty hiker lost in ambrose.

format: one-shot — requested.

word count: 5.3K.

warnings: SMUT (mdni), DUBCON, drugging, kidnapping, bondage (tape and chains), restraints, cunnilingus, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, groping, knifeplay, rough sex, p in v sex, different positions, spitting, choking, bruising, hair-pulling, scratching, marking, use of pet names (good girl, sweetheart, etc.), dom/sub dynamics, begging, dirty talk, edging, creampie, unprotected sex, bo is definitely not nice in this fic

author’s note: this is definitely more of a darker fic, but I actually loved writing it ,,, nothing like gross and horny sex with bo sinclair to get the blood flowing! I hope you all enjoy! Still working on requests, I’m hoping to post a few things this week since I’ve been so busy!

Warm, glittering rays of a vibrant Louisiana sun cut through the thick canopy of trees and marshland, bathing your face in a haze of heat. It was midday — hot and sticky, accompanied by a stifling humidity that was prevalent in the South, not terribly far from a saltwater coastline.

Beneath you was the grass — clutches of wildflowers blossomed amongst strands of emerald, a temporary refuge for you to rest as you savored the outdoors. A town sat in the near-distance, baking away underneath the sun, as evidenced by the paint wearing thin and the asphalt looking gray instead of black.

You’d been hiking by yourself — that was your first mistake. Too brazen and bold enough to be without the company of your friends, and now, subject to the ire of Ambrose’s hidden devils.

It was akin to ringing the dinner bell when Lester had caught wind of your presence through the scope of a well-used Barrett. Once he’d informed Bo over a very colorful phone call, your fate was sealed, doomed to become another pretty fixture in the House of Wax.

There was no getting out of Ambrose — you just didn’t know it yet.

As the glaring sun began to slip behind the verdant canopy above you, you took it as a sign to relocate, trekking the short distance toward the quaint town. You could hear the general buzz and chatter of townsfolk, but there wasn’t a soul in-sight — the ones that were, confined to their eternal tombs.

“Nobody’s home.” You murmured, thumbing the thick straps of your backpack as you sauntered down the middle of the road, glancing at some of the vehicles lining the road. Some appeared brand-new, others showing signs of weathering.

You passed the gas station and row of various houses, making your way toward the church. The distant hum of an organ guided your path, leading you to the steps and to the devil himself.

Bo Sinclair stood in front of a set of white doors, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, a bead of sweat glistening upon his brow. He wore his Sunday best to look the part, gaze flickering toward your pretty, doe-eyed countenance when you’d stopped a few feet away.

A cloud of billowing smoke drifted into the air, a thin gray wisp that dissipated into the staggering heat. He appraised you in an unusual silence, drinking you in, shamelessly admiring the way your jeans clung to your body. Bo’s own fascination was nearly palpable — he still wondered what possessed a girl to go hiking alone.

Maybe you were stupid — he didn’t think so.

“Sermon getting to you?” You hadn’t intended to come off as simpering or awkward, gesturing toward the cigarette in the stranger’s mouth. A chattering ambiance and piano music emanated from inside of the church, and you felt severely underdressed in the presence of this man — the only one you’d seen in the town so far.

A huff escaped him as he ashed his cigarette, granules of charcoal floating towards the steps. “Might need another cigarette if that’s the case,” Bo chortled, taking another long drag. He ogled you again, jaw tensing as he sized you up, unbeknownst to you. “You lost?”

You would do perfectly — prettiest thing he’d seen in ages, that much was for certain.

Bo’s mind worked differently than yours, sinister and callous when compared to your innocuous demeanor. Whilst you stood along the picket-fence, contemplating about finding a good drink of water, Bo was picturing you strapped down to his bed, clothes cut away.

“A little bit,” It was painful for you to confess to being lost, considering how many times you’d traversed the backwoods of Louisiana. The sound of your voice was enough to momentarily sever Bo’s salacious train of thought, watching as you picked at the fading paint along the fence. “Do you know if there’s a convenience store around here or anything?”

He shook his head, motioning down the street. “Closed for th’day, I’m afraid. Lookin’ for somethin’ in particular?” Bo asked, attempting to lay the foundation for you, building a rapport that was surely to break once he got his hands on you. It was all about the building.

You shrugged, withering away beneath the oppressive heat of the midday sun. You wondered how this man was so unusually comfortable within an all-black suit and tie. Nonetheless, you decided to be truthful. “I’m just looking for a quick drink before I hike back to the main road. I’m a little low on water.”

“If you’re willin’ to make the trek, I can take you up to my place. Won’t take long, ten minutes or so.” Bo offered, attempting to sweeten the deal. It was akin to a predator skillfully drawing their prey inward, making it difficult to resist. He took another lengthy drag of his cigarette before smashing it against the concrete with the toe of his boot.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother,” Admittedly, you felt intrusive — a meddlesome presence amidst a quiet, peaceful town. You felt even worse interrupting a church service, but Bo didn’t seem phased whatsoever. “I don’t want to distract you from church, either.”

Bo scoffed, lips twitching into something sardonic, one hand perched atop his hip. “Don’t think th’good Lord really cares a whole lot for me these days,” He mused, and you couldn’t tell if he was being serious. “Let me take you up there.” He motioned for you to follow him.

Leaving the white chapel behind, you walked alongside him, somewhat smitten by his Southern drawl and charismatic charm. Beads of sweat glistened along his brow, and he promptly loosened his tie as the two of you made it toward a stretch of beaten-up road.

“Name’s Bo, by th’way. Forgot my manners.” Bo mused, making sure to really lay on the flirtation and appeal. It wasn’t hard for him to tell how flustered you were already — and he fully intended on manipulating such a fact.

“Nice to meet you, Bo.” You smiled, cordial and polite as you sauntered alongside him. “How long have you lived here in Ambrose? It seems so far from the rest of civilization.” It was out of reach, away from the rest of the world, a world that was impervious to the sinister deeds of the Sinclairs.

Unfortunately, you were now in their territory, subject to their rules and ire.

Bo chuckled, shamelessly stealing glances at you whenever possible. You were gorgeous — a looker with a sweet demeanor. He wanted to lick that sweetness right off of you, drain it all, keep it for himself. “Lived here for most of my life. Town’s real quiet, jus’ known for the House of Wax.”

Intrigue glistened upon your features, and you recalled the sign that you’d spotted during your hike — Trudy’s infamous House of Wax. The building itself sat in the distance, nestled amongst a cluster of hills. Even that seemed relatively dormant.

“It’s nice here, really peaceful. You must get used to the silence.” You replied, stepping up the incline as Bo gently steadied you with one arm. You murmured a soft ‘thank you’ as a house came into view, rustic yet large. This must’ve been Bo’s home. “Is this it?”

He motioned toward the house, wrapping his tie around his hand as he loosened up his collar. “Yeah, this is it. We’ll go on inside, you can sit an’ I’ll get you fixed up with somethin’ for the road.” Bo chimed, making his way to the front door.

Bo let you inside, gesturing toward the couch and recliner that sat in the living room. It was a very well lived-in home, but you didn’t seem to mind. You moved toward the couch, finally able to sit somewhere comfortable and relax, placing your backpack beside you.

“Thank you for doing this, Bo. I appreciate it.” You piped up, watching as he moved toward the kitchen. The interior of the home felt warm and inviting, littered with plenty of things to look at. There was ample opportunity for Bo to take matters into his own hands.

One of the cupboards in the kitchen had what he needed, a syringe filled with some strange concoction, a thicker liquid. His dark gaze darted toward you, distracted by your surroundings. Bo took the syringe, discreetly keeping it by his side as he stepped behind you, offering you a water bottle.

“‘Course. Heat’s pretty bad in these parts.” He replied, and you immediately unscrewed the lid, greedily drinking several gulps of icy water. Bo was close, hovering above you with a manic look in his eyes.

Before you had time to properly react, his hand closed around the underside of your jaw, squeezing tight to hold you steady. The intrusive, cold prick of a needle digging into your neck made you scream, but Bo had you in a rather uncomfortable chokehold.

“Shh, shh,” He soothed, stroking at your hair. Everything felt numb, and you could no longer feel anything in your arms and legs, reduced to simple tingling sensations. Your cries were in vain, throaty and hoarse as you sank into the couch, limp and lifeless. “Jus’ relax. All that strugglin’ is gonna make it worse.”

Your eyes felt heavy, beginning to close with a weight to them — the last thing you remembered was the glimpse of Bo’s insidious smirk and dark hues before you’d been rendered unconscious.

———————————————————————————

The scratch of duct-tape reverberated around the concrete cellar, obnoxiously close to your ear, causing you to involuntarily wince. The haze of unconsciousness was lifting, but that sound — it made you groan, unpleasant and invasive. You attempted to move as the heaviness wore away in your limbs, but you had no such luck.

You were in the underbelly of some cold, dingy cellar, cement walls lined in grainy polaroids, tools, and obscene amounts of sex toys. An icy, uncomfortable sensation began to pool within the pit of your stomach, and you tried to jerk against the tape around your wrists.

A strange, unsettling chill fluttered about your body, causing you to shudder. Your hiking boots were nowhere to be found, flannel stolen too, leaving you in your shorts and tank top. Something felt intrusive, as if there was an outside presence bearing down on you, crawling beneath your flesh.

Bo was standing at the foot of a strange chair, stained with months-old cruor, dressed differently than before. A pair of mechanic’s coveralls were stained with grease and oil, dark enough to conceal bloodstains. He bit at the strip of duct-tape, clutching it between his teeth as he bound you, keeping you restrained.

“W—Wait,” You babbled, and suddenly, the heightened sensation of fear and startlement blistered through you, visceral and volatile. “Please don’t do this.” Your whimpers fell on deaf ears as Bo continued his mission, sweat layered in a thin sheen along his temples.

Death in a town that wasn’t on the map was a fate worse than any other — you would rot into the ground with no one to find you, only the animals and trees would know; bear witness. You would cease to exist and become a memory, a painful one, eternally trapped within Ambrose.

“You can make this real easy on yourself,” Bo’s husky, dark drawl emerged from the bitter chill of the cellar, roughened hands sliding along your legs. “All you gotta do is behave for me, yeah?” He stood above you, a twisted version of the man you’d met at the church — or perhaps, the real him.

You sucked in a sharp breath, feeling vulnerable and exposed in your current position. Your hands were bound on either side of you with many rings of duct-tape, legs chained to the floor, yet there was some room for you to walk — if that were even possible. You shivered, mostly from the oppressive cold of the basement coupled with fear.

“Please,” Your chest felt tight, fear unfurling from your ribcage as it spread across your body. A shudder rolled down your spine when Bo grabbed your chin, thumb stroking along your lower lip. “Please don’t kill me.”

Something about this place told you that he’d killed before — they’d been in the very same spot that you were now. A sinister, lascivious gleam glimmered within his dark eyes as they raked over your body, lips curling into a smirk.

“Didn’t say anything about killin’ you, beautiful.” Bo corrected, digits beginning to squeeze your chin, putting pressure on your jaw. “But I might change my mind if y’make this hard for me.” His other hand moved toward your shorts, unbuttoning the front as he ripped the zipper down in one swift movement.

You began to squirm, mortified and flustered as you fought against the tape wrapped around your wrists — but it wasn’t any use. “Don’t.” Your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper as he gave you a pointed look.

Bo scoffed, head cocking to one side. “Be a shame if I gotta shut that pretty mouth of yours, too.” It wasn’t a warning, but a threat, a promise — one that he intended to make good on if you weren’t careful. “Gonna open up for me?” He crooned.

There was something hideous about him touching you — and even more so was the disgusting fact that you wanted to let him do it. He was handsome at the church, all a facade of Southern charm and debonair wit, but this was something else entirely.

With a defeated, pitiful expression, you began to part your legs, and that was akin to victory for Bo. His dark chuckle made you shiver, feeling his hand brusquely tug and wrestle with your shorts, inching them down your legs. “You’re real pretty,” He uttered, looking you in the eyes. “Prettiest thing I’ve seen in ages.”

Heat pooled within the pit of your stomach, and you clenched your hands into fists, nearly whimpering when he ghosted his fingers across your clothed cunt. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction — this was wrong, depraved on so many levels, but you found yourself submitting instead of retaliating.

A strangled whimper escaped you as he rounded the chair, standing right in front of you as he planted a kiss against your forehead. “Bet you’re all wet from this, huh?” He husked, voice kept to a low growl as he slipped his fingers into your panties.

Arousal had collected there, slick and warm upon his digits. Part of you wanted to melt into the chair and disappear, muscles tense and taut as you worked to suppress your whining.

“Fuck, look at that,” Bo sneered, greedily sucking your nectar right from his fingers, causing your breath to hitch within your throat. “Guess I was right.” His hand returned to your aching cunt, the other wrangling your panties aside, movements harsh and rough.

You hated that it felt good, offered you a sliver of relief — you wanted to scratch at your restraints, thighs beginning to quiver. A string of incoherent babbling escaped you, mumbled pleas for him to stop. It was quite the juxtaposition to your hips, which happened to lurch forward into his hand.

Bo bullied his way in between your legs, spreading you apart as he lowered himself to his knees — unexpected, but you still felt embarrassed. “Gonna have to have a taste of this pretty cunt,” With a gravelly hum, he grabbed your thighs, unceremoniously spitting a wad of saliva onto your throbbing cunt. “Don’t move.”

“Bo,” It was almost involuntary, moaning his name as you jolted forward, mouth agape. Bo’s grin felt like a hot brand against your inner thigh as he clamped his hands down into your legs, hard enough to cause bruises. “P—Please.” You sputtered.

Part of you felt terribly embarrassed for enjoying yourself at the hands of this man who’d kidnapped you, your innocence being taken advantage of. His calloused, rough hands spread you apart, broad tongue licking a stripe along the length of your slit.

Bo was eating you out like a man starved, breath hot and heavy as he savored you with his lips, tongue swirling across your cunt. His hands groped into your haunches, against the swell of your pliant flesh, practically forcing your hips to tilt into his face as he buried his head between your legs.

With a wanton moan, you slouched back into the rigid frame of the chair, listening to it creak and groan as you writhed around. The manacles that shackled you to the concrete rustled with your movements, fingers curling into your palms. His tongue was deliberate and slow, teasing you with every stroke.

You tried to smother your noises, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but he was ten steps ahead of you. “Can’t hear you, sweetheart,” Bo stopped, ceasing any further contact until you submitted to him. “Gonna have to beg for it, I s’pose.” His sigh was theatrical and badgering, forcing you to whimper.

A simpering, choked-up noise escaped from the back of your throat, desperation beginning to mount as you jerked and jolted forward. Bo simply sat still, attempting to smother that smarmy, devilish grin of his as you shook your head back and forth. “Please keep going, please!” You cried.

Bo clicked his tongue, seemingly unimpressed and dismissive, reaching for the knife that sat in his back pocket. “Ain’t ever met a girl this ungrateful. You rather I stop an’ get this all over with?” His voice was vitriolic, full of a manipulative venom that only served to drag you deeper into his pit.

The sharp, icy blade suddenly traced over your legs, goosebumps erupting in its wake as you shook your head. You didn’t want Bo to hurt you — the idea of being harmed, of being so helpless — it frightened you. Bo enjoyed seeing that little pang of fear within your doe eyes as he prodded the tip of razor-sharp silver into your flesh.

“I’m sorry,” You gasped, stumbling over your words and babbling, restless within the chair. “Bo, please! I — I’ll be loud, I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t hurt me.” It was a gushing string of pleas and begging that didn’t go unnoticed this time.

With soft shushing, Bo sighed, kissing along your inner thigh as he dug his nails into your flesh. It was rough enough to make you feel the burning sting of pain, chest heaving with labored breaths as he nudged his lips against your cunt again. “I think I’m gonna keep you for m’self, how’s that sound?” He uttered.

“Good, good,” You nodded. “I — I want you, please keep going.” Whatever bite and edge you had before had diminished completely, shadowed by his dark, domineering nature. It was hard for anything to break through that barrier of his. He retracted the knife, then and there.

A cajoling chuckle escaped him, one filled with mockery and a duplicitous edge as he lapped at your cunt once more. His tongue was like hot coals, raking across your slit with a wanton need, fingers grabbing and groping at the meat of your thighs.

His cock twitched within his jeans, desperate to be inside of you, make you scream. You wanted to grab at his tousled tresses or grip onto his shoulders, but the duct-tape prevented you from going anywhere, digging into your wrists.

Bo savored you as if you were some delectable meal, licking his lips before toying with your clit. His mouth was feather-light and teasing that bundle of nerves, enough to make you contort within the chair. A strangled moan left you, noisy and desperate, wrought with desire.

“Please, Bo, please,” You breathed, and when your thighs threatened to squeeze his face, he roughly pushed you apart, gazing at you from between your legs. The duct-tape chafed at your flesh, uncomfortably tight around your wrists as you writhed, hips bucking forward. “Please!” You were nearly sobbing.

All inhibitions had been abandoned — you were his now, reduced to his pretty plaything, all spread out on a silver platter. Molten heat surged through you when he lapped at your cunt, hand slipping down as he teased your entrance, giving you no warning as two digits sank into you.

A blissful whine left you, head rolling back against the chair as he nudged your clit, just enough to keep you chasing after that sensation. Bo was undeniably cruel, grazing his teeth over the sensitive bud, causing you to squirm and shiver, all sound escaping you.

“Sing pretty for me,” Bo’s husky, Southern purr emerged from between your thighs, teeth nicking your thigh before he finally began to suck on your clit. His thick digits pistoned in and out of your weeping cunt, providing you with an overwhelming barrage of pleasure. “That’s it.” He huffed, lurching forward.

The rattling of chains couldn’t rip you from the moment as liquid heat coalesced between your legs, with Bo’s chin steeped in your arousal. You moaned again, flexing against your restraints, stomach churning with an anticipation that made you want to melt.

Bo grunted, greedily lapping at your sweet cunt, fingers beginning to curl into that sweet spot, prompting you to choke on any sound that bubbled within your throat. He was like a predator, with you in his clutches, a rabbit trapped within the jaws of a wolf.

With another barrage of practiced licks, he continued his onslaught against your clit, eliciting a myriad of sinful, inhuman sounds from you. Bo — it was the only word that fell from your lips like some chant, and he didn’t stop, feeling your knees buckle and shake around him.

His digits buried themselves into your tight cunt, sluggishly rocking in and out as he sucked on your clit. It sent you careening over the edge, lost to a white-hot explosion of ecstasy as you came, moaning and shivering, a complete and utter mess.

He was the devil — pearlescent teeth glinting in the low, buzzing light of the cellar. The shadows moved in a way that made him seem sinister. You were surprised that he didn’t have horns and a forked tongue, but it was likely a trick of the eyes. You huffed, fading away into your post-orgasm haze, but Bo was far from finished.

“We ain’t done just yet,” He uttered, licking his lips as he moved up from between your legs, hand gripping your chin as he dragged you forward. Bo made you open your mouth, head tilted backward as he leaned in, countenance contorting into a sneer. “Got a little gift for you, for bein’ good.”

A wad of his saliva landed upon your tongue, and you nearly choked, feeling filthy and vulnerable. His eyes glistened with an insidious shade, shadowed and bemused as he closed your mouth, forcing you to swallow his spit.

Bo was expectant, waiting for you to say something — but when nothing emerged, he clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Where’s your manners?” He reminded you, patting your jaw like he would a beloved dog.

“Thank you.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, somewhat shrewd as Bo grinned, seemingly satisfied with your answer. You squirmed again when Bo began to unzip the front of his pants, breathing noticeably heavier and wrought with unrestrained excitement.

“Now,” Bo hummed, fishing his cock from the confines of his jeans. His erection was thick and heavy within his calloused palm, oozing with pearls of precum. With a step in your direction, he pressed the head of his cock against your cunt. “M’gonna fuck you right.”

You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, letting out another moan as he teased your entrance, hooking his hands around your hips. Bo was rough and callous, dragging you forward as he sank his cock into you, grunting at the tightness and warmth.

Another wanton moan escaped you, back beginning to arch as he thrust forward, chest rippling with grunts and subtle growls. Lewd, crass noises reverberated throughout the cellar, the only ambiance that you could really focus on. His shadow eclipsed the stark glare of the light, gaze fixated on you.

Bo’s eyes were shadowed, brewing with something dark yet indecipherable. He began to adopt a very brutal pace, cock pounding away at your poor cunt. You hadn’t done this in so long, to the point where it felt borderline unfamiliar. You sputtered and moaned, feeling one of his hands abandon your leg.

That rough, calloused hand of his found its way to your slender neck, digits squeezing at your throat. It wasn’t particularly gentle, but not enough to completely rob you of air. You whined, unable to keep from watching the way his cock disappeared again and again into your sweet, oozing cunt.

You wanted to grab onto him, onto his arm, chest, anything — instead, you were met with harsh resistance from the duct-tape. “Bo,” You moaned, hips rolling in-tandem with his movements. Bo hunched closer, hand tight around your throat as his thumb pressed into your jugular, causing you to wince. “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” Bo’s voice dropped to a lower octave, cock rutting away into you with a rough, unyielding amount of force. If he went any harder, he might’ve threatened to split you in half. “Fuck, you’re nice n’tight. Can’t believe you’re gettin’ off to this. You like bein’ tied down an’ fucked by a stranger?” He uttered, and you began to stammer.

A wave of liquid heat burned bright within the pit of your stomach, a flame that only grew in intensity as he kept up with his brutal ministrations. Your cunt clenched pathetically around his cock at his words, causing you to shiver again. “I—I …” You didn’t know what to say, embarrassed and ashamed.

Bo scoffed, voice tapering off into a grunt as he continued to rut forward, cock buried inside of you until he could go no further. “Got you so fucked you can’t even speak,” He sneered, grip tightening on your throat. It was bound to leave some sort of mark, but you knew he didn’t care. “You gonna behave?”

Your head bobbed up and down several times over, voice barely above a whisper. “Yes.” You squeaked, watching with blown-out pupils as he reached for the knife, cutting you loose from the duct-tape. Though, once your hands were free, you were being dragged onto the cold concrete on your stomach.

The steely, sharp bite of the knife sliced through your tank top like butter, leaving you completely exposed to Bo, who remained entirely clothed. Goosebumps coalesced along your spine from the icy temperature of the ground, feeling his hand close into your hair as he fucked you from behind.

His cock battered away at your cunt, stretching you in ways that you never thought possible. It was harsh and intrusive, digits tugging on your hair, wrangling you like you were molded from obsidian. Bo savored the sensation of you rocking back into him, thighs quivering like a leaf.

Your eyes flickered toward the muted brick wall on your left, met with a garish display of polaroids — other girls, girls like you. You had a feeling that none of them had lived to tell the tale.

A pang of dread consumed you, followed by fear — you hoped that you wouldn’t end up on that wall too, immortalized in some sick photograph. Instead, you wanted to increase your chances of survival, moaning and whimpering his name, forehead snug against the concrete.

“You wanna cum?” Bo asked nonchalantly, spoken through labored breathing as his thrusts became quick and sporadic. He was close, cock throbbing inside of you as his other hand clawed bruises and marks into the swell of your hips.

“Yes,” You didn’t hesitate, moaning again when he dug his nails into your flesh, causing you to squirm from discomfort. “Please, Bo! I want you to let me cum!” Desperation was laced within your voice, high-pitched and simpering as he let go of your hip.

“Good girl,” Bo grunted, somewhat perplexed by you. “Finally usin’ your manners.” He reached between your thighs, slathered in your slick and his precum, thumb rubbing circles into your clit. Your back began to arch, pushing back into him as he fucked you like a wild animal, chains clanking against the floor.

Pleasure rippled through you in blistering waves, coupled with the faint sting of pain that radiated from your hip. Bo grunted, breath hot and strenuous as he fucked you senseless, pounding away at your cunt with little regard for your comfort. His thumb toyed with your clit, causing you to writhe and moan.

With another harsh rut of his hips, Bo grunted, pushing his hips forward as he came inside of you, ropes of white-hot seed flooding your cunt. His brow glistened with perspiration as he pulled his cock free, leaving you with the mess of it all, haphazardly smeared between your legs.

Bo, in all his cruelty, tore his hand away from your clit, leaving you a throbbing mess, edged to the brink. You wanted to beg for him to continue, but you were spent, hot flesh soothed by the cold temperature of the floor.

“W—Wait,” Your protests were weak, but still strung-out with desperation. “Aren’t you going to keep going?” There was a little sliver of hope within your voice, but he relented, lips curling into a bemused smirk as he gave your ass a light smack.

“Changed my mind.”

You hated him.

For a moment, you saw red, frustrated without any semblance of relief, but also in misery over your current situation. You didn’t know what to do or say — and the last thing you wanted was for him to become angry with you. You didn’t want to become a permanent fixture on his wall of past trophies.

He stood up, hovering above you as you sheepishly rolled onto your back. Bo’s unsteady, dangerous leer sent shivers down your spine, watching as he stared at you for several moments. “Guessin’ you’ll last longer than the rest have,” He crooned, swiping his tongue across his lower lip. “Go on.”

His head jerked toward the chair, signaling you to climb back in. Your legs quivered in the aftermath of being fucked stupid, and you awkwardly reached for your panties and shorts, but Bo intercepted you. Wordlessly, you sat down in the leather seat, naked and entirely vulnerable.

“Keep you like that for when I come back.” Bo’s Southern purr made you shudder as you trembled, both from fear and from the cold. He couldn’t help but take a little bit of pity on you, tossing you a blanket from the old mattress that sat several feet away from you.

Something about being left entirely alone, naked and used in this basement, made you more terrified than anything else. You didn’t want to be left alone with just your thoughts. Even if Bo had kidnapped you, he was more tolerable than solitude. “You’ll come back?” You asked.

Bo huffed, retrieving his baseball cap. “Maybe,” He could see the hint of fear that had glossed over your eyes. “Maybe I’ll leave you down here an’ let you rot.” His voice was somewhat vitriolic, but undecided — part of you knew that he couldn’t leave you alone after this.

You would take the physicality over being isolated.

Silence drifted between the both of you as your legs shifted, the sound of clanking manacles providing the only bit of ambiance. Bo made for the iron-wrought door, standing in the doorway to give you one last look. Even in your disheveled state, you were beautiful — and now?

You belonged to him.

Before Bo shut the door, his lips twitched into the ghost of a devilish smirk. “Guess I’ll see you soon.”

#slasher x reader #slasher x you #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x you #house of wax #house of wax smut #bo sinclair #bo sinclair fanfic #slasher fanfiction #slasher fanfic #slasher fandom #slasher x y/n #house of wax fanfic #house of wax 2005

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idwtransformers-vibe · 24 days

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(⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠) a fluffy fic with idw prowl, maybe (fem.reader) them having to share a habsuite because they're transferred to a different facility. so, one berth. prowl, after mass displacement, begrudingly sleeps next to the human and reluctantly submits to the cuddles (human is too soft not to cuddle.)

Heya! Hope you don't mind me using my Soul-Spark Airways idea in this! If you want, I can tag you in it!

Now, onto the one berth trope (my favorite tbh)

IDW Prowl sharing a berth with fem!reader:

"Are you serious?" Prowl glared at Optimus and Soul-Spark Airways maintenance manager. "What do you mean I have to share MY hab with (Y/n)?" He demanded an answer. He does not like the thought of sharing his space. He loved his space. Never once had he ever had a roommate, not in his personal quaters, at least. The war is over. Why should he share his space with a human?

"Prowl, it is only temporary. Unfortunately, her documents got mixed up, and someone at the badging office deactivated her badge by accident. She is not allowed to be alone on Cybertron until her badge is working again, and since it's not working, she can't be alone without an escort... You are the only one available with the authorization to escort her." Optimus explained apologetically. He knew he was asking for a lot with these terms. While he didn't want to force Prowl into this, he would hate for the woman to get stranded somewhere on Cybertron.

"We'll try to get her badge sorted as quick as we can and try to relocate her documents." The maintenance manager chimed in. He felt bad for both his mechanic and Prowl. Mainly for the mechanic, though, as this was sheer bad luck.

Prowl glared at the human who stood on the table before him. He glared down at the fragile yet resilient being. "Why not find the IDIOT who deactivated her badge and the IDIOT who lost her he documents?" He seethed.

"Well... The badging office is a different company-" The manager was soon cut off by an irritated groan.

Prowl has met (Y/n) before. She had done heavy maintenance on him after he had gotten into a pretty bad battle. At the time, she was the only mechanic available and performed emergency repairs on him. He hadn't seen her since then, though. But, he has spoken to her before through comms. She had always helped him with getting things delivered. "Fine. She can stay with me." He huffed. His optics narrowed at the two as they both seemed to have a look of relief on their faces.

"Thank you... We'll have someone pick her up."

"You better have someone alright." He grumbled.

A few hours went by. He figured (Y/n) was having to go through strict security protocol as she no longer had her badge.

Soon, he heard a knock on the door. He left his desk and went to open the door. There she was, in her mechanic uniform with a bag full of clothes and necessities. She gave him a smile, quite happy to see him again. "Long time no see." She smiled.

"Indeed." He moved himself out of the way to let her in.

Once she was in, he shut the door behind her. She seemed to be admiring the cleanliness of his hab. "Nice place." She complimented.

Prowl didn't respond. He only carefully moved past her to go back to his desk. (Y/n) tried to see what he was looking at on the datapad, but was too small to see. She heard him grumble in his language over something. She can understand Cybertronian somewhat, but only enough to greet someone or to excuse herself.

Little to her knowledge, Prowl was trying to locate her documents herself. But since he does not work for Soul-Spark Airways, he was denied access. He could manipulate the system... But he doesn't feel like facing the consequences of losing this company's trust.

So, he simply set the datapad down and looked down at them. "I'm going to lay down some rules. Do not touch my stuff, do not leave this hab unless I am with you, or until you have your badge back, and do not stick your nose into my business, and once you have your badge, you're out, understood?"

She nodded. She was warned that he was quite prickly. Although, it was go figure for her. He was always stern and prickly when he wanted certain things transported when the war was going on not too long ago.

Later that evening, after (Y/n) had her dinner, and Prowl had refueled. One got ready to turn in for the night while the other was looking at more data files. "So... Where will I sleep?" The woman asked.

Prowl sighed and looked over his shoulder as if she were disrupting him. She wasn't. He's just annoyed about sharing his space. "You can sleep on my berth."

"What about you, though?" She asked with confusion in her voice. There was only one berth here, where was he going to rest?

"I plan on staying up."

"Prowl, I've worked on your systems before. Your tanks don't have enough energy to pull off 24 hours. Not like an aircraft bot, they can do 24 to 48 hours." (Y/n) explained. This earned her quite the grimace from the autobot. He clearly didn't like being told that his body could not handle the 24-hour function.

"Rest." He ordered.

"You know I'm right-"

"And I don't care. Now sleep." He ordered once more.

The mechanic rolled her eyes some. He was still the same stubborn mech. So, she laid on his berth without another word. She tried to sleep, but it was proven difficult. She spent so much time being a Cargo-Runner that she had gotten used to the sound of a bots internal system running. She normally slept inside of her aircraft bot friend. Their system internal system was loud, but soothing to her. So the sudden silence with the only sound of tapping was a bit unsettling to her.

Prowl would tap away at the files. His systems started signifying that it was time to rest. He would defer the warning, but then it would come right back. This kept happening that he just tossed the datapad onto the desk. He turned his helm to look at the barely sleeping human. A part of him yearned for human touch. The plush and soft feeling of them was almost the equivalent of a human hugging a soft plushie, almost.

He carefully stood up from his desk and made his way over to the berth. He stared at her more. The soft hue of his optics glowed down on her figure. He went back and forth in his mind. A part of him says no, why in Primus's name would he cuddle someone, while the other part him wondered what's the harm in cuddling a human? This could help him relax, which is something he really needed. 'Oh, frag it.' He thought to himself. Prowl carefully laid next to (Y/n)

This startled her slightly, a little surprised to find herself being spooned by the grumpy bot. "Prowl?"

"Go to sleep." He mumbled. Prowl was not about to have this conversation now. He didn't want to, and he never will.

She could feel his firm hold on her. It didn't too tight, but firm enough to the point that she couldn't move, but she found a way to shift herself around some enough to face herself towards him. He surprisingly felt comfortable, he felt warm. He felt like something that came fresh out of the dryer.

So, she laid her head on his chassis. There was the sound she craved to hear, they running sound of the Cybertronian system. She could finally feel herself become sleepy.

Prowl was a bit surprised by this, but he accepted it nonetheless. He slowly rubbed her back and entangled his legs with hers. This felt good on his joints, not that he was that old, but it does feel good. He could see why a lot of bots made cuddle buddies out of the humans. Maybe he could make a cuddle buddy out of her? Well... Maybe not... He needs to give it some thought. For now, he'll enjoy this moment. He buried his face into the top of her head and sighed with satisfactory. Maybe this arrangement wasn't so bad after all.

#transformers idw #transformers #idw prowl #idw prowl x reader #hope this was good!

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geralt-of-baevia · 2 months

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Call It What You Want: Chapter One

pairing: nobreakout!joel x f!ofc (Violet Fletcher)

rating: explicit, MDNI 18+

word count: 2.1k

summary: Seeking solace from a painful breakup, Violet relocates to a tranquil town, purchasing a neglected house to renovate. In her new neighborhood, she befriends Harlow, who introduces her to Joel, a gruff and seasoned contractor with a heart of gold. Despite Joel's initial grumpiness, Violet finds herself drawn to his expertise and hidden kindness.

As Violet immerses herself in home renovations alongside Joel, their dynamic begins to shift, with Joel unexpectedly opening himself up to the possibility of love. Their budding relationship faces challenges as shadows from their pasts emerge, testing their newfound connection.

warnings/tags: nothing for now! just lots of light and airy fluff and a meet-cute! but don't worry, it's gonna get dirty 😈! oh, I guess age gap? yeah, that one.

a/n: alright, i've had MAJOR writer's block for a couple years now. I tried to write a Ted Lasso fic last year, but quickly lost steam. But somehow Pedge worked his magic on me and I'm already nine chapters in on this story and 25k words and I'm just now posting it! I hope y'all enjoy. This story means the world to me rn. <3

My keys jingled in the door, and I couldn’t help but let out an aggravated sigh. This was at least the third time this week that the front door was sticking. I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed again, knowing my fate: I would have to crawl through the kitchen window.

Again.

As I walked around the back to go in through the kitchen window, I heard a voice calling my name. I looked across the street and saw my neighbor Harlow. She was standing on the last step of her front porch. One of her hands was held up to her brow as a temporary visor, blocking her eyes from the sun. She was shaking her head at me with a big, stupid grin.

“Girl, is that front door stuck again?” she asked, humor dripping from her faint southern drawl.

I sighed, crossing my arms in defeat and shifting my weight to one hip.

“Is there any use in lying to you at this point?” I called back in response.

She let out a loud laugh. “At least this time I caught you before you god forbid get stuck in that damn kitchen window again, ass up and legs flailing.”

I laughed at her comment and placed a hand awkwardly over my face in embarrassment. Two days prior I had gotten stuck climbing through the kitchen window when the front door had been jammed again, Harlow coming to my rescue.

“And I thought you had “finally fixed” anyway?” she asked, doing air quotes with her hands.

“I did!”

“And how is that working out for you?”

I shook my head with a laugh and flipped her the bird.

“Well, why don’t you come over and I’ll make us some breakfast?” she said, motioning me to come over to her, “and then you are going to let me call my friend who will come and fix your door. And I’m not letting you tell me no this time.”

I knew there was no saying no to her.

----

“Wait, so you’re telling me you just sautee mushrooms and onions, and then put it between puff pastry and a slab of beef?”

I nodded with a giggle. “Mmhmm. And then you brush the meat with mustard as well.”

Harlow’s mouth dropped open.

“I’ll make it for you sometime!” I told her excitedly, “I haven’t made it since culinary school, but I loved it.”

The doorbell rang and interrupted us. Harlow shot up from her seat excitedly.

“He’s here!” she said as she made her way towards the front door. She paused for a minute and turned to face me.

“Okay, just a warning real quick. Don’t be put off by the fact that he might be a bit of a curmudgeon,” she giggled.

“A curmudgeon? That’s such a specific brand of grump,” I said with a chuckle. She shrugged her shoulders before turning back around to get the door.

The doorbell rang a second time and I heard Harlow shout, “I’m coming! Be patient, Jesus…”

I giggled to myself and took a long drink of my coffee. Before I was able to set my mug down on the table, I looked up to see Harlow walk back into the kitchen, a tall man following behind her.

“Do you want some coffee Joel?” she asked him. I watched as he crossed his arms and leaned against the frame of the doorway.

“Yes, please,” he replied, emphasizing the please.

I started to stand up to introduce myself, but he caught my eye and put a hand up to stop me.

“Oh, no need to get up on my behalf,” he said, stopping me. I sat back down as he walked the few steps between us and held his hand out to me.

I took his hand in mine and he gave me a firm handshake. I almost missed him introducing himself to me. I was too focused on how the pads of his hand and fingers were callused, and how it felt against my smooth skin.

“I’m Joel.”

“Hi, I’m Violet,” I replied, thankful that at least the autopilot in my head was paying attention. A big smile spread on his face, causing his eyes to squint and get crinkly in the corners.

“As in the Violet that lives across the street in the 1940s fixer-upper?” He had the same faded southern accent that Harlow did. They had known each other for a long time.

“I feel bad that you seem to know more about me than I know about you,” I said, trying to not come across awkwardly. Joel took a seat and let out an airy chuckle.

“Oh don’t worry, there’s not much to know about me,” he said sincerely.

“We both know that’s not true,” Harlow interjected. She sat down at the end of the table between Joel and me, handing him his coffee.

“Thank you,” he said almost in relief.

I tried my hardest not to stare at Joel, but I caught myself looking him up and down more than once as we sat at the table and talked.

“Wait, so what’s goin’ on?” he asked, setting his now empty coffee mug down on the table. I sighed before tucking my hair behind my ear.

“Okay, so the original door knob kept catching and jamming. Something having to do with the original door knob not lining up correctly when it's closed. I thought putting a new door knob and re-aligning it would work. But then I tried to open my door when I got open, and it was stuck again,” I explained, “so I think it’s past me just YouTubing answers.”

“Well it’s a good thing that Joel here is a carpenter,” Harlow said, patting him on the shoulder. He smiled another crinkled smile at her.

“Retired carpenter, but yes,” he said, giving her a friendly wink, “but I can fix that. I bet you anything your doorway is slackin’ and need a new door. Either way, I’m sure I can fix it.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother-”

“If it was going to be a bother to me, I wouldn’t have come here in the first place,” he said with a knowing smirk. I tried my hardest to keep my blushing to a minimum, but my cheeks still grew warm.

Joel stood up and clapped his hands, rubbing them together excitedly. “Alright ladies, let's get up and go look at this door.” We all got up and exited the house, making our way across the street to mine.

I smiled up at the house as we made our way to the front door. Sometimes I still couldn’t believe it was mine. The house had been barely used for almost a decade. Each one of the five bedrooms needed to be redone. And the two bathrooms. And the sitting rooms. It was a lot of work, but worth it. Not to mention a dilapidated house was cheaper to buy than a ready-to-move-in one. I saw it as a way that I get to make the house exactly how I wanted it.

Once we were at the door, Joel held his hand out to me.

“Key please,” he said, locking eyes with me as he did. I fumbled into my pocket, pulled the key out, and placed it in his hand. “Thanks.”

He put the key in the keyhole and tried to turn it, but it wouldn’t budge. He tried turning it the other way, but it still didn’t move. I sighed.

“How badly did I fuck it up?” I asked. He let out a chuckle.

“You didn’t fuck it up, the house did,” he said, giving me a reassuring look. I watched as he pointed out areas around the frame on the wall, “I guarantee you it’s like I said, slacking in these places and putting the door off balance.”

“So what's the fix?” I asked, “Is it going to be intense?”

“Not at all. It’s a project I could do and get done by this afternoon. I just need to go get some things for it,” he said, still looking at the wall and assessing. “But I need to look at it from the inside before I can tell. Is there a way to get in?”

Harlow giggled. “Through the kitchen window. I had to help rescue her the other day, though.”

"I’ll give you a boost this time then,” he said with a smirk.

The three of us made our way around the back of the house, and I shimmied open the window just enough for me to fit through. Joel squatted down, laced his fingers together, and looked up at me.

“Ready?” he asked. I nodded in response. I took a deep breath, placed my hands on Joel’s shoulders, and then my foot in his hands.

“Three, two, one, up.” On ‘up’ I jumped with my foot on the ground as he simultaneously lifted me. I was taken aback a little by how effortlessly he did so, and how I could feel muscles through his shirt.

I grabbed onto the bottom of the windowsill and pulled myself up as Joel continued to push. He led the foot that was in his hands to his shoulder, where I was able to give myself a final boost and get through the window. I grabbed onto the edge of the counter inside and pulled myself the rest of the way in, accidentally landing in a thud on the black and white kitchen floor.

“You okay?” Joel and Harlow shouted in unison.

“I’m fine!” I called back as I got myself to my feet. I peeked out of the window to look at them. “I’m going to go find an easier window for you two to climb through and get it ready.”

I ran towards the front of the house, looking for a window that was lower and easier to get through. I decided on one of the windows that lined the porch. I haphazardly ripped the screen from the window and unlocked it. After opened it I stuck my head out and shouted, “Over here, you two!”

Once Harlow and Joel crawled into the house, Joel immediately headed for the front door.

“Have you decided on a paint color for this room yet?” Harlow asked me, looking around the room we were in. I shook my head.

“I’ve decided to keep the wallpaper. I’m just going to clean it and touch up the trim,” I told her with a big smile. She looked around the room at the wallpaper in question, wincing a little at the bold gold pattern on the walls.

“So, I was right,” Joel said, peeking his head around into the room. He nudged his head for me to come see. I swallowed the butterflies down into my stomach and went into the foyer. He nudged his head again before crouching down by the door knob. I closed the space between us and followed suit, crouching down so that I was at eye level with Joel and the doorknob.

Joel pointed his finger at where the door and the frame joined. “See how it’s not lining up, it's just a little too low.”

I watched as he stood up and grabbed onto the knob with both hands. With a grunt, he lifted the door and turned it at the same time. To my happy surprise, the door opened with no problem. Joe took a step back and placed his hands on his hips, looking at the door with a sense of accomplishment.

“So, a new doorframe?” I asked as I got to my feet. He replied with a “mmhmm.”

“Yep. I just need to take some measurements of the door and the frame. I know I have enough spare wood at my place, but I’ll need a new door. Did you say you have the original hardware?”

I nodded. “How much is a new door going to cost? I can get you the money for it.”

He shook his head. “Nah, don’t worry. I know a guy where I can get a good door for cheap. Consider it a housewarming gift.”

Harlow and I sat on my front porch as we watched Joel drive off in the direction of the woodshop.

“So, I thought you said he was a curmudgeon?” I said, keeping my gaze ahead.

“He is. Usually.”

She nudged my shoulder with hers, causing me to sway to the side. I straightened up and finally looked over at her just in time to nudge her back, biting at my bottom lip.

Usually. We’ll have to see what that means.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x oc #tlou hbo #the last of us #the last of us hbo #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #no outbreak!joel miller #no outbreak au

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parkeryangs · 4 months

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OK BUT THIS IS REALLY INTRIGUING ACTUALLY. tell me more about this 'mattkey' ............

YES ABSOLUTELY OH MY GOD

SO in episode 1 participant observation, the main character, mike walters, claims to be "investigating" a secret online game called woe.begone out of curiosity/boredom, via actually playing the game. w.bg is a series of challenges, the first being that mike had to call his ex-boyfriend and tell him the worst thing he ever did to you.

mike does this, explaining that his "lifelong best friend" (matt) had unexpectedly died in a car crash, and his ex wasn't home at the time/didn't realize how serious the situation was, so he left mike to worry alone before matt's death had actually been confirmed. he tells his ex that he doesn't forgive him and has a breakdown, then waking up the next day to realize that matt wasn't dead and there was no trace of the voicemail he left for his ex. (so, at this point, mike continues to play w.bg, with matt as his "prize")

there's several other challenges he completes, along with another old friend of theirs also playing woe.begone, but the next marker of their relationship is in episode 11 this is only temporary, when mike's woe.begone challenge is to kill the prize from his first challenge— which is obviously matt. he explains the situation, a future version of him shows up to "prove" everything to matt, and ultimately matt slides his gun across the table, mike apologizes, and tells matt he loves him. (i talk more about this in another post)

at the end of season 1, woe.begone contacts mike to tell him that he has to relocate to a government job, a place called o.v.e.r./oldbrush valley energy & resources. he does, with season 2/3 following the start of his time in the valley & continued problem-causing due to w.bg lol. then in episode 35 safehouse, he kills another character and flees o.v.e.r., driving 26 hours to matt's house. he doesn't tell him all the details of what happened, but episode 36 respite is mostly dedicated to mike talking about the few days he spent with matt ("we didn’t need to do anything other than be in each other’s company") (i ramble about matt in 35/36 here)

there's a lot of non-mattkey events that occur, lol, but it gets to a point where matt essentially wants to be involved with a time travel org mike creates called base, but mike kind of keeps him at a distance for reasons unknown (coughs. mike does have a boyfriend he meets at o.v.e.r. and not saying it has anything to do with that but i'm also not Not saying that) and in episode 84 panther, matt helps with stalking two "rogue" iterations of mike and his boyfriend edgar (and i believe this is the first episode where matt has a voice actor?) and continues to do so throughout the current point in the podcast/"about a year" in canon time.

at the end of episode 120 true story, a (drunk) mike transports to matt's house as there was a timeline they'd been in (~e104 to 120ish iirc) where matt was dead once again because of mike. mike gives matt a box of his old stuff, and matt, worrying over mike using time travel when he's drunk lol, brings mike to stay in his spare room (that he mentions he's kept open since mike was last there). mike tells matt he loves him, and matt returns the sentiment.

so YEAH. mattkey my absolute beloved. imo their dynamic is very much "knowing one another better than they know themselves" if that gives you a more direct idea jksdhfjksdf. also college-era mattkey has been brainrotting the fandom recently which might be my fault LOL but pre-wbg mattkey is SO compelling even if only mentioned in passing - i talk about college mattkey here, here, here (kind of), and here, and i wrote a short fic about them here. overall, essentially the catalyst for everything in woe.begone is literally just. matt. like... mike literally rewrites time to keep matt safe and while it's true that mike has a deep relationship with most of his friends, matt is so intrinsically tied to him in a way that nobody else is.

#this is so long grack IM SO SORRY #they are just so important to me. forever and ever. u would really like them i think #mattkey #grack tag #i probably missed some things BUT these are at least the high points i hope lol #askbox #woe.begone #finch chirps

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gothcsz · 2 months

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𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / a Javier Peña fic.

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: After being transferred back to the States from Colombia, Javier Peña is relocated to a small town in the middle Texas as the new Deputy Sheriff to help solve a string of murders that have been occurring in this more rural part of the state. Rumors of a sacrilegious group plague the community which has its citizens on edge. Along the way, he enters a convoluted relationship with the sheriff’s daughter, Paloma. Entranced not only by her beauty but also by her captivating and enticing artistry as she preforms at a local bar on weekend nights. The once DEA agent soon begins to realize that there’s a lot more at play here than initially thought. Heavily influenced by Ethel Cain’s Preacher’s Daughter album.

RATING: 18+ Mature topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. More specific tags will be listed on chapter posts.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized, including the usage of the song(s) that Paloma will perform throughout the story.

A/N: hey y’all! just wanna say that this was an idea that popped in my head as i was rewatching narcos for the dozenth time while simultaneously discovering ethel cain’s work (i know i’m late, cut me some slack pls) but i’ve genuinely never been so inspired to… write. so with that, i give you all a small prologue of sorts to see if there’s any interest in continuing this. it’s my first time publicly posting any of my works so i’m so fuckin’ nervous but oh well i’m just diving head first!

♰ read on ao3. ♰

♰ playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

The sounds of twigs snapping beneath her feet echo throughout the forest, her frantic breaths making her chest burn as she continues to run aimlessly in attempts to escape her captors. Nina had gotten lucky, her wrist burned from constantly rubbing against her rope confinements until eventually she was able to undo the tight knot and free herself from her imminent death. She wasted no time in booking it out of whatever tattered building they were in; being met with nothing but surrounding darkness.

It didn’t take long before those who had taken her realized she was missing, but it was enough to put some distance between herself and them. Her bare feet ache from the unforgiving woodsy ground, legs slashed from the various twigs and thorns that she had run through in order to make her escape. But that pain was only temporary, and currently her body was focused on survival. She had to make it back to civilization; even if she didn’t know where she was.

A few more minutes of running before the girl finds some kind of solace behind a towering oak tree, her back pressed against its ridges as she allows herself a moment to catch her breath.

To regroup.

One hand travels up to her collarbone where a delicate cross necklace sits against her skin, she grips it tightly and begins to utter a soft yet frantic prayer hoping that the God she’s devoted her life to would spare her from the horrors and fate she’s currently facing. Her eyes snap open at the sound of a twig snapping loudly and before Nina has any time to react to the sudden presence, she’s being yanked by her forearm out of the shadows and roughly thrown onto the ground.

She’s been caught.

“ Please let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone. ” Nina pleads and it’s nothing this trio has not heard before.

“ Oh sweet child… ” The smooth yet dangerous voice of the leader of this tormenting group crouches down until he’s at her level, brushing a strand of tawny hair away from her face as he gazes deep into her eyes.

Deep into her soul.

“ You cannot keep the inevitable from occurring. ” Enter the other man, a heavy two barreled shotgun in his hands pointed directly at her. Nina’s lips curl into a pout as tears begin to pour down her supple cheeks. This gets a scoff out of the third person that makes up the trio, a girl that was around her age.

“ Oh poor baby is cryin’. this coulda been so much easier if you hadn’t ran, doll face. ” Her tone is patronizing as she watches Nina intently, a smirk sprawled across her own lips. “ C’mon August, we need to deal with her before we miss our window of opportunity. Again. ” she looks down at the antique watch that adorns her left hand. Only a few minutes until three in the morning.

August takes a few more moments to study the weeping girl before him, just as a predator would its prey. However, there’s a softness in his eyes that she isn’t able to fully register. He eventually stands to his full height. “ It will have to be done here. There is not enough time to bring her back to the house. ” He snaps his fingers at the man with the shotgun and he immediately lowers it, silent as ever and reaching into his back pocket to pull out a large, silver dagger that glistens as the moonlight from the full moon shines down upon it. Nina’s eyes widen at the sight of the blade and she begins to scramble backwards but August reaches down to grasp her ankle to keep her from moving.

“ Hold her down. ” He orders and the other two wordlessly comply, the dagger now in August’s possession as the guy takes hold of her wrists and the girl of her ankles. Nina begins to thrash around violently to no avail. They’ve got a strong hold on her.

“ Please, A-August please I’ll d-do whatever you want. I w-won’t tell anyone just p-please don’t kill me. ” The helpless girl cries, tears and snot mixing as violent sobs rack throughout her entire body.

The earnest begging for her life falls on deaf ears, instead August plants one foot on either side of her body, now towering over her completely with the dagger firmly in his grasp. Between her hysteric crying and overwhelming emotions, Nina doesn’t understand the words that fall past the man’s lips but she knows for certain that he isn’t speaking English.

She attempts to save herself one final time but is ignored once more. Just as August finishes his prayer-like uttering, the wind begins to pick up around them, sending leaves and dirt to swirl around them as if they had conjured up their own, mini tornado.

Nina’s eyes widen as the dagger raises itself over his head.

“ I am no good nor evil, simply I am

And I have come to take what is mine. ”

And with those final words, the dagger plunges down deep into her chest, right where her heart lies. A piercing scream shoots out of her throat, damn near destroying her vocal chords as August continues to stab the sharp blade into her flesh over and over again.

Until eventually, the life drains from Nina’s eyes.

#javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fanfic #pedro pascal fanfic #javier pena x oc #javier peña fanfic #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña x oc #javier peña fic #javier peña narcos #javier pena narcos #pedro pascal #super nervous but super excited ! hope this gets some traction (:#ethel cain #southern gothic fic #preachers daughter

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anosrepasi · 5 months

Text

So I'm having Nil thoughts. Take a portion of a fic that will eventually be finished and make it's way to AO3.

The new cell in Sunstone Rock is completely dark except for an hour each day when the sun’s light aligns with the air tunnels built into the deep rock and the light can trickle down to his cell, dusty and dim. He doesn’t know this on the first day, and doesn’t think of it as fact until the fifth.

Janeva tells him that the room is used for “temporary relocations,” that the violent and the bloodthirsty go in and come out docile, one way or another- that man is not supposed to exist so long in the dark.

They say this as they stand at the threshold of the cell as he stands in the middle of the space, straining his eyes to see as much as he can with the light that floods in from the hallway and the open door. The warden’s voice brings his attention back to them.

He tilts his head at them and asks if this is a temporary relocation.

The warden levels him with a blank stare. “That’ll depend on you, I guess.”

They close the door and the only light in the cell becomes the thin stripe falling across the floor from the eyeslot where Janeva currently regards him. “Either way, you can’t keep killing your cellmates. The Sun King can’t “rehabilitate” you all if you’re killing everyone else imprisoned here with you.”

They slide the panel closed and leave him to the dark.

It doesn’t take him long to pace the entire length of the cell, mapping out the meager features in his mind and spinning around a few times and fumbling around until he’s confident in his surroundings. He finds himself propping himself against a wall, chilly to the touch in contrast with the heat of the cell.

He spends the first however unknown amount of time contemplating his temporary relocation and the charges landed by the Warden.

They are right, technically, he has killed every fellow prisoner they have placed in his cell. His confusion stems from what else they expected from him. He is a tool for killing- killing people, preferably. Were they not wanting him to kill the prisoners?

…why in the sun’s name did they put them in his cell then?

His mind goes in circles trying to detangle the paradox presented to him. Logically, he knows it’s possible to coexist in a space with another person, he trained in the barracks like every other soldier of the Sundom. He hasn’t shared a space since then, however, nearly two decades prior. They had assigned him his own tent since his first campaign, out of reward or fear he had never bothered to learn. The other soldiers kept their bunking with shared tents. He had never thought to question why his treatment was different, it just was. It had suited him fine enough.

And now he had been assigned a cell in a similar fashion. But Warden Janeva said it like it was.. a punishment? To be honest, the solitude and the darkness appealed to him. But again, he could recognize that his experience wasn’t everyone’s truth.

He could see boredom becoming a problem.

But that was equally a problem in his previous lodgings.

Perhaps that’s the true root of the problem. Being “rehabilitated” as the Sun King so decreed is rather… tedious. Like waiting for a table of commanders to finish arguing over a table of paper and wooden tokens instead of just letting him take to the field.

He is not a creature of words or theories. The maps and mile markers on a general’s table will not win a war: his hands around enemy throats will prove far more effective.

He sighs in the dark, feeling foolish.

He’s getting worked up about a conflict that’s been supposedly laid to rest–getting attached to that particular avenue of bloodshed is pointless.

Perhaps he’s made a miscalculation on what exactly is required of him for “rehabilitation.” Well, at least he’ll have a question for the Warden when they return.

He’s so caught up in his thought he almost misses the flash of movement to his left.

He reacts on instinct, his right hand darting out to catch whatever threat has suddenly appeared and lets out a bur mused laugh as his right hand clamps down on his own left wrist. He must have been gesturing with his hands while he was thinking.

He strains his eyes in the murky dark and can just barely make out the outline of his hand and wrist, suddenly visible if barely in the dark. He watches, with vague curiosity, as the darkness slowly, slowly recedes into dim light–never enough to illuminate the cell or completely thaw his hand out from the shadows, but it’s enough to recognize general shapes and edges in the dark.

Curious.

Janeva had said the cell was entirely dark.

Wasn’t that the point of the supposed punishment? Scare the people of the sun with unending shadows? Not that he felt particularly threatened.

He stands, turning to observe the wall he had previously been sitting against. It’s indistinguishable from the rest of the darkness he puts his hands to work instead– running his fingers over the stone until he finds a gap. He finds it rather quickly, roughly the same hight as the base of his breastbone, slightly above where his head rested against the wall.

He squats down and presses his face to the wall, allowing his eyes to focus and find the angle of the gap. He’s rewarded with the sight of a small stone tunnel chiseled into the rock with a width no larger than the circle of his own wrist. The tunnel ends some distance into the thick rock foundation, highlighted at the end with a bright light from an unseen opening above it.

He watches the stone tunnel until his body is still and the light at the end dims away completely, leaving the room once again left in utter darkness, the outline of his hand before just a memory of sight.

Huh.

Did they design the cell to do that?

Or is it just an unintended consequence of nature, much like him himself?

He resumes his former contemplations, his thoughts returning like clockwork machines to the temporary diffusion of light, and he quietly eats the meal provided sometime later, waving off the questions of the guards outside as he returns to his newly designated spot along the wall.

Eventually, he sleeps. He’s awakened at some point by the sound of the door opening, Janeva standing once again at the doorway.

He has to blink away the tears at the light that streams into the room from behind the warden’s silhouette. It’s surprising, how quickly he’s become accustomed to the dark. “Warden.”

“Prisoner.” The reply evenly. “It’s been a day to the hour since we left you in here, hopefully the experience has been enlightening.”

He stores away that information, cataloguing a general sense of how much time has passed since he first walked into the cell and assigning a sense of a “Day” to the passage of the time. In the dark it’s impossible to tell time, but between the short hour of dim light and the meal served sometime before he slept a day having passed sounds rather reasonable.

The Warden continues, “Are you going to kill your next cellmate?”

“Yes.” He is honest, if nothing else.

The Warden sighs.

They turn and the door closes behind them. “As I said yesterday, this is all dependent on you. I’ll speak with you again tomorrow.”

Well, that answers one of his questions. They really do not want him killing the other prisoners they keep putting into his cell. Huh.

#Nil #hzd nil #Janeva #hzd janeva #horizon zero dawn #ano writes #fic: daylight

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whats-k-popping · 2 years

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Could you write a fic where taehyung has a fever and is really sneezy but he has a headache and sore throat and every time he sneezes his head hurts?

Hope this is what you were looking for!?! I kinda glossed over the snz content and turned it more toward the sore throat and the headache. Sorry it took me so long to get done! I hope you can enjoy it! Thanks so much for the request! <3

Pairing: Taejoon - platonic intentions but read how you want. Ft. minor Taejin.

Words: 2732

Warnings: Illness || Snz Content || Sick Member || Fever || Sore Throat/Lost Voice || Headache/Migraine || Graphic Descriptions of Cold Symptoms || Graphic Descriptions of Headache || Crying/Emotional Distress

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“HEEEtsch, EETthhu, HEHnxtch”

Taehyung’s sneezes are louder than any alarm clock Namjoon's ever owned. So when Taehyung sneezes three times in the middle of the night, it startles Namjoon awake with a gasp.

“'M up. 'M awake” Namjoon slurs his words, scanning the room with squinted eyes. Everything is still dark and blurry, but he can tell it’s still the middle of the night. He swears he set his alarm for 8:30. He is certain that a loud noise invaded his dream and pulled him from sleep. But now that he’s awake, the room is silent.

Well, mostly silent. Taehyung is sniffling from his bed. There’s a lot of shifting, even for Taehyung, and Namjoon figures that the younger is awake. “Tae-yah? Did you hear something?” He asks. He needs the validation just to ensure he’s not going mad.

“Sorry, hyung. It was just my sneezing. Did I wake you?” Taehyung feigns ignorance. He knows the answer is a blaring yes. He had been enviously listening to the sounds of Namjoon’s peaceful sleep. Because he’s been awake the whole night, bargaining with his budding cold symptoms. Negotiations have gotten him nowhere.

Namjoon nods, “S’okay. Are you okay?” If the rapper were fully conscious, he would have quickly recalled that Taehyung does not sneeze in multiples unless it’s illness related. He might have noticed that Taehyung doesn’t sound sleepy at all, but rather a little congested. But he’s still swaddled in the warmth of his covers and clinging onto a promised sleep. Too close to the edge to notice those intricate little details. Not all of his neurons are firing. He doesn’t have the mental capacity to think about how his roommate usually sneezes right now.

So Taehyung takes advantage of it. The vocalist knows he’s getting sick. He could feel it coming on since the previous day. And he feels like it’s going to be a bad one. But he knows Namjoon is trying to sleep, resting well after a long day. And he wants it to stay that way. He promises to tell someone in the morning. But for now, the others need their rest. It’s too early for Namjoon, or any of them, to be taking care of him. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tickle. Must have been some dust on my bed or something.” The lie comes easy. It has been a while since he changed his linens. He’ll add that to his post-cold to-do list. “Go back to sleep, hyung. We still have a few hours.” he gently encourages. Namjoon doesn’t fight it.

Taehyung feels more sneezes inching their way to the top of his nose. But he doesn’t want to bother Namjoon anymore than he already has. He doesn’t want to risk waking him again. So he holds them back, shaking his head and tucking a finger under his nose to scare them off. But that’s only a temporary solution. They still lie in wait for a loud and wet release. So he waits until he’s certain Namjoon’s sleeping deeply again. Once the leader’s snores confirm it, Taehyung sneaks out of the room with his blanket and relocates to the couch. Hopefully far enough away from the bedrooms to sneeze freely without waking anyone up.

Sleep doesn’t find him any easier on the couch than it did in his bed. He’s still turning over every time his sinuses shift. He’s still coughing as post-nasal drip fills his throat. And he’s still sneezing when he feels the tickle in his nose. It’s impossible to even get a few minutes of shut eye. And when he does feel on the brink of sleep, a feverish chill shakes him back to consciousness. It’s hell on earth, he thinks with a whine.

He does manage to fall asleep at some point. He wouldn't believe it given how exhausted he still is. But he's awoken by the sounds of voices nearby. He keeps his eyes closed, pretending he can't hear them. But it's Seokjin and Namjoon, neither of them do well with hushed conversation. It sounds like they are arguing. Or maybe Taehyung's headache is just amplifying the sound of their voices. Any noise at this point is too loud for him.

He picks up bits and pieces of the conversation. From what Taehyung can gather from his eavesdropping, Seokjin is angry at Namjoon. Something about the Daegu vocalist spending the night on the couch. And even though Namjoon seems equally upset about it, the oldest hyung is blaming the leader.

The realization that his hyungs are fighting because of him hits his fevered mind. That's silly. Namjoon didn't do anything wrong. It was his decision to leave the room. It was his decision to sleep on the couch. He has to take responsibility for it. He needs to end the argument with the truth. Because he hates it when his hyungs fight.

Maybe he also hates it when they are loud. Maybe he has a splitting headache and wants to sleep more. Maybe he knows that Seokjin and Namjoon can go on for hours with petty arguments like this and he just wants them to stop. But he doesn't feel well, so he can be a little selfish. The outcome will benefit them all in the end.

His body aches as he sits up on the couch. He pulls his blanket around his shoulders and clutches the corners around his chin to fight the chill. The ends of the blanket drag behind him as he follows his hyung's voices to the kitchen. It's a long, shuffling journey. His whole body tells him to stop.

Two loud sneezes alert the two older members to Taehyung's presence. They both turn and look at the sick member. He has definitely seen better days. His skin is blotchy with fever spots, the tip of his nose is bright red, and he can barely keep his eyes open. He looks so small wrapped up in a blanket, quaking at the knees like standing is simply too much.

"Tae-yah, you should go rest." Seokjin's voice is gentle and caring. "Hyung will get you something to eat, go lay down."

Taehyung opens his mouth to speak. He wants to say that he didn't want to bother Namjoon with his cold. He wants to say he chose to leave the room when Namjoon fell asleep. He wants to say he chose to sleep on the couch and it's not Namjoon's fault. But croaky broken syllables and raspy breaths take the place of his words. His voice is completely gone, but he doesn’t remember losing it. It was fine enough when he was talking to Namjoon in the middle of the night.

He pouts in frustration, massaging his throat with the hand not clutching his blanket. His neck feels hard and swollen, but he aims to be able to speak again. He clears his throat with some wet coughs before attempting to speak again. But it’s the same result. Nothing intelligible comes up, he ends up hunched over coughing deeply into his fist.

Seokjin’s expression softens immediately. He forgets entirely about his spat with Namjoon and runs to Taehyung’s side. He immediately goes into mother hen mode, pressing a palm to his fellow vocalist’s sweaty forehead. “You’ve caught yourself quite a nasty cold, Tae bear.” He consoles once Taehyung’s done coughing. “Don’t you worry, you’ll start feeling better soon.”

Taehyung leans against Seokjin, too weak to support his own body weight for another second. He lets out a whimper and a yawn. “You’re tired,” Seokjin understands, “Let’s put you to bed then.” He starts guiding Taehyung toward the bedrooms. The younger man makes it as far as the stairs before he quits. He looks at Seokjin with desperation. There’s no way he can climb the steps. He just won’t make it.

The oldest understands instantly. “Alright, Tae. Can you get on my back?” He squats to make it easier for Taehyung to climb on. He scrambles for a few minutes while trying to push himself up, but he’s lacking the usual upper body strength he needs to latch on. With a little help from Namjoon, Taehyung is able to secure himself to his hyung for the journey to the bedrooms. Seokjin marches up the steps with ease despite the added weight and deposits the sick member in his bed. “There you go. Hyung’s going to go get some supplies for you. Can you stay awake for five more minutes?”

Taehyung nods with no confidence in his answer. Seokjin doesn’t believe it either given the way the vocalist’s eyelids droop as soon as his head hits the pillow.

It actually takes Seokjin about 15 minutes to return to the room. So he can’t blame Taehyung for being asleep when he returns. He looks so peaceful while he’s resting, Seokjin doesn’t want to disturb him. He looks like death warmed over. He needs every second of rest he can get. So he decides to do the best he can while still ensuring that Taehyung stays asleep. He scans his forehead with a temporal thermometer and confirms the presence of a significant fever. With gentle motions, he smooths a damp rag over the sick vocalist’s forehead. Food and medicine will have to wait until he wakes.

Seokjin does everything he can for Taehyung before he absolutely does have to leave the dorm. He’s got schedules to attend, things to do, places to be. But he doesn’t want to leave Taehyung alone, so he recruits Namjoon to look after him for the day. It may be more of a demand, a repentance to compensate for the fact that Taehyung slept on the couch. But Namjoon accepts it regardless. He knows he can work on things from home. It’ll be easy enough to work on tracks on his laptop while keeping an eye on Taehyung.

“HEP’tichi, HESHhu, ehh-HE’tch”

Taehyung’s nose only allows him a meager half hour of sleep before he startles himself awake with forceful sneezes. Despite losing his voice, his sneezes are still monstrous roars that claw through his throat with vengeance on the way out. There’s an ache that grows each time he pitches with a harsh sneeze, traveling from the bridge of his nose to the backs of his eyes all the way around to the base of his neck. It hurts everywhere.

He’s in too much pain to sleep, despite how his body yearns for a few more hours. His body is playing tricks on him, making him believe that he’s thirsty. But it seems to be just a cruel way to trick him into swallowing. The action is painful and does little to soothe his raw throat. Every time he starts to doze off, another string of sneezes forces him back to consciousness.

There’s no relief. He tries to massage around his temples, he tries to shift positions in the bed. He tries pulling the blanket over his head to block the light and even tries to bite the tip of his thumb because he heard somewhere that it's supposed to help with headaches. But nothing eases his ache in the slightest. The humming of the air conditioning is deafening. The dimly lit lamp is blinding. The pulsing pressure of blood against his skull is agonizing. It’s a waiting game against the pain. And just when he thinks the drumming ache is receding, he sneezes again and he’s right back where he started.

After repeating the cycle four times over, he can’t maintain his composure. He cries. He weeps in desperation and in pain. He feels the most miserable he’s ever felt in his life. He doesn’t see an end to the suffering in sight. He has no hope for any relief. So he cries.

He wants comfort. He wants to draw someone’s attention, someone’s sympathy, someone’s love. He wants someone to coddle him, just a bit. He wants to be reassured that he will be okay. But no one will ever hear him. His cries are silent, nothing but heavy breaths and pitchy croaks as tears pour mercilessly down his cheeks. He tries calling out for the members, but he can’t force a single syllable. As therapeutic as the crying seems at the moment, it only proves to make his headache even worse.

Eventually, Namjoon returns to the room. It’s been a while since Seokjin checked Taehyung’s temperature and he wants to know if the rest has been doing the vocalist any good. He opens the door to find Taehyung sitting up in the bed, sniffling as tears drip quickly from his chin onto his blanket. His expressions are devastating, eyes squinted shut and mouth hanging out like he’s trying to scream. He scrubs at his face with balled fists and jerks with sobs that just land him coughing into the open air. The urge to comfort him is immediate.

As soon as Namjoon lays a finger on Taehyung’s shoulder, the vocalist wraps his whole body around the leader. Similar to how a boa constrictor would envelop their prey, only Taehyung is much more distraught than intimidating. The vocalist will never let go. He never wants to be alone again. The pain is too much for him to cope with by himself.

Namjoon’s struggling to breathe in Taehyung’s clutches, but he could not care any less. Because watching Taehyung bawl his eyes out makes Namjoon’s stomach flip. So he doesn’t care what happens to him if it means that Taehyung will calm down. He consoles, brushing fingers through Taehyung’s hair and scratching gently against his back. His skin burns, Namjoon suspects a fever spike played a part in Taehyung’s breakdown. He keeps his verbal reassurances low and rhythmic.

It’s a long while before Taehyung finally calms himself down. He’s still sniffling and catching his breath. His eyes are bloodshot and watery, but finally open enough to look pleadingly into Namjoon’s big brown eyes. “There you go, Tae Tae. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay. All better.”

Taehyung tries again to speak, but nothing comes out and he realizes he’s right back where he started. He’s not better now. He’s worse. He’s miserable and he still doesn’t feel well at all and it feels like it’s never going to end. And to make matters worse, he can’t even express that appropriately. So he tries to make Namjoon understand, through the sheer power of body language.

But Taehyung’s gestures are flailing and vague and just hard to understand. Namjoon can’t make sense of it. Until he sees the events in action.

All the crying had shifted the contents of Taehyung’s sinuses. His nose runs relentlessly in an effort to clear it. Taehyung sniffles harshly in between gestures to ward off the tickle but it eventually wins out. “EHRshhh, ee’NXTtch” He pitches forward with a messy double. When he picks himself up, his hands shoot to his head as the splitting pain returns with a vengeance. He winces and shuts his eyes, pressing himself impossibly closer to Namjoon. And Namjoon finally understands that Taehyung’s got a headache. A borderline migraine by the looks of it. Suddenly all the flailing makes sense.

“Is it your head, TaeTae?” Namjoon questions, whispering. He starts to pull himself away. Taehyung nods, a small movement so he doesn’t have to jostle his throbbing head too much.

Namjoon has to pry the vocalist off of him before he manages to get Taehyung to lay back down in bed. There’s a few whimpers and a whole lot of teary-eyed pouting, but Namjoon assures him he’ll only be gone for a few minutes and then they can resume cuddling. Taehyung accepts with the promise of more cuddling.

Namjoon hurries to gather the supplies Seokjin left for him. He finds the bottle of painkillers and gives a dose to Taehyung. He turns the lights off in the room, leaving only the minor light of a dimmed desk lamp to make sure he doesn’t trip over anything in the room on his journey to the bed. He climbs into the bed and leans against the headboard, arms wide open expectantly for the vocalist's arrival.

Taehyung finds some comfort in pressing himself to Namjoon’s stomach, arms wrapping around his torso to once again prevent his escape. Namjoon allows it, gently massaging the area around Taehyung’s temples until the younger member is finally able to fall into a steady sleep.

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A/N: Wonder how many fics I have ended with the sickie falling asleep?? I need to be more original. LOL. As always, thanks for reading to the end! Feedback is always appreciated. And please let me know if I missed any tags or TWs. Please call me out for any errors you notice!

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perpetual-fandom-brainrot · 6 months

Text

Temporary Relocation Prologue/Ch. 1

This fic is based on this drabble Basic premise: Reader got an experimental surgery and is being relocated to a military base with more specialized medical supplies to help recovery while on medical leave, and will temporarily help with missions to ensure success after.

It was some kind of new experimental technology. You were one of only a few hundred who had the privilege of getting the opportunity. When they'd called, you'd needed to request for the information to be mailed because there was so much of it. "Instinctual Prosthetics" was what they had decided to name the project. It was supposed to help military combatants, granting an animalistic advantage of some kind on the battlefield. They would synthesize physical attributes of the target animal, you couldn't wrap your head around how, and intertwine the prosthetics and artificial nerves with your body's existing nervous system. Most info beyond that was disclosed to you as "need-to-know," which told you literally nothing you felt you needed to know.

Nonetheless, you were too intrigued- and too attached to the payout you'd get for using yourself as an experiment vessel- to say no. That was how you ended up on a helicopter with a man who'd introduced himself to you as Captain John Price, with your newfound cat ears and tail still extremely sensitive to everything around them. Every time the aircraft jostled, you found yourself flinching, and every time the noise changed you wished you could press your ears to your head to make it stop. If only it wasn't too dangerous to take off those headphones, which had been specially made for you. You didn't even want to think about what the violent whirs of the overhead blades would sound like without the protection they gave.

"Touchdown in five," the pilot called back to the two of you. You barely registered it until you heard Captain Price giving a comment saying the pilot's communication went over. "This team won't be anything like what you're used to, soldier. Much more specialized, much better materials to handle your... unique recovery circumstances." The captain's explanation didn't do much to ease your nerves, but you found yourself nodding as though it did. As though it held any clues of what you'd see on Task Force 141's base. "The rest of the force should be meeting us when we land," he continued. "I expect you'll get acquainted with them over your time here." The words gained another absent nod from you. Until the heli touched down, you found your brain wandering to how this all happened in the first place.

"It's an experimental procedure," the woman over the phone explained. You could hear pages flipping in the background of her mic, "we're only offering it to a few hundred soldiers to see how it takes. There's a wide range of people who chose to go in already." Her explanation only served as further confusion.

"I... I still don't understand," you mumbled before taking a sip of your coffee, "why was I selected?" The line was tense with silence for what you wish was a small beat, before the woman sighed.

"I only know what I'm telling you, and I'm only allowed to tell you what I know." Her gentle tone was meant to be reassuring, but right then it was just pissing you off. You were going to potentially lose critical brain functions if this went wrong, and it was still on a need-to-know? Fucking government. "There is one upside, though," she spoke tentatively now, "since this is a voluntary experiment, they're offering you compensation."

"Compensation?" The word echoed off of your tongue almost as if it was alien. "I'm sorry, I'm still having a hard time wrapping my head around all of this."

"I have permission to make exactly one hard copy of this information and mail it to you. Would you like me to file the request for it?"

"Yes, please."

It hadn't felt like too long since that phone call. It probably hadn't been, if you were willing to compare hours to seconds. It had only been a few weeks since you were wheeled out of the surgery room, informed of the expected enhancements with your balance and hearing, and then immediately told about the orders for your relocation. You'd be temporarily occupying the base of a specialized and extremely classified task force, one you were sure your own generals themselves had never heard of. A few weeks since that tail was surgically implanted at the back of your spine and connected to your main nerve pathways, a few weeks since the nurses and doctors taking care of you started looking at you funny when you covered your ears from things they couldn't hear.

The harsh jostle of the helicopter landing, and the ensuing pins and needles from your still sore tail, broke you out of your trance. You took a deep breath as you stood up and removed the headphones, flinching at the more detailed sounds you knew no one else could hear, and looked up to see Captain Price awaiting your company to exit the aircraft.

"Are you ready?" He asks.

Not at all, you think, but give a verbal, "affirmative, Captain." Price doesn't walk off of the helicopter until he sees you next to him, where a small group of men wait, presumably for the two of you, in a semicircle. "So... this is the team?" You ask quietly, awkwardly, before they've noticed you. Price chuckles to himself before calling out to the group.

"Soldiers," his voice carries over the now fading whirs of the helicopter, "meet our new temporary recruit. After the medical recovery period ends, you'll all be working together out on the field. I expect you all to make good use of the remaining leave time." Nobody had to ask to know what Price meant. You'd all be stopping bullets and bombs for each other soon enough, probably too soon. He wanted a team that knew how to work together.

"What's with the cat ears?" A rough British accent calls. Your eyes flick to the source, a tall and muscular man wearing a skull mask. Your peripherals catch everyone else's eyes immediately flying to the top of your head while you make brief eye contact with the man. Your breath catches in your throat when you open your mouth to respond.

"This is the experimental procedure you were briefed about," Price stated. "I expect you all to treat this like any other new recruit. If I hear of any issues, you will be dealing with Shepherd." A collective groan came from the group as Price walked towards a gathering of buildings. Who?

"Aye Ghost, don't want them to make you a kitty cat, eh? Ya might end up too cute to fight that way," another man, a Scotsman with striking blue eyes and a mohawk, commented.

"A word, sergeant MacTavish," the Brit barked before walking into a nearby building. The Scot followed him without asking questions. You just watched the two in a daze, not sure what to make of the scene.

"What was that?" The question came from your mouth carefully.

"Don't mind them," another man, the only one left now, spoke up. He had umber skin that looked smooth, not as big of a build as the Brit but you had no doubt just as strong. "The sergeant's probably getting his fair share for talking to the lieutenant like that." As he talked, you noted he's probably better for agility. He took a step towards you and held out his hand, "I'm Kyle Garrick, Gaz on the field."

"Y/n L/n," you took a step to close the gap and firmly shook his hand. "Nice to meet you Gaz! Who are the other two? The sergeant and you said the lieutenant?"

Gaz laughed a little, the smile staying as he spoke, "the angry one in the mask, the lieutenant, is Ghost, and the Scot you saw messing with him is my fellow sergeant. His name's Soap. Those two are always at each other's throats. Bet you'll get used to it as you stay here," he took a step back after letting go of your hand. Gaz was still smiling, "and I'm assuming you know Price. There's others, but they're out on assignments if they're not stuck in the medical quarters recovering."

"Well, in that case, mind showing me the medical quarters? I'm due for an initial check-up after my briefing on the team. Pretty sure you just gave that to me."

Gaz turned and waved you on from behind, "follow me!" He called. You jogged to catch up, looking around and taking every detail in while gazing at the structures around you. Brief explanations of barracks, small hangars, different quarters and offices, the main canteen building as you passed it, everything you needed to know about getting around the base and what you need. Eventually, a building just as plain as the rest of them save for a red cross came into view. The medical quarters, you regarded it with internal relief. Your ears and spine were starting to ache again.

You even forgot to thank Gaz as you hurried in, leaving him to laugh to himself. You were definitely something. The base- the force- was going to enjoy having you.

Read the next chapter here

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teaandsconeswrites · 1 year

Text

The Monster Maketh the Man

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43542124/chapters/112227922

I’ve been pretty lax about posting my fics here, so I’m going to try to remember to post my updates on Tumblr too from now on.

Alt Text & Chapter Preview Below:

Rating: M (Optional E side chapter later on, with both a ZC and TTL version)

Universe: SCP Foundation AU

Estimated Final Wordcount: >100k

Summary: Secure. Contain. Protect.

These are the words Zhongli lives by, working his way up the ranks of the SCP Foundation—an organisation dedicated to protecting humanity against anomalous threats. Now a respected researcher, he has spent the past two months as a consultant in Sumeru. His time on his current case at its end, the details of his next assignment arrive: he will relocate to Snezhnaya to assist with the initial analysis of a freshly contained SCP—a creature infused with forbidden energy and an insatiable drive to fight any who dare enter its containment cell.

For a man who has built his career on the principle of protecting humanity, his new assignment will test his resolve as he discovers that there is humanity even in the most monstrous of appearances, and a little monster hidden in the places least expected.

Tags: Alternate Universe - SCP Foundation / Modern Setting / No Visions, Supernatural Elements, Suspense, Plot Twists, Unethical Experimentation, Ethical Dilemmas, Worldbuilding, Built on lore up to and including Version 3.2, Childe's Foul Legacy Transformation, Captivity, SCP Foul Legacy, SCP Researcher Zhongli, Power Imbalance, Although they don't get together until that's resolved, Age Difference, Ajax is 22 Zhongli is 31, widower Zhongli, Past GuiLi, Guilt, Angst, Slow Burn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Torture (Of SCP-231), Minor mentions of loss / grief / moving on in relation to Guizhong, Blood and Violence

Chapter Preview: It takes three days for the maintenance team to repair SCP-72030’s containment cell, and a further day for the observation window to receive additional reinforcements. Although the testing of SCP-72030 has been placed on temporary hiatus, the less experienced staff working on the ground floor of Site-300-14 have kept Zhongli busy, eager to absorb any expertise he has to share.

It’s quite flattering to have his reputation considered so highly even this far from home.

Or perhaps they simply prefer to ask Zhongli over their less than savoury Site Director.

Following the initial experiment, which Simran declared a roaring success, he has taken to strutting about the office, bragging of his success in determining the exact containment parameters to optimise both security and cost efficiency.

Zhongli struggles to understand what he should make of the situation. On the one hand, Simran is correct, it is vital that the containment cell is reinforced to a degree that SCP-72030 cannot escape and harm neither the site staff, nor the world at large, but on the other, the data from the previous session haunts Zhongli's nights, hanging over his shoulder like a malicious spirit.

It might be a fluke. Due to many of the subjects in SCP Foundation existing in a state where they cannot be directly studied, the machine is not directly hooked into Foul Legacy itself. Instead, readings are taken from the external surroundings to deduce the anomaly’s internal conditions. Occasionally, this can result in erroneous conclusions. For example, indicating a human pain response in what is clearly an inhuman, elemental being.

Zhongli prefers not to think upon the implications otherwise.

On the fifth day the maintenance staff give the all clear to resume work on SCP-72030, and Zhongli arrives an hour earlier than required. The task Simran planned for today is simple—establish a greater array of base readings before analysing the direction of their research should head, or if they should continue at all.

However, Zhongli has observations of his own to make.

He steps into the observation room, the scent of bleach and disinfectant hitting him head on. The whole place has been cleaned immaculately, not the slightest sign of a footprint on the sleek vinyl flooring. Of course it wouldn’t do for any evidence of their sins to remain unscrubbed from the place; Simran would never allow his staff to linger too long on the implications of their actions, lest they develop some semblance of conscience.

His workstation is as he left it, although a cleaner has bundled the network cables neatly in the back corner. Zhongli sets the observation blind to open as he boots his machine.

This morning is time for himself and SCP-72030, alone.

#tartali #zhongchi #zhongchili #tartaglia #zhongli #childe #genshinimpact #genshin impact fanfics

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mansplainmanipulatemalewife · 1 year

Note

jusr scrolled past your ask about the harry evrart slowburn & remembered how intrigued I am by the concept please tell me more 👀

Yes! I was intending to elaborate but I forgor so uhh here it is :)

So it kind of started with the premise that Martinaise gets intergrated into the 41st's jurisdiction, but with the understanding that it's still union territory, so RCM presence is mostly just Harry liaising with Evrart and the Hardies in order to give some sense of legitimacy to the whole situation and hopefully improve the RCM's reputation somewhat.

This means that Harry spends a lot of time with Everart and so he starts to get a far better understanding of the politics of the whole situation. Also, he gets better at reading Evrart and thus far more difficult to manipulate.

So anyway, Harry starts getting opinions.

So now he actually knows what's happening Harry starts pushing back when he disagrees with a decision Evrart has made or offering suggestions and sometimes it's absolute bullshit of course but occasionally he says something actually smart and Evrart takes his advice.

Anyway because his advice mostly is stuff that benefits both the union and Martinaise as a whole, Evrart starts to really trust Harry. Occasionally he even agrees to do things that benefit Martinaise despite being a detriment to the overall political power of the union, such as finding a way to build the youth center without forcing the people of the fishing village to relocate despite their political dissent, because it's not really a big deal for him and he likes seeing Harry happy.

Eventually Harry realizes this of course, and the skills have a bit of a moment™, and then he has a crisis of conscience around whether it would be right for him to take advantage of Evrart's feelings to push for more political change.

And then at some point he's lying in bed in the container Evrart gave him to live in, holding court with his skills about what they should do if Evrart ever actually confesses his feelings and suddenly they all begin to come to the realization that they want that to happen.

Then there'd be what I was visualizing as like a movie montage of all the skills trying to coach harry on how to ask Evrart out, but he keeps fucking it up so Evrart never really ends up getting the message.

this goes on for a while and then I'd been imagining there would be an exchange like:

Evrart: "I need you to go back to Jamrock for a while, Harry."

Empathy [medium: failure]: He hates you.

You: Try not to burst into tears.

Evrart: "For God's sake Harry, it's only temporary. I want you right back here by my side as soon as you've finished this little job for me."

You: "Okay!!! I'll be back soon!!! I love you!!!"

Reaction speed: What did you just say.

Half Light: He's never going to speak to you again.

You: Shit shit shit shit shit -

Evrart: "I love you too harry. Now, sit down and drink some water, I can't have you going out and representing the union in this state."

I don't quite know how the fic would end but it would probably be like... Evrart sits with Harry while he calms down and they start making plans for their first date or whatever.

But yeah that's how I would write a slow-burn Evrart/Harry fic <3

#asks #disco elysium #terrible fic ideas with void

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livingmybestfakelife · 2 years

Note

Could we get more of rapper Erik pls

Oh wow, I haven’t done rapper Erik in years, I’m surprised anyone still remembers my Black Panther fics.

———————————————————————-

His eldest child and only daughter Zara Jo has now begun Kindergarten, the Steven’s family have recently relocated to Atlanta. Most of his major business dealings are there so it would be easier to just move there and not fly back and forth so much.

Atlanta is booming and thriving so much that it sorta looks like the Hollywood of the south. Erik has dipped his foot in producing a highly successful television show, songs and investing.

With his growing wealth comes many privileges, one of them being that Zara attends one of, if not the best private elementary school in the state of Georgia, she’d not only have a top tier education but can afford special tutoring in the future if need be. She’s beginning her creativity very early, learning French and being in a music class in her age range and playing the violin.

His wife (YN) has recently decided to slow down on her career, desiring a temporary retirement after her record companies contract was expired, she can relax and enjoy her family in peace.

#erik killmonger imagine #erik killmonger #black panther imagine #black panther

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waywardstation · 2 years

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I’m not sure if the new prompts are old or not but if you’re still doing these:

"Lycanroc in Wooloo's clothing" (a play on Wolf in sheeps clothing)

"Mind the Gap"

"Stay behind the yellow line"

They are a mix of new and old ones! I’m holding onto ones that I’m having a hard time coming up with ideas for ^^;

Lycanroc in Wooloo’s Clothing

When the misfortune sisters come to Jubilife and claim they’ve given up their ways of thievery, looking to get honest jobs at the Galaxy Team, Akari is immediately suspicious - she thinks it’s more likely they’re up to something.

Mind the Gap

I could see this being a fic about what Ingo sees in the wormhole between modern-day Unova and ancient Hisui - the gap between both time periods.

Stay Behind the Yellow Line

Monsoon season is upon the Diamond Clan, which is always bad news considering the mirelands’ prior instability, what with all of the tunnels created by the onixs’ constant burrowing.

Sinkholes begin opening up under the constant rain, and the Diamond Clan requests help from the Pearl Clan for settlement fortification and temporary relocation, before a flash flood occurs. Ingo is not pleased to see Akari is there as well, trying to help out too; it’s much too dangerous and he wants her to stay safe.

She swears things are fine and she can handle it, until the alpha whishcash in nearby Lake Valor triggers an earthquake.

#title ask game #stay behind the yellow line’s synopsis has been one I’ve had in my head for a while it might be written at some point #which is why that one’s more setup than narrative #no spoiling haha

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eddo-tensei · 2 years

Text

Miraculous Ninja Bio #3: Alya Cesaire

Gonna push myself a bit more and go over more characters for this MLB/RC9GN crossover. This time, we’re talking about Alya. Don’t worry, I’ll get to the Norrisville crew eventually. Just need to go over the main Miraculous crew coming here...and the villains. If anyone’s interested from reading the biography, here’s the fic:

Miraculous Ninja: Tales of Heroes and Magic (MLB x RC9GN crossover)

Alright, let’s put this blog on blast.

Backstory: Alya’s life wasn’t extraordinary. She wasn’t born to a family of bakers nor was she brought into the world of luxury. She simply came from a family hailing from the French-controlled Caribbean island of Martinique. With her zooologist father, a culinary expert for a mother, along with her three sisters, Alya spent most of her life in her home province studying in a private school. She found herself running a lot of the technical side of the school system and by middle school, she was dabbling in online maintenance. She was also a frequent member of her school’s comic book club where they would discuss all kinds of superheroes. For the most part, it felt like life was going to be simple. That was until her mother managed to secure a job in one of the most prestigious hotels in Paris. Thus, her family relocated there as Alya now found herself in Collège Françoise Dupont. There, as a new student, she ended up meeting a lot of new people including a lonely girl by the name of Marinette. Seeing the sort of trouble Marinette was going through, Alya took it upon herself to be Marinette’s friend and help her through whatever life throws at her. Soon, however, Alya found herself in the midst of what could be described as a seemingly neverending battle of good and evil as Hawk Moth emerged from the shadows to cause chaos only for the heroes, Ladybug and Chat Noir, to come out and stomp that chaos into nothing. Feeling her two childhood hobbies unifying, Alya started up the Ladyblog and vowed to do what she can to document all the heroic acts of these two glorious saviors of her new home.

This would be one of Alya’s defaults as when she wasn’t focused on the blog, she was helping Marinette with anything that would come up. Babysitting, coming up with designs, trying to win over Adrien, homework, Adrien, parties, Adrien. In case you can’t tell, a good amount of their hangouts involve trying to figure out ways for Marinette to win Adrien’s heart. That said, these hangouts didn’t come with their own perks. Alya and Marinette both end up connecting to more of the people in College Dupont, even garnering their own circle of friends through this. Alya was even able to find her own love in Nino Lahiffe. It was clear that just as she was able to help Marinette open up and gain friends even when facing obstacles like Chloe, Marinette was helping Alya connect to her new home more and more. She even recently found the courage to sign up for a program that saw her connected to a pen-pal. A kind girl named Theresa who she would exchange letters with every now and then, mostly about the heroic exploits going on in Paris as well as some of the interesting stuff that occurs in Norrisville.

That said, this wasn’t without strife. She found herself being one of the earliest villains created by Hawk Moth’s Akumas during her quest to find out who Ladybug was. As Lady Wi-Fi, she ended up being one of the more difficult adversaries to fight and someone who would frequently return due to Hawk Moth finding her powers quite helpful. Even so, she was able to find some brilliance as when her younger sisters fell under the spell of an Akuma, she had a fateful encounter with Ladybug who entrusted her with the Fox Miraculous. Gaining a fast friend in the Kwami of Illusion, Trixx, Alya ended up with the identity of Rena Rouge. Even if it was technically a temporary gig, Alya relished her time as Rena and she found herself blessed time and time again as Ladybug would come to her for help multiple times. Still, no matter what, even with all the reports and vlogs she had done, Alya could never really figure the one thing that she felt like she needed to figure out and that was Ladybug’s identity. Even if she knew she couldn’t report on it due to the threat of Hawk Moth, she still wanted to know who was behind the mask, but it seemed like an unattainable thing...

...That was until through becoming part of a Akuma group and being saved that Alya would end up being hit with a massive secret from her friend, Marinette. That Marinette and Ladybug were one and the same. Through this, Alya was then entrusted with the secrets of the Miraculouses and thus became Marinette’s sole confidant in figuring out the truth for not only the Miraculouses, but also how to take down Hawk Moth. In fact, it was Alya’s own intuition that led to the creation of the Prosperity Charms which would ensure that a dangerous Akuma would never be created again. This ingenuity would actually be enough for Marinette to grant Alya full ownership of the Fox Miraculous. It was clear that the two were getting somewhere. With this one secret being learned, Alya could now focus on other things with Marinette.

Then came the news about Adrien’s move to Norrisville. Having heard this from Nino, Alya was hesitant at first, but ultimately decided to go for three reasons. 1) She didn’t want Nino to feel forced to stay behind if she didn’t go, 2) She wanted to make sure Marinette was doing okay since she knew the girl would follow Adrien to the edge of the Earth, and 3) That was where her penpal lived and with that in mind, why would she pass up the opportunity to meet up with a good friend? Thus, albeit with some unexpected guests, Alya found herself moving to Norrisville.

Appearance: With tan skin and hair styled into an ombre of brown and red, Alya is also distinguishable by her gold eyes and the mole on her forehead. Donning a pair of glasses, Alya would frequently be seen in a plaid shirt with a tank-top underneath along with some light-blue jeans and some white-and-black sneakers courtesy of Style Queen. She also wears a fanny pack for stuff like her phone and more importantly, Trixx. She’s also a bit taller than Marinette.

As Rena Rouge, her hair becomes a three-color ombre going from bright red to orange all the way to pure white at the tips as it’s all styled in a ponytail. On top of the bodysuit that most holders have, Rena dons a orange overcoat with white coattails on the back to mimic the tail of a fox. The Miraculous, normally a necklace, becomes a zipper to the suit and she gains some fox ears to go with the orange and white domino mask. Standing with her signature flute on her back and wearing tall black boots with fox prints on the bottom, Rena Rouge is certainly one of the more dapper looking heroes on Ladybug’s side.

Personality: It was clear that the comics that Alya grew up with instilled plenty of positive values in her. Namely those of loyalty and friendship, which shines through with her friendship with Marinette as well as all of the other students in College Dupont. As a relatively new student, Alya found herself being more than happy to reach out to as many people as she could. She found that one way she could reach people was through the reports on her blog where she would give updates on Ladybug’s exploits in hopes that her heroism would rub off onto others. She genuinely cherishes the people in her life, whether it’d be her family, Marinette, Nino, or just any of their friends. Comics taught her a lot of things and it’s clear that these positive values were just some of them.

That said, when you raise yourself on what you see on comics and TV, some things can get mixed up. Alya has a bad habit of trying to do things that seemed to be cool in comics, but don’t always translate well into reality. Her plans for Marinette to help her win Adrien’s heart tend to get rather cartoonish and when Marinette comes up with a plan that’s just as cartoonish, Alya always goes along with it. While that is proof of her loyalty, it’s also a sign that Alya doesn’t always know what’s right, hence why her hunt for Ladybug’s identity was questionable. Also, while she is very willing to reach out to others, she also finds it hard to forgive those who would actively cause harm, Chloe being one such example. Even so, when Alya realizes what she does is wrong, she’s quick to correct herself and does what she can to fix it.

Powers: At this point, it should be routine what a Miraculous does to someone. It improves their skills a lot and gives them a great amount of durability with its usage depending greatly on the user. In Rena’s case, she’s very much a planner and with her main ability, she had to figure out what works.

Mirage: Playing a tune on her flute, Rena is able to conjure up an Illusion that she could control through said flute. The Illusion can range from massive spectacles to merely impersonating individuals to fool others. Not only can she create visual illusions, but also auditory illusions.

Being predisposed to superheroes, Alya is quickly learning the ropes on how her powers work, but with a certain leak resulting from a certain bully, only time will tell if she’ll be able to keep it.

Current Events (SPOILERS FOR THE FANFIC TOWARDS THE END):

(IN CASE THIS NEEDS TO BE REPEATED, THIS IS GOING TO CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR THE EVENTS OF THE FANFIC! IF YOU WANT TO LEARN MORE, PLEASE READ THAT SO YOU DON’T END UP SPOILING YOURSELF. LINK’S AT THE TOP!)

At Norrisville High, Alya was able to meet up with Theresa as well as the owner of the school blog, Heidi Weinerman. Quickly getting some strong connections with them, Alya would do what she can to help them out. That said, it didn’t mean she would miss out on heroics as not only did Ladybug and Chat Nor come out to save the local hero, the Norrisville Ninja, from getting his head ripped off, but Shadow Moth would make himself known to the town. With these threats all around them, Alya would end up helping Marinette hide and warn her about incoming threats. Aside from that, she would hang out with Nino and even give him a save from some bullies as Rena Rouge.

This stay would not come without strife either, however, and her first real test would come in the form of having to save an Akumatized Theresa after Marinette basically tore the poor twirler a new one for a romance scheme gone awry. Upon finding out what Marinette had told Theresa as well as how badly it affected Theresa, Alya had to confront Marinette on this and basically tell her off for doing these things. Thankfully, Theresa was saved and through some more chewing out, Alya was able to help Marinette and Theresa reconcile these issues. That said, through Shadow Moth, Theresa ended up gaining the knowledge of Alya’s identity as Rena Rouge.

Her second test would come in the form of King Arthurpod. With Ladybug and Chat Noir having a hard time with the evolved insects created from this Akuma, she would end up teaming up with the Ninja in order to come up with a sneaky Mirage that would cause infighting amongst the humanoid insects and secure another victory for the heroes. For the most part, Alya had proven herself to be a great heroine and success was all there.

Unfortunately, there was a problem and that problem was named Heidi. Ever since Alya and her friends got here, Heidi had been pressing Alya for a way to get an interview with Adrien. While Alya didn’t want to say no, she couldn’t think of a way to make it happen. Unfortunately, as this gets pushed back more and more, Heidi would end up going behind Alya’s back to interview Marinette instead. This led to a chain of events that would mess up a lot.

Alya woke up to see a video from Heidi talking about Marinette’s crush. While initially skimming it, Alya discovered that this video was recorded by Heidi without any consent from Marinette and with how it was edited, she recognized it as a smear campaign of her friend. Needless to say, Alya was FURIOUS and dragged all of her friends to verbally eviscerate Heidi for what she had done to her friend. Unfortunately, it only got worse as Heidi became Newsflash and through extracting the memories of Theresa, she would end up exposing Alya as Rena Rouge to the whole school. This initially shook Alya up, but she ultimately decided to face Newsflash anyways and ultimately defeat her with one last Mirage. In the fallout, despite Heidi showing regret, Alya could not bring herself to forgive Heidi for what she done and ultimately refused to make amends. She had also resigned from her position as the holder of the Fox Miraculous and with how Marinette’s confession with Adrien panned out, it was clear that a lot of changes were ahead of her. Ahead of everyone, really. Even so, she’ll do what she can to make sure things would be okay.

#miraculous ninja #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #mlb #alya #mlb alya #alya cesaire #randy cunningham #randy cunningham 9th grade ninja #RC9GN #crossover #rena rouge #mn bio

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