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devilmademewriteit · 1 year

Text

Ultraviolence

pairing: raider!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

summary: thank god—a handsome stranger saves you from the grips of a pack of cruel, cruel men. unfortunately, said stranger, joel miller, is cut from the exact same cloth as the rest of them.

warnings: oh. boy. rough sex/smut (fem penetration, fingering, cum play if you squint) so 18+ only content; fem!afab!reader; raider!joel; canon typical violence; mentions of hair pulling/reader having long hair; light dacryphilia; age gap; pet names (baby, darlin’, sweetheart, girl); slapping, spanking, choking; !!!NONCON!!! (sexual violence/assault, coercion, allusions to more sexual abuse—Dead Dove, Do Not Eat y’all, protect yourselves).

word count: 4k+

no use of y/n in this fic

alright y’all!!! here is the non-con raider!joel fic!! stay tuned for the version coming out soon wherein Joel actually rescues the reader LOL join the taglist to be notified when I post it!!! y’all’s requests will quite legit be the death of me BUT this was fun to write so im not mad. this version is just purely depraved & Joel ‘Big Dick’ Miller is a mean mean man. wrote it pretty fast too so b nice 2 me.

love u all, sorry for searing your eyeballs:)

-em<3

—

The stucco prickles and tears at the flushed skin of your cheek, a reminder that it’ll be winter soon. The birds are sure of it, and most of them managed to get away before the frost stood a chance of nipping them.

You didn’t.

After a few years of non-stop struggle, losing everything but your own life, you figured there were worse ways to go. At least you would be… well—you, in the end.

In whatever shape this man and his leering group of accomplices left you in.

“Against the wall,” and his voice had been the crack of a whip, snapping by your ear as electricity shot up and down your spine, as the tingling realization that the chase was over—the jig, up—settled into your bones. “Spread your fuckin’ legs.”

There were more hounds around… waiting.

Always waiting.

They’d already gotten to your old, tattered clothes. The brisk air bites at your exposed skin, but at least the cold would account for the violent shivers wracking your limbs. Even as the beast pins you to the side of the decrepit house, forces himself between your knees, your primary preoccupation is to stifle your fear.

They’d get everything else on display—but they would never get to see that.

When the screaming starts, those confused grunts, huffs, and squelches of a blade carving into flesh, you mostly commend your own imagination:

“I did it. I’m in my happy place. This will be quick, then.”

But then a rough, unfamiliar hand grabs hold of your naked waist, flipping you around, slamming your spine against the frosty stucco.

This is real.

And you bear witness to his carnage.

He painted the side of the house into a mosaic of inter-mingling blood, splattered like a Pollock against the grass, the wrinkled clothes and the rugged face of your salvation.

His eyes rake over your still-trembling body before he wrenches a red-coated knife—never breaking eye-contact—from the throat of the man you’d been at the mercy of just a few seconds ago.

Blood gushes up from the fatal wound, and you both watch the cruel scene, mesmerized. The attacker’s eyes dull, all evil dissipating from that once-ferocious gaze. The rescuer’s big, wide hands flip him over, stripping him of his stained beige jacket. Then, he carelessly kicks the lifeless form face-down onto the yellowing grass.

“Put it on.”

You uncross your arms, snatching the coat from the stranger’s extended hands. It doesn’t bother you, its belonging to him.

He’s dead; you get his coat.

A fair exchange.

He keeps an eye on you as he sorts through the pickings: a few strips of dried meat here, a loaded gun there (two bullets in the clip—you watch as he checks), and a few good blades, stashed inside pockets, bags, and down shirt-fronts.

The man straightens up.

Tall.

“Get in front of me,” his low baritone strikes you, causing your knees to concede to a slight wobble. “You run, you die. Got it?”

Texan.

Slowly, you nod, and a firm grip circles your wrist, tearing you from the wall.

“Walk.”

Your heart hammers—near deafening in your ears—as the stranger stalks behind you, directing your trembling movements with brusque, snapped commands.

Finally, the scattered orangey-red leaves begin to multiply, the domestic remnants of a past civilization thinning. The neighborhood opens into a field; large oaks and slouching willows shiver under the weak glare of the afternoon sun.

There’s a house up there. It seems to be in alright shape (some things are built tougher than others) and it’s certainly a step up from a few of the more… unsavory places the outbreak had led you to.

Nearing it, you take not of how much it resembles a barn-house. Red, pentagonal roof, and a big, wide, brown front door.

Gingerly stepping a foot on the cracked wood of the porch, you turn to face your rescuer, uncertainty tying slippery knots in your tummy.

Because there’s clamour coming from inside. There’s people in there.

The momentary hesitation allows you to get a good look at your rescuer: he’s greying and dark—mixed, likely, or just disposed to a stubborn tan—and probably in his mid forties. Probably handsome, too, if it weren’t for the resident cruel scowl deepening his apathetic expression, or the violence dancing in his eyes.

A raise of his eyebrows.

“I tell you to stop?” He nods towards the looming house. “Move.”

But… you don’t.

“Are you gonna kill me?” and you’re downright shocked by the strength—the resignation—of your tone, the way the question comes out so matter-of-fact.

That sparse mustache crinkles in the corners, teasing into something wicked. “You want me to?”

“No.”

“So get movin’, then.”

That left little room for debate.

So, you turn, fingers and knees shaking with anxious anticipation. He cuts in front of you at the last minute, shoving the front door open with his knife at his side—for you or for something else, you’re not entirely certain.

He pulls you into the foyer by your forearm; to your great dismay, you’re faced with an entire group of middle-aged men. Killers—for sure—leering at you with that same starved, animalistic look your rescuer had fixed you with.

Then, he tosses the bag on the floor.

“Found ‘em by the school. Decent haul.”

Their eyes tilt to your shuddering frame, dwarfed by the jacket weighing down your shoulders. One of them looks strangely familiar, proud features reminding you of something else you were afraid of. “No shit, huh,” he commends, “Nice work, Joel.”

Joel.

As the shaggy-haired man speaks, his voice strikes familial resemblance, and it dawns on you. Your rescuer’s brother, or at the very least a cousin.

And what he says is a clearly marked taunt. That much is clear. Uttered with the kind of cruel camaraderie which collected on the tongues of men who committed acts of violence together.

Who hunted together.

And it’s obvious you’re not being rescued. Just… reclaimed. Redistributed.

Fuck.

Another voice joins the mix. “How much you think y’could get for her?”

Joel’s profile turns, harsh, brutal lines forming as he assesses you. “Depends,” and then—ohmothermary—he smirks.

“Gonna have to test her out first.”

A few snickers.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

You’re trapped with nowhere to go, once again surrounded by a gaggle of soulless monsters. Fear grips you, but thankfully, it’s muted, now, having been mostly expended during the harrowing events of the morning.

Just an hour ago, pressed to the side of an abandoned house, you’d allowed yourself to give up.

So, it feels easy—natural—settling back into that rhythm.

To submit to your inevitable, violent fate.

Joel’s voice cuts through the clamour of your racing thoughts. “Upstairs, the room with the open door. Go.”

Eyes glued to the floor, you put one foot in front of the other, your insides twisting and turning inside your core. Fuck, you can feel the pairs of eyes following you with every step you take. The stairs creak as your weight presses into them, squealing like wounded prey.

“N’ take that fuckin’ jacket off,” Joel calls after you, the echoes of his booming voice and the group’s degrading laughter chasing you all the way up into the room—the one with the open door.

And it’s nice, surprisingly. Dusty, admittedly, and clearly having belonged to someone else—a long, long time ago—but the bed is made, the window lets the light in, and the walls remind you of cinnamon.

No, this wouldn’t be the worst prison. Or the worst place to die. It’s a sure-fire step up from the gutter between two dilapidated houses.

You keep the jacket on, shivering under its weight. Even as you hear footsteps climbing the stairs, even as the more rational, civilized side of your mind urges you to accede to your (non)rescuer’s every command.

The conversation downstairs dies off just as Joel rounds the corner, appearing in the doorway—a giant. Though your stomach lurches, and though your legs feel like putty, you hold your ground.

“I’ll fight, you know,” you hiss, watching him seal off the entrance to the room behind him. His flannel has droplets of blood on the collar—reminders of your previous captor—would your other attacker have been a better option? Who’d be more merciful to your quivering body?

You charge your voice with every last modicum of strength at your disposal. “I’ll fight.”

He turns, smirking softly at your clenched fists. “S’good, sweetheart. I like a little fight.” He stalks towards you, swiping his thumb along the plushness of his bottom lip, his intimidating presence forcing your back to meet the flat hardness of the wall behind you.

So much for fighting.

There’s nothing living in his eyes as he says it—nothing save the roiling flames of hunger: “You see those guys downstairs?”

You glare up at him, trying not to notice the alluring hook of his nose, or the way your body works against you, responding to the earthy smell of him.

Then, you nod, wordlessly.

“Did you count ‘em?” He splays a hand beside your head, using one hand to pry your arms uncrossed.

Again, you nod. “How many?” He asks, his voice deceptively soft.

“Five.” Breathless.

“S’right, sweetheart. Ever had your lil’ holes stuffed by five guys at once?”

A swallow, and your voice cracks when you’re finally able to put it to use. “No.”

He pries your elbows to your sides, pulling the beige fabric open, revealing the torn remains of your underwear.

It’s almost a croon, feigned concern underpinning his low tone. “You wanna see what it’s like?” He drinks in the sight of your bare chest, almost groaning at the sight of your naked front.

It’s not cold anymore; no, suddenly you’re very hot.

“No, please, no.”

He slips the coat off of your shoulders, letting it fall in a heap to the ground. He assesses you once more: studying every square inch of your skin under his shadowed eyes.

“M’only gonna say this once, sweetheart.” All that fake-gentleness fades from his tone, replaced by the sadistic, authoritative timbre he’d first greeted you with. “I need you to be very careful.”

You’re frozen—all that fight, it drains out of you, captivated by the raider’s looming form, his mesmerizing speech.

“You’re alone, yeah?” A nod, which he acknowledges, trailing a hand up the length of your waist. “S’what I thought. N’ the way I found you today? That’s a best-case-scenario for a girl like you, out here on your own.”

He drags a finger up the centre of your breast, skilled fingertips just barely brushing the peaked nipple. You lean into his touch—the near imperceptible arch of your back doesn’t go unnoticed, and you kick yourself internally as the corners of his lips twitch up.

Still, the raider ignores your trembling.

“You’re mine, now,” he continues, egged on by your involuntary movement. “Means you’re gonna be a good girl n’ do as I say, n’ I’ll make sure I’m the only man who touches you.” His big hand drops to his heavy silver buckle, and the clearly defined, bulging lines underneath it have your heart clawing out of your chest. Joel senses your fear—and it only makes him harder. “I don’t like sharin’ what’s mine, y’know? But you try anything—you step outta line—I’ll throw you to my guys downstairs.”

His hand finds your throat, hunger and warning beating to the same rhythm in his gaze. “I have no problem watching.” He gives your larynx a squeeze, multitasking as he pulls the strap of his belt through the worn loops of his denim. “Understood?”

You have no words left, shaking from head to toe as the reality of the situation finally settles in.

As he works the intimidating weight of his cock out of his jeans.

A huff. Joel flips you over, impatient, pressing your scraped up cheek to the cinnamon-brown of the wall.

Déjà vù.

Your knees are separated by his own, and his weight flattens you. He wastes no time: lining himself up, his tip separates your folds. Resistance is futile—with one hand, he holds your thighs open—even as they try to press themselves closed, even as you whimper at the rough, male knuckles pressed to bruise on the insides of your legs.

Leaving his mark.

It’s not an option to simply take it. Joel forces you to participate in the sinful act: “I asked you a fuckin’ question,” he growls, gripping your chin indelicately. “You understand me, girl?”

A swallow and a flinch as you feel the head of his cock poke at your entrance. “Yes. Okay. Yes.”

“Yes, Joel,” he corrects. “Use my name. You’re mine now. Use my fuckin’ name.”

Tears prick the corners of your eyes at the promised savagery in his tone. Holding back a sob, you respond: “Yes, Joel.”

You watch his hand, large and capable, splaying out a mere inch away from the tip of your nose. “Good,” he commends. “Z’are the only fuckin’ words you know, from now on.”

His free hand slaps against your hip, yanking you down onto his hard length. Your hips buck up against his abdomen, responding to the pull of his fingertips, even as you cry out at the sting, the stretch. The raider tries to force himself between your walls—muttering a grunted “shit”—and thrusting up against your ass.

But you’re too tight, too tense, and your stubborn body refuses to open up for him. Finally listening to you.

“Relax,” he orders, surprisingly softly. He moves his hand from your hip to the apex of your thighs, rubbing rough circles against your clit. Fuck, how’d he find it so fast? You gasp at the feel of his fingertips against your most sensitive, touch-starved spot, hating yourself for the way his pressure makes you feel.

Because…

Because—fuck.

It feels… good. The man knows exactly what he’s doing—methodical in his ministrations, prepping you only enough to ensure his own eventual pleasure. “S’too tight, baby,” he breathes against your neck, “Need to loosen up for me, yeah?”

He’s not gentle. No part of it is gentle. Nonetheless, pleasure ripples through your centre and down your thighs as he effectively turns you on.

“Thaaaaaa’s right,” and his voice is mocking and taunting and degrading as he drags his digits away, grabbing and pulling at your breasts, instead. Feeling the involuntary release of your cunt, Joel finally pushes himself in, sheathing the long, thick length of his cock inside you.

“Need to show this pussy what it’s fuckin’ made for.”

A current of pain flutters up your cunt just as he fills it up to the brim. You can’t help it—your stoicism crumbles to dust—and a soft, scared, pained whimper tumbles from your lips.

And he groans at it, thrusting roughly, over and over again. And again. “Hurts, does it?”

His breath is hot against your ear, and despite the fear, the ancient instincts gripping your bones, telling you to run, run, run, fight, fight, fight—it’s… enticing.

Hot.

“It hurts.”

He laughs, low and dark, bringing his hands to circle your hips, steadying you as you stumble on your tip-toes.

“Cry about it.”

And he keeps on going, tearing you open. The way his girth touches every starved part of your insides leaves you wanting, even despite the sting of his fingernails biting into your hips, the tears and cuts stinging at your opening.

You hate yourself for it.

But you clench around him, stifling a pathetic moan.

God, no—I am not enjoying this.

He breathes another laugh. “Feelin’ full, baby? Tell me how good it feels, c’mon,” and your inhalations come in heaves as he pounds into you, delivering a harsh slap to the side of your hip, hard enough for your skin to ripple from the contact. “Do as I say.”

When you refuse to sate him, swallowing all of your little noises, Joel grips your throat, bringing your head slamming against his shoulder. Your back arches into a perfect crescent, spine contorting at his will. A gasped cry fans out against his salt-and-pepper jaw.

A sob—of fear, of frustration, of reluctant pleasure. “You’re evil.”

The grip on your throat tightens, and he looses another laugh, squeezing your skin, muscles, and tendons oh-so-tight.

You’d be wrecked, bruised—branded—come sunrise.

“Yeah?” He groans, cock slamming up into your very guts.

“M-mhmm—” and the saltwater tears start pouring, trailing glistening slopes down your cheeks in long, long lines. Distantly, you hear his answer—“Yeah, well, you’re wet”—as those silver droplets keep on falling. Where they come from, you aren’t certain; of course, the terror, the physical torture, and the frustration at your entrapment contribute to the mess under your eyes.

But that warmth… the unbridled desire radiating between your thighs… that wasn’t helping, either.

“Fuuuuck,” he groans, muttering another “S’it—s’right,” and releasing your throat to tilt your head up to face him. He drinks in his creation, the ruined sight of your tear-stricken face, and his cock swells between your beaten walls. “God, you look so fuckin’ pretty takin’ it from me—cryin’ like your lil’ pussy ain’t desperate for this.”

Joel smiles when you sob.

It goes on for a while. He doesn’t tire quickly, bringing you right up to the edge of reluctant ecstasy before you remind yourself of the hatred you owed the man fucking into you. You get used to the sound of his hips snapping against your skin, your cries mingling with his gravelly, low grunts. It’s a dirty, depraved symphony—orchestrated by the monster between your thighs.

You can’t help the moan that escapes your lips when he finally, finally brings his fingers back down between your legs. He grunts in approval, barely grazing the length of your folds, pressing his thumb into the delicate flesh of your thigh, instead. “Dirty lil’ girl—fuckin’ dyin’ to be an old man’s whore, z’that it?” and he doesn’t even touch you, focussed on his own pleasure, but the proximity alone is enough to have you wrecked.

And you just can’t help it: “J-joel—”

“Y’know,” he chuckles, slightly out of breath, slowing his strokes to address your wanton whine, “You’re gonna make such a good lil’ fuck-toy, baby, f’you keep makin’ those pretty lil’ noises for me.”

The reality of the situation comes barrelling down on you as he acknowledges—praises—your enjoyment of his torture.

This man… this man was cruel. He was hurting you, and enjoying it.

You struggle against him, a pathetic show of weakness. Joel holds you in place effortlessly, arching your back further, keeping your hips preened back to receive the harsh thrusts he delivers to your torn, ruined cunt. “Where you goin’?” He laughs at your pathetic attempt at resistance, grips tightening. “Thought we were havin’ fun, baby—don’t it feel good?”

And he quickens again, slamming into every needy spot inside you. His breaths grow shallow, as rough as his hands and the ferocity of this punishment.

“No,” you manage, fingernails digging into his forearm.

He tuts, the vocal click constricted with lust, and his hand travels the length of you, settling against that aching bud between your thighs. “Fuckin’ liar.”

He presses down, proving his point. Your entire body tenses as pleasure ripples through you—despite your best efforts, climax crests through your core, threatening to implode within you. Joel hums, smirking when he feels your legs parting even wider.

“S’mine now, alright? You’re mine now.” He crams every inch of his cock up inside you, pulling you flush against his chest. “S’okay to come for me—s’okay, baby, I want you to—s’fuckin’ right, let go for me, baby—” and his crooning takes you over the edge.

Christ, it feels so good.

You clench around him, high-pitched pleas and moans tumbling from your lips, his own pair dragging down the swoop of your ear. In that split second, Joel—the devil at your back—is your favourite thing in the world: your hero, your haven, your God. Fuck, you could just kiss him, marry him, fuck him over and over and over and over—

A hand clamps over your mouth during those brief, blissful moments; the man practically bounces you up and down the length of him, muffling the cries of pain and pleasure tearing from your sore throat against the rough skin of his palm. He groans inside your ear—a stammered, sinful “fuuuck”—and then he’s spilling his seed inside you, shoving it impossibly deep as those quick, harsh strokes stutter and slow.

You come to, waking up from your pleasure-drunk daze. Before you get the opportunity to wriggle away from him, the monster flips you over again, slamming your shoulders to the wall. With his forearm barring your chest, and despite your fear and ire—somehow, all you can think about is the fact that he’s not as out of breath as he really should be (given his age and, of course, what he’d just done to you).

Joel leaks out of you. His cum paints masterpieces down your legs.

He slides his free hand down the length of his cock, collecting the last bits of slick clinging to him and not dripping out of you. The intermingling juices are brought to the roundness of your breasts—the raider slathers your sore peaks with his own spend.

“Nobody’s gonna fuck with you—but that means you’re Joel’s girl. Hear me?” With your head bowed, you glare up at him through silver-lined spider lashes, shame beating at your cheeks. When you hum your acknowledging “uh-huh,” the stranger continues on, gripping your jaw to angle your gaze up: “Means you listen—you-you don’t fuckin’ try me—n’ you take everything I give you, every fuckin’ time. Understand?” He tucks his softening length back in his pants, dark eyes dancing with satisfaction as he leers at your destroyed form.

When you don’t respond, he brings the back of his punishing hand colliding with the side of your face.

Something between a squeal and a gasp tumbles from your lips; Joel catches it, placing the pad of his thumb to your bottom lip, pressing down. Your cheek stings from his harsh slap, delivered on top of the scrapes and wounds a different cruel man had left upon your skin.

“I don’t wanna hurt you, baby, but I will f’I have to,” and he’s earnest, commanding and pleading at once. “You gotta answer me.”

Slowly, you croak out a timid, “Yes,” and an “I understand,” followed by a final “Joel.”

Nodding, he straightens, the violence in his gaze fading just minutely. When he lets go, you stagger—the raider senses the instability of your knees, reflexively snaking a steadying arm around your waist.

You’re not sure where the impulse comes from. Perhaps it’s exhaustion, the aftermath of your orgasm, or maybe it’s just a sick, twisted desire to sink into something beyond your body—either way, you respond to Joel’s support by throwing your arms around his neck.

And he responds by lifting you, walking you over to the bed, and tossing you down on the sheets. Awakening into reality, you scamper back, grabbing and yanking at the surrounding bedding in a desperate attempt to cover yourself.

But Joel pays you no mind.

Having had his way, he’s through with you—for now. Nonchalantly, apathetically, he runs a hand through his hair, tracing heavy steps towards the door.

“Lock the door when I leave,” he instructs, but his tone is soft… possessive and commanding, yes, but… caring. “Don’t open it for anyone but me.”

He waits for your show of understanding, your near imperceptible nod.

Then, he sighs, yanking on the handle and giving you his final address over a pair of creaky, squeaky, rusted hinges. “Try to sleep, sweetheart—got a long night ahead of you.” Chuckling to himself, he leaves the sanctuary of the room.

All you can hear as your body grows heavy and warm, travelling somewhere far, far beyond this violent world are the echoes of male laughter down the hall, and a familiar, satisfied, gravelly voice:

“Not worth much, now. Might just fuckin’ keep her.”

And you slip away, dreaming of belt buckles, blood-stained collars, and the lung-squeezing heat of the setting Texan sun.

—

He used to call me DN

That stood for deadly nightshade

'Cause I was filled with poison

But blessed with beauty and rage

Jim told me that

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

Jim brought me back

Reminding me of when we were kids

With his ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

I can hear sirens, sirens

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

I can hear violins, violins

Give me all of that ultraviolence

He used to call me poison

Like I was poison ivy

I could've died right then

'Cause he was right beside me

Jim raised me up

He hurt me but it felt like true love

Jim taught me that

Loving him was never enough

With his ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

I can hear sirens, sirens

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

I can hear violins, violins

Give me all of that ultraviolence

We can go back to New York

Loving you was really hard

We could go back to Woodstock

Where they don't know who we are

Heaven is on earth

I would do anything for you, babe

Blessed is this union

Crying tears of gold, like lemonade

I love you the first time

I love you the last time

Yo soy la princesa, comprende mis white lines

'Cause I'm your jazz singer

And you're my cult leader

I love you forever

With his ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

I can hear sirens, sirens

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

I can hear violins, violins

Give me all of that ultraviolence

—

TAGLIST: @millllenniawrites @inkedells @stardust-chords-enthusiast @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @bookofbee @liviloo12346 @anyas-stuff @readingsunshine97 @maudlinflowers @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @chapterhappygirl @raeluvshammett @silkiers @jupitersmoon-cal @supernaturaldean67 @razrsharpwhiteteeth @peqchsoup @corrodedcherries @hawsx3 @monboudoir @theonewithacrush @pono-pura-vida @sallymilkweed @fruitcupsworld @mads-grace4 @ayehomo @dzaga890 @killerrxger @niallsbunny @cilliansangel @snowyarcher @grnherbs @mswarriorbabe80 @tercabed @sweettea-and-honeybutter @bbyanarchist @thisgirl-knm @pedrit0-pascalit0

TAGS WILL CONTINUE IN A REBLOG (there are simply too many of you & I don’t want this post to crash <3)

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #raider!joel miller #raider!joel #tlou #the last of us #joel miller the last of us #Joel miller fanfiction #Pedro pascal #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #tlou fanfiction #joel the last of us #joel miller tlou

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nereidprinc3ss · 4 months

Note

omg i'm obsessed with the idea of spencer and a university student and i looooved the one you wrote with reader struggling with finals (i relate so much </3) i'm not sure if you write requests or not (if not, then i'm sorry and please ignore this hahaha) but i would love to see more of their dynamic? maybe spencer for once arrives earlier from a case and goes to pick up reader from university as a surprise? i don't really know but i would love to see more 💗 thank you and i hope you have a good day!

AHHHH omg you have NO IDEA how excited I was to open my inbox and see a request!! i am absolutely obsessed w spencer x uni student too

i kind of took this and ran w it so its a little angsty and random LOLOL but here is (drumroll)

spencer picking up reader after you fail an exam (sorry lol) and you are NOT in a good mood but he loves you so its fine

Tears, partly from the bitter wind and partly from shame, blur your phone screen as you exit the lecture hall. Another missed call from Spencer. It’s the third one today—you've been ignoring them in an attempt to remain focused on the final that you just bombed. Part of you now wants to keep ignoring them out of sheer embarrassment. How can you admit to your super-genius boyfriend that you are a bona fide academic failure? Still, you don’t want him wondering about you while he should be working. Your numb fingers fumble with the phone as you try to call him back without running into anybody on your walk back to student housing.

It doesn’t reach the second ring before he’s picking up.

“Hey,” he sighs. “I was starting to worry.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve been busy,” you exhale, cutting through some trees as you approach your building. “What’s up? How’s the case?”

“Well... that’s actually what I’ve been calling about. We wrapped up this morning.”

“What? But last night you said it would be at least three more days.”

“Rare instance of me being wrong, I guess.”

“So when are you flying back?” you ask, not wanting to get your hopes up. You know sometimes his team stays behind to help with processing a case. He doesn’t reply for a moment. “Spencer?”

“I’m... thirteen minutes away from your school. Twelve.”

Your brain short-circuits as you process his words, the cold metal of the door handle biting into your fingers as you stop dead in your tracks.

“You--are you driving here right now?”

“Yes,” he begins, sounding embarrassed, “I kept calling because I wanted to ask first, but I know you had your last final this morning and you were going to come over when I got back anyway so I thought you might want to come stay with me for a few extra days. You can say no, obviously—”

Some of the icy despair melts in your chest.

“Of course, I want to.”

“Good,” he exhales a laugh. “It would have been awkward if you said no. Can you have a bag packed by the time I get there?”

You’re speedwalking through the lobby now, hitting the up button for the elevator more times than is necessarily effective.

“Drive faster.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

By the time you blindly shove enough clothing in a bag, text your roommate to let her know you’ll be gone for the rest of the week, and make it back outside, Spencer’s familiar vintage car is already pulling up to the curb. He doesn’t even bother cutting the engine—just puts it in park and gets out, rounding the vehicle as you close the distance between one another. His smile is brilliant, and though you don’t feel particularly deserving of it, it’s for you.

“Hi,” you breathe shakily as he loops his arms around your waist.

“Hi, pretty,” he says, already leaning down to kiss you. It’s soft and sweet over too quickly, but then he’s gently pulling you into him. You drop your bag and bury your face in his jacket, trying to right yourself before you go into an emotional tailspin.

As usual, he smells like lavender, clove, resinous amber. It makes your head spin. Right away you feel yourself relaxing; feel your guard slipping, like it always does when he’s around.

“I missed you.” The words are quiet to begin with, muffled further by the fabric of his coat, but you know he’ll hear you.

“I missed you too,” he murmurs, stroking your hair. “Everything okay?”

Why are you always surprised when a man who works for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI accurately analyzes your behavior?

“Just tired. Can we go home?” You pull back enough to look up at him, meeting his fond—and just a little concerned—gaze, averting your eyes before he has time to discern your... omission of truth.

“Yeah, angel. Of course we can.”

He opens the passenger side door for you, making sure you’re settled before tossing your bag in the back seat and circling around the back of the car.

“Is that coffee?” You say as soon as he slides into the driver’s seat. His eyes dart down to the tumbler in the center cupholder as he buckles.

“It’s from the jet. You won’t like it.”

Despite his warning you reach over to grab it, taking a small sip as he puts the car into gear and pulls out of the parking lot. You make a sour face. Spencer glances over.

“I told you it was bad.”

You yawn, putting it back in the cupholder. “It was worth a shot.”

Jazz music plays quietly from the speakers and the heat is blasting, but you’re too busy mentally rehashing question 37 to find it relaxing.

“You didn’t get enough sleep last night,” he states. Not a question. Outside, the brick buildings of your campus roll by. You wonder if all the students rushing about on the sidewalks and side streets failed any of their finals.

“Couldn’t,” you mumble flatly, picking at your nails.

There’s a moment’s pause, and you’re imagining all the things you could have done differently. You’ve never failed a final before. If you’d just studied a little bit harder—if you’d stayed in instead of going out last weekend, if you weren’t so—

“I’m going to ask you something, and I don’t think you’re going to like it,” Spencer says.

“Mhm,” you hum, too afraid to speak because your eyes are already stinging again. Honestly, you’re surprised you made it this far without him getting the truth out of you. He offers his hand across the console as you slink down in your seat, and you take it, allowing him to run his thumb over yours in soothing lines.

“How do you think your final went?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, the bare branches of the trees outside blurring as you stare unseeingly.

“Not good. Like, I definitely failed, not good. I'm an idiot.”

“You absolutely are not an idiot.”

“You didn’t see me taking the test, Spencer. I literally just sat there staring at it for ten minutes before I even answered one question. It was pathetic.”

“Did you sleep at all last night?”

The question takes you by surprise. Your frown deepens.

“What? I don’t—that’s not—"

“Just answer the question. Did you sleep at all last night?”

“Yes!”

“Don't lie to me.”

“Fuck you! I slept for like two hours and had coffee this morning!”

He squeezes your hand.

“That’s why you failed.”

The first tear traces its path down your cheek, composure overwhelmed by the confrontation.

“I hate when you use your stupid interrogation tactics on me,” you say, voice wobbling. And then the crying begins in earnest.

“I know, baby.”

His hand moves to rub your back when you let go to cover your face. Torrential evidence of your frustration and utter exhaustion well over, slipping through your fingers despite your best efforts to stop them from coming at all. Having an emotional breakdown in the passenger seat of his car is far from how you’d wanted to greet Spencer’s surprise arrival, but you’re too worn out to mask your emotions—especially when he is so adept at drawing them to the surface.

A moment passes like that before you take a shuddering breath, raising your head slightly and wiping your cheeks with your sleeves in vain.

“I should have been able to do it. I just—it was like I was reading the questions and I knew that I should know the answers, but I couldn’t remember anything.”

“You’re exhausted. Sleep deprivation has an immediate, devastating effect on cognitive functioning levels. My recall and processing speed start to fail when I’m tired, too. It has nothing to do with how smart you are.”

It makes sense—but it doesn’t make you feel much better. You wanted to ace this exam. Of course, Spencer wouldn’t understand because school was as easy as breathing for him. He barely had to try to get three doctorates. It’s possible, you suppose, that dating a genius has put an academic chip on your shoulder—maybe you’ve set impossibly high standards for yourself.

After a few minutes the crying finally ebbs, if only because you’re running into supply and demand problems with your tear ducts. You rub your weepy eyes on your shoulder, leaning against the cold window and watching DC go by.

“You know, the final isn’t as important as you think it is. You’ll still pass the class.”

“It’s symbolic,” you mumble, breath fogging up the glass. Spencer hums, still rubbing your back.

“I know. I know it matters to you, but I don’t want you to think one bad grade is a reflection of who you are. Do you understand why it doesn’t make sense to measure something as abstract as intelligence by a metric as one dimensional as a standardized test?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

You shift in your seat, wiping your face with your sleeve and prompting Spencer to take your other hand once more.

“Can your FBI friend hack the university database and give me an A?” you ask after a moment, sniffling.

“Absolutely not.”

“Pretty please?”

“Nope.”

“It’s like you don’t even love me,” you mutter, angling yourself away from him.

He pulls your hand toward him and presses a kiss to the back of it.

“I love you so much that I don’t want you to get expelled for academic dishonesty.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway. I’ll probably just drop out.”

You both know you’re just being overdramatic, but Spencer has a tendency to be sweet even when you don’t deserve it.

“I’ll love you no matter what you do.”

You blush, unable to come up with a sufficient reply. His eyes slide to you briefly and he smirks, clearly enjoying his ability to fluster you, and by extension, get you to shut up.

“Eyes on the road, genius,” you grumble. But for the first time today you’re fighting a smile instead of tears.

#spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #criminal minds

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jaehyunsprincesspeach · 8 months

Text

Bang Chan as a Boyfriend

omg I could have gone on and on with this

hoping I didnt get too carried away lol

hope yall enjoy !!

all the love ~ lunar

This man is not boyfriend material, hes husband material

Omg where do I even start?

Daily good morning and goodnight messages. ESPECIALLY when hes on tour

When he's away, video calls are mandatory

He needs to see your beautiful smile, and hear you laugh, its the most amazing sound to him

When he is home, expect a lot of studio dates

He works as hard as he does for three reasons

1. Because he loves it, 2. For STAY, and 3. So that he can take care of you and provide you with anything you could possibly want or need

Takes you out on all sorts of dates

Could range from a night in with movies, to an extravagant dinner with a new dress that he surprised you with, to an amusement park

Always down to do anything, as long as he is with you

If the two of you have different interests, he is always willing to try out something that you enjoy, even if it takes him out of his comfort zone

And if he ends up enjoying it too, he will want to do it more often

All he wants is to be with you

When he is away on tour, he has a really hard time not constantly messaging you

Whether he is in a meeting, or filming an interview, even if you are asleep with the time difference, he wants to message you as much as possible

Will send you paragraphs on how much he loves you, and things that you do that make him happy, just because

If you are feeling down, or in general off, he knows immediately

I swear he's telepathic, but I guess that comes with raising 7 kids (lol)

If you two are around people when he notices, he won't make a scene, but he will pull you aside and ask what's wrong and how he can help

Is honestly willing to go to the ends of the earth for you

If you need food, he's got your favorite on speed dial.

Something to drink? On it (honestly might have a cooler packed already for the kids, and slips your favorites in too).

Cold? His jacket is immediately around your shoulders, no questions asked

He's always got your back, no matter what

People don't dare mess with you, because they know that they will be dealing with Chan if they do

The type to wipe your tears away when you cry, and place his forehead against yours, telling you everything will be alright

If he sees you crying, he is perfect with his balance of comforting you, and acts of service so that you don't have to worry about anything

Acts of service and physical touch are for sure his love languages

Though if that is not exactly your vibe, he will absolutely respect that, and will do whatever he needs to to show you he loves you without overstepping

Omg i could go on and on about this man!!

Definitely the kind that you take home to your parents, and they immediately love him too

Overall, I refuse to call him boyfriend material

He's straight husband material

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starlostastronaut · 5 months

Text

DAY 05 | MORE THAN THIS NOW

PAIRING: bang chan x reader

GENRE: fluff

WC: 1.17k

CW: nothing i think

PROMPT: accidentally saying they think the other one is pretty

i am terribly sorry for the delay, but tuesdays are the worst in terms of free time (but its almost 10:30pm here so i didnt technically fail lol). but we should be back to your regularly scheduled program for day6 ;)

my personal hc is chris being a confident flirt until it comes to his own crush. like he's a mess. so anyway, don't think too much about the storyline here, there really isn't one lol. i just wrote what came to mind to get it out for you. i hope you enjoy haha <3

title from crushcrushcrush - paramore

general masterlist here

<< previous | mctc masterlist | next >>

Your eyes skimmed over the closet and ended up on the pile of clothes on Chan's bed. You had stayed at the dorm so often that the boys decided to keep some of your clothes there for emergencies such as this. It was your annual movie night, where you met up with the boys and their girlfriends (if they had them). The night went on as usual without a hitch, until it didn't. But to be fair, someone should have predicted Jeongin tripping over somebody's legs and spilling his drink all over you. They were apparently used to accidents like these because Chan immediately went to pick out a new shirt for you while Felix's girlfriend helped you clean yourself up. Chan came by the kitchen, telling you he left some clothes in his room so you could change in private.

Yet there you were, completely ignoring the carefully picked-out shirt in favour of Bang Chan’s closet. Looking at the black shirts, you felt as if they were calling you. What harm would it do to wear one of Chan's shirts, right? You have worn his jacket hundreds of times when you were cold. But this was something different. Wearing his shirt unprompted indicated that you were his. You ignored the excited fluttering of your heart as you picked out a shirt you knew Chan would recognize. So maybe you had a tiny crush on the singer. Damn you for indulging a bit, right? This was harmless fun, and if you were to be completely honest, you looked forward to seeing Chan's reaction.

When you came back to the living room, a few people turned around to stare at you. Changbin and Minho shared a knowing look before they went back to organizing the snacks. You didn’t miss the smirks on both of their faces. The rest too looked away again one by one, focusing on whatever activity they were doing. Well, everyone except Bang Chan. You felt his eyes follow you as you walked across the room to sit next to Jisung, who began filling you in on what movie they picked out while you were changing.

Chan was at a loss for words. He couldn't take his eyes off of you in his shirt. Of course, he recognized it. How could he not? Firstly, it wasn't the one he laid out for you, and secondly, you yourself bought him that shirt not so long ago. There was suddenly something different about you, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He couldn't help but wonder what even caused you to wear his shirt. Did you not like what he picked out for you? Did you lose some bet and the whole accident was scripted? Or did you just decide to be a tease for no reason?

The movie night resumed in the meantime, and when Chan finally tore his gaze away from you, he noticed the film was already playing. He tried his best to catch up on the plot and characters, but his efforts were severely undermined by the fact that he kept glancing in your direction. He usually managed fairly well in your presence, having mastered the sneaky looks and “No, I definitely don't have a crush, why would you say that?" But today was different somehow. And then it hit him. He liked seeing you in his clothes, acting so casual about it. It sparked a certain sense of possessiveness in him. To an outsider, it would look like you’re his partner.

Realizing staring was rude, Chan turned his attention back to the TV. It didn't stay that way for long, though, because every time he tried to focus on the movie, his eyes always found their way back to you. Your laugh, the way your eyes sparkled, and the slight blush that appeared on your cheeks after Jisung whispered something to you. It all captured his attention like never before.

“Chan? Are you okay?”

Your voice seemed to bring him back out of his trance, because he blinked a few times to snap out of his dazed state. “You're gorgeous,” he blurted out, catching his mouth in the following seconds. “I… I mean…” he stuttered, hiding his face in his hands, silently admitting defeat. He missed the way your cheeks went red and a smile appeared on your face. “Sorry.” Chan quickly stood up and ran out of the room, the embarrassment too high to manage.

You were left there, hopelessly looking in the direction in which Chan disappeared. “Go after him,” Felix and his girlfriend said in unison. They stood up, each taking one of your hands and pulling you up. “Go,” Felix urged you and pushed you in the direction of Chan's room.

“Alright, I'm going. I'm going.” You held your hands up in mock surrender, but you did go after Chan.

Without knocking, you entered and found Chan sitting on his bed. “What's wrong? Why did you run away?” you asked, sitting down next to him. He raised his head when he heard you.

“That was not how I wanted to say that,” he murmured.

“Say what?” you questioned, tilting your head to the side.

“That I think you're pretty? I don't know. I guess I imagined something more intimate than a room full of our nosy friends.” He chuckled at the irony. This situation was pretty close to his vision of an intimate situation. Shame it happened this way, he thought.

You stayed silent, confused by his words. This wasn't like him at all. Chan was a natural flirt; he said things like that all the time. It was just a word, so why was he making a big deal out of it? Sure, it couldn't have been because he might have felt something for you. Or could it? Now that you have thought about it, it would make sense. He seemed to always find you, even in a crowded room. He stayed by your side at every social gathering, keeping you company and then making sure you got home safe. He was always there when you needed something. You chalked it up to him being a good friend, but what if there was something else behind it? You voiced your theory.

Chan's bitter laugh rang through the room. “Was I that easy to read?" He tore his eyes away from you. “Look, can we just forget this? I don't want to ruin anything.”

You pretended to carefully weigh the option, but you decided the moment he confirmed having a crush on you. “We could do that,” you nodded. “But I have a better idea. What about we discuss it somewhere else, preferably on a date?” You winked at him, which sent Chan into another round of laughter, but this time a much happier one.

“Your flirting sucks, but you're hard to resist,” he smirked, all of his previous mood gone. He was back to the playful Chan you knew. “So when you're free?”

taglist: @stayconnecteed @saintriots @vivioluh @ivaneedssleep @jazziwritesthings

©starlostastronaut 2023 | do not repost/translate my work without permission

#moony's countdown to christmas #mctc #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #bang chan #fluff

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rzyraffek · 6 months

Note

This is my first time doing an ask, but I was wondering if I could request an ftm/ftnb reader x slasher fic (any character you think would fit/any character you want to add) where the reader has trouble breathing in the winter/cold and wearing their binder just makes it worse and their whole body is sore due to going up and down stairs so much so they can't keep up with the slashers longer strides and has to run after them.

Like, if the reader and the slashers were at the zoo or somewhere outside and the reader just started to take SUPER deep breaths just to be able to breathe normally or just to get air; especially after walking up or down stairs or hills.

And at one point the reader just gets tired of having to take so many deep breaths so they just go the the bathroom and take off their and layer two jackets over their shirt since they didn't bring an extra bra.

And like about 20 minutes later, reader STILL has to take super deep breaths just to actually breathe and having to run after the slashers just to be able to walk next to them; but with how sore reader is, they can't keep up with their partner and often has to take 3-minute breaks just to be able to catch their breath.

Remember binder users! You should wear them only up to 6hours daily! Dont ruin your ribcage!! I use to wear binder so yeah, I get it.

Anyways👹ofc i will write this!

So bacially, ftm s/o struggles with breathing due to binder and weather! You didn't specified which slashers so I will just go with flow on this one!

Slashers with s/o that struggles with breathing due to binder

Micheal Myers

Don't worry dude is used to noises of people choking to death lol

But fr dude gets a bit worried? He doesn't like how sometimes s/o has to take breaks just to breathe

If you guys are in rush and s/o has to take a break dude will just "hell nah fuck this" and pick s/o up

Micheal really doesn't care about gender or sex. Your a dude? 👍. There's no need to 'prove it' or look certain way for him to belive you

Brahms Heelshire

Dude fr will set a timer on his phone so s/o won't 'overdose' binder 😭

Erm honey you are starting to hyperventilate, its time for a break dont you think?

Brahms acually did his homework and read bunch of articles about binders and now he understands way more😊👍

Darling remember to exercise before and after you wear it so it less uncomfy

Finds s/o very cute and squishes them too hard sometimes

Billy Lenz

????

The fuck?Are you suffocating or something? *judges*

What feels worse? Wearing binder a bit too tight or billy sitting on your chest while your trying to sleep?

Bro doesn't understand what is "gender dysphoria" and tired to hide s/o binder once cuz he didnt trust it

Lucky for you Billy doesn't go outside, so you don't have to worry about him getting lost walking faster than you

What are pronouns?

Jason Voorhees

Oh Jason you big baby

Jason just feels bad, cuz he knows that s/o feels less cool without the binder but baby you cant breathe😭

Of course he will wait for s/o and he won't rush them at all!

Will try to convince s/o to not wear binder so often. Jason sees you as a perfect boufriend weather you wear it or no

Genuinely worried about s/o health

Asa Emory

Ah creature, why would you think that wearing binder for whole day was a good idea?

Dude is smart, he already knew what binders are!

He is aware that trans people often struggle with dysphoria and he can't just be like "dont wear a binder lol" so he tries to calming explain that nono honey you are a man even if you don't have a flat chest i love you

If he finds out that s/o whats a top surgery, Asa went "Alr bet" and then your bank account blew up

Funfact! If s/o was openly trans before they met Asa... dude was convinced that s/o just has severe asthma 😭 he was like ??? Uh do you have your inhalator with you?? Or like is it temporary???

👽guys I ate good chicken today. With sauce

Also im not sure if its good? I kinda forgot how to write entering stuff😭😰

#slasher x reader #slasher headcanons #billy lenz #billy lenz x reader #micheal myers #brahms heelsire #brahms x reader #micheal myers x reader #asa emory x reader #the collector x reader #billy lenz x male reader #micheal myers x you #micheal myers headcanons #jason vorhees headcanon #jason vorhees x reader #jason vorhees imagine #asa emory #brahms heelshire #brahms heelshire x reader

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misc-obeyme · 8 months

Note

hello !! may i ask lost with solomon 😔💍

Hi there, anon!

Okay, so it's fluffy Solomon hours on my blog again with this one. Just in case anyone wasn't already aware, I am in love with him. I always write him in the Nightbringer timeline, too. I think it's because there's more opportunity for fluff when MC lives with him lol.

Thanks for the request!

GN!MC x Solomon with prompt Lost

Warnings: none!

It was a cold day in the Devildom, the wind thrashing against the windows, the cloudy sky threatening rain. Solomon didn't want to go out in that weather, of course, but he really saw no way around it. He needed some potion ingredients and he really couldn't delay getting them.

Well, if he was going to go out, he had better dress warmly. He made sure to wear his trench coat, long and thick enough to help with the wind, as well as a thick pair of socks. He tucked some gloves in his pocket just in case, though he might not need them. Then he rummaged around the coat closet, looking for his scarf.

Solomon pushed aside various jackets and things, looking for the scarf that normally sat on the high shelf in the closet. It wasn't there. Had he lost it?

Solomon thought about it for a minute and found he couldn't even remember when he last wore it. You had complained about its hideous pattern, so he made sure not to wear it around you too much. But it still had to be in Cocytus Hall somewhere, right?

He sighed and cast a little tracer spell. If the scarf was in the house, he would be able to locate it this way.

The spell manifested for only a brief moment before dying out. It did not lead him anywhere, indicating that his scarf was not actually in the hall anywhere.

Well, he had tried. He wondered briefly if you had tossed it because you thought it was so ugly. The thought made him chuckle. Either that or it was lost for good. It didn't matter too much. He could always buy himself a new one. Perhaps he had better let you pick it out for him, just so he didn't have to worry about accidentally choosing a pattern you didn't like.

Solomon set out into the blustery weather, the wind pushing his silver hair all over the place. He managed to get everything he needed fairly quickly. Checking the time, he realized it was about when you normally started home for Cocytus Hall. He decided to surprise you by waiting for you outside the House of Lamentation.

Solomon watched as you waved goodbye to the demon brothers on your way out the door. You pulled your own jacket closer to yourself in the chill, the wind clearly making it slightly difficult for you to walk.

As you got closer to where he stood, you saw him and smiled. Solomon smiled back, but then he noticed something. A hint of color around your neck… was that…?

"What are you doing out here?" you asked him.

He focused his gaze back on your eyes. "I happened to be out already and I thought I'd stop by to pick you up."

You shivered a little. "You came out in this weather? It's going to rain soon, I think."

Solomon cocked his head, his smile becoming teasing as he looked at you. "Is that why you stole my horrible scarf? I was looking everywhere for it."

Solomon was rewarded by the blush that rushed to your cheeks. Your fingers brushed the fabric of the scarf that was tied around your neck and tucked into your jacket. "I couldn't find mine," you said, frowning.

Solomon chuckled. "And here I thought maybe you finally threw it away when I wasn't looking. How did you describe it again? Ghastly?"

You folded your arms. "I stand by it. This thing is truly offensive. But it was the only option."

Solomon couldn't resist tugging it out of your jacket, revealing the bright clashing colors of it, a sort of argyle combined with paisley that he had to admit was rather unsightly. He used it to pull you closer to him. "It's all right, MC. You're welcome to use my scarf any time, though I think I'll do a better job of keeping you warm myself."

Solomon laughed gently as the expression on your face revealed just how silly you thought this line was. You laughed, too, and let him pull you into his arms. "You're welcome to try, magic man."

Solomon couldn't keep the grin off his face and both of you laughed into the kiss you shared before starting off toward home.

the original prompt list

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me fluff #obey me fanfiction #obey me fanfic #obey me solomon #obey me solomon x reader #obey me solomon x mc #solomon x reader #solomon x mc #anon request #misc writes

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cloveroctobers · 5 months

Text

OCTOBER PROMPTS 🎃 — 13. Tara Carpenter

A/N: The way y’all voted on that poll was a true landslide lol I guess I didn’t realize how huge the tara stans are. So here goes something for my final fall prompt, hope this doesn’t flop like scream 7 will 🤭🤫🫠 but this is a short and simple ending so I do hope you enjoy this.

PROMPTS are from HERE & HERE + I’m using: going to a pumpkin patch + “you look cold, do you want a hug?” + “you think someone died here?”

WARNINGS: slight language I think? Dark humor. Age-difference: with Tara being twenty-one and oc/reader being twenty-five/six + Chad and Tara never became a thing in this timeline!

<- read my previous october anthology prompt here.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✧˖°. ☼ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✧˖°. ☼ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✧˖°. ☼ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩ ⁺˚

Being at a pumpkin patch in mid-November when the skies were painted like pale ice in a frozen lake and the trees lost their copper leaves for good was questionable for Tara. The air no longer had its crispness to it but it started to feel more along the lines of a wild animal taking bites out of your face here in New York. However Tara couldn’t find herself complaining—well despite the fact that Sam turned this into a group outing—Tara couldn’t wait to see Johnnie.

Johnnie was Sam’s age, older than Tara, and easily became likable in Tara’s eyes although Sam often gave Johnnie a hard time even in the beginning. Of course they still had to be cautious but Tara always stood on the fact that she just wanted to live life after it’s been at risk of being taken away for good. She wouldn’t be as naive as last year but something about Johnnie had Tara’s insides turning into mush—in a good way though—not in a decaying guts kind of way.

The train ride was recommended by Johnnie to her family’s farm from the city and that became a whole debacle between the friends, until Tara waved her phone in the air saying that she already purchased a ticket while the rest could spend forever trying to figure out what they wanted to do. Mindy found this humorous how whenever Johnnie was mentioned, Tara made it her mission to be tuned into the conversation if she checked out.

Mindy was the first to pick up on the signs before Tara did and took great pride in Tara coming to her first out of the core four. Chad would argue against that saying he was actually the first since Tara did start to vent when they pulled a all nighter together. However he actually had no clue who Tara could be talking about and ended up eavesdropping when she chatted to Mindy one afternoon when he was supposed to be studying…basically pick a twin to believe at this point.

Tara couldn’t wipe the smile off her face on the train ride, fingers rapidly flying over her screen to the dimpled grin on her face when she spotted Johnnie helping out at the entrance of her family’s pumpkin patch.

“They’re with me, cousin.” Johnnie informs the family member with hair as white as snow, before grabbing up the walkie to contact someone else to head to the front and help out, now being off the clock with her friends here.

“Can we get more free perks for Christmas?” Chad asks as they briefly embrace and Johnnie rolls her eyes.

Johnnie folded her arms, “Why? So you can continue bringing your flings around and eat their tongues instead of enjoying the scenery?”

Chad frowned, “who are these flings that you speak of? I’m here enjoying the pumpkins with my favorite sister.”

As he goes to toss an arm over the curly haired girl’s shoulder, she shoves him away, “save it for the jury, Chad. I saw you eyeing that pretty girl with the shell earrings and racer jacket not too long ago.”

“I mean…she could be the one.” Chad couldn’t even bother to deny his wandering eyes.

Sam, Mindy, and Tara all share a groan while Danny snickers at Chad’s usual antics before being elbowed by Sam.

“Hey Tara,” Johnnie says, falling into step with the smaller girl; after informing everyone of the many activities the farm included.

Tara smiles up at her, “Hey Johnnie…remind me why we’re going pumpkin hunting so late into the season?”

“Well…I’m having a Friendsgiving next weekend at my spot and…that maybe partly true but I also wanted to hang out with you again before that.” Johnnie was honest with this, which made Tara slowly nod her head in appreciation.

Johnnie used to attend the same university as the three, received her degrees, started her business of creating designs on amputee’s prosthetics and moved to New Jersey two months ago to purchase her own home. So her having her shit together was definitely inspiring (and not to mention attractive) in Tara’s eyes and although she didn’t have everything figured out herself, one thing she was sure of: spending time with Johnnie felt right, scary yet comfortable and safe.

“Ohhh that’s right, I almost forgot about that.” Tara widens her eyes in realization, cursing to herself that she actually did forget about this but knew she could blame it on being swamped in school work, while Johnnie stumbles.

With a hand on her chest, she sighs playfully, “you wound me carpenter.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Tara replies with a longing stare as they approach the line in front of a few booths.

Johnnie leans towards Tara who doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath, “what’re you in the mood for?”

“…hmm?” Tara asks, quickly pulling her eyes back to the line when Johnnie tries to catch her eye.

Johnnie laughs, “the menu. Anything catch your interest?”

“Well,” Tara starts as the autumn chill washes over the attendees on the farm, making her hunch her mesh covered shoulders a bit and clasp her hands together, “what would you recommend?”

“Everything.”

Tara scoffs as Johnnie winks at her.

“Can you even see the menu up ahead?”

“I’m not blind.”

“Nah, just short.” Johnnie teases while Tara quickly tosses a middle finger at the older girl.

Johnnie laughs to herself, picking up on tara’s attire which failed to keep her warm on this breezy farm. So Johnnie takes the opportunity to stand behind Tara instead, who is now bouncing on her tippy toes to what may seem like she was attempting to see the menu but it was probably to keep her blood flowing better.

Tara’s almost ready to swing until her belly realizes the familiar rasp by her ear, “you look cold, do you want a hug?”

Before her mouth can fumble out an answer, tatted hands come into Tara’s view as Johnnie locks her arms across Tara’s shoulders. She doesn’t find herself going stiff but easily welcomes Johnnie’s touch. A small smile graces Tara’s lips as her eyes fall in love with the dainty details of ink that decorate Johnnie’s skin. The artwork tells a story of Johnnie’s big heart which some may view as a contrast to her androgynous exterior much like the striking scar through Tara’s palm. That same scar Johnnie lightly draws a fingertip over from time to time and does so right now as Tara buries her nose against the side of Johnnie’s tatted other thumb.

Tara can even smell the balance of scents on Johnnie’s warm skin, a light creamy but earthy scent that makes Tara envision curling underneath blankets and staring out at Misty mountains instead of crowded streets full of loud voices, and suspicious faces. A sense of serenity that Tara wasn’t sure she’d ever find until she met Johnnie.

“What ya smiling at?”

Tara pries her eyes open, knowing she had been caught but keeps her eyes on the line that she didn’t realize moved forward some. “Nothing. You just think you’re so smooth when you could have been said you wanted to hold my hand earlier.”

Johnnie quickly places a peck to Tara’s temple so fast that she thinks she imagines it, “I want to do more than just hold your hand,” Johnnie ends up whispering before unraveling herself from Tara, who has to fight to hold herself up right.

“S’orry.” She mutters to those behind her as Johnnie takes the lead, heading right up to the stand, falling into small chatter with the worker before introducing an awkward Tara.

Tara is wide eyed as Johnnie banters back and forth for a little before they both set eyes on Tara.

“What?” Tara raises a brow, finding that she’s zoned out again just gazing at Johnnie socialize.

“You strike me as a apple nacho’s kinda girl.” The male worker says while Johnnie pretends to think about it.

“I’d say a apple cider donut but you’re of course welcome to try whichever or anything else on the board.” Johnnie responds, “on me.”

Tara tilts her head to the side, “what’re you getting?”

“The apple nachos,” Johnnie states.

Tara nods, “then I’ll get the donut…as long as you share.”

“Sure, sure. Anything you want,” Johnnie beams before turning back to the man, “you heard the lady!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He fans Johnnie with a knowing look before shouting out to the cooks off to the side.

With a carton tray full of crisp apple pastries—nachos, a side of caramel, two forks, and a yellow bag full of mini apple cider donuts, the two continued traveling through the large field together.

“Where have these been my entire life?” Tara groans after savoring the dessert.

Johnnie laughs, “right up here on this farm, I take it you’re enjoying those nachos?”

“Enjoying? More like I’d love to marry them! Can’t you tell by the way I’m murdering these bitches?! Perfect crunch on the outside and crisp from the apple on the inside, all with a side of caramel sauce?! It’s so delicious to the point i can’t even apologize for the noises you’re hearing because it’s your fault and I hope we finish them before the rest try to get any.” Tara admits through her rant while Johnnie abruptly stops.

Tara lifts her head, ready to question what was going on but Johnnie steered them in a different direction, “then we better head the other way since they’re all up by the goats and llamas.”

“Good call,” Tara says peeking over her shoulder to see Sam all cuddled up with Danny.

Disgustingly so.

Johnnie’s family farm was nice to be at although the temperature was constantly dropping but there weren’t many people out this evening, which was fine by Tara. The further they circled around the farm the closer they got to one of the rides here. It was the Ali baba—the large swing on the boot of a bulldozer? The pair stood beside each other outside the gate, watching as a few faces disappeared higher into the now gravel colored sky from side to side.

“you think someone died here?” Tara asks around the donut she previously stuffed her freckled face with.

Johnnie glances at tara and rotates to her better ear, “huh?”

The air from the ride and the earth along with the carnival music made it a bit difficult but after tara finishes the donut she speaks a bit louder, repeating the question, “you think someone died here?”

A couple shoot Tara a nasty look as they exit from behind the fence and Johnnie smirks at them with a mocking wave, leaning against the metal gate. Tara let’s out a snort as she leans towards Johnnie.

“Where’s that coming from?” Johnnie sweeps Tara’s bangs to the side.

Tara shrugs, “apparently horror films are not just a one month thing with Mindy. We’re now on your favorite series: final destination.”

Johnnie dips her head in understanding, “Ah,” and almost feels flattered that Tara remembered, “well this farms been open for about fifteen years and that ride’s only been around for the past five maybe? As far I know…no deaths. Why? You wanna get on?”

“Hell yeah I do,” Tara nods with a grin, “and I don’t care that I may puke everything up. As long as you promise to hold my hand.”

Johnnie taps her chin before matching Tara’s smile after lightly pressing their foreheads together, “I think I can do that, babe.”

‘Babe?!’ Tara thinks to herself as Johnnie takes their trash to the nearest barrel before meeting Tara half way with her hand held out.

And Tara doesn’t hesitate as she slips her smaller hand into Johnnie’s tatted one. She gives Tara’s hand a squeeze, fingers interlocked which Tara gazes down at while Johnnie watches Tara. When tara flicks her brown doe eyes back to meet Johnnie’s, they smile sweetly once more, feeling like this could be the start of—nope not something new! but a romance worth taking a stab-wait that’s not right either! chance on.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✧˖°. ☼ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✧˖°. ☼ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✧˖°. ☼ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩ ⁺˚

#Spotify #queued #scream #scream 2023 #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x female reader #Tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega #sam carpenter #scream 7 #fall prompts #mindy meeks martin #chad meeks martin

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sofasoap · 11 months

Text

Drunken boys

Pairing: you can kinda read it as Price x F!reader ( Aka Mini MacTavish) or just stand alone.

Summary: baby sitting three drunken boys isn't easy.

CRACK FIC warning lol. use of alcohol, mature theme. Thanks to @kaplerrr for the inspiration ( after hearing drunken antic of weird ppl outside her apartment in the early hours. It was a very interesting conversation. ) “masterlist” for Mini MacTavish expanded verse.

“Gaz give me your jacket…. I am colllddddd.”

“You are Scottish, you don’t know what cold is.” Gaz slurred, trying to yank his jacket back.

“I am NOT Scottish… I am YOU NOW, KYLE GARRICK!!!! NOW GIVE ME THAT JACKET!!!” Soap spins around, avoiding Gaz’s attempt to fight for jacket.

“Johnny, you are NOT KYLE, Give him his jacket back,” You slap your brother on the head, and to your horror, Gaz pull your arms up, trying to bite it , “ KYLE What!!!! DON’T BITE ME!!! Stop it!!” Trying to pull your arm back, Gaz look at you with a puppy look, and turned towards Soap and grabbed his arm and started to bite it instead.

“ KYLE GAZ GARRICK STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP BITING MY BROTHER!!! SIMON come and help me!!!!” You shouted at Ghost, guessing he is still at least much more sober than these two men.

Ghost frowned, looking at you with a super seriously look, before stepping towards you, holding up a beer bottle. “ LOOK, a free bottle of beer.”

“OH FAROUT not you too, its empty Simon!! Put it down, nonononono, dont drink it you don’t know where it’s been!!!!”

“Scotland forever!!!! I want a Parrot!!!”

“ you are NOT getting a Parrot you bampot!!! And stop with your patriotism, it’s one in the morning on a British street, keep your mouth shut!!!”

Turning towards Price, who’s been looking on with amusement. “Help me out here??” You pleaded helplessly, with tears in your eyes.

“ …. .and you still want kids? Looks like we have instant three boys already, we can just adopt them, straight into the adult stage."

“About that….” You twiddle your thumb.

Price wishes he should have drank more Scotch that night after you dropped him the bombshell.

#captain john price #john price x you #john price x reader #john price imagine #john price #captain price x reader #captain price #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #captain john price x female reader #call of duty #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #taskforce 141 #mini mactavish #mini mactavish universe #mini mactavish verse #sofasoap writes

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khuzena · 2 years

Note

hello!! i hope you're still taking requests ;; can i request a headcanon on how chamber, yoru, sova and omen (im sorry if its too much) would react when they realized that their s/o is still up after working overnight (or two) on projects and they got super worried and kinda fluff and angst maybe :")) tysm!!! ❤

Deep sleep

Chamber, yoru, sova and omen x reader

Tw: fluff w a little angst

A request I can finally relate to lets go

( ꈍᴗꈍ)(◕ᴗ◕✿)

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

Chamber

He would often stay up all night to do his weapon making projects, so most of the time he'd walk to the kitchen at 3 am to get some coffee but he didn't expect you to also be up all night.

The light illuminating your room and the sight of you trying to stay awake, he sees as you finally succumb in a slumber; placing a blanket on your shoulders he gives a small peck on your forehead and goes back to his room.

The next day he sees you, you look groggy with dark eye bags and a tired expression.

He hesitates for a moment but asks you if you're getting enough sleep and you do say you stayed up all night but tried to assure him that you're alright.

For the whole day, you've been light headed and seem to not pay attention most of the time, chamber would shift his gaze onto you and the next thing he sees is you taking a nap on the counter.

Another night again you stayed up all night and kept telling him to not worry but as he was leaving your room you almost passed out but good thing he caught you in time.

Laying you down your bed, he cradles you in his arms and tries to hush you to sleep, but you insist that he should let you be to continue your work yet he won't let go of you.

You try to squirm around but his grip got tighter until you eventually gave up.

"mon amour you mustn't overwork yourself, just get some rest and maybe I can help you tomorrow."

Both of you spent the night cuddling as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, trying to lull you to sleep.

After that though, the next day he woke you up with the sweet smell of coffee and caressed your cheek.

Yoru

Most of the time he sleeps at 11 pm but before he goes to sleep he walks into your room and checks up on you.

He'd kiss you goodnight but he noticed for 3 days in a row you've been staying up all night and barely getting any sleep.

He starts to get more worried as your words are slurred, you tell him your view is dizzy but you try to tell him you're fine.

For a few more hours, it's nighttime already and he catches you doing your research for something but he just wants you to get some rest.

He steps inside and only your breathing and the writing of a pen is heard; you're so exhausted you didn't notice him right next to you.

Placing a hand on your shoulder he says, "Go to sleep you idiot, you barely get any rest," you didn't have time to react as he picked you up and carried to your bed.

As he sat you down, he places a cup of warm tea on your bedside table and wraps his jacket around your shoulders.(when he picked you up he noticed you were cold lol)

You try to tease him about him really caring for you but his embarrassed self denied and said it's just his duty to care for you as your boyfriend.(he does care he's just too shy to admit)

When you fall asleep, he stares at the ethereal expression on your face and sighs to himself that he finally got you to sleep early; going back to his room he blushes at the memory from earlier when you thanked him with a kiss.

Sova

Back when he was a kid, his babushka would tell him to sleep early as it will make him healthier and that staying up late will make someone weaker.

He carried that advice from his babushka until now; every 5 am he'd wake up, get breakfast and prepare for training but he decided to check up on you first.

Instead of you sleeping on the bed, he was met with the sight of you going cross-eyed, trying to gather information and finish the project that was due next week.

Your pitiful form trying to write down notes while you watch some guide videos for your project with baggy eyes made him feel worried for you.

He rubbed circles on your back and whispered softly in your ears that it's 5 am and asked if you had any sleep last night which you answered that 'you didn't'.

Sighing loudly, sova was pretty stronger than you so it was easy for him to pick you up and roll you up like a burrito in your blanket as he put you down on the bed.

You kept grumbling to him that you haven't finished your work but he insists that you should get rest first because, 'A person who's tired won't finish their work properly,' he said as he shushed you to sleep.

He cleaned your desk and swept the papers and trash on the floor then dimmed the lights so you can rest properly; relief washes over him as he's glad you're getting some rest.

Omen

Omen doesn't need any sleep, he gets nightmares when he does so spends the night knitting or watching the moon.

He was knitting in the living room, it was already 1:30 am but you suddenly walk to the kitchen to get some coffee.

'wait a minute..' he thought to himself, isn't coffee used to make you more awake? Aren't humans supposed to be sleeping at this time now?

He watches you sip coffee and lazily walk back into your room but he paid no mind, maybe in a few minutes you'll fall asleep, but he was wrong.

It had been 4 am already, the sun was about to set and you were back again in the kitchen trying to brew more coffee.

As you were brewing coffee, you didn't notice him walk up behind you and you jolted onto the counter and sighed in relief when you noticed it was him.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and asked you why you were staying up so late, you replied that you had some work to do.

But omen knew that you should be sleeping by now and not... Doing work this late.

Omen tells you that you should go to bed but you kept insisting to continue your work but he was having none of it.

He stopped you from getting your coffee and held your hand, leading you to the couch.

"Sleep with me here, I read it somewhere humans sleep better when they feel comfortable."

He pulled you in a cuddle and massaged your scalp, slowly making you fall asleep in his arms.

You stopped protesting eventually and fell asleep, he shifted his gaze onto your face and it reminded him of a sleeping cat and you might not see it but he felt like he was blushing.

Knitting while your head rested on his chest and the soft snores you left out, it felt like heaven for the both of you as he stayed in that position for hours so you'll have a good night's sleep.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Fuck i was running out of ideas but omg thank you for waiting, i was super stressed but im glad i finished this even if it wasn't proofread.

Thank you for reading and requesting! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

#chamber x reader #yoru x reader #sova x reader #omen x reader #valorant x reader #valorant fluff #valorant fanfiction #valorant angst #valorant headcanons

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twogyuu · 1 year

Text

Feu D'Artifice

Pairing: Vernon x fem!reader (ft. Chan and Mingyu)

Synopsis: "The Robin Hood of street racing," Chan liked to call him. You had laughed in your friend's face when he first told you about Vernon, but when you actually met him, you couldn't help but be curious about what was behind that stoic façade and his rusted Toyota Celica.

Please note this particular fic focuses on another moment in time after Vernon and OC have met!

Genre: I'm not sure what to label this? Fluff? 😬 Hints of crack, the ending hints at angst. S2L, mild idiots-to-lovers, streetracer!Vernon, mechanic!reader, mechanic!Mingyu, streetracer! Chan, implied antagonist!Baekho

Warnings: Use of profanity, mentions of alcohol, clubbing, mild themes of misogyny, mildly suggestive(?) - they just kiss . . . also contains inaccuracies about cars and street racing (all I know is that it's illegal - kids please do not do illegal things okay? Y'all know better)

WC: ~4.2K

Permanent taglist: @sleeplessdawn @woozarts @wonuziex @sadkidwarexpert @rockwidthyou @jeonghanniehae95 @nanamioo @bibinnieposts

A/N: I write like I'm a frequent club goer lol, but promise I've only gone twice 😅 Let alone to one of those basement parties. Partially inspired by the 'Anyone' special choreography, partially inspired by Baekho's 'Festival In My Car' (yet I made the man the antagonist smh 😅). this is probably one of my favorite pieces in a while 😊 Some day, I'll flesh out this whole story of streetracer!Vernon, but for now, have this - I was too excited and deep in my Vernon feels and wanted to share it with you all. @aceofvernons LOOK AWAY - I'm inconsistent with my biases. . . wbk 😞✊🏻

A purple neon light that once boldly stated ‘Joshua’s,’ flickered pitifully overhead– it was probably on its last few batteries. The wooden door to the parlor was seemingly intimidating despite how ordinary and beat up it looked; there was even a dent in the bottom right corner. One would think that a club this popular among street racers there would be a line snaking out the door and wrapping around the building. Yet, the streets were eerily empty, sans a few hobos making their way across the empty field across from the rundown brick buildings. The pebbled and broken pavement were damp from the sleet earlier today. There was an icy bite in the evening air that seemed to seep into every opening of his clothing and settle into his skin.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Vernon tucked his hands into the depths of his leather jacket, letting the cold air pierce his lungs as he tried to collect himself before knocking in code against the door as you had instructed. The memory of you leaning against his car with that grease-stained jumpsuit wrapped around your body and your arms folded across your chest was fresh in his mind. He remembered the way you had leaned over, lips ghosting against the shell of his ear, your sweet voice telling him, “It’s morse code for speed.” Your hands were already knocking softly against the metal of the hood of his car.

Vernon did not like to “go out” and “party” like other street racers. He did his duty on the streets, won his money, and went home. It was his routine and it was the promise he made himself. He vowed never to get involved in the social aspect of street racing. His mentor, Sohee, had told him, “that’s how you lose yourself in the game.”

Yet here he was, plain and in fact, he had come to the club for a girl.

Vernon didn’t like to be cliche, but he did honestly, think you weren’t just any girl.

You were different. You didn’t wear tiny skirts and shirts that barely covered your chest to the race tracks (sans the first night that you let Chan dress you so ill-tastefully). You opted for heavy boots and jeans instead; a bandana always donned your head to hold loose strands of hair back. You didn’t ask for attention from anyone, yet you still had an aura about you that commanded every street race you entered – no one dared question your expertise on their car (except for Vernon). You challenged authority (read: Baekho) and took shit from no one. More often than not, it has put you on people’s shit list – nonetheless, it didn’t seem to bother you.

To put it simply, Vernon’s interest was piqued and he knew if he wanted to know more about you, he’d have to go further than the race course to learn more.

“Vernon?” one of the bouncers said aghast, surprised to see the street racer at the club. His colleague slapped his shoulder, shooting him a warning look for letting Vernon’s name slip before he could think.

Vernon scanned the bouncers up and down. They looked vaguely familiar; probably another set of boys from the races that he didn’t know well, nor did he necessarily care to know well. Leaning against the door frame, his eyes lingered across the room: like the streets outside, it was also eerily empty. There was a short counter in the corner with a few bottles of alcohol lining the dusty shelves and two round and worn wooden tables in the center, a set of cards splayed in a game on one of them.

“The club?” Vernon turned back to them and asked simply.

“Shh!” the taller one hushed him, eyes wide. He ushered Vernon inside, while his friend secured the door. Vernon complied, wrinkling his brows together in confusion.

“You can’t just speak so openly about it,” he noted, “There are several of us down there – if the cops found out we’re all gathered in one place, easy bust.”

Vernon hummed in understanding. “Sorry – first time.”

The two friends exchanged looks; the shorter one widening his eyes and gesturing to the taller one to take him back. The latter shook his head silently; Vernon noted the sweat that broke out on his forehead. They seemed to be in a silent argument, oblivious to the fact that Vernon could see their struggle clearly despite the lack of words.

“Look, if it’s a problem that I’m here –”

“It’s fine, really,” the shorter one chuckled. He shot a glare at the taller one before flickering back to Vernon, a grin on his face. “I-I’ll take you down.”

“Alright,” Vernon shrugged.

Vernon followed him, pushing past the drapes that shielded the backroom that appeared to be some combination of a kitchen that was transformed into a storage room. Clearly, it hadn’t been used properly for the last couple of years as the stainless steel tables were stacked with boxes that had a few rusty car parts in it. The white deep porcelain sink was also stained brown – lord knows what has been poured down that drain.

“Coming?” the bouncer called.

Vernon looked up to see him holding open a door. He cocked his head to the side, noting how it was eerily dark beyond the threshold. Vernon could make out a few clinks of glass bottles and there was an echo of loud laughter, but nothing else: there was no bass of the music and no shrieks of joy.

Was this truly a club? Or had you set him up to be murdered?

He straightened his posture – he had to be on guard in case anything goes wrong. Vernon noted the newspaper covered windows and the door bolted shut in the opposite corner, presuming the way the slight wind whistled through it, it led outside as well.

“Well?” the bouncer urged, getting annoyed. “We don’t have all night.”

Silently, Vernon walked over and followed him down. Darkness surrounded them immediately as the door slammed shut; the only source of light was the flashing green and blue hues pooling at the bottom of the stairwell. Vernon paused momentarily, letting his eyes adjust before descending down the rickety stairs. He felt himself calm as he could feel the faint thump of a rhythmic drum vibrating underneath him.

When their feet landed on the cement, just yards away from the steeled entrance of the party, Vernon could already feel the various eyes of the people loitering outside on him. Bottles of beer stopped abruptly at their lips. Cigarettes placed between teeth but went unlit. The eyes of skimpily dressed women with too much eyeshadow on their lids lingered from their dates to the chestnut-haired man.

Vernon paid no mind though – he was here for you and you only.

“Right in there,” the short man pointed at a metal door. It was cracked open a notch. “Party ends at 2AM. Don’t get into fights and have fun.”

With that, he left Vernon alone, marching back up the stairs.

Sucking in another sharp breath, he tugged at the hem of his leather jacket before marching inside. Immediately, he was met with a crowd of people. Some sort of alcoholic drink in hand, they danced and jumped to the beat of fast bass, ignoring the way the gold color liquid sloshed out of the bottles and red cups and dripped onto the cement floor.

How was he supposed to find you amidst this?

“She doesn’t dance, but you’ll find her there somewhere. She’s always looking for ways to make money,” Vernon remembered Mingyu remarking.

The bar.

Walking along the edges of the dance floor, he kept his eyes peeled for you and any signs of a counter filled with liquor. He pushed past sweaty bodies grinding against one another and brushed off the manicured hands that landed on his biceps in an attempt to seduce him. He recognized several familiar faces amidst the crowds. Stella who wore different colored wigs to every race. Minhyun, the pretty boy who refereed the start and finish of each race. Cindy, Baekho’s younger sister who came rather infrequently to races, but she was hard to miss decked out in flashy designer outfits each time. Wonwoo, the fox-eyed and stoic man, who never talked much, but he was neither friend nor foe.

“Chwe!” Vernon heard a familiar voice call after him amidst the noise. He spun around to find Mingyu, the handsome, 187cm-man hard to miss, waving at him from afar. He was leaning against a counter, an amber-colored drink in his hand, and Chan sitting in a bar stool next to him.

Vernon nodded in reply and made his way over, weaving through the crowd.

Chan sniggered playfully, clapping Vernon’s shoulder. “Glad you could make it,” he shot Mingyu a sly look, “Though I assume it wasn’t for us.”

“Nah,” Vernon jokingly punched the younger’s shoulder, “You tweakin’.”

“Are we?” Mingyu closed one eye as if he was trying to match a target. He tipped his bottle towards Vernon, “Or are you?”

Vernon shook his head and looked away at your friends’ accusation; nonetheless, a grin growing on his lips at the hints of you being around.

“Where is she?” Vernon relented.

“And he indirectly admits it!” Chan raised his hands over his head in triumph.

Mingyu smiled into the tip of his bottle. He was silent, but the direction he was looking said it all. Vernon followed his line of sight to find you wiping down the opposite counter after a few guests had left to rejoin the party. Despite the rather plain outfit of jeans and a black t-shirt you had on compared to the others here, Vernon thought you looked pretty.

“Hi,” Vernon greeted you simply as he made his way over. He settled into the empty bar stool directly in front of you and leaned over the counter so you could better hear him.

You looked up from your line of cups. He noted the way you tried to keep a straight face, but failed when the right corner of your lips twitched up into a suppressed smile.

“You made it,” you noted, trying to feign cool.

He shrugged playfully. “Yeah, I’m here.”

You nodded, dipping your chin into your chest, gripping the ledge to prevent you from keeling over. You couldn’t stand looking at him for much longer, your knees growing weak, and you weren’t sure why. It’s not like he looked any different than he did from the races. He still wore his beat up red and black leather jacket with the black t-shirt tucked into his jeans. His hair was perfectly messy – unstyled, yet still stylish.

It was just Vernon.

But why did he make you queasy and dizzy all of a sudden.

“What do you wanna drink?” you asked.

“What do you have?” he asked in return.

“Beer, tequila, vodka, and Sprite,” you rattled off, “Ran out of diet Coke – our options are limited, on a budget.”

“Is it on-the-house?” Vernon replied.

You cocked a curious eyebrow at him.

“I could repay you in other ways.”

You chuckled at his attempt to flirt and waved him off. You opted for a Sprite for him, remember Chan saying something about Vernon not being the type to drink a lot. You scooped ice and sprayed the drink from the fountain into a red solo cup and slid it over to him.

“Seduction is not a pretty color on you,” you teased, before turning around to rearrange a few items on the metallic counter behind you.

“Oh c’mon,” he sipped on the fizzy drink, “That’s not what I meant.”

You threw him a look over your shoulder. “Oh yeah? Then what?”

“Dance with me.”

You turned around and leaned back, arms folded over your chest. “I’m working.”

“Ask Mingyu to cover for you like you did for him.”

“You dance?”

He hadn’t had a drop of alcohol, but he felt like liquid courage was coursing through his veins. The adrenaline of seeing you again made him feel bold and willing to try things he wouldn’t normally do.

“Here and there,” Vernon lied. He tilted his head coyly.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. Nonetheless, Vernon could tell from the way you squirmed in your spot, he gave you an offer you couldn’t deny. He noted the way your eyes flickered over to your colleague resting on a white plastic bucket in the corner and pulled your bottom lip in between your teeth. You played with the hem of your navy blue apron wrapped around your waist, your fingers dancing along the loose tie. One pull and it’d come off, and you’d be his for the night.

“You didn’t invite me just so I could watch you work, did you?” Vernon tried when you didn’t answer.

“And if I did?”

You weren’t the jealous type – Vernon knew teasing you with the idea of dancing with other people wouldn’t bug you at all. If anything, it’d only deter you further, regretting inviting him out in the first place, and worse, perhaps never getting a chance to see you again. If he was honest, however . . .

“I’d have no reason to be here then,” he gave you one last soft smile and pushed himself off the bar stool. His heart beat erratically in his chest, his mind raced at all the possible outcomes of this tease. This was bold for him. Vernon didn’t flirt like this. He wasn’t the dauntless type, he didn’t play games with women – let alone anyone.

It wasn’t him, yet simultaneously it was.

If you weren’t going to keep him company, he wasn’t going to do the same for you either.

As he took his first step away, you came rushing to his side, hands wrapping around his forearm to stop him. He looked over, peering into your eyes, wondering if you could see the precariousness in his own right now.

“F-fine,” you stammered. With one pull of the loose string behind you, the apron became undone. You let go of him to catch the falling garment. “I-I’ll dance with you, just . . . give me a second.”

Your gaze lingered on him a second too long as you returned behind the counter and walked in the direction of your co-worker. Anyone could tell, you were nervous that the chestnut-haired boy would slip out of your grasp between now and the time you went back to him. You whispered something to your friend who shot you a sly smile when you finished before looking over at Vernon again. She nodded and ushered you to go on. Your eyes remained trained on him, the world surrounding you melting alway. It was only him and you. The crowd behind him blurred together into a colorful swirl, while the blue and green lights danced across his untainted skin. Mingyu’s and Chan’s whoops fell on deaf ears; you could only hear a ringing and your controlled breathing.

“Ready?” Vernon extended a hand towards you, dragging you out of your daze. The music grew louder again. You couldn’t help, but notice the envious eyes of the few women and men loitering behind him – and it’s as if he knew. “Eyes on me.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you wiped your sweaty palms down your jeans before placing your fingers on his palm. He was quick to fold his fingers over yours, giving you one last reassuring squeeze and a lop-sided grin. Your gaze fell on your intertwined hands, his skin feeling cool against your hot ones. You wondered if he could see through your quiet facade, that inside your chest, it felt like the excitement of when you were little and someone lit a sparkler for you. The flames crackled in front of you, the naive belief that the sparkler would continue forever. A quiet moment passed between the two of you as you let all of it sink in.

Without a warning, Vernon tugged you onto the dance floor, the two of you being swallowed by the hoard of people. The rough sequin of someone’s dress scratched your arm, another set of dark-painted seductive eyes shot a wink in Vernon’s direction, someone’s hands skimmed across your forearm almost as if to stop you from going further. Amidst all the chaos, neither of you minded it, however.

Vernon was here for you, and you were here for him tonight.

Somewhere along the way, Vernon came to a stop. He had assumed he was somewhere in the middle of the dance floor and despite his best efforts to find clearing and some space where you could be comfortable, your sneakers were still toe-to-toe with one another. You peered up at him innocently, waiting for him to make a move, place his hands around your waist, spin you around and pin you flush to his back, or heck, kiss you even – but none of it ever came. He stood stiff as a sim character.

“You don’t know how to dance, do you?” you asked softly. He could hardly hear you.

“May have fibbed a little to get you to come out from behind that counter,” Vernon chortled.

A playful smile spreading across your face, your hands slinked up his forearms until you hit his elbows. You tugged them close towards your waist, then wrapping your hands around his rough fingers and gently setting them on your sides, as if to silently tell him it was okay to touch you. It was as if some other song other than the hype music was playing and you started slowly stepping side to side, wrapping your arms around his neck. Vernon planted his forehead on yours, watching the electricity spark in your eyes while the blue hues of the club engulfed you. Your lips were merely inches from each other – he could smell the spearmint gum you always chewed on your breath. Your breath hitched at the way he looked at you so intensely, yet with so much adoration. You hardly knew a thing about one another, but the way his eyes bore into yours felt as if you spent a whole century together.

Perhaps if it was possible, the sparklers in this lifetime with him would shimmer in the dark forever.

During street races, while waiting for a pair to finish their course, you always watched your surroundings out of boredom, waiting on the hood of Chan’s car with your red toolbox right beside you. When the crowd had thinned, half still at the start, the other half at the finish, everyone was always off doing their own thing to preoccupy themselves, including one another.

You didn’t like to think of yourself as “the other girl,” but felt like you were at these races. Spectators came with their faces caked with the latest Dior foundation and their lips painted with the classic shades of YSL lipstick. Your scuffed up steel-toed shoes were no match for their stilettos and thigh high boots. Not to mention, you were severely underdressed in your grease-stained jumpsuit that hung around your waist. The people here commanded attention and as suffocating as it was to you, they definitely got it.

You’ve seen them in the alleys of buildings. Their bare backs pressed up against the rough, cracked brick walls, a low-tier racer who had chosen them as prey for the night had their hands perched above their head, whispering sweet nothings into their ear before stealing kisses from their pouts. Sometimes, they would disappear into the night and not be seen until the next race, nestled in their new lover's arms.

Never in a hundred years did you think you’d find yourself in the same compromising position with Vernon, out of all people, tucked away in the dimly lit hallway of the club basement. His leather jacket was shrouded over your shoulders because you had complained about feeling cold earlier. He stood in front of you, leaning over on his forearm placed on the wall behind, chuckling as the two of you exchanged quiet words – they were nothing deep, nothing particularly sweet either, but he made your chest bubble in ways you didn’t know it could. Every time he let out that low chuckle that managed to seep through his sealed lips, his hazel eyes curving into crescents, you couldn't help but giggle in return.

Part of you hoped the vomit-green wall behind you would open up a portal and swallow you whole, unsure if your fragile heart could take all of this affection. You felt silly for being so love-drunk; it’s not like you grinded on him on the dance floor or took love shots when Chan and Mingyu urged the both of you to. Heck, Vernon hadn’t done anything more than placing his hands on your waist. Yet here you were, giddy like a teenager holding hands with their crush for the first time.

It was embarrassing.

The other part of you wanted to stay and see where this would go. Would you ever know his life beyond the four walls of his beat-up, gray 2002 Toyota Celica? Neither of you were drunk and you were both well-aware of your decisions tonight, though perhaps blind to the consequences to come. It was never said, but you knew you both were curious about this, whatever it was between the two of you. The light teases, the off-beat slow dance to the fast-paced song, the shared giggles for no reason whenever you caught one another’s eyes, the stupid stories made up while people-watching, this cliche moment right now – selfishly, you wanted it all.

“This is a stupid question,” Vernon mumbled, he fiddled with the zipper of his leather jacket, flipping it up and down in hopes of the cool metal would calm his nerves. His eyes flickered back up to you. “But, um,” he let out a breathy chortle. His expression didn’t quite match his laugh though – he looked rather confused as he squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, furrowing his eyebrows together. “Can I . . . can I kiss you?”

Unconsciously, you drew your lips in between your teeth and peered up at him innocently, heat coloring your cheeks. The cold seeping through the basement window behind you was not enough to cool your hot skin. All you could hear was your own blood rushing in your ears and suddenly, he seemed like he was too far from you - you were scared.

Pressing his lips into a tightline he shook his head in embarrassment. “It’s too soon – I shouldn’t have, sorry,” he pushed himself off the wall. He lifted his foot off the ground, ready to take a step backwards to give you space.

Before you could stop yourself, your hand shot out and grabbed onto the front of his black t-shirt to stop him from moving away. You took him by surprise at your eagerness, noting the way you tugged at the fabric, not caring that you were stretching out the cotton.

“Um,” he hummed as he settled back into his position close to you.

“You can,” you finally answered his question breathlessly.

He nodded once and planted his palms on either side of your face, letting out a sigh of relief. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeated after him.

Your heart was beating out of control at this point. If you were to faint in his arms right here, you wouldn’t be surprised. You stared at him, eyes wide, your gaze lingered across the sharps and curves of his features, noting every lash to the divots of his acne scars on his cheeks from puberty to the slight bump in his nose bridge. Your eyes finally landed on his pink lips, now glossy after he’d swipe his tongue over it.

“Um . . .” you hesitated, when he hadn’t made a move yet. Were you doing something wrong?

“S-sorry, I just don’t usually do these kinds of things,” Vernon stumbled.

You let out an equally nervous chuckle, “Same.”

“I just,” he dipped his head in to move closer, the tip of his nose bumping ever so slightly into yours, “Go for it,” he inhaled deeply, “Right?”

You blinked a few times, finally opting to let your lids fall shut and inhaled just as deeply. “Right.”

“Okay,” you heard him mumble. He must’ve moved in even closer now as you could feel the vibration of his words against your skin. You could feel the tickle of his lips grazing against yours, the slightest hesitation in his breathing to move in and seal the kiss. Contrary to your own, his eyes were still peeled open, looking for any signs of uncertainty and that you didn’t want this anymore. The last thing he wanted to do was to make you feel uncomfortable. Fortunately, he found that you seemed rather impatient for this kiss to happen. He noted the way your shoulders were stiff, hands squeezed by your side and your fists balled up in anticipation. There was a small droop in the space between your brows as you squeezed your eyes shut tighter.

“Cute,” was the last word you heard him say before he pressed his lips against yours.

It was no longer the sensation of sparklers that shone in the dark in the visions behind your closed eyelids and tingled up and down your skin, but rather fireworks. There was a zap in your lips, satisfied but hungry for more. Though his thumbs gently brushed against your cheeks, each touch felt like 100 joules electrifying your skin. It burned, but it was euphoric.

However, with every evening of celebratory fireworks, came a hazy morning filled with residual smoke.

#vernon x reader #hansol x reader #chwe hansol #vernon #vernon fluff #vernon angst #svt vernon #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen drabbles #seventeen fanfic

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aibyoutachi · 7 months

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i have never been able to settle this in my own thoughts so: which one of souyo gets cold super easily and which one gets hot super easily? or do they both get cold easily/hot easily? a secret third thing???

so who's the heat source and who's the heat sink in souyo theory of thermodynamics B)

i think based on their midwinter uniforms souji gets cold more easily lol, he's bundled up with a full on coat and scarf while yosuke's just wearing a hoodie under his jacket, along with the fact that yosuke has a really high metabolism (i'd assume) so he probably runs hot... he's souji's portable heater in my mind lol

actually the reason i have this thought out is that i was thinking about this a few weeks ago and started a drabble with a similar theme so i finished it up :"D it's under the cut so you don't have to see my writing if you don't want to

---

Yosuke grimaced as the flirty tittering of yet another student managed to worm its way into his ears. “Oh, Yamada-kun! I'm so cold," a girl crooned just nearby, shamelessly pressing herself onto her very flustered victim. "Your hands are so warm... and big… maybe you could warm me up too?”

College girls are ruthless, he thought to himself as he watched the boy freeze up and stutter from the attention.

Sure, the PDA was a little annoying. Yosuke couldn’t remember the last time a girl had ever shown that much blatant interest in him, if ever. But at this point, it didn't bother him as much as the fact that they were getting promising, if not awkward, reactions. Something that, for a while now, Yosuke had yet to see from his own partner - partner partners now - and was more than a little desperate to finally witness.

Maybe he was a little too invested in this little bet he had made up with himself, but the perfect flush on Souji Seta's face just a few short weeks ago when he had confessed had been haunting Yosuke's dreams ever since. He had to see it again. No matter what. Even if it meant sucking it up and being embarrassingly girly in plain view of the entire campus.

“Brrr…! Partner, I’m kinda cold…” Yosuke said, a low sing-songy mumble as he wrapped his arms around himself. Hamming it up, he added a little shiver in, rubbing his hands up and down the sleeves of his coat. His light jacket was more than enough to keep him comfy, and to be honest it was almost a little hot over the sweatshirt he was wearing, but it was a price he figured he'd have to pay to see Souji be the one clamming up and stumbling for once.

True to his nature, Souji immediately whirled around to face him, eyes already wide with concern and face already red. Surprised by the immediate success, Yosuke decided to deliver the final blow.

"M... Maybe you could warm me up?" he stuttered out, with much less confidence than the girl he had seen five minutes ago delivering the same line.

"O - of course," Souji replied, cheeks ruddy as he struggled his thick winter coat off. "Here, t-t-take my jacket," he stammered, already tucking the grey overcoat onto Yosuke's shoulders. Now he was really far too hot. It was worth it, though, to see his normally stoic partner stumble over his own words like that, face and ears and neck all blotchy red, his body... shivering...

teeth... chattering....

...

His boyfriend was cold.

Not flustered, not embarrassed, not even a little bit moved.

Just cold. Because Yosuke had taken his jacket.

Because he had given Yosuke his jacket, willingly.

"Y - Yosuke? Are you feeling b-better?" Souji asked, suddenly leaning in as if to inspect his condition up close, not helping the sudden burn of his cheeks as he realized exactly what had just happened. Without even knowing it, his boyfriend had managed to parry his attack and turn it back on him, all in one blow.

"Yosuke?" Souji repeated, voice a little distressed at this point.

"Sorry, I'm... I'm still cold, actually... How about we get something warm to drink?" he offered, hoping Souji would take the bait so he could pay for his poor boyfriend's drink and give him back the jacket and maybe give him his jacket while he was at it.

This time, Souji's face lit up, face rosy not from the cold but from joy, and Yosuke had the sudden guilty feeling that he was kind of a terrible boyfriend. If he had known that all it had would have taken was asking his boyfriend out on one little cafe date...

"Let's go," he mumbled into the collar of his borrowed jacket, before grasping onto his boyfriend's icy hand to drag him off to the nearest coffee shop. He had won his little bet, and now he needed to put his new knowledge to good use as soon as possible.

#my art #answered ask #my room is so freaking cold omg #sorry for the unsolicited fic response btw it will maybe happen again

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writingonleaves · 2 months

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clementine sandoval x the blue au: stadium series edition!!! i'm still a bit pissed at myself that it completely slipped my mind while i was writing the first part apologies that it's so long lol i wish i was normal

on friday when devs had their night practice and there was the family skate, clem was not there bc realistically, she couldn't get a night off right before a full day off on saturday. but she cannot skate for her life so this was probably a good thing that no camera could capture her eating shit

saturday comes, clem's bundled up, a devils sweatshirt under her puffer jacket, a red scarf she knitted ages ago, fuzzy red socks and a devils beanie she stole from jack's closet. she didn't want to have to choose between jerseys.

ellen and jim flew in, and so did maeve since MA public schools just started their february break. all the hughes family around the area showed up too.

i was gonna say clem would meet nina and reno now but i have that already planned out in the next part so we're gonna say they dont cross paths and chalk it up to everyone being busy with their own families

i can imagine clem wanted to take part in all the tailgates and excitement tbh so to me she's like jason kelce at the bills tailgates. i heard somewhere that at the nhl awards, ellen was knocking shots back like a champ the night before, so in my world, ellen is def with her walking around these tailgates. at least for an hour or so

and obviously, a lot of devils fans recognize ellen and welcome her into their celebrations and then she introduces clem to everyone as "my daughter! the fourth hughes child!" or something like that

does she shotgun a beer with a fan as people cheer her on? yeah. does she knock a few shots back with ellen and that gets the crowd pumping? hell yeah. were videos of both instances circling around social media with captions like “quinn, jack and luke who? met the superior hughes sibling today”? you bet. devils twitter / hockey twitter in general ate it up

one of clem's fave ever pics of her and ellen is taken by a kind fan at one of these tailgates

the vibes are just so incredibly high even before they head to their seats. it just keeps going at the start of the game right until to end

i like the idea of clem not knowing at all what the boys' entrance outfits were and finding out along with everyone else. she is with the fam waiting to get to their seats and just bursts out laughing when she goes on twitter (her eyes widen when she sees nico's fit but no one needs to know that!)

wont bore anyone with play by play of the game. yes clem screamed her head off when nico scored. she chugged a beer after toffoli scored (its cold!!! gotta keep warm), she almost falls when smith scores. she misses nate's 1st but still screams bc everyone around her is screaming. she jumps out of her seat so quickly for nico's 2nd goal. clem is full out vibing for nate's 2nd and is just dancing around

she has this moment where she realizes that …. if this is what the start of her next chapter of life is going to look like, it ain’t so bad. first time since she’s moved back east where she’s like …. okay yeah this could be home <3

#the blue au

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distant-velleity · 2 months

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Inescapable Storm

Summary: A certain TA can't accept the fact that a certain card soldier cares about him far more than he'd like to admit. Word count: 1.5k+ A/N: Based on a prompt from this list. So. It was. Not supposed to be this angsty when I started it this morning but I guess the recent downpours in our area have really affected my ability to write mood...? Oh well, haha. I just... ahaha... wow these characters can't communicate. Regardless, please enjoy! (Or don't lol, but just don't kill me thanks <3)

The rain pours down hard, attacking the world in rapidly frigid sheets.

Yu knows he should head inside—it’s too cold out here, his jacket has been torn to shreds and the rest of his school uniform ruined by a mix of dirt and magic, and his friends will have questions about where he went.

(He ignores the little voice in his head that asks if they really would care.)

But, even with all that glaringly obvious in his mind, he can’t bring himself to flee from the rain and find himself an overhang to dry himself off under.

The best he can do right now is unsteadily rise to his feet and stagger over to the nearest wall, before practically collapsing onto it for support. His chest protests violently with a sudden sharp pain from his ribs, his bad ankle feels swollen beyond belief, and there’s something dripping down his cheek that feels too warm to be rain. Wiping at it with his sleeve leaves a distinctly bloody smudge—with ink-like blackness around the edges—on the already-sullied white fabric.

He can’t find it in himself to admit that he’s, for lack of a better term, sort of screwed up.

Somewhere by his feet, his phone vibrates with a notification. And then, after a minute, another. And then another, until Yu has no choice but to curse and grab it. The screen protector is cracked irreparably, but that’s fine.

ace of hearts where r u yu? whered u go dude

Yu mutters another ‘fuck’ under his breath, staring at the messages even as raindrops distort the screen. He debates, for a moment—if he should leave Ace on read, if he should tell him the truth, or maybe he could just lie about it entirely to buy himself more time—

…No, that’s not an option.

In the end, he caves, fingers slipping on his phone’s keyboard while trying to send a quick response.

wild card (koi.yu) behjnd hte lecture hsll

His text is marked as Read right away, but with no other response. Yu sighs and closes his eyes, tipping his head back to rest on the cold stone of the wall. The rain doesn’t sting when it lands on his face; it smells fresh, much better than the dirt and blood he’d nearly inhaled earlier.

He finds himself abandoning all other worries to just feel the wall behind his back and the rain all around him, ignoring the pain and exhaustion all over his body. It’s sort of a hopeless, ridiculous thought, but maybe the heavy downpour can wash away some of the evidence on his skin, can wash away everything about this situation that shouldn’t have happened—

“…there you are, Yu—Yu!”

Yu’s eyes snap open to see Ace right next to him, chest heaving with the exhaustion from running.

“I can’t believe you’re out here in this weather,” Ace complains, on the contrary taking off his jacket and draping it over Yu’s head and shoulders. “What are you, stupid?”

“No more than the idiot in front of me taking off his jacket,” Yu shoots back. He tries to take it off, but Ace just puts it right back over him. “I don’t need this, Ace.”

“Where’s yours, then?”

Yu pauses at that, then shamefully averts his eyes from the mess of black fabric on the ground a few feet away. “…Ruined,” he mutters.

“Of course. For the same reasons you look like shit, probably.” Where Ace would normally smirk after saying this, he just narrows his eyes and cups his hands around Yu’s face to get a better look. It feels so distinctly not Ace-like, how he caresses him, but typical in its mix of roughness and gentleness. “Seriously, what the hell even happened to you?”

“What are you doing? You’re so—” He hisses softly when Ace’s thumb accidentally presses too hard on the bruised side of his jaw, and a flash of regret ghosts the card soldier’s face. Yu purses his lips. “...C’mon, it was just a little fight. Some stupid guys from your dorm. I put them in their place, though.”

Ace’s eyes widen considerably. “You got in a fight on your own? Are you kidding me?”

Yu tries for a small smirk to add some levity, to make this conversation normal. “Yeah. Didn’t have to rely on you guys or anything.”

He doesn’t know what reaction he was expecting, but he definitely doesn’t get it—not with Ace suddenly stiffening and his hands shifting to clamp around Yu’s shoulders. Not with the hurricane of both frustration and concern brewing in those bright red eyes, worse than the rainstorm around them. None of it is what he predicted would happen.

“You’re such an idiot,” Ace says, a bit bitter and very angry, and loud enough to match both. “I can’t even take my eyes off you for a few minutes without you getting involved in shit like this.”

“Look who’s talking,” Yu retorts, even though Ace’s hands are the one thing stopping his body from trembling like a leaf in a storm. “I think this is tame compared to the incidents you’ve started in the past year. You know how many times we all could have died? A few bruises and scrapes is nothing when you look at that. I’m fine, Ace.”

“No way you think you can get away with lying to me.” Ace grits his teeth. “It’s not okay, you’re not fine. Have you seen yourself? You’re driving me batshit crazy here, Yu.”

Yu bristles. “Well, now you get to know how I feel on a regular basis. Seriously, why are you getting so upset over a fight? It’s not like these don’t happen to everyone on a regular basis—are you finally growing a conscience?”

“Excuse you? I think I’m allowed to be concerned about the person who still bleeds and cries blot,” snaps Ace. At Yu’s surprised look, he huffs with a dry kind of mirth. “You think I don’t know about that? You’ve done a pretty awful job of hiding it, and that fight was really just the cherry on top. Look.”

With his ungloved right hand, he reaches up to swipe the heel of his palm along Yu’s face, where a major cut stings from the sudden contact. The substance that comes off is a mixture of blood and muddy blot, proving his point. Ace displays his pale palm, now stained, with an unimpressed look.

“I was trying to—” Yu takes a sharp breath. “I was trying to keep it a secret because it’s not a big deal. It’s no one’s business but mine.” Through the raindrops still caught on his lashes, he glares at Ace. “If I’d known you’d be like this, I would have tried harder to hide it—”

Ace shakes him by the shoulders, too gently compared to his tone as he starts shouting. “What the fuck do you mean, it’s ‘no one’s business’ and you’d try harder to hide it?! Didn’t you learn anything from your Overblot? Hey, don’t I—don’t the people around you mean anything?”

“Of course you do!” That’s, to Yu’s own horror, the raw truth. “You guys mean so much to me it hurts.”

“Then why—”

“That’s exactly why I can’t tell you anything! Because you didn’t sign up to fight my demons for me, you don’t need to be my knight in shining armor!”

“I don’t need to, but by the Seven, sometimes I sure wish I could!” Ace has never cried in front of Yu before, but it’s starting to look like that might change. “Fuck, I just wish you could tell me what you’re thinking sometimes, at the very least! I don’t care if you never return what I really feel for you—aren’t we friends? Didn’t you say it yourself, that a good relationship is based on care and trust?! We’ve got plenty of the ‘care’ part, but you still won’t trust me…!”

The rain seems to have thinned, still more than a sprinkle but no longer a torrent.

Out of breath from his half-declaration, half-confession, and all anger, Ace inhales shakily. His eyes are wide, either with broken rage or horror at the thoughts he just haphazardly converted into words.

Like a gilled animal left beached after a storm, with the air stolen from his lungs, Yu opens his mouth to reply—

“You… you…”

—and closes it quickly, finding himself at a loss for words. He can’t tell if he wants to laugh or cry, either—this has to be some kind of cruel joke, right?

But it isn’t, Ace doesn’t play around with feelings in that specific way because he cares way more than he’d ever like to show normally, everyone knows this, and—God Yu has really fucked up hasn’t he—

“Look, just…” Ace lets go of Yu’s shoulders, gingerly tugging down his jacket so it better protects the TA from the rain. “...sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you for all that,” he mumbles, some of the fight in him evaporating. “Let’s go inside and dry off somewhere, and—and get your injuries treated, then…” As if hesitant to address the elephant in the room he shouldn’t have brought into the conversation to begin with, he trails off. “Okay?”

Yu nods without saying anything, arms crossing to hug himself.

He lets Ace lead the way to a place out of the rain, and they don’t utter a single word to each other on the way there.

#kai's writing #twisted wonderland #twst #ace trappola #twst oc #yuusona #kai self ships #aceyu <3 #but in the THEY HAVE FEELINGS BUT CANT COMMUNICATE way #niaa on their way to murder me for this...

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