#anyways i’m mad again oops | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

100vern · 8 months ago

Note

hi. i would like to request seungcheol (obviously). all i request is enemies-to-lovers. you may do with this what you wish. i leave it up to you to decide exactly how you will ruin my life 😌

tysm for the request my beloved !! he is so enemies to lovers coded i had TEWWW many thoughts (and started three separate wips oops), but here we are. i hope u enjoy this !! can't wait to get the collab fics out of the way so i can torture u further with baseball dk. i picked dodgers hat!cheol just for u. ♡

— we need to talk

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader summary: sometimes the only way to win the game is to not play, but sometimes it's not a game at all—sometimes it's four years of emotional build-up with nowhere left to hide. genre: enemies (kinda) w benefits to lovers; frat/university au; smut, angst?, fluff rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. warnings: frat boys. gendered language and insults. swearing. mentions of drugs & drug use (vernon is literally a drug dealer 🤷🏻‍♀️) as well as alcohol. possessive, jealous seungcheol who is extremely down bad and kind of an asshole and would be toxic af irl but is fine in fanfiction probably. this is maybe more "people who used to fuck and started disliking each other along the way bc they can't figure out their feelings" to lovers than enemies. there are very slight, very meaningless mingyu x reader undertones here. jeonghan is a bastard. feelings you think are unrequited but alas! this got softer than i intended oops. smut warnings: seungcheol truly is a man driven to the brink of madness bc of pussy idk what to say. kissing. hair pulling. mentions of masturbation. the dynamics shift in this one a lot, but to be overly cautious i will say dom!cheol and slightly dom!reader undertones that are not implicitly stated or defined. seungcheol uses the term "whore" once, sorry. oral sex (f. receiving). pussy slapping. unprotected sex. if i missed any pls lmk. wordcount: 8k. no i do not know what a drabble is, leave me alone. author's note: title from the song of the same name by waterparks but this was actually brought to you by "i'll never stop" by nsync bc it's their best song and fit the vibes perfectly. anyway, i still do not love writing smut but i am insane over this man so whatever, we persevere. everyone go shower mj in lots of love bc she's the best and deserves it. also everyone say thank u @the-boy-meets-evil for looking over this for me. i did not look at this again after she beta'd it so any mistakes are of my own stupidity. <3

Seungcheol is incensed.

What in the fuck are you thinking, showing up here? Ignoring him, walking by him with nothing more than a brush to the elbow and that sultry, electric gaze? A pair of painted-on jeans and a sheer top?

Who the fuck had invited you?

He looks around the room, gaze heavy under his furrowed brow. Bass thumps in his ears, the music so loud he can feel it in his chest. Still, his feet stay planted on the floor, already sticky with spilled alcohol and god knows what else. He needs to find Vernon—just needs something to get through this very unexpected (and very unpleasant) surprise, take the edge off.

But he can’t see through the sea of people. They’re everywhere, occupying every inch of available space in the house, but he just needs a glimpse of that mop of cornflower blue hair. If he could just—

Instead, he sees a streak of white-blond in his peripheral vision. “Soonyoung!” he calls, grabbing the man by the arm. “Hey, have you seen Vernon?”

Soonyoung stares up at him with glassy, bloodshot eyes, his breath already stinking of alcohol as he shrugs and says, “Dunno, hyung. Think he’s upstairs.”

Fingers still wrapped around his bicep, Seungcheol heaves a sigh. “Go find Jeonghan. He’s on babysitting duty and you’re already fucked.”

“I’m fine,” Soonyoung argues, slurred words giving him away immediately.

Seungcheol scoffs. “Bro, you can barely stand and you reek of shitty vodka. Go drink some water.”

As he sends Soonyoung away, he can feel eyes boring into him, tension wound tight in the center of his back that refuses to dissipate no matter how many times he rolls his shoulders. He turns slowly, already knowing exactly what he’ll find, but knowing does little to stop the hitch of breath as he takes you in.

And he hates it. Fuck, he hates the effect you have on him more than anything.

Hates that he’s still pining after you. Hates that all you have to do is look at him and he’s putty in your hands. Hates that you’re the first person he looks for in a room, the last person on his mind before he falls asleep. Hates you, hates that all of this is unreciprocated, because if Choi Seungcheol is anything, it’s proud. He’s rich, he’s good-looking, he’s pre-law, and the president of this fraternity, for fuck’s sake—he should not be hung up on a girl.

But he’d been doomed from the beginning. Ever since you’d been assigned to him as a challenge to overcome, an impossible task to conquer, he’d been helplessly, pathetically smitten with you.

And fuck if you didn’t know it, too.

So, it’s a game now. A lifetime’s worth of pining for Seungcheol all because his frat was misogynistic and refused to keep up with the times. They’d nodded in your direction and laughed at the confusion on his face, the knot between his brows. Seungcheol couldn’t figure out why his initiation was to fuck a girl, one his brothers wouldn’t even address by name, but when he’d approached you at a party and you’d immediately told him to go fuck himself, he’d figured it out pretty quick.

Call it determination, call it a stubborn streak that refused to quit, but the two of you soon came to a reluctant agreement: you would let Seungcheol lie to his frat, figuring he was attractive enough that people thinking you’d slept together wouldn’t be complete social suicide, and he’d owe you a favor you’d keep in your back pocket for as long as it took to cash in.

Which hadn’t taken long. The stress of finals that first year had gotten to all of you, and it wasn’t long before you were at his door looking for his drug-dealing roommate and a quick fuck.

That was the second time Seungcheol had been doomed to hopeless pining, because once he had you, he knew it’d be impossible to let you go.

Short of outright saying the words, he’d all but told you as much during some alcohol-induced brain shortage junior year. And, in turn, you’d all but laughed in his face.

Right.

Of course.

That was to be expected.

So, you’d continued your… well, whatever this is: quick fucks when both of you were bored or lonely or horny, usually under the influence of something illegal; a mutually tense but beneficial relationship for each of you, because you had been Seungcheol’s initiation and the initiation itself awarded him connections and opportunities. You got a back-up plan. A safe body and warm bed to retreat to when the need arose—one who clearly wanted it to be something more, but was, all things considered, fine with the current arrangement. Didn’t pressure you.

But, as was also to be expected, it was never going to be that simple when feelings got involved. When he started feeling slighted. When he wanted you so bad he ached with it sometimes and it was beneath you to care. Which is why he really, really needs to find Vernon. If he’s going to endure an entire party with you, he’s not going to do it sober.

He takes the steps two at a time, feet stumbling onto the landing as soon as he reaches it. Vernon’s door is the third on the left, and he can hear a separate, distinct bass line from the one booming downstairs that hums louder the closer he gets.

And Vernon knows. Of course he does, because he’s yanking his door open before Seungcheol has even raised a hand to knock, the stench of weed seeping out into the hallway, and all he needs is a quick look at Seungcheol before he pulls the door open wider and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States of America,” as if he’s speaking into a microphone. When Seungcheol doesn’t react, he awkwardly tacks on, “Hi, hyung. I’m assuming she’s here.”

Seungcheol nods, dumbly, and stands as awkwardly in the center of the room as someone who’s about to ask their roommate for drugs tends to be. “Yeah.” Shoves his hands in the pockets of his overpriced jeans so Vernon can’t see the sheen of sweat.

“You looking for somethin’ specific?” he asks, rifling through the top drawer of a tall dresser. “Like, is this an I’m about to fuck her the rest of the night visit or an I need something to help me forget she doesn’t actually like me visit?”

The words come like a reflex. “Fuck you,” he seethes. Vernon’s not wrong, per se, but he didn’t have to go and just… say it like that.

Vernon just shrugs, one side of his worn-out collar slipping down his shoulder as he does so, and Seungcheol can’t tell if he’s actually dressed for the party or not. “Gonna guess it’s the second one, then.”

Seungcheol scoffs. “Well, it’s not,” he insists, knowing damn well he should let it go, that he’s just digging himself a bigger hole, but the truth sits in the pit of his stomach like lead.

And, really, he knows he just needs to accept it. That little strand of hope hasn’t brought him anything but more pain—allowed him to delude himself into thinking it could be something more, something tangible—and it’s time to let it go.

You don’t want more.

You don’t want the label and the relationship.

You don’t want him.

He knows this, but it still tastes sour in his mouth. Still tastes like the chill of autumn when you’d first showed up at his door all that time ago. Tastes like all the blunts you’ve shared and the liquor from all the parties you’d snuck away in the middle of. Tastes like the sharp notes of your perfume, the ones that’d coat his tongue when he’d kiss down your neck—the same notes that stain his bedsheets.

Mostly, it’s the pitying look Vernon’s giving him that hurts the most. He’s above pity. Doesn’t need it, especially not from Vernon Chwe, but it hurts all the same to be on the receiving end of it.

“Give me whatever you’ve got.”

Vernon’s face quickly morphs into surprised concern. “Uh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I mean, I’ve got some pretty heavy shit here.”

Heat flares in his belly. The pity was bad enough—now he wants to be patronizing? “Then give me whatever the fuck you think I need,” he snaps. “I don’t care. I don’t have time for this shit.”

“Well, you definitely need to chill,” Vernon mumbles. “You want some dabs?”

“No. Something…” The word feels thick in his mouth. Stronger implies that Seungcheol does heavy drugs, and that’s not true. “Else,” he finally finishes.

Vernon sighs as he continues rifling through the drawer. “Your dad would fucking kill me if I gave you my real heavy shit, so…” He pauses, eyebrows raising in triumph as he finds what he was looking for: a small baggie filled halfway with some nondescript powder. “You want a bump?”

Maybe he should be ashamed at how quickly he agrees, at the urgency and greed with which he grabs the baggie from Vernon’s fingers, but he just needs something. Needs the distraction, the brain fog. He shoves it in his back pocket next to his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

Vernon wrinkles his nose. “Nah. Consider that one a freebie. No offense, but you’re a real piece of shit when you’re like this.”

The implication only pisses him off more. Seungcheol is loaded—he can afford to pay his drug dealer, thank you very much—but he’s not like anything. “I’m sorry?”

True to his nature, Vernon barely shrugs. “I’ll put it on your tab, hyung,” he says in a way that implies he’s not at all going to do that and is only saying so to get the fraternity president off his back.

Jeonghan (23:12) Better come get your girl. Kim Mingyu’s dick looks like it’s halfway up her ass by now. Jeonghan (23:12) Uh oh! I think I just saw a testicle

Seungcheol stares down at his phone, hands trembling in anger. Of course it’s Mingyu. That pathetic loser has been taking up residence on the subs bench ever since you’d made out with him months ago in an admittedly successful attempt at payback. Seungcheol had hooked up with some downgrade at a party one time and you’d gone and made out with his friend. It was hardly a fair trade.

Seungcheol (23:14) Good for Mingyu, he can deal with her then Seungcheol (23:14) I’m busy Jeonghan (23:14) Doing what? Jerking off in the upstairs bathroom again? Jeonghan (23:15) Do you know what size condom he wears btw? Looks like I might need to fetch him one if you don’t want to take care of another man’s baby Jeonghan (23:16) Although, to be fair, you might want to sit this one out. He has way better bone structure than you. Might be a blessing in disguise Seungcheol (23:16) Fuck you Jeonghan (23:16) Better be nice to me, Choi Seungcheolie~ that might be the only fuck you get tonight

Seungcheol needs better friends. He needs a lot of things, really, but number one on his to-do list is to never let Jeonghan be on babysitting duty ever again. Somehow he’d forgotten how obnoxious Yoon Jeonghan is when he isn’t stoned and half-asleep on a couch somewhere.

For now, he just stomps down the hallway; locks himself in his room and doesn’t bother to turn on the light. He’s not going to be here long. Just enough time to do this line, change his t-shirt, and come up with a game plan, because he’s not going to let Mingyu even entertain the thought of being able to have you but he also can’t appear desperate. Not just to you, but to everyone else. Choi Seungcheol is not clingy, especially not over a girl.

Especially especially over a girl who doesn’t even want him like that.

But the longer he sits in the dark, the more trouble he has finding his resolve. Can’t bring himself to dig that baggie out of his pocket. Can’t drag his t-shirt over his head. Can’t bring himself to think about anything other than Mingyu’s hands all over you, and fuck, does that image drive him insane.

Does he touch you like Seungcheol does?

Does he coax those same jagged whimpers from your mouth like Seungcheol does?

Does his semi-hard cock feel as good pressed against you?

God, he’s so fucked. Utterly and completely fucked. And he wonders if this would be as bad if he’d just kept his mouth shut, took that secret to his grave instead of fooling himself into thinking it could be more. If it wouldn’t have devolved into… this. You’d always told him not to get attached, that sex was just sex and there was no need to ruin a good thing. But Seungcheol is a selfish man, always has been, and what if? is a dangerous question.

Jeonghan (23:36) Wow, you’re a fucking pussy. Stop hiding in your room like a little bitch. Seungcheol (23:36) Fuck off

He can’t go down there. Not because he’s a coward, but because he’s barely tethered to his sanity as it is. Something about you brings him out of his mind, makes him toss whatever good judgment he has left to the wind. Seungcheol is far too impulsive when it comes to you, reckless in ways that have all twenty years of his social training weeping in a corner; have alarm bells ringing in his brain. So, no, he can’t go downstairs right now because he knows he’ll do something stupid. Stick not only his foot but his entire lower body in it. He should’ve listened, yet here he is, dick pulled halfway out of his jeans because the thought of you alone gets him hard but his pride won’t let him jerk off to the image of anyone touching you that’s not him.

Forget whatever Jeonghan had called him. He’s a fucking fool. A moonstruck, delusional fool who’d tricked himself into thinking he could swim when he can barely tread water.

You (23:41) Something wrong?

Oh, here we fucking go, he thinks. Because this is Seungcheol’s game—one he’d perfected years ago, the one where he’s coy and chilly, never too eager, never committed. Just a little bit of a tease. Barely enough to keep them on the hook, a little needy; still enough to keep them coming back. But you’d taken one look at him all those years ago and had him pegged immediately. Figured out his game and learned the rules, used them against him. Now you watch him flounder with a smile on your face.

Seungcheol (23:42) Never knew you were so needy baby. First you show up uninvited and now youre missing me?

But just because there’s now a player two doesn’t mean he’s doomed to lose. He knows how you look when you’re on your knees for him. Knows how you sound when you’re begging to cum and stuttering out his name like you’re singing hymns. Knows how you look with your eyes rolled back after he’s fucked you dumb. Kim Mingyu doesn’t know shit.

Seungcheol knows he’s the only one fortunate enough to experience you like this.

And god does it kill him.

You (23:44) Don’t act stupid

A pleased exhale of laughter, an equally-smug smirk. Yeah, this is still Seungcheol’s game, the crown still sitting atop his head. You can let Mingyu grind his dick against you all you want, but Seungcheol is still the one you’re seeking out, pouting at the fact he hasn’t come to find you yet.

You (23:44) Mingyu invited me

Oh, you’re good—know just which buttons to press and how much pressure to use. Whatever smug expression Seungcheol had been wearing slides off his face immediately, tongue pressing into his cheek.

Seungcheol (23:46) And yet youre looking for me? You (23:47) Don’t have to look for you to know you’re upstairs sulking in your room because Jeonghan tattled on me like a fucking five year old Seungcheol (23:49) Maybe you should come up here then Seungcheol (23:49) Away from prying eyes

You don’t reply immediately. It’s just long enough for Seungcheol’s brain to conjure up something indecent—the way you’ll straddle him, the way his cock will feel pressed against the apex of your thighs; the goosebumps that’ll raise on his arms when you work your tongue along his neck, that spot near his collarbone you know he likes. His cock throbs against the confines of his jeans when he thinks about the devastated look on Mingyu’s face when you make up some excuse to get away from him, to traipse up the stairs and fall into Seungcheol’s bed, when he realizes he’s not going to have you.

You (23:56) It’d be pretty rude to leave my date, don’t you think? You (23:57) If you want me so bad, come down here and get me yourself

Seungcheol doesn’t play games; doesn’t compete because he has no competition. He’s always been given whatever he wants on a silver platter, no questions asked, so he’s wholly unprepared for this turn of events. What he knows he should do (respond to your text and tell you to fuck off, that you know where he is should you stop being a brat and change your mind) is not what he does (tucks his dick back in his jeans, finally throws on a clean t-shirt, and takes his time descending the stairs so he doesn’t look too eager), because logical thought gets tossed out the window entirely wherever you’re concerned.

“Ah, if it isn’t our resident pissbaby making his grand re-entrance.”

Seungcheol clenches his jaw for the nth time and glares. “Fuck off, Jeonghan.”

The man in question laughs—the annoying raspy one that grates on Seungcheol’s nerves—and hands over a cup of something brown and pungent. “Well, judging from your attitude, and the fact you’re barely hiding that boner you’ve got, you clearly didn’t spend your time away jerking off. What finally got you down here, the promise of cheap whiskey I nicked off some freshman or the fact that your girlfriend’s about two seconds from getting a public indecency charge courtesy of Kim Mingyu?”

Well. Jeonghan may be an asshole but he’s not wrong. Even through the crowd of people and the haze of whatever’s in his cup and a contact high, Seungcheol spots you immediately. Your back is pressed against Mingyu’s chest, his fingers gripping tight at your waist as you roll your hips in time with his. Whatever manufactured filth he’s whispering to you draws a smile, causes you to reach up and tug sharply at his hair. Fuck, Seungcheol can almost hear Mingyu’s moan from across the room, and his blood quickly heats to a rapid boil.

Another chuckle from the demon beside him. “Stop fucking laughing,” Seungcheol snaps, still unable to take his eyes off of you. “Fuck this. I’m going back upstairs. Make sure everyone’s out of here by three. I’m not paying for another noise citation.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “I’m absolutely not going to do that.” He shoves a bottle of something in Seungcheol’s hand. “Take this and think of me when you’re crying yourself to sleep because Mingyu stole guaranteed pussy right out of your hands.”

“Why do you do this?” Seungcheol asks, shoving at Jeonghan’s shoulder roughly. “You never know when to fucking quit.”

Another streak of white-blond. “Hey, no fighting!” Soonyoung slurs, trying his best to push Seungcheol to the other side of the kitchen with his useless, limp arms.

This attracts the attention of Joshua, who struts into the room looking straight out of Fashion Week, much like he always does. He hasn’t even broken a sweat. “Aw, are Mom and Dad fighting again?” he asks, his lips tugged into a smirk. He ignores Seungcheol’s scowl as he fixes himself a drink. “You know Mingyu only does it to get a reaction out of you,” Joshua adds, quieter this time, as if he’s telling Seungcheol a secret only meant for the two of them to share.

“What’s her excuse, then?” Seungcheol fires back, because even if he doesn’t like it, Joshua’s right. This is exactly the kind of behavior he’d expect from resident campus whore Kim Mingyu, but he never expected you to go along with it.

Joshua cocks an eyebrow. “She doesn’t need an excuse, Cheol. She’s not your girl.”

Even though it’s a truth he already knows, it somehow hurts worse being spoken in plaintext, a hushed conversation in a crowded kitchen. Being let down gently. Seungcheol knows he needs to make a decision. He needs to let you go and start moving on with his life; can’t be having these quasi-meltdowns during frat parties anymore. Can’t be possessive and spiteful. You don’t want him. Everyone knows you don’t want him, so that’s all there is to it. Maybe you’ll want Mingyu and he can finally wash his hands of this forever, scrape the jealousy off his tongue.

He steels himself. Rolls his shoulders back, cracks his neck. Navigates the crowd in the living room until he reaches you and your so-called date. Grabs you by the elbow—gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt but firm enough to send a message—and says the two of you need to talk. Upstairs. Now. Mingyu just smiles like he knew this was coming and presses a pointless, wasted kiss just below your ear. Seungcheol tells him to fuck off, too, and Mingyu grins wider, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

As he guides you to his room, he doesn’t think about the way your hand fits in his. Doesn’t think about how this is going to be the last time he has you. Doesn’t think about who’ll have you after. Doesn’t bother to wonder if you’ve finally changed your mind like he had all those other times he’d walked this same familiar path with you in tow. Because it’s the last time. Whatever happens once it’s over is out of his control.

Perhaps that’s what it’d always been about. Seungcheol has always been spoiled and selfish and so terribly, terribly desperate to prove he’s more than his family name and family money. So, yeah, he’d wanted the control; wanted what was never his for the taking. You’d always been the opposite—his perfect little counterpart. Always so pliant and careless and free: everything Seungcheol tried so hard to be but couldn’t, and that’s where the switch flipped.

Someone like you isn’t meant to be controlled.

What he used to want so badly now tastes rancid in his mouth.

The door locks behind you. Seungcheol doesn’t meet your eye as he says, “You got what you wanted. Are you done being a fucking brat?” It’s not a tone he usually takes. Usually he’s dirty, a little possessive, willing to let you set the pace. He doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches. “I asked you a question.”

“Seungcheol—”

He clicks his tongue, stalks closer until you’re nearly in his grasp. Your eyes close instinctively as if you’re expecting his mouth on yours. Instead, he threads his long fingers in your hair and pulls. “What’s so hard about answering a simple yes or no question? Did you really want Mingyu’s dick so bad you’ve gone dumb all of a sudden?”

You gasp. “No.”

“No what?” Seungcheol chides. “No, you’re not done being a brat? Or no, you weren’t just downstairs acting desperate and pathetic for mediocre cock?” He runs his thumb across the seam of your lips, follows their movements as you speak.

“I wasn’t—”

A low, mocking chuckle. “You were, baby.” Sounds condescending; speaks to you like you’re a stupid child. He’s so close to you now. Can smell the tang of your skin, the sticky notes of your perfume. Feels your breath fan against his own sweat-slick skin. Still avoids your gaze, because as domineering as he appears, he knows he can unravel just as quickly. “Take your clothes off. This is the last time I’m gonna fuck you and I’m not going to ask twice.”

Now you truly look caught off-guard. “What?” Still he ignores you, expensive silver rings clinking into a dish on his dresser one by one, expensive watch following. “What do you mean the last time?”

Deft fingers play at the buttons on his shirt. Not silk, but just as expensive. “Shit. You’re really testing my patience, you know.” You’re still standing at the edge of his bed, staring dumbly as if he’s just going to start spilling all his secrets, give you some kind of explanation. “I believe I told you to strip.”

Unlike Seungcheol, your fingers tremble as they work at buttons and zippers and hemlines, push down denim and remove heels. It’s clear you’re trying to work out what he’s playing at—if this is some punishment for fucking around with Mingyu or if he really means it—but you’re not going to risk asking. Things between the two of you are already tense as it is. Seungcheol has never been wound this tight, never been so ready to snap.

“That’s it,” he praises once you’re left in nothing but a skimpy underwear set you know he likes. “Look at you. Fucking gorgeous. I bet that’s why you think you can get away with embarrassing me, huh?” He grabs your chin, forces you to meet his gaze for the first time since he’d dragged you up here. “Get on your knees. I’m getting tired of repeating myself.”

It’s not an unfamiliar sight—as it is, you usually leave Seungcheol’s room with bruised knees on a good night—but it settles differently in his gut this time. Because he’d dared a glance at you once and knows he can’t do it again, so he watches the top of your head as you fumble with his belt buckle and looks away whenever he thinks you might risk a glance upwards. Finds some point on the wall to focus on. Hisses through his teeth when you pull his cock from his briefs, your hands cold against his flushed skin.

All he wants to do is kiss you. Draw this out. Give you a memorable last time, maybe mark you up a little. He really wants to savor the feeling of your tongue on his cock, but all he can focus on is the fact that he’ll never be enveloped in that wet heat again. He’s never going to feel your mouth working him over, feel you humming around his length because he knows you love the weight of it, you love wrenching away that little bit of control, turning him into a mess.

But he’s not going to dwell. He’s going to thumb at the hinge of your jaw, force it open just wide enough for his cock to fit inside. Then he’s going to fist your hair into a makeshift ponytail, grip it tight, use it to guide your mouth until there’s only an inch of space between you. He’s going to stare down at you, silently revel in how fucked out you look already even though he hasn’t touched you. He’s going to watch the way your fingers dig into your thighs because they can’t touch him. Then he’s going to say—

“Beg me. Beg me to let you suck my cock.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation. Seungcheol doesn’t talk to you like this. This is not the kind of dynamic the two of you have, and Seungcheol finds himself wondering if things would be different if it was. If he’d never started going so easy on you. Would you want him then? Or would you have left a long time ago?

He’s half-expecting you to do that now. You look ready to bolt, to pull your clothes back on and tell him to go fuck himself on the way out. Probably go straight back to Mingyu, let him fuck you hard but routine, the way Seungcheol usually does, the way he knows you like. He expects you to leave, and this is the last time, anyway, so he figures he has nothing left to lose.

“I’m going soft,” he snaps, the admonishment harsh on his tongue. When you look up at him, his jaw is clenched, eyes narrow. “You have one fucking job and you can’t even do that properly? Who’s going to want a dumb little whore that can’t follow simple instructions?”

He watches your eyes squeeze shut involuntarily. Wonders if he’s gone too far before deciding he doesn’t care if he has. It’s the last time, anyway, so it’s not like it matters. Watches the indents in your thighs grow deeper. Watches you inhale and try to steady your breathing.

Watches your eyes snap open, any trace of hesitation long gone. “Did you make that other girl beg for you?”

Seungcheol snorts, amusement showing all over his face. “Is that what this is about? You’re still mad I hooked up with some other girl so you act like this?” He clicks his tongue at you, fists his cock, slicking it up. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” you answer simply, “I’m just trying to figure out why you think you can speak to me however the fuck you want.”

Seungcheol’s hand stutters along his length before it stills, your words sharp and immediate against his skin. He should’ve known. Shouldn’t have thought something like this would work on you, that you’d like it, and he’s halfway to soft and throwing his hands up and tucking his dick back into his briefs when you say, “Answer the question.”

“What?”

You tsk. Move your hands from your thighs to his, nails pressing just deep enough to leave crescent moons behind that match your own. Something for someone else to see. “Did you make her beg for you?”

Seungcheol’s brain power decreases the higher your palms go, when your thumbs press into the dimples of his hips. Can barely choke out a hissed yes, yeah, fu-fuck when your hand covers his, fingers wrapping tightly around his own as you guide it back and forth, up and down the length of his cock. “What did you make her beg for, Cheol?”

“To—to to-touch me.”

You hum. Tighten your grip on Seungcheol’s hand and laugh as his hips roll involuntarily, seeking the friction. “Touch you how? Like this?”

“Yeah—fuck, yes, like this.”

“Did she? Did she listen to you like a good girl?” Your hand leaves Seungcheol’s only to collect the precum at his tip. “Don’t get all shy now, Cheolie.” You suck your thumb into your mouth and he whines. “Was she a good girl for you?”

You sit back on your haunches. Watch him jerk himself off. “Yeah,” he finally says, word cracking in the middle. “Boring, though. Not like—not like you.”

“No one is like me,” you admonish. “I could’ve told you that for free, before you went off and fucked someone else.”

“Not an idiot,” Seungcheol replies, the pace of his hand quickening. He’s playing a dangerous game; approaching the cliff edge at a dangerous pace. “No-nothing comes for free with you.”

All you do is smile, lopsided and smug. “Mm, that’s true. Guess your little dom moment earlier can just be chalked up to momentary stupidity, hm?” Seungcheol wants to nod, wants apologies to tumble from his lips until you shut him up, but his palm is so slick against his dick, fist tight enough to white out his vision. “Did you make her beg to suck your cock?”

Truth be told, Seungcheol can’t remember much of anything right now. He’s perilously close to coming, right at that precipice, and each filthy word that slips from your mouth just pushes him further to the edge. He remembers Chan inviting him to a party. He remembers a few drinks, a few hits from a blunt, compliments of Vernon; he remembers a girl making eyes at him from across the room—eyes that had looked a lot like yours in the haze of his crossfade. He remembers a locked bathroom and the sound of his voice as he told that girl how to touch him so it felt like you. He remembers her doing whatever he told her to, remembers how eager and submissive she was, how she didn’t mouth off to him the way you always do—

Remembers how unsatisfying it’d been when he came.

You’ve ruined him.

Not a revelation. Not even close to one. Seungcheol has known this for a long time, but that doesn’t mean annoyance doesn’t flare in his belly at the reminder. You don’t want him. Being so hung up on you isn’t doing him any favors, just means he’ll have a longer drop when this is all over. God, what the fuck is he doing?

He wants you so badly he’s aflame with it. He wants you so badly he can barely look at you anymore. He wants you so badly it consumes him, drives him insane, has him all fucked up and seething. He wants you, he wants you, he—

Loves.

Reality washes over him like a cold wave. Knocks him backwards, drowning, desperately trying to remember how to breathe. In, out; in, out—and none of it changes a goddamn thing.

Four years of this. Four years of touches exchanged in the dark, behind locked doors. Four years of yearning and trying and failing. Four years of everything getting lost in translation, because it’s hitting him now, but shouldn’t he have felt it before? Shouldn’t all those ‘drive me fuckin’ crazy, can’t fucking stand you’s he spoke into the crook of your neck rang hollow?

“Cheol—” you say, because you asked him something, tried to play along with this whole stupid charade, and he knows he’s frozen, just standing there, hand still wrapped around his cock, and he needs to say something, he needs to fix this—

“I’m a liar,” is what he comes up with. You’re still staring up at him, brows furrowed, pinched in the middle. Move, he wills himself, but nothing happens. “I’m a liar,” he says again, because if he says it enough you’ll believe it. “I’m sorry. I’m—”

“What are you talking about?”

He swallows. I’m in love with you, he wants to say. Feels the weight of the words on his tongue, heavy and pressing, and he thinks you should know. Even if you don’t feel the same, he thinks you deserve to know, but the way you’re looking at him—

He can’t bring himself to say it.

But he can—“Can I show you instead?”

Slowly, you nod. Seungcheol nods, too, still feeling off-kilter as he cradles your face in his hands, thumbs in the contours of your cheeks. Moves them down your neck, your shoulders, down the length of your arms. You meet him halfway, twining your fingers together, and he helps you stand, careful and considerate. At full height, he places a hand in the small of your back to tug you closer, kisses you like it’s the end of the world. Whines into your mouth at your familiar taste, and if he lets himself be delusional enough, he can pretend there’s form and substance to those sounds, that their edges are squared-off to form the words he wants to say.

Because it really might be the end of the world. Seungcheol has never known how to play the cards he’s been dealt when it comes to you. Always gets it wrong. Feints one way when he’s meant to go the other, takes the field with two left feet, always playing catch-up. Maybe the mistake was treating it like a game. Maybe the mistake was strategizing, only playing to win, because he lays you gently on his bed, fits his body in the space you create for him between your legs, and realizes he already won a long time ago.

He won the first time your eyes met. He won the first time he’d kissed you, more nerves and teeth than anything else. He won the first time you tucked yourself against his side and stared at his bedroom ceiling, half-smoked joint between your fingers, and made fun of the stupid flag he’d hung up. He won every time you took all the bullshit he threw at you and dished it right back. He won every time he had the privilege of tracing mindless shapes into your soft skin.

Every second of your time you chose to give him—all victories.

He presses in further. Groans when your hands move to his shoulders and grip tight; when your nails dig into the skin of his back. “I’ve been so stupid,” he says, punctuating his words with a nip at your ear. Smirks out of the corner of his mouth at your shuddering breath. “Haven’t I?”

“Yeah,” you answer, rolling your hips upward. He grabs at you desperately, tries to keep you still; hisses when you swat his hands away and redouble your efforts. “You’ve been a fucking asshole for a—for a while.”

You can’t see the way he pouts. Wonders, too, if that would work on you, if it’d earn him one of those rare moments of tenderness. “Well I’m trying to—shit, baby—trying to make it up to you, but you seem pretty determined to make me bust right now.”

He can see the way you roll your eyes. See the way the corners crinkle after as you laugh softly, breathlessly, still trying to chase a high Seungcheol refuses to provide. “You deserve it. You tried to dom me, you dickhead.”

Embarrassment sits obvious on his ruddy cheeks. He hides his face in the crook of your neck so you don’t see it, don’t have something to poke at him with later, but you’re having none of it. You thread your fingers through his hair and tug gently, forceful enough to have him pliable, and there it is: there are stars in your eyes as you stare up at him, tender and soft just like he hoped you’d look, and he misses the feeling of your nails on your scalp until you’re tugging at the delicate chain around his neck and pulling him closer. “Just kiss me and we’ll call it even.”

This is how it feels to get struck by lightning, he thinks. Every part of him is on fire, and he’s content to burn as his lips find yours. He sighs happily into your mouth, hikes your thigh higher around his middle, presses in to lay claim to what little space is left between you. Seungcheol is so close he can feel the rapid pace of your heartbeat, because this is not the way you usually kiss. What used to be dirty and quick, a means to an end, now has intent, purpose. He’s kissing you like he wants to steal the air from your lungs to replace it with something better.

Trails those same kisses down the length of your body. Open-mouthed at your neck, your collarbones, the space between your breasts. Teasing and slow in the space between each rib, just to watch the way your skin pebbles. Hungry and insistent at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, because if he’s feeling this unhinged, he wants you right there with him. Can’t bear the thought of still being in this alone. Not anymore.

“Legs over my shoulders.” You listen immediately, and Seungcheol mutters a quiet fuck at the sight before him. “God, you’re so wet.”

“No shit—”

He swats at your clit, delighting in the way your body jolts. “Hush. The only thing I wanna hear out of your smart mouth from now on is my fucking name.” And then he’s diving in.

He eats you out like a man starved; like he could do this every day for the rest of his life and he still wouldn’t be satisfied. Can’t help but rut against the mattress at the way you taste, the way your thighs tighten around his head, the sting as you pull at his hair. Places both hands beneath your ass to lift and drag you closer to his waiting mouth—licks at you wet and feverish, all of this seemingly more for him than it is for you, and you’ll get tired of it soon, just like you always do. You’ll tell him—

“Do it right, Cheol, please—”

And he’ll pull away and tsk, swat at you again. His responding laugh will be cocky and derisive when your body trembles again, frantic with the need for more. “What did I say, baby? Do you not trust me to make you come?” You cock an eyebrow, torn between throwing some sarcastic remark at him and following the rules long enough to get what you want. His voice grows serious as he presses a soft kiss to your core. “I will always take care of you.”

The rest is muscle memory.

The rest has a chorus of Cheol, Cheol, Seungcheol spilling from your lips as he suctions his own around your clit. The rest has you grinding your pussy against his face. The rest has him groaning at the way he’s so wholly consumed by you: the taste of you on his tongue, face soaked, two fingers pressed deep into your cunt. The rest has him saying that’s it, baby, come on my face, I know you can and feeling delirious when he finally pushes you over the edge; when your walls clench around his fingers, breathing fractured, when you grab at him until you’re eye-level and you’re licking into his mouth to taste yourself.

Tastes a lot like I love you.

“Want you to ride me,” he says, gaze half-lidded and pleading. You whine as he moves his thumb back to your clit, tracing slow, slow, slow circles, oversensitive. “Will you do that for me?”

The party seems so far away. Grows even further away when you nod and straddle his lap. Seungcheol sits up, tells you to wrap your legs around him. Can’t stand not touching you; needs every inch of his skin to be covered by you like a bruise—something deep that’ll last for days, weeks, months. The mottled colors will change, but it’ll still be there.

“Need you, Cheol,” you whisper, kissing his eyelids. He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes.

“You have me,” he answers, but it sounds foreign to his ears—sounds wretched, like the words have been punched out of him. It sounds like forfeit. “Always have.”

You pull back. Study his face. Run over his plush bottom lip with your thumb. It feels like an eternity of silence before you speak. “No, I haven’t,” you insist, tone insistent but delicate, like you’re trying to convince him of it, too. “Not like this.”

I love you.

You lift your hips just enough to sink down on his cock. Seungcheol’s moan is loud and unabashed, not afraid to let anyone hear the way you make him feel. All he can think is familiar: he knows your blinding white heat; has made countless homes in your tight grip he still holds the keys to; has done this so many goddamn times it’s second nature.

He was an absolute fool to think he could ever walk away.

You roll your hips, taking him deeper like you’ve got something to prove, body moving on its own sinuous accord. Seungcheol loves you like this, when you know exactly what you want and aren’t afraid to take it. When you press sloppy kisses to his neck, the column of his throat. When he grabs at your hips, tries to move you faster along the length of his cock, and you swat his hands away. When your rhythmic up-and-down turns into a slow grind that has you gasping and breathless, pussy spasming around him.

“Goddamn, I love this pussy,” he chokes out, fingers gripping tightly at the sheets since he can’t touch you. He’s mindless with pleasure, feels himself start babbling nonsense he can’t make sense of, and it’s overwhelming, having you like this. Isn’t sure how he’s survived this long, but maybe you were right.

Maybe it was never like this before.

Usually he’d take you from behind, quick and dirty, hands digging into the meat of your ass, palm cracking down on it every now and then, imparting white heat of his own. Usually he’d have you beneath him, knees pressed to your chest, all condescension as you told him, eyes rolled back, that he was too deep, that you couldn’t take it, and he’d rub at your clit and tell you you could as he dragged another orgasm out of you. Usually he’d be so frenzied and worked up he’d take you against the door, sweats pushed to mid-thigh, forearms straining as they held you up.

So, yeah—this is different. This is a patient, sensual dance to the finish line. This is Seungcheol in his rawest form: a live wire, vulnerable, anxious. This is the unknown, because something has to come after but he doesn’t know what it is.

This is Seungcheol throwing caution to the wind, leaning in close enough to taste the salt on your skin, and saying, “I love you.”

This is Seungcheol planting his feet and fucking up into you, unwilling to hear your response. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, but sometimes bliss is just bliss, and he’ll willingly take either.

This is you coming undone on his cock, breathing rapid and ragged, pupils blown wide as you stare at him in awe.

“Say it again.”

Someone slams into the wall just outside Seungcheol’s door, and all at once the real world creeps back in: the thrumming bass line of the music downstairs; laughter, shouting, and yelling; fists banging on shut doors—but he hears you loud and clear. Presses each word into your mouth this time and groans when you swallow them. Barely makes a sound as he spills inside of you, feeling like every nerve in his body is aflame.

The two of you are quiet for a time as you try to catch your breath. Seungcheol only moves to grab his duvet and wrap it around your shoulders, smiling fondly at the small thank you you mumble, seemingly still bogged down, well-fucked.

He presses a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Okay?”

You nod, push at him until he lays back and pulls you with him, lets you use his firm chest as a pillow. That flag you’d made fun of before isn’t up there anymore, but Seungcheol feels warm at the memory anyway, almost laughs at the comment he imagines you’d make.

Clears his throat. Tries to find his courage. “I really am sorry,” he tells you again, because it doesn’t matter if he loves you if he doesn’t know how to be good at it.

“I know, Cheol,” comes your easy reply. You’re tracing shapes on his stomach that have his muscles contracting. “I know you love me, too.” You sigh, press your lips to his rib cage. “Who knew it’d only take making out with Mingyu to get you to admit it.”

A wild laugh tumbles out of him. “Fuck off.” He can feel your grin.

“You got a fucked up way of showing it, though.”

He hums, holds onto you a little tighter. “Go easy on me, I only figured it out about an hour ago.”

“An hour?” you faux-gasp, make like you’re about to leave. “I’m outta here. I know my worth. If I’m going to say it back to someone, they need to be in love with me for at least two.”

He chokes at the implication, heart threatening to beat right out of his chest and into yours. He knows he looks exactly like the moonstruck, loved-up loser he is, and he coughs to cover it. “That’s what I said,” he lies. “Two hours. You must’ve heard it wrong.”

No, it was never like this.

#seungcheol x reader #seungcheol smut #scoups x reader #scoups smut #seungcheol imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #seventeen fanfic #seungcheol fanfic #scoups fanfic #jewel writes #fic: wntt

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duvetchico · 2 months ago

Note

u shld write about yn ignoring karina (bc of some dumb arugment) and then ir becomes fluffy plspslslspsksks🥹✌️

fine, don't talk to me then

summary you and jimin get into a real argument over something small, but the hurt feelings spiral until you both end up saying shit you don’t mean.

genre angst (real but dumb) / fluff / slow softening

pairing yu jimin x fem!reader

masterlist.

you were fighting about something SO fucking stupid.

like actually so dumb you can’t even remember what started it. maybe it was the thing with the laundry—how jimin said she’d fold it and then left it on the bed so when you walked in, half your clothes were wrinkled and your hoodie was suffocating your cat.

and you were already cranky from work. and hungry. and her attitude was pissing you off.

and then she said it.

“you’re so dramatic all the time.”

with that tone.

so you said “fine. don’t talk to me then.”

and you meant it.

the only sound was your fork clinking against the plate. you’re eating dinner by yourself at the table while jimin sits on the couch—arms crossed, eyes on the tv, volume on low like she’s being passive aggressive even with netflix.

she hasn’t said a word in two hours.

she’s texting in the groupchat though. you know because your phone lights up.

ae🐍pa + a dyke

jimin someone tell y/n she’s a brat

minjeong oop

aeri what did u do this time

jimin i breathed incorrectly i guess

y/n don’t bring the groupchat into this you attention-seeking loser

ningning FIGHT FIGHT KISS FIGHT FIGHT

“oh,” she mutters. “now you wanna talk?”

you stand up. LOUDLY. take your plate to the sink like you’re starring in a drama. slam the faucet on. she laughs bitterly.

“you’re so extra.”

you whip around. “you’re acting like you did nothing wrong.”

“i did the laundry!”

“no, you folded it by turning it into a fucking mountain of wrinkles and then gave me attitude when i asked about it.”

“because you made it a big deal!”

“because you make me feel like a fucking burden when i ask you to do anything!”

…

jimin goes quiet. you freeze too.

you didn’t mean to say it like that. not with that much heat. but it came out anyway.

“…that’s not fair,” she says after a second. voice low now.

“i try. i do shit for you. i mess up sometimes but i’m trying.”

you swallow. you wanna say sorry. but your chest is tight.

she gets up and walks to the bedroom without another word. closes the door softly.

not a slam. not a yell.

just quiet.

later.

you stand outside the bedroom door holding her hoodie in your hands. she left it on the couch and you’ve been clutching it like a damn idiot for the last ten minutes.

you knock. once.

“…what.”

“can i come in?”

you open the door anyway. she’s lying on her side facing away from you.

you crawl onto the bed. sit there for a second.

“…i didn’t mean it. that way.”

she doesn’t look at you. but her hand finds yours.

“…i know.”

you lay down behind her. wrap your arm around her waist.

“…i love you. even when you suck at laundry.”

she exhales a tiny laugh. “and i love you. even when you yell like a mom on edge.”

you bury your face into her neck. “don’t shut me out next time.”

“don’t say i make you feel like a burden again.”

“…deal.”

she turns over and finally looks at you. her eyes are soft now. she brushes your cheek with her knuckles and kisses your nose.

“can we never fight again?”

“too bad. next time you piss me off i’m egging your skincare.”

you don’t even realize you’re falling asleep on her until your head sinks further into her stomach and she goes,

“…baby?”

and you’re like “hngh.”

because your mouth’s already smooshed into her hoodie and you’ve been laying on her like she’s a very expensive, limited edition, no longer in stock type of pillow.

her hand’s in your hair. gently scratching your scalp. her other one’s playing with your fingers, squeezing them like she’s making sure you’re still there. like she’s still scared you’re mad.

and she whispers, “still mad at me?”

and you just grunt and shake your head a little, not even looking up.

“only mad that your abs are too flat for this to be comfortable.”

“oh wow. my bad for being fit and sexy.”

you hum sleepily, “yeah. you should apologize to the less hot population.”

jimin scoffs. she grabs the hoodie that you’re drooling into and yanks it over your head to trap you inside.

“you’re so annoying.”

“and you love me.”

your voice is muffled now inside her clothes.

and for a moment it’s quiet again. the bad kind. and you almost pull away until you feel her hand press flat against your back. keeping you there.

“…i don’t like when we fight,” she says.

you turn your head. still half-buried in her hoodie.

“i know. me neither.”

and then, softly, “i felt like shit. the second you shut that door.”

her thumb brushes over your spine.

“i thought you were gonna stay mad forever.”

“bitch please,” you mutter. “you think i’d let you go to sleep without telling me goodnight? what am i, an animal?”

she laughs. soft and real. and then leans down to kiss your forehead.

“goodnight, dramatic animal.”

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kayentokk · 1 year ago

Note

Hey :) How are you doing?

Okay so, i wanted to request a platonic father Aizawa in which he is out patroling and he finds his teen daughter doing something ilegal with her friends or something like that.

Please and thankss :)

A/N; I’m okay thanks for asking! Love this idea, I’ve gotten many requests somewhat related to this lately actually! I’ll be posting those throughout the week. Also sorry it’s taken me a while to get to this! 🥲 I truly believe Aizawa is a girl dad and a softie parent.

Pairing; Platonic!Father Aizawa x Fem!Daughter Reader

Contains; a little ooc Aizawa, fluff, soft, drug mentions, reader is about 16-17 like mha characters, quirk-less reader, death mentions, bad friends, comfort

wc; 1,763

You weren’t supposed to get caught. In fact, you didn’t even think you would. It wasn’t a big deal anyways, you only did it because you thought it’d be a way to relax with your friends. Plus, if you guys did get caught your backup plan was your father. It wasn’t like he was going to detain you…right?

Wrong.

You were very wrong to believe that your father wouldn’t take you into custody over a little weed with your friends. You just wanted to have fun! Besides, you didn’t want to be the ‘perfect heroes daughter’ who’s a buzzkill. Why couldn’t he understand that?

There was just so much pressure that came with being the child to a hero. Your friends already joked about how you were too ‘good’ to do anything remotely illegal. Which is part of the reason you were in this situation in the first place.

Of course he just happened to be patrolling around the alley you and your friends decided to get a little high in. That was just your luck, he didn’t seem mad though. So you thought he’d just tell you guys not to do it anymore, and move on. Nope. Leave it to Aizawa to want to teach you a ‘lesson’ all of a sudden. He was normally just a “don’t do it again,” kind of parent. Mostly because you had never done anything of this caliber before.

“Did you really have to bring me in?”

Silence.

“I mean come on, none of the other heroes care. They’re too busy thinking about protecting the city, shouldn’t you be too? Nobody cares about a couple of kids getting a little buzzed, besides everyone does it nowadays-“

“That doesn’t make it okay y/n.”

You’ve rarely seen him like this, so tense. He didn’t look angry, but you couldn’t shake the feeling you got that he was. It was almost….scary.

So you resigned to a simple, “Okay, I’m sorry.” Were you really sorry though? Not that much, you still didn’t see the big deal.

He let out a low grunt, “This is serious y/n, I know you think I’m making a big deal out of nothing,” well he said it first, “but you could’ve been seriously hurt.”

“Hurt? From getting a little high?”

“Criminals lace that stuff all the time, whether it’s with poison, more drugs, or whatever else they decide-“

“Yeah sure, but we got it from a trusted source-“

“And who’s that?” He said crossing his arms.

Oops.

You decided it’d be best not to respond right now. Especially since the source wasn’t technically trusted, just another kid who got it from someone else. Who probably got it from someone else too.

Sensing your apprehension he decide to drop it, “we’ll revisit that later,” he said waving a dismissive hand. “I’ll drop you off at home, you’re grounded.”

You internally groaned at that, grounded? That’s a new one, you were starting to really regret your decision. You should have just told your friends no, even if it meant being the ‘buzzkill.’ Then you remembered, your friends-

“What about my friends?”

“We’re working on calling their parents to come pick them up soon.”

“No!-“ you said sharply, “I-I mean, can’t you just let them off? Or something?”

“You know that’s not how this works, they are already getting off with a minor offense. The worst they’re going to get is their parents’ scolding.”

“Dad! You don’t understand-“

“I understand perfectly fine, a bunch of young kids wanted to ‘have fun’ and thought this was the best way to do it.”

Okay maybe he did understand, but not your side. He didn’t get that now you’d officially be the outcast, the top 10 ranked hero’s daughter who gets everyone in trouble. Does he get how embarrassing that is?

“Come on, let’s get going.”

You stood from the chair leaving the comfort of being shielded, by the small desk separator, from your friends’ piercing gazes. They thought your dad would let you all off too considering the chaos the city’s currently in.

You nervously waved and mouthed a quick ‘sorry’ to them before rushing out the door trying to follow closely behind Aizawa.

You guys didn’t speak the whole way home, you opted for silence mostly because it wasn’t that big of a deal and he just didn’t know what to say. You had never done anything like that before, or had he just never caught you? When did that start?

He remembered when you were little and you’d give your vegetables to stray animals so you didn’t have to eat them, or when you tried to sneak out at night and he caught you. But those were all pretty minor things, and he was only always concerned with your safety.

You’d never done anything this bad, and in terms of the worst thing you could do of course this wasn’t horrible but he still didn’t get why. It couldn’t have just been for fun.

He entered the house after unlocking the door and opening it for you. Before you could make it to your room, where you’d probably go to sulk, he decided he’d ask.

“Why did you want to do that y/n?”

You stopped and turned around to face him. He was standing in front of the door, and now that you actually took in his appearance he looked tired. His dark circles more prominent, eyes a light pink most likely from his quirk, and his black pants had small patches of dust that had been hastily patted off on them.

You replied after a moment, briefly forgetting his question, “For fu-“

“And don’t just say for fun, because I know you and there are plenty of other things you would do for fun.”

You huffed resigning to just come out with it, “it was a bet.”

“A bet?”

“My friends bet me that I wouldn’t get high with them since I’m a hero’s daughter.”

“And you decided to take them up on that?”

“Yes, I know it was stupid okay?”

“I know you know, you’re smarter than that. So why’d you say yes?”

Why’d he have to be so persistent? “Maybe because I thought I’d finally get some friends.”

“What do you mean y/n? You do have friends.”

“No, I don’t. Momo, Tsu, and Uraraka only hang out with me out of pity, since you’re their teacher, if they even have time-“

“Pity? Y/n no they don’t, there’s nothing pitiful about you at all-“

You scoffed, “don’t lie. I get you’re my dad and all but be honest with yourself, truly honest.”

“I am being honest. I’d never lie-“

Guess you’d just have to spell it out for him then. “The only daughter you had killed your wife, was born quirk-less, and there’s nothing special about her!” You were shocked at the admission of your own feelings but kept going, “I don’t have a talent, I’m not exceptionally smart, I’m not breathtakingly pretty, and I can’t even make friends!” You listed raising a finger for each reason, “Now tell me what about that is not pitiful?”

After that question there was silence, and Aizawa was just looking at you. You hadn’t even noticed you were crying until the first tear slid down your nose crease and hit the corner of your lip. Before touching could even wipe your tear or register the sound of footsteps approaching you, you were being hugged. Fully covered by his arms, your head grazing the bottom of his chin where stubble had began to grow, face buried partially into his scarf.

You heard high pitched wailing, which you hadn’t even registered was you until his hand began to rub up and down your back with quiet ‘shh’s to try calming you.

“Don’t cry, it’s okay. It’s not your fault, none of it okay?” He began whispering in your ear.

“Your mom and I both knew the challenges she’d have if she gave birth to you. We were well aware, and she wanted to have you. She didn’t care if she’d die in the process, you are our child.”

He continued comforting you, and when you eventually calmed down he let go and gently pulled your face out of his chest so you could look him in his tired, red eyes. “I love you so much, and I’m sorry if I don’t tell you that enough okay? It’s my fault I’m sorry. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and you’re perfect. I mean that, I’d never lie. You don’t need a quirk, to be super smart, or have a special talent. You’re perfect to me, okay? And that’s all that matters. You’re important to me,” he said firmly.

“Okay?”

You sniffled, reaching a hand to wipe your nose, “okay.”

“Hey,” he said turning your face back to his, “I really mean it, I’d be no where without you. And how could you say you’re not beautiful? I know I’m not the best looking hero, but haven’t you seen the pictures of your mom? You take after her, gorgeous. Nothing I’d ever change about you, I don’t regret anything.”

“Okay,” you said slightly unused to him saying these things, “I’ve never heard you say something so corny dad,” you said chuckling trying to lighten the mood.

At that, he gave a small grin which faded when he remembered your earlier point, “And Ochaco, Tsuyu, and Yaoyorozu do like being your friend. Not just because I’m their teacher, trust me I’m more of a supervisor if anything. I let them figure most stuff out on their own. They wanted to meet and hang out with you. I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, you make friends just fine.”

“I know, I know, it was just heat of the moment stuff dad.”

He let out a sigh of relief, hugged you once more, and pressed a kiss to the top of your forehead.

“I still have about another hour of night patrol, but I’ll stay here if you want me to?”

“No dad, it’s fine go.”

He looked at you once more as if saying, ‘are you sure?’

“Yes I’m sure I’m fine, it’s only an hour anyways.”

“Okay, call me if you need anything, I’ll be back soon,” he said headed towards the door.

“Okay,” you said starting to walk to your room.

But just before he shut the door you dashed for it and started, “Hey! does this mean-“

“No you’re still grounded,” he said.

And with that the door shut.

@/cafekitsune for the divider!

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starlight299 · 4 months ago

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“Why are you like this?” Steve groaned flopping backward, his head narrowly missing the wall.

“Dude, be careful!” Eddie shrieked.

“What?”

“My bed is not as big as yours, you nearly scalped yourself.”

“I- Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Oops.” Steve chuckled.

“That is not an appropriate response, what the fuck Stevie, do you want to get a concussion?”

“No? But I’ve already gotten two, what’s the big deal?”

“You- no, that’s not- that doesn’t make it okay!”

“Sorry.”

“Holy shit Steve, you seriously need to start valuing yourself.”

“Sorry.” Steve muttered again, sitting up.

“Ste-”

“I said I’m sorry.”

“You- Stop that.”

“Sor-”

“Stevie, sweetheart, please stop, you didn’t- you didn’t do anything wrong, you just… I wish you’d be a little more careful.”

“Yeah.” Steve sighed, “Sor- yeah.” He brought his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on top of them.

“Steve.” Eddie tapped his thigh with his toes. Steve looked over at him again. “You don’t owe me an apology, I just don’t want you to get hurt.” Steve nodded. “I mean it, you didn’t do anything.”

“You seemed kinda mad.” Steve turned away again, resting his chin back on his knees.

“I’m not mad. I promise. I just don’t want you to get hurt.” Steve nodded. “Stevie, I mean it, I am not mad.” Another nod. “Steve.”

“I know.” Steve mumbled, making him sound completely unbelievable. Eddie sighed.

“Okay, come here.” Eddie held his arms out and swung his legs to the sides. “You clearly need a hug.” Would that hug kill Eddie? Maybe. But Steve definitely needed it. Steve looked at him again, slightly warily, but scooted over anyway and leaned against Eddie as he wrapped his arms around him. Yeah, hugging Steve definitely felt good. He could only hope Steve could feel a tiny fraction of Eddie’s relief.

Front Row Seats To The Fall Of A King (AO3) Chapter 11 out of 28

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #fanfic #fanfiction #stanger things #stranger things fanfiction #steddie fic #fanfic teaser #promote

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apenapaperandadoofus · 3 months ago

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Sigh sometimes the MQ and FX hate, while yeah I’m not gonna tell you how to feel about a certain character is just so…biased?

Like listen. The whole gist of MXTX characters is that they are ALL flawed and do things realistic humans would do. It just pisses me off that the characters do things that make sense with their flaws and struggles but people always justify XLs pain and mistakes while absolutely hating on the rest.

And also: it’s been stated that FX looked for XL. Like literally in the first book of the novel I believe. And MQ OBVIOUSLY THINKS XL IS MAD AT HIM AND HATES HIM WHY WOULD HE GO LOOK FOR HIM WHEN HE THINKS THAT?!

Yes Mu Qing left XL when he was struggling, yes it was shitty but also: his literal MOTHER was sick, HE also lost his country, Xianle wasn’t traumatic only for XL (obviously he went through lots of shit different from MQ and FX) but he ALSO lost his home, he watched his people die, he was bullied relentlessly and literally BELIEVED XL and FX didn’t like him but he still STUCK with them even after he was yelled at by the entire world he wasn’t enough.

MNQ as much as I find him hilarious, clearly takes every moment he can to dismiss MQ and make him feel bad about himself ever since he was 15. 15. Do you know what hearing that type of shit every day of your life can make you think? He has self esteem issues while being prideful bc he’s a human being and all humans contradict themselves people!!! He left to help his mother, and with the 33 gods scene OMG YEAH obviously it was bad but once again let’s take a look at what happened alright?

ALSO ALSO I’d like to add he probably thought FX and XL wouldn’t struggle that much, bc FX and XL have been pretty successful their whole life, he probably thought they didn’t need him to survive bc he’s been told they’ve always been leagues above him.

Anyway:

1. MQ sees the officials fighting XL.

2. MQ, gets asked to fight XL while XL asks him to side with him. He has struggled his whole life to be recognized, he does and becomes a lower court official, and now he’s caught between a rock and a hard place. (Is that the saying? English isn’t my first language oop)

He wants to help XL he so obviously does, but once again- he has been like a dehydrated person his entire life and now he gets a chance to have water- only for him to be given the choice to give it up for his friend. Was it selfish? Yes. But did it make sense? Obviously. AGAIN he’s been STRUGGLING his whole life- and like XL said at one point, why isn’t he allowed to think for himself just once? Plus even after having the offers of being a lower court official he waits and helps XL and his family for a long time until he leaves.

3. When XL says MQ is his friend (which btw- MQ had no idea about bc again, he has the entire world tell him since he was a TEEN that he has no right to be XLs friend and that he isn’t, and being a TEENAGER WHO HAS BEEN BULLIED BY HIS PEERS AND TEACHER (who btw isn’t supposed to talk shit about their students bc teachers are there to teach and be patient and such) HE BELIEVES IT BC ALSO AS MUCH AS I LOVE XL LETS BE REAL HE HASN’T DONE A LOT TO HELP HIM HAS HE????

(Tumblr deleted this part I hate everything why)

It said, yes while XL defended him that one time with MNQ when he was blamed about the whole entrance to the festival thing and later on with the bullies WHICH BTW has clearly been happening for a real long time) MQ has been reprimanded by the state preceptor since he was 15. FIFTEEN PEOPLE. Do you know what hearing that his hard work will never be enough compared to others, yo be bullied endlessly like that will do to a person?

He’s been struggling his whole life to be recognized for his work- he’s like a starving man finally being able to have some food- why wouldn’t he want to keep it that way? After he’s worked SO hard for SO long why wouldn’t he try and keep his head above water after drowning all his life?

Like LOOK what this kid goes through

Also before you comment on the “he himself wasn’t very likeable” have you ever heard of self defense mechanisms? MQ has shown to be quiet and rule abiding whenever people of higher class (which btw is practically everyone) have interacted with him, however when people have bullied him (which btw he has also shown to take quietly???) he has only sometimes defended himself. He’s always on guard- and he reacts when he thinks someone is blaming him or using his status to be prejudiced towards him. Of course he’d grow up thinking everything was a little jab- that everyone was against him, because growing up thats what he saw.

He is immediately defensive bc it’s what he had to learn to do to survive.

And MQ follows the rules because he has been taught to survive from a young age.

And even after he ascends MNQ is SO shitty to him, only showing us a bit of what MQ had to go through EVERY DAY as a TEEN. XL never took his guoshi and was like “hey man can you please not bully this guy so much? Please don’t be so prejudiced towards him.”

He doesn’t. And again, thats bc XLs flaw at that time is he doesn’t know what others struggle with since he’s been successful and pampered his whole life, obviously he wouldn’t think about that at the time which is a flaw- just like MQ has flaws as well and acts accordingly.

AND AND it also says he’s been struggling in heaven as well.

And look at that. Much more difficult. Much more? That implies he had been having it hard enough before. Guys he was STRUGGLING OF COURSE HED TRY AND SAVE HIMSELF OH MY GOD

Anyway- he takes a step forward and clearly looks torn. We don’t know what he was going to do- but if he truly hated XL he could’ve easily beat him up. It’s until an asshole literally brings up, once again, something MQ has been bullied, self conscious about since he was a kid that MQ becomes mad- and it triggers him to side with the officials- but also give XL a small mercy. Was it wrong? Yes. Did he do it with malice? No.

MQ thought he was doing the right thing. MQ has always done what’s best for him to survive bc he was raised in a family where not only where they poor, but his father was a criminal. Obviously he had to learn young to think about himself. Obviously he was selfish at that point because he finally was able to show his worth.

ALSO HIS MOTHER PROBABLY DIED IN THE TIME-SKIP HE WAS PROBABLY GRIEVING TOO OH MY GOD

AND ALSO PEER PRESSURE? THAT WAS CLEARLY PEER PRESSURE AND MQ CAVED UNDER IT BC HES HAS ISSUES OH MY GOD.

Sorry anyway let’s keep going.

Afterwards yes. He lets XL get pushed, he sees him run away. But again, this is what MQ thought was helping. He thought he was doing the right thing. He thought he was helping in his own way.

Can we also add, maybe he didn’t want to fight XL? Maybe he didn’t want it to keep escalating bc if it did it would mean beating XL up?

Even after the others goad him, MQ never touches XL. He could’ve hit him, he could’ve beaten him up and unloaded years of prejudice from everyone (including XL accidentally being classist- he doesn’t do it on purpose of course but there have been moments when XL accidentally just never lets poor MQ ignore the divide between them)

(Let’s add crossing the line is such a good song for the two of them omg)

And while selfish he chose himself- he has been choosing XL all his life, hasn’t he? Hes stood by him- why isn’t he allowed think of himself once? Why can’t he want to be successful, to be happy for once to have himself be acknowledged?

Am I saying what he did was good? No. But it makes sense for him and I’m not going to demonize a person who has clearly been struggling with self worth issues, being bullied and told all his hard work meant nothing who chooses to think of himself for once.

And then even after that happens MQ CHASES AFTER HIM. Yes he doesn’t help him, but chasing after him? The officials probably saw that and given the assholes they were probably shit talked him about that later.

MQ didn’t have to go after him but he did. He did.

Late? Yes. But he still did it.

And even so he later also admits he did it so he could help them out- SO BEING AN OFFICIAL ALSO WASN’T A SELFISH ACT- he wanted to use it to help his friends as well

PLUS ITS EVEN SAID BY HIM HE ALSO DID IT TO HELP XL AND FX 😭

Anyway he helps XL up and then apologizes. MQ apologizes.

People say him justifying his actions by comparing it to XLs robbery is not the same and doesn’t compare but uh-

XL robbed someone because yes, he didn’t have a choice, and he didn’t do it because he liked it. It went against his beliefs and morals bc he had to survive.

MQ didn’t help XL bc he was also struggling in heaven with the officials, and he clearly wants to help XL and doesn’t like it, but does something that goes against his beliefs and morals because he had to survive.

And afterwards- he goes and does something that heavenly officials can’t do. He gives them gifts. Which FX states that is dangerous and they can’t do.

MQ does risk himself for XL- yes it’s late. But he risks his skin for XL. He clearly didn’t think things would be so bad for them- he clearly thought they’d be better off because again ITS WHAT HES BEEN TOLD HIS ENTIRE LIFE.

And then again- he apologizes.

He has had time to think- has had time to meditate away from everyone else. He has realized he was wrong. He realized he fucked up and goes to make up for it.

He made a mistake. He had no reason to do that, to give them food and then offer to give them medicine- but he still did.

And I am so sorry, but it seems hypocritical of everyone else to justify XLs actions because of his struggles, pain and grief- when while yeah, MQ didn’t go though the same he still suffered, he still went through his struggles and pain.

I love XL but how come HE can act according to his feelings and pain and afterwards be forgiven but MQ can’t?

XL made mistakes because the world drove him to it- because of what he went through and suffered.

MQ also made mistakes because the world drove him to it and he had suffered too.

Again, they’re not in the same scale- but the justification of the actions is the same.

They were both driven to something and the actions they took were based on what happened to them. Then they realize their mistake and make up for it.

Phew anyway sorry for the rant it’s just. It hurts me to see characters not being treated the same- to be hated because of their flaws when the MCs get to have everything justified and ignored.

MXTX again, shows characters can make mistakes and have flaws. Hua Cheng is forgiven for his. Xie Lian is forgiven for his.

Why can’t Mu Qing’s be as well? He certainly made up for it by almost dying and having a cursed shackle didn’t he?

He’s been thinking his whole life XL didn’t like him. He fully believes it. And he does actions that are selfish- yes but he didn’t do with the intention of hurting XL on purpose.

And then when he thinks XL is being kidnapped and stalked (which lets be clear he wasn’t but for MQ and FXs POV it is lmao) by someone who has also KILLED OFFICIALS, plus is known to be manipulative and kind of crazy, get close to XL he does his best to help him??!

Like we do think it’s wrong because we have the context of everything XL and HC went through together- but MQ and FX dont.

Guys, if your friend was hanging out with a criminal who has killed your co workers, appears as if they’ve been stalking them and then have a whole place set on idolizing them (which yes I know the cave of 10k gods is a religious practice and I have defended HC from people who say it’s creepy, I’m just giving the POV from MQ bc why would a ghost king worship a god? In universe it would be confusing and for them be creepy) wouldn’t you be worried too? Hello!!! From their POV this is a horror movie 😭😭😭

Anyway I’ll cut this rant here. I’ve been wanting to do a whole thing analyzing both MQ and FX and this doesn’t even come close to everything I want to say but I’ve tapped to much.

It’s fine to not like them. However don’t shit on other people and demonize them completely without understanding their story and why they were written that way.

If y’all wanna talk about this more my asks are open 😌💕

#tgcf #mu qing #feng xin #xie lian #hua cheng #heaven official's blessing #api talks #character analysis

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

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Follow You Anywhere 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You're online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: I couldn't help myself.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

"So... this is what it looks like today?" You aim your camera at the sky outside your window, "sorry, the screen is kinda in the way."

You let out a nervous chuckle and flip the camera to yourself. You make a silly face. You were never overly fond of your image on the screen but the vlogs help. Like a little diary, mostly for yourself. You and your seven followers on Insta.

You bat your lashes and fix the clip in your hair, "oh, I got this free. Yeah, I bought a new hair oil and they threw this in the bag." You let your thoughts run wild from your tongue. You found a journal too daunting, the blank lines leaving you just as empty. This is easier. "Anyway, I shouldn't have spent the money to begin with."

You give another splintered laugh. The one you let out when you're anxious, or scared, or happy, or even mad. You bite your lip and catch yourself in your digitized reflection. You stop and turn your camera to your bedroom.

"Today, I'm gonna clean this mess. Me and you guys together."

You scour the room with the lens. Your laundry is piled on the floor and you have a stack of books you need to put on the shelf. It isn't the worst it's been but it's getting cluttered.

"But first, we'll have breakfast, can't start the stream on an empty stomach," you chirp and nearly drop the phone, "oops, uh..." You fix your grip and check the number in the corner. You have one viewer; on a good day, it's three, most days, it's just you talking to the void.

You go into the kitchen, just down the short hall from your bedroom, opening into your living room. You go to the counter and prop up the phone so the camera is on you again. You tap your fingers and hum.

"What should we have for breakfast?" You ask. You don't feel as crazy talking to yourself even if there's really no one watching. "Oo, French toast. Gotta use up the eggs."

You go to the fridge and pull out the eggs and the milk. You bring them back to the counter, shuffling around for a bowl, a whisk, and the cinnamon.

You mix up your ingredients and dip the bread, one piece at a time. You put on a skillet and fry up the slices, presenting a stack of three to the camera. You smile and dust some icing sugar over the top.

“Probably shouldn't have all this sugar for breakfast,” you shrug at the camera, “alright, quick break…”

You put the stream onto the ‘back soon’ page and take your plate to the small foldout table against the wall. You're not a fan of eating on camera. You finish and rinse up before snatching your phone up again.

You return to your bedroom and put the phone on a middle shelf and flip the stream back to live. Still that one viewer…

“Anyway, I'm back,” you wave at the lens.

You hesitate, looking around as you stand straight and spin. Cleaning, right. Before you can set to work, the phone dings.

A message?

You go back to your phone and squint at the chat bubble floating up.

‘Looked delicious too.’

“It was,” you agree with a grin, “thanks.”

‘Don't mean the toast.’

The next message has you blinking. Your nape burns. They can't mean… you clear your throat and giggle.

“Well, let's get started,” you back up and clap your hands, “you know, I've been so carried away with work. This place is a pigsty.”

You sit on the floor and sort through the clothes. You toss them into the basket as you sit in silence. You stop yourself and glance at the phone.

“How about some tunes?”

You walk on your knees to your bedside and turn on your bluetooth speaker. You go to your phone and find a playlist before pulling the stream back to full screen. As you do, you hear a noise you've never heard before.

‘BourbonBear has tipped.’ Huh? Really?

“Oh, thanks, er, BourbonBear,” you giggle around the name, “how nice. Maybe one day I can afford a proper camera for this, huh?”

You smile and go back to the dirty clothes. You quickly ball up a pair of panties and shove them in the basket. You carry on until they're all untangled.

You move on and tidy your desk, bending underneath to gather up a few loose pens. You make your way around the bedroom, putting away books, fixing the blankets on the bed, and straightening the little figurines on the shelf above the bed.

You grab the stick vacuum and suck up the dirt and proclaim your task done. It took a lot longer than you thought. It's after eleven. The one viewer is still there.

“Whew, okay, I'm gonna get myself washed up and go to the park. Maybe I'll post that later,” you give a thumbs up next to your head as you talk to the phone, “thank you.”

You end the stream and let out a sigh. Your videos aren't much and you doubt they're very interesting but it's like venting for you. Almost like having an invisible friend. You think you will take some pictures of the flowers to share.

🧸

You take your usual path through the park. The walks help you unwind your worries. You try to come after work at least a couple days during the week and both days on the weekend. You find the mindlessness of the routine to be calming.

The deeper you get into the wooded length of the path, you slow to admire the birds in the branches and the critters crawling in the brush. You take out your phone and snap a few photos of a blue jay before it wings away shyly. You smile and flip the cam, smiling as you take a goofy selfie. You can add that to your post.

The path winds ahead and you follow it in the din, listening to the river just down the incline to your left and the tweeting from the sky. You lift your face and inhale the woodsy scent. The sudden crack of a twig startles you and you spin to face the noise. There's no one there. Sometimes you forget other people are free to just walk on through.

You chuckle at yourself and continue on. The path leads out to a suburban street where you like to look at the houses. They're much more spacious and pretty than your grimy brick apartment building.

You come out from the shade of the trees and wander along the avenue. There's a mailbox painted to look like the house it stands before and a little nook for second hand children's books to be borrowed through the neighbourhood. Sometimes you picture yourself living in one of those houses though you don't think it could ever truly be.

As you crane your head, you sense a shadow in your peripheral. You're walking a bit slow. You sidle to the side to get out of the way of the other pedestrian. When no one passes, you look back. No one.

You must be imagining things. You shrug and plod along. You're already thinking of what kind of tea you'll have when you get in.

🧸

You sit down with your mug of ginger citrus tea and set to editing your post. You add a light filter to the photos as you shuffle through them on your laptop. The process is slow as the computer is nearly five years old now and chuffing on its 4GB drive. You get to the selfie you snapped, a stop.

You lean in to get a better glimpse of the background. It's fuzzy but there's a figure just over your shoulder. How could that be? You looked and there was no one there. That's so strange.

You stare as a chill courses through you. You're thankful you hadn't put your earphones in. You wouldn't have heard whoever it was and they may have even snuck up on you. Or maybe it's just a trick of the light.

You hit ‘post’ and try to shake off the foreboding. It's nothing. You're being silly. Besides, you're home and safe now. Next time, you'll be more alert.

A message pops up. You stare at the dot over the chat bubble. You tap with your thumb and bring up the DMs.

'Stream tonight?' BourbonBear asks.

You tilt your head. You already did some today. You're tired and want to lie down and enjoy your time off. You type back 'sorry, not tonight. tomorrow <3' and another notification vibrates. A comment on your latest post.

'Pretty sweater', also from BourbonBear. You heart their comment and leave a thanks below.

You flip back to the selfie. You can't really see your sweater in the picture, just the scalloped knitting of the collar. Well, you suppose it does look cute. You put your phone down and leave it on your desk. That's enough Insta for today.

🧸

You time your shopping trip for the least busy hour. It's early and the store is almost empty except for employees stacking bread on shelves or wandering listlessly around the deli. You have your phone in the basket of the cart, aimed at you as you roll it along slowly and check your list.

The stream is just as empty. It's only just started but you don't expect too many people to be up at this hour. You stop and grab a loaf of sourdough, checking the date before showing it to the lens and putting it in the cart. You smile and announce the next item.

"Strawberries... you know I was thinking I might get raspberries instead," you say, catching the eye of one of the yawning employees. You must seem like a weirdo. It's why you typically don't film in public.

As you roll around to the fruit, you notice the count change. One viewer. You choose a basket of raspberries and show those. You see a message float up; morning.

You smile and return the greeting softly and place the berries down carefully beside your phone. You need yogurt to go with the berries.

You work down the list, making some substitutes as you tick off each item. You linger in the ice cream section a bit too long and talk yourself out of a gallon of rocky road. You lean on the handle of the cart and smile down at the lens.

"Going to check out," you say, "see you all later."

All? There's still just the one. You end the stream and take your phone out of the basket.

You wheel around to checkout and line up at the only open till. You put your items up as you greet the cashier with a smile. She seems tired as she gives a dull response.

As you put the yogurt on the belt, you sense someone join the queue behind you. You glance over as a large man stands only feet away. He's tall and burly and staring at you. Maybe he heard you talking to your audience, or he would think, yourself. You continue to unload your groceries.

"Never tried those," he comments as you take out a box of strawberry Pocky.

You pause and hold them up, chuckling nervously, as you do.

"Pretty good," you answer, "I eat way too many."

You notice the man doesn't have a basket or a cart. That realisation needles under your skin. Maybe he's just getting lotto or smokes?

"You like sweet stuff."

"Too much," you squeak even though it doesn't sound like a question.

He just stares, not saying a word. You swallow tightly and pull the last few items out of the cart and get behind it to wheel it through the lane. As you do, he looms closely, adding to the sweat gathering on your lower back.

You roll along and wait for the cashier to ring through the rest of your things. She bags them up neatly in two large paper bags. You pay with your card and thank her as you lift the first into your cart. The man behind you moves forward and grabs the second, startling you.

"Got it," he says as he places it with the other, squeezing by you, crowding you.

"Oh, excuse me, sir," you stammer, "oh," you lean on the cart to roll it to the end of the lane as you make space between you and the stranger. "Thanks, er, uh... thanks."

You turn and grab the handle, jittering. He's really weirding you out. Especially as you realise he's walked right by the cashier. He's following you.

"I can help get ‘em in your car," he offers in a drawl.

"Oh, that's alright, I... bus," you cringe as you realise you've said too much.

"I could drive you. I have a truck."

"No thank you," you walk faster, the cart rattling with your pace.

"Why not?"

"I don't know you, erm, sorry--"

"You don't?" He catches up and shoves his phone in your face, your Insta profile glaring back at you, "I paid for the milk, maybe the berries..."

"What?" You stop, just by the door and turn to him. "I don't--"

"You haven't eaten, have you? I'll take you for French toast. That's your favourite."

"Um," you blink at him as your eyes tinge, "I don't..."

"You got me through a hard campaign, just wanna say thank you," he adjusts his cap and you notice the pin on it. He's a veteran. Oh, 'campaign'.

“Just got back home," he shifts on his feet, a meek gesture for such a large man, "and... your videos helped me remember it. Helped me hold onto it in the sh-- in the stuff."

"I... wow, okay, that's... I'm glad I could do that."

"I really don't mind giving you a ride. Lots of weirdos on the bus," he insists.

"That's nice but--"

"Please," he softens his tone, "been a while since I sat down and had breakfast without worrying about the sky falling."

You shudder and grip the cart tight. You don't know how to say no. You didn't think about who was watching. You always just assumed they were bots. Then you think of the chaching noise and the amount flashing on the screen.

"BourbonBear?" You ask.

"Yeah," he cracks a crooked smile and smooths his hand over his thick beard. "Everyone calls me Syv.”

#dark!captain syverson #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #follow you anywhere #sandcastle #captain syverson #dark captain syverson #captain syverson x reader

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seumyo · 5 months ago

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TOKOYAMI FUMIKAGE ⭑.ᐟ RECENT BAKING NEWS: GINGERBREAD MAN MURDERED BY ICING

Tokoyami stood near the oven, his eyes scanning the latest batch cooling on the tray. “This one survived,” he said, lifting a gingerbread man with only a minor crack in its leg.

“Fumi, look!”

It was a gingerbread man covered in neon pink icing, its buttons slightly askew, and its face looking more mischievous than festive. Like an evil version of Gingy from Shrek.

“It’s... unique,” he said diplomatically.

You giggled, clearly proud of your work. “He’s special! I call him Sir Gingy of Sprinkleland!”

Tokoyami hummed, setting the rest of the intact gingerbread men on a cooling rack. “Sir Gingy seems to have taken significant damage to his arm,” he pointed out.

You gasped, inspecting the cookie again. “Oh no! I didn’t even notice! Poor Sir Gingy! He’s been through so much.” You gave it a dramatic, sorrowful look. “You think icing can save him?”

“No amount of icing will repair that arm. It’s a lost cause.”

“Fine. He’ll just be a war hero. I’ll make a new one!”

As you grabbed another gingerbread man, you accidentally squeezed your piping bag too hard, sending a short yet thick stream of icing splattering onto the counter. “Oops,” you said with a sheepish grin, quickly grabbing a spoon to scrape it up.

“[Name], you’re making more of a mess than anything.”

“Hey, I’m making art!” you retorted, playfully sticking your tongue out at him. “You’re just jealous because my gingerbread men are cooler than yours.”

“Mine are intact. That alone makes them superior.”

Your rebuttals continued as you two worked, though “worked” might have been a generous term. You had an almost endless supply of energy, attacking each gingerbread man with new ideas, while Tokoyami methodically piped clean, precise lines onto his.

At one point, you leaned in close to inspect one of his cookies. What kind of sorcery did he perform to do such a thing?

“How do you make the lines so straight?”

“Practice,” Tokoyami replied simply, though his feathers ruffled slightly at your proximity.

“I think it’s because you’re just naturally good at everything,” you said with a smile, not noticing how your compliment made his gaze soften.

The process to create the “perfect” gingerbread man was more complicated than it had to be. One batch was slightly overbaked, leading to you dramatically declaring them “burnt sacrifices to the oven gods.” Another batch could barely hold out on their own, way too soft—Tokoyami couldn’t bring himself to even step in and stop your experimentation with the recipe with how happy you looked.

Luckily, not that much ingredients went to waste as he made do of the rest to salvage them.

“Aw, I think this one got sentenced to weak, floppy arms.”

“I’m not sure he could’ve survived the icing flood anyway.”

By the time you finally managed to create a properly decorated gingerbread man, you were a complete mess. Flour streaked your cheeks, and your hands were sticky with icing. Tokoyami, who had somehow remained relatively clean, couldn’t help but stare at you in disbelief.

He shook his head and reached for a clean cloth. “Hold still.”

Tokoyami gently dabbed at the icing on your arm, then turned his attention to your face. “There’s flour on your cheek,” he said, his voice softening as he used the cloth to wipe it away.

“And on your nose.”

“And… here too.”

You held perfectly still, your eyes wide as you felt his fingers gently brush a stray sprinkle out of your chin. Your heart skipped a beat.

“Thanks, Fumi. But, uh… you’ve got a little something too.”

Tokoyami tilted his head to the side. “Where?”

You smirked mischievously, swiping your finger through a dollop of icing on the counter and booping it onto his beak. “There!”

He froze, his feathers ruffling in surprise as you burst into laughter. “[Name]…”

“Come on, you can’t stay mad at me during Christmas!” you teased cheekily.

With a sigh that was more amused than annoyed, Tokoyami grabbed another cloth to wipe his beak clean. “How childish,” he muttered, but the fondness in his tone was unmistakable.

Despite the countless casualties—burnt cookies, cracked gingerbread men, and icing floods—they eventually managed to create a perfectly decorated, cutesy gingerbread man. You held it up triumphantly, your now neatly cleaned hands bringing out the baked goods beauty.

All thanks to your boyfriend who had the patience of a saint. Nevertheless, Tokoyami couldn’t help but think that this was the kind of Christmas memory he would treasure forever.

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slyfpy-head · 3 months ago

Text

Lachesis - Part 3

part 1 - part2 part 4

Chishiya × f!reader

It always had to be you. The way his name always sounded under your tongue. The taste of the first kiss. And the person he had to leave behind. a/n: Back!

“Shun-ta-rouu!”

Your voice cut through the hallway’s quiet, sharp and bright, each syllable of his name rolling off your tongue with that signature confidence, that you tone he’d recognize anywhere. There was something about the way you said it, a little too familiar, a little too bold, like you’d been calling his name your whole life and expected him to answer.

Chishiya didn’t stop, didn’t turn. But his steps slowed, just enough for you to catch up, his usual detached rhythm adjusting to yours. The sound of your footsteps—light, skipping—grew louder as you closed in. The sound alone was enough to paint the picture: happy, happy, happy.

"Hey, I aced that entire test! Like, stupidly easy. Barely an inconvenience."

Still half-skipping even as you fell into step beside him. It was your thing—this physical joy, like your happiness couldn’t be contained to just words. No, it had to spill over into movement, into the way your feet barely stayed on the ground.

A silent language just for him.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, his gaze flickering toward you. Of course you aced it. After all those private study sessions, all those hours of him drilling concepts into your head while you groaned about how unfair it was that math couldn’t just solve itself. Did you really think he’d let his effort go to waste? You were sharp. Just… selectively motivated.

"Mm. Pretty sure you said the exact same thing last time.” He mused. “And then—what was it? ‘Oops, misread the question’?”

You gasped, mock-offended, cutting him off before he could continue. "Hey! That was one time! And it was just a couple of dumb mistakes—careless ones! But this time?" You huffed, chin tilting up. "This time, I triple-checked. No surprises. Bet you’re just mad I’m catching up to your nerd levels."

He exhaled through his nose, something between a scoff and a laugh. "Sure, sure.”

Your steps slowed, but the energy was still there. "Ugh, whatever. You don’t even need to try, you always get perfect scores anyway. It’s not fair." You shot him a look—half admiration, half playful resentment. "So good already…"

He raised his eyebrow, unimpressed but unsurprised. Compliments like that were nothing new. From classmates, professors, and people who saw him as more a machine than a person. But when you said it, it was different. Less like admiration, more like… an inside joke. Like you knew him.

"It’s called studying," he deadpanned, finally glancing down at you. "You might wanna try it sometime. Outside our sessions."

You stuck your tongue out at him, but there was no real heat behind it.

The words were flat, but the meaning wasn’t. Because yeah, he’d put in the work. Because his father expected it. Because medicine was the path that had been laid out for him long before he had a say. But then again—there was one upside to all of it.

This.

Because of the way your face lit up when you finally grasped a concept. Because of the way you’d groan and dramatically flop onto the table, only to rally and push through. Because of moments like now, where you were practically glowing with pride, and he got to be the one who’d helped put that look there. For the excuse to linger a little longer, to have you close.

"Just keep it up," he said, voice low, almost careless. "And you’ll get into that university you keep yapping about."

Then, with casualness. "Since you’re so confident… maybe I should pick up a vanilla cake on the way home. You know. Just in case."

The vanilla cake. Your little ritual. His little carrot-on-a-stick motivator. His little tradition—your reward for hitting the benchmarks he set. Last time, when you’d fallen short by a single point, he’d still buy it—”This? For me,” he’d claimed, deadpan, just to watch your face twist in betrayal before he’d shoved it into your hands anyway. And because he was mean, he has gotten the strawberry vanilla kind, just so he could pluck the strawberries off the top and eat them in front of you. Partial reward for partial effort, he said.

And, the way your eyes lit up now was almost enough to make him smile.

Almost.

"Shuntaro…"

Your voice was small, swallowed by the weight of your own nerves, the words sticking in your throat like they were afraid to come out. Even without looking at you, he could hear it—the tremor, the way your breath hitched just slightly, the quiet panic threading through every syllable of his name.

"What?"

"What if I can’t do it?" The words tumbled out, brittle.

Your usual spark was gone, replaced by something uncertain. The confidence had drained away, leaving behind only the sharp edges of self-doubt.

He didn’t answer right away, just studied you—the way your fingers twisted together, the way your gaze dropped like you were already bracing for failure.

"How do you know if you haven’t even stepped into the exam room yet?"

"Well, ’what if’!" You threw your hands up, frustration and fear tangling together. "What if I freeze? What if my brain just blank? Or I panic and forget everything? Or—"

"You’re overthinking." His interruption was sharp. "We practiced this. You know how to control your headspace. Or did you forget already?"

His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it—not impatience, not quite. Something closer to challenge. Because he knew you. Knew how you spiraled when the pressure got too much, how your brain latched onto every possible disaster. He said it like it was simple. Like the weight of this exam—the one that could dictate your entire future—wasn’t crushing you from the inside out. And maybe, to him, it was simple. Just another test. Just another problem to solve.

But you weren’t him.

"You say that because it’s easy for you," you muttered, kicking at the ground. "I’m not like you..."

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You don’t need to be like me to pull it off." His tone was dry, almost bored. "Did you think all those mock tests were for fun? All those hours—what, just a joke to you?"

"Of course not! But those weren’t the real thing, you don’t get it!"

He exhaled sharply through his nose, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of it again. Arguing with you when you were like this was like talking to a brick wall—if the brick wall also had a talent for irrational anxiety.

He didn’t get it. Not really. Because fear like yours—raw, irrational, consuming—wasn’t something he’d ever let himself drown in.

But that didn’t mean he’d let it swallow you whole.

For a second, he just stared at you. The way your lips pressed into a thin line, the way your eyes darted like you were already searching for an escape. Part of him wanted to scoff. Call you ridiculous. Or walk away and let you sort it out yourself—

He couldn’t.

Not when you were like this.

Not when he’d promised himself—silently, stubbornly—that he’d be the one to pull you back when you started drowning in your own negative thoughts.

And right now, someone had to knock sense into you.

And, well. That someone was apparently him.

"You really think you’re not good enough?"

The question came out sharper than he meant it to be.

You opened your mouth, then closed it.

He didn’t wait for an answer. "Because I don’t." A step closer. "You know you’re better than this. You just won’t let yourself believe it. And honestly? It’s getting annoying." A pause. "And if you won’t trust yourself, then trust me."

Your breath hitched.

"You are good enough," he said, voice low, deliberate. "The semester exams proved it. The mock exams proved it. The fact that I’ve had to buy way too many vanilla cakes this year definitely proved it."

His gaze locked onto yours, steady, unflinching, no smirk. Just look at me. Listen.

"You’re not planning to throw all that away, are you?"

You hesitated. "I—"

“Because if you throw that away now, you’re not just wasting your effort, you’re wasting mine. Because if you did," he continued, voice low, "that would mean every single time you did succeed was a fluke. Every exam you aced, every problem you solved—just luck. And that would be insulting. Not just to you." A pause. "But to me."

The words hung heavy.

"You think I’d waste my time on someone who wasn’t worth it?"

The words landed like a punch. Not cruel, but deliberate. Calculated. Because that was the thing about Chishiya. He didn’t do empty reassurance. But when he said something, he meant it.

And right now, he meant this.

And for the first time since this conversation started, your breathing evened out.

"...You’re such an asshole," you muttered, but the tremor in your voice was gone.

Chishiya exhaled, leaning back. "You’ll be fine." Not a reassurance. A fact. "And if you’re not, I’ll just have to eat your cake myself."

A weak laugh escaped you before you could stop it. "Jerk."

He smirked. "Focus on the exam. Then focus on the cake. In that order."

There it was. The unspoken truth between you two—he believed in you. Not in the sentimental way, but in the way that mattered. The way that meant he’d bet on you.

And Chishiya didn’t make bad bets.

And just like that, the weight on your chest eased—not gone, but lighter. Because he was right. You had practiced. You had prepared. And if nothing else, you sure as hell weren’t going to let him steal your victory dessert.

You straightened. "Fine. But you’re buying the fancy one this time."

"Only if you earn it," he said, already turning away.

But you saw it. The faintest flicker of approval in his eyes.

And for once, that was enough.

The car ride to your place was quiet—not the heavy kind of quiet, but the soft, exhausted kind that comes after something big is finally over. The exam. The months of preparation. The weight of it all, now vanished.

Chishiya drove with one hand lazily over the steering wheel, the other resting on the gear shift, fingers tapping an absent rhythm against the leather. No urgency. No need for words. And on your lap—the promised vanilla cake, half-eaten, its sweet, buttery scent still clinging to the air.

He hadn’t said much when you’d walked out of the testing center. He hadn’t needed to. His gaze had tracked you—the way you’d practically bounced down on the way out before catching yourself, the way your lips kept twitching like you were fighting a grin, the way your eyes had immediately searched for him in the crowd—that was enough.

He didn’t need to ask.

He knew.

Because he’d bet on you.

The proof sat on your lap—a sleek pastry box, the sweet scent of sweet vanilla cake seeping into the air between you. No strawberries this time. No partial rewards. Just the good stuff—the fancy one, like you’d demanded.

You leaned your head against the headrest, watching the streetlights blur past, your eyelids heavy with your head lolled against the headrest, too tired to even pretend you weren’t seconds from passing out.

But it was a good tired. The kind that comes after something worth the effort.

You did it.

The realization settled over you slowly, like the quiet after a storm. No more late-night cram sessions. No more mock exams. No more Chishiya’s infuriatingly calm voice explaining concepts you swore were designed to torture you.

Just… this. The hum of the car. The quiet. And him.

...

Now, standing in front of your house, the night air cool against your skin, you hesitated. The porch light flickered above you, casting a warm glow over the two of you. Chishiya stood a step away, hands tucked into his pockets, his usual detached expression in place—but there was something different in the way he looked at you tonight. Something softer. Something knowing.

"So," he said, voice low, "was it worth it?"

You blinked. "The exam?"

"The cake," he deadpanned, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

You rolled your eyes. "Obviously. But I still think you should’ve bought it before the exam. Positive reinforcement, you know?"

"Mm. And then what? You’d have eaten it during the test?"

"I could’ve!" You huffed, crossing your arms. "Smuggled it in. Eaten it under the desk. Fuel for my brain."

He exhaled through his nose, close to a laugh. "You’re ridiculous."

"Whatever.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze unreadable.

"You did good," he said, simple, matter-of-fact, like he was stating the weather. But the words settled in your chest, warm and solid.

Something in your chest stuttered.

The words thank you sat on your tongue, or yeah, because I had a good teacher, but they felt too small, too ordinary for everything he’d done—for the hours he’d spent drilling equations into your head, for the way he’d never once doubted you, even when you’d doubted yourself.

And before you could second-guess yourself, before your brain could catch up with the reckless, impulsive thing your body had already decided to do—

"Shuntaro."

You said his name quietly this time, no teasing lilt, no performative confidence. Just his name, each syllable raw and unfiltered.

Chishiya stilled as you closed the distance between you, his gaze flickering down to yours, questioning. You rose onto your toes, your fingers curling into the front of his jacket for balance.

You kissed him.

Just at the corner of his lips.

It was quick. Almost shy. The barest press of your mouth against his, the taste of vanilla still lingering on your lips, sweet and faint.

You pulled back before he could react, your face burning, your pulse hammering against your ears. "Uh," you stammered, taking a step back. "That was—I mean—thanks. For everything. So, yeah. Goodnight—"

His hand caught your wrist before you could flee.

Your breath hitched.

He wasn’t smiling. Wasn’t smirking. His gaze was dark and unreadable, his grip firm but not tight. Just…there. Holding you in place.

"Yeah," he said finally, voice low. "You do taste like vanilla."

Your brain short-circuited. "Wh—"

And then he kissed you.

Not quick. Not chaste. Not like yours. Not just at the corner of the lips.

This was deliberate. His free hand tilted your chin up, his lips moving against yours with a confidence that left you dizzy, and you could feel the smirk tugging at his mouth when you made a soft, startled noise against him.

The taste of vanilla blurred between you, sweet and familiar.

You did taste like vanilla.

And for once, he decided vanilla tasted better than strawberry.

When he pulled back, it was just far enough to speak, his breath warm against your lips.

"You’re welcome," he murmured.

Your face was on fire. Your pulse was screaming.

"...Jerk," you managed weakly.

He hummed, finally releasing your wrist. "Get some sleep. You’ve earned it."

And with that, he turned, walking back to his car like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just upended your entire world in ten seconds flat.

You stood there, frozen, your lips still tingling.

The porch light flickered again.

And for the first time in months, you didn’t have a single test to worry about tomorrow.

Just the memory of his lips on yours—and the lingering sweetness of vanilla.

And the quiet certainty that this was only the beginning.

"Shuntaro."

Your voice barely made it past your lips—just a whisper, frayed at the edges, like the last thread holding you together was about to snap.

"I'm sorry."

Damn.

The words hit you like a physical blow. Not because they were unexpected, but because of how casually they fell from his lips—flat, detached, like he was reading a script instead of delivering news that just upended your world.

‘Your brother’s surgery schedule will be pushed back.’

He’d said it like he was discussing the weather. Like it didn’t gut you. Like he hadn’t just taken the one thing you’d been clinging to and snapped it in half with that infuriating, detached calm of his.

“Why?”

You forced the word out, gentle, measured—like if you spoke any louder, the storm inside you would crack open your ribs. Your hands trembled at your sides, nails biting into your palms. The familiar metallic scent of hospital antiseptic suddenly made you nauseous. You wanted to scream. Wanted to lunge at him, shake him until that blank mask of his shattered. But you didn't.

You couldn’t.

He shrugged, a slight, careless motion, like this was nothing. Like you were nothing. "It has to be that way." A pause. "You know how my father works."

As if that explained everything. As if that excused everything.

Oh, you knew.

Knew how Chishiya had spent his whole life bending to that man’s will, swallowing every order, every expectation, until he’d learned to do it without flinching.

"Then why does it have to be my family?"

"Because your family isn’t that important."

The words landed like a slap.

No—worse. A slap would’ve been honest. A slap would’ve been anger. This was just fact, delivered with clinical precision, like he was reading from a chart.

“Right. Because my family went bankrupt.” You laughed—a sharp, broken sound. "Because your dad doesn’t need people who are no longer of any use to this precious university hospital of his." You tilted your head, voice dripping with mock realization. "Wow. How could I forget? Money talks, and we’re just background noise now."

It was a fact. One you'd known for a while but hadn't wanted to face. Not fully, not like this.

You knew this game. Knew the way power moved in their world—the way favors were traded like currency, the way names mattered more than lives. You’d seen it in the way his father’s smile never reached his eyes, in the way the hospital board whispered behind closed doors.

You knew what his father was like. Knew the carefully constructed facade of the Chishiya name—the benevolent surgeon, the respected hospital director, the family man. You'd seen the cracks. You'd empathized.

You should’ve.

But right now?

You didn’t want to.

Because who the hell would stand there and accept this? Who would let someone they—

Your chest felt tight, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps. It was always about money. Always about power. Always about who mattered and who didn’t. And just like that, with a single decision, your brother’s life had been deemed expendable. Money. Fame. Power. That’s all it ever came down to, wasn’t it? They didn't just change circumstances. They changed people. They rotted them from the inside out.

And it changed him.

The man who’d kissed you under the flickering porch light. Who’d smuggled vanilla cakes into your study sessions. Who’d made you feel, for one reckless moment, like you mattered.

The realization hit you like a physical blow.

You were disgusted.

Disgusted with yourself. For being so soft. For letting him in. For thinking, even for a second, that he’d choose you over the cold, unfeeling world he’d been raised in. You hated the way you’d let him in—let yourself believe that he was different. That the late-night study sessions, the vanilla cakes, the way his fingers had lingered on your wrist that night under your porch—that any of it meant something.

But it didn’t.

Not when it came to this.

Not when it really mattered.

And you hated him.

Hated the way he stood there, unmoved. Hated the way he accepted this, like it was inevitable. Like there was no other choice. Like he hadn't just looked you in the eye and told you your brother's life was negotiable.

Hated the way he made you soft.

Hated that even now, after everything, you still wanted him to fight.

But he wouldn't.

Because that was the thing about Chishiya Shuntaro—he never fought. Not for anything. Not for anyone. Not even for himself.

He just let things happen.

You hated him for the way he dodged every problem like it was nothing. For the way he could shut off his emotions like flipping a switch. For the way he always made you feel like you were the one overreacting.

And right now?

You admired him for it.

Because god, it would be so much easier to be like him. To be cold. To be untouchable.

But you weren’t.

"Who does that?" The words tore free, raw and ragged. "Who treats people like… like nothing?"

Chishiya didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it. Just held your gaze, his own unreadable.

"You should have empathized," you said quietly, your voice trembling now. "You, of all people, should have understood."

Because he knew what it was like to be collateral damage in his father’s world. He knew what it was like to be treated as something disposable.

But he just stood there. Silent. Complicit.

And that—that was what finally broke you.

Your hand flew before you could stop it.

You slapped him.

Hard.

The sound of your palm against his cheek echoed in the hallway, sharp and final.

Chishiya's head snapped to the side, the impact leaving a faint red mark across his cheek. For a second, he didn't move. Didn't breathe.

Then, slowly, he turned back to look at you, his expression unreadable.

You expected anger. A sneer. Anything.

He just stood there.

And that—

That was worse.

Because it meant he wasn’t even going to fight back.

He was just going to take it.

Like he took everything else.

You swallowed hard, your hand still stinging.

"I hate you," you whispered.

It wasn’t true.

That was the worst part.

He exhaled, slow and measured, like he was steadying himself.

"I know," he said quietly.

And then he turned and walked away.

Leaving you standing there.

You watched his retreating back, the space between you growing with each step he took. Your breath hitched—once, twice—before the dam finally broke.

A sob tore from your throat, raw and ugly, as your knees buckled. You caught yourself against the wall, your back against the surface as you slid down, your legs no longer able to hold you up. The tears came then, hot and relentless, streaming down your face in waves you couldn't control.

You cried for your brother. For the surgery he needed but wouldn't get. For the way the world had deemed him unimportant.

You cried for yourself. For the way you'd let yourself believe, even for a moment, that you mattered to someone like him. For the way your chest still ached at the sight of him walking away.

And, hilariously, you cried for him. For the boy who you’d considered your soulmate. For the man who had just let you strike him without so much as a flinch. For the way he had looked at you—not with anger, not with regret, but with something far worse: acceptance.

A choked whimper escaped you as you pressed your forehead against your knees, your shoulders shaking with the force of your sobs. You didn't care who heard. Didn't care who saw. The hallway was empty anyway—just you, the echo of his footsteps fading into silence, and the crushing weight of what had just happened.

You knew this feeling.

The abandonment. The betrayal. The way your chest caved in like someone had reached inside and torn out everything that made you you.

It wasn’t the first time.

It wouldn’t be the last.

You hugged yourself tighter, gasping for air between sobs.

"Don't leave."

The words were silent, just a thought, just a plea—but they echoed in your skull like a scream.

Because this was what you did, wasn’t it?

You loved too hard. You trusted too much. And then, when they left—because they always left—you shattered.

You were exhausted.

Exhausted from being the one who cared more.

Exhausted from being the one who felt more.

And Chishiya—

Chishiya had known that.

He’d seen that.

And he’d walked away anyway.

You were still crying when the last echo of his presence vanished entirely, leaving you alone in the hollow silence of the hallway.

And he was gone.

He was gone.

The realization sent another wave crashing through you, violent and suffocating. Curling into yourself, your nails dugging into your arms, trying to ground yourself.

You’d seen this before. Lived it before. People who left. People who chose to leave.

The hallway lights buzzed overhead, too bright, too loud.

Your pulse roared in your ears.

‘You’re too much. You’re always too much.’

The voice in your head sounded like hers—the one who’d left first. The one who’d taught you that love was conditional. That you had to be perfect to be wanted.

Every time someone walked away. Every time you were left behind. Every time you let yourself believe, just for a second, that someone would stay.

And now—

Now he was gone too.

Just like everyone else.

And now, you decided not to let the next person is your brother.

Not the only person you have now.

Your eyes snapped open, lungs burning like you’d just been dragged up from the bottom of a drowning pool. Cold sweat glued your shirt to your back, your pulse hammering so hard you could feel it in your neck.

Those damn nightmares.

The games. Your brother. Them.

Him.

You'd thought you were done with it. Thought you'd buried it deep enough that it wouldn't claw its way back up your throat when you least expected it.

But then he showed up two days ago—standing there, real and solid, like some cruel fucking joke, and just like that, every scar tissue you'd built over the years split right back open.

Not a dream. Not a hallucination.

For a second, you'd almost convinced yourself it was just another nightmare—another one of your brain's cruel tricks.

But no.

It was real.

It was him.

Shuntaro.

The name flickered through your mind like a razor dragged lightly over skin—sharp enough to draw blood, familiar enough to hurt just the same. And the worst part? You weren’t even surprised anymore.

Because his ghost had never really left.

It lingered in the quiet moments, in the spaces between breaths, in the way your hands still remembered the shape of his. It was there in the way your pulse stuttered whenever you caught a glimpse of blond hair in a crowd, in the way your body still braced for impact whenever you turned a corner, half-expecting to find him standing there, watching you with those unreadable eyes.

“Fuck.”

You pushed yourself up with a groan, your skull throbbing like you’d been on the losing end of a bar fight. Rubbing your eyes, you tried to kickstart your brain back into functioning. The room swam for a second before settling into focus—dim, dusty, the kind of temporary shelter that felt more like a hideout than a home—your home.

What time was it?

Shit.

You had a game tonight.

Your gaze flicked to the window, where the dying sun bled orange across the skyline of this godforsaken city. Shadows stretched long across the crumbling buildings, swallowing the streets whole. Still early, but not for long. Night came fast here. Faster than you’d like.

You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, your bare feet hitting the cold floor. The shock of it grounded you, just a little.

One breath. Then another.

You weren’t that person anymore. The one who crumpled under memories. The one who let him take up space in your head rent-free.

You stood, rolling your shoulders like you could physically shake off the remnants of the dream.

The sun was sinking.

And you had a game to win.

Leaning against the cold concrete wall of the abandoned factory, you let your gaze drop to the cracked floor—not zoning out, exactly, but letting your mind go quiet in that way that kept the fear at bay. Every few seconds, you'd glance up, taking stock of the other players shuffling in.

PLAYER LIMITED: 8

PLAYER(S) REMAINING: 1

A low buzz signaled the entrance closing as the last player stepped in.

A man—Long hair. Sunglasses. A smirk that reeked of overconfidence—no, not just confidence. Arrogance.

And a wristband on his wrist.

Somewhere beyond the factory walls, a car engine growled, then faded into the distance. The sound left behind a silence that felt heavier than it should.

Then—the screen flared to life.

Familiar, sterile text burned across the display in bold letters. The voice that followed was calm, almost cheerful, like a flight attendant explaining safety procedures before a crash.

Game: Domino Effect

Difficulty: ♣7 (Seven of Clubs)

A ripple of tension moved through the room. Seven of Clubs. Not the worst draw. At least it wasn’t Hearts.

The voice carried on.

Rules:

Players are split into TEAM A and TEAM B (assigned via your phones).

Each team receives a starting clue.

Objective: Activate all 5 ENERGY NODES in the correct order before the opposing team.

If a node is pressed out of sequence, the node buttons will be reset and lock for 3 minutes.

Sequence must be decoded using hidden clues scattered throughout the factory.

Physical interference is permitted, but killing opponents results in instant disqualification (laser enforcement).

First team to complete the sequence wins.

Losing team faces GAME OVER.

If neither team finishes in time, ALL PLAYERS face GAME OVER.

Your phone buzzed in your palm.

TEAM A

Time limit: 45 minutes.

45 minutes. That wasn’t just the countdown to victory.

It was the countdown to your death, too.

GAME START.

＿＿＿

#chishiya x reader #chishiya x y/n #chishiya shuntaro #aib chishiya #alice in borderland #aib x reader #chishiya #chishiya x you

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vodika-vibes · 7 months ago

Text

You Belong With Me

Summary: Wolffe wants you to be happy. It’s all he’s ever wanted. But watching you with him is killing him.

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x Reader

Word Count: 1221

Warnings: Reader has a pretty serious burn, Reader is described as having hair long enough to tuck behind her ear, Reader's boyfriend is described as a jerk

A/N: I'm not sure about this one, I had an idea but then I changed the idea halfway though and I feel like this fic is kind of disjointed. But I woke up freezing and with a migraine threatening me, so this is the best I have today.

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He swore that he wouldn’t get involved.

He promised himself that he would be happy for her and that he’d play nice with her boyfriend.

But Wolffe doesn’t think he hates anyone as much as he hates the man who just forbade her from drinking her favorite cocktail. Only for his ire to grow to new heights when he makes a joke about how she needs to lose some weight.

He watches her face fall, and he watches how she nervously plays with the sleeve of her dress, and Wolffe finds himself seriously contemplating how to best kill the boyfriend in a way that won’t come back to him…or onto her.

She hates wearing dresses, and she hates wearing long sleeves. If he has to guess, the boyfriend bullied her into dressing in a way that makes her look delicate and soft, rather than allowing her to be comfortable.

Wolffe downs half of his drink in one long gulp, trying to distract himself before he does something foolish…like throw the boyfriend out a window and into traffic.

Not that his brothers would let him do such a thing…well, not with so many witnesses around, at least.

Finally, after several more comments about things that she needs to change to be more attractive, the boyfriend wanders off to go and talk with some of his friends, and Wolffe immediately moves to her side.

Her eyes are glassy with unshed tears, and Wolffe has to bite his cheek to keep himself in check.

She scans his face for a moment, and then she folds her arms over her chest and curls in on herself, as if to make herself smaller. “You’re mad.”

Wolffe huffs out a laugh and lightly takes a strand of her hair between his fingers so he’s able to tug on it, “Don’t be silly, this is just my face. I always look like this.”

“I’d believe that if you didn’t look like Count Dooku just walked into the bar,” She replies.

Oh. Oops. He thought he was hiding his emotions better than that.

“Ah, well…I’m not mad at you, Bunny. Don’t you worry.”

Her gaze slides across his face again, “You hate him.”

“Well, I’m not dating him. I don’t have to like him.” Wolffe glances at her boyfriend, and he scowls, “He’s kind of…immature.” He’s a walking shit-stain is what Wolffe really wants to say, but his Bunny already looks so defeated and he doesn’t want to upset her.

“He’s not normally like this,” She tries, “I think he’s intimidated by you and your brothers.”

He scoffs, unimpressed.

“Anyway,” Wolffe lets his gaze drift over her, “Since when do you wear dresses? Let alone dresses with long sleeves?” He lightly plucks the sleeve of her dress, and his eyebrows creep up when she quickly tugs the sleeve down over her hand.

Tellingly, she won’t look him in the eye. “Well, I thought, maybe it’s time for a change?”

“That right?” Wolffe leans back slightly and examines her properly, “You look uncomfortable.”

“W-well, it’s new and kind of uncomfortable—”

“Bunny,” Wolffe reaches out for her hand and she immediately presses the palm of her hand against his. Her hand is so small when compared to his, it just makes him want to protect her even more, “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

“I just…I don’t want you to get angry. I’m not worth that.”

“I’m a grown man, you don’t have to try and manage my emotions.”

“But…” She trails off and then, with her free hand, she tugs her sleeve down her arm, revealing an angry-looking burn on her forearm, the blister is easily three inches long and it looks bad.

“Why didn’t you go to a hospital?” Wolffe asks as he gently takes her arm and moves it so he’s able to see the burn better. It looks like she’s been cleaning it and treating it with bacta, but until the blister is popped her treatment isn’t going to do much.

She shrugs one shoulder, “He said that I shouldn’t. That it would be a waste of resources when I can treat it myself.”

“Did he do this to you?”

“What? No!” Her gaze snaps to his face, “Not intentionally. It was an accident. He might be kind of a jerk, Wolffe, but he’s not abusive. I swear.”

Wolffe takes her hand and tugs her over to where a group of medic brothers are gathered, “Then what happened?”

“It really was an accident,” She insists as she trails behind him, “I was helping him make something for his mother, and he tripped over his kid sister while holding a frying pan full of hot oil. His concern was getting the kid out of the way, and I got hit.”

“Mm…fine.” He doesn’t like it, but accidents happen. “What about the way he talks about you?”

She averts her gaze, “I dunno…he’s never said stuff like that before.”

Wolffe’s eyes narrow, “And the dress? You hate wearing dressed because you’re always cold.”

“I…he’s allowed to have preferences.”

“Yes, he is. And so are you.” Wolffe stops and turns to face her while threading his fingers with hers, “Come on, bunny. Are you happy with him? Because I’ve seen you happy, and I’m not seeing any of that right now.”

She squeezes his hand, “He asked, Wolffe. And…I didn’t know how to say no.” It’s a quiet admission, but it’s an admission all the same.

Wolffe sighs and lightly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, “We really need to work on your boundaries, bunny. And, for what it’s worth, I think you deserve better than someone who wants you to change for him.”

“It’s not like anyone is interested, Wolffe.”

“Maybe you should try looking a little closer to home,” He counters pointedly.

She blinks at him, “Closer to home?”

“Maybe someone who you’re already friends with?”

He watches realization cross her face, “Wait, you mean yo—” Wolffe lightly presses a finger against her lips, cutting her off.

“Bunny, your boyfriend is making out with the waitress.” He probably shouldn’t be as amused by that as he is, but he’s never claimed that he’s a good person.

She turns her head, and her expression sours, before she looks up at Wolffe, “I’d like to leave.”

“Alright, we’re going to the clinic, right?” Wolffe asks pointedly as he lifts her injured arm.

“Home first, I wanna change into something a little less…Little House on the Prairie. And then, yes, you can bring me to the 24-hour GAR clinic.”

“Oh, thank fuck.” Wolffe mutters.

“And then, after they clean it, maybe we can get some caf?”

“Bunny, are you asking me on a date?”

She looks up at him, a little anxiously, “Only if you want?”

Wolffe flashes a crooked smile at her, and then drops a kiss to her temple, “I would be honored. Don’t you have to break up with tweedle-dumb over there?”

“Don’t be mean. I’ll send him a text.”

“Now who’s the mean one?”

His bunny pouts at him, and then carefully tugs her sleeve down over her burn, “Let’s get out of here, Wolffe.”

“As you wish, bunny.” This isn’t how he planned on catching his bunny’s attention, but now that he has it, he’s not going to let it go for love or money.

@imabeautifulbutterfly

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@rebell-ious

#star wars #tcw #commander wolffe x reader #wolffe x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic

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white-wolf-buckaroo · 1 month ago

Text

Where the Flowers Don't Grow - Chapter 4

Word Count: 6.7 k oops

Warnings: basically everything you should be warned about with TLOU, honestly

Notes: This one might also be one of my faves (which happens every time Joel slightly acts like a dad... so yeah).

Fic Masterlist

Faith sat on an old rocking chair in what was left of a white veranda at the front of an empty house. She’d checked it thoroughly—three times, in fact—and declared it clear. No infected. No sign of recent human activity.

She’d made camp on the porch and had been sitting there for a few hours now.

The floor was rotting in places, the smell of damp and old wood thick in the air mixing with the smell of the ever persisting autumn rain. But the veranda had a roof, and she’d found a few spare blankets in a chest to keep her warm… or at least, not so cold.

She was looking at the distance, gun in hand and deep in her thoughts, when the door creaked and heavy steps made their way towards her.

“I’m staying out here,” She said, simply.

Joel looked at her, really looked at her, trying to find any small creak of doubt in her expression to make her change her mind.

“Faith,” he said, watching her wrap her jacket tighter around herself, gun firm on her hand across her lap. “You can’t keep watch out here all night. You’ll freeze.”

“I’ve done worse,” she muttered, staring slightly to the side, just barely to see the door to get inside the house. “And I’m not falling asleep so that she can bite me when she turns.”

Ellie heard her from the inside of the house, sitting next to the door Joel had left open. She picked on her nails listening to Faith, angry at the world and whatever reason she was immune. She had felt like Faith was finally warming up to her… and now they were back at how things had been the first day they met more than a month ago. She thought she’d finally have gained a friend in her, and now… all of that was gone because of a stupid bite from a stupid infected.

“I’m not takin’ any chances.” added Faith. “I don’t care if you’re mad at me or if I sound like a bitch, okay? I don’t fucking care.”

Joel sighed, rubbing his hands together for warmth. He understood, of course he did. He also hadn’t slept the first night after discovering Ellie was infected, watching her the whole night waiting for her to show signs of the infection while she slept. She hadn’t though. She’d woken up with the same snark and the same tolerance to bullshit she’d had when he met her. “She’s not gonna turn.”

“Yeah?” Faith looked out into the cold rain-soaked dark. “Tell me again in the mornin’ when she tries to rip your guts out.”

Joel wouldn’t argue, couldn’t, really. He knew Ellie’s case was rare, like, one in a billion rare. And he also knew that even if Faith was a fucking capable fighter and a survivor in her own right, she was also sixteen years old and fucking stubborn, and Joel had never been great at trying to reason with moody teenagers.

So he didn’t push again. He just walked a slow loop around the perimeter once more, then went inside the house to rest, coming back out just once to give her another blanket:

“I already have a blanket,” she muttered when she saw the old grey fabric in his hands.

“It’s freezin’ cold,” he said, as it was enough reason for her to accept it. It should’ve, really. He sighed, leaving it close to her feet. “Just… take it, okay?”

Faith stayed there the whole night.

She didn’t sleep.

She was used to staying awake longer whiles anyways, she could manage just fine.

Rain came and went in waves—soft and steady at first, then cold and needle-like in the early hours. Her jacket was doing barely nothing against the cold by morning. Her fingers were numb. Her nose red. But her grip never wavered. Her gaze never left the door where she expected an infected Ellie to come running out from.

She kept listening.

For the breath that would change.

For the sounds she’d never forget.

But they never came.

When the sky finally began to lighten, streaks of dull gray slicing through the clouds, Joel stepped out quietly again. His eyes fell on her—sitting exactly where he’d left her, shivering, silent, and covered by the grey blanket he’d brought her last night.

She looked up as he approached, and something in her expression cracked. Just a little.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned on the railing beside her, crossing his arms over his chest.

Then he said, softly, “She’s okay.”

Faith nodded once, slowly. And then, her breath hitched.

The tears came fast—hot and choking, unwanted. She turned her head away, gripping the edge of the stool as if to ground her. But Joel saw it. The shake in her shoulders. The grief bubbling over.

Faith tried to speak, but it caught in her throat. It was like the memory of Dahlia had followed her all night, standing there in the cold with her, refusing to let her forget.

All night she had been thinking of her, remembering again and again that torturous night from four years ago.

The memory slammed into her like a wave.

An infected roaring. A little girl, her little sister, screaming. Her father yelling at Faith while he fought off the infected that had crept its way into the house, attacking her sister. Faith had to be keeping watch. She’d only fallen asleep for a few seconds, it was only a few seconds…

“Faith!”

She had been frozen even as her sister screamed for her. Faith was only twelve years old, knees locked to the floorboards, her hand still clutching the old revolver her dad had given her in case anything happened while he slept.

She could do nothing but cry, watching the scene unfold in a blur of chaos and blood—seeing her father stab the monster again and again and again until it went still beneath him.

Then the silence. The horrible, fragile silence before the sobbing started.

Her sister’s left calf was torn open. Teeth marks. Deep.

Faith had taken a step forward, reaching—too late.

“What have you done?!” her father had screamed, his voice ragged, his face a mask of fury and panic, covered in the clicker’s blood. “What have you done?!”

She’d tried to say sorry. Tried to explain or to help. But the words never made it out, only broken cries as her father pushed her away, assessing the damage. There was nothing they could do, though.

Her little sister was infected.

Dahlia looked at her with tears rolling down her cheeks, reaching for Faith with scared eyes. Eyes too young to carry so much fear. Faith had held her later, Dahlia’s small hand in hers, feverish and cold all at once. Her screams were still ringing in her ears. Her silence now, was crushing. Their father was pacing the room, mumbling to himself, sweating and stressing and going mad all at once.

“I can’t let her… Can’t let her turn into a monster,” he mumbled, still walking up and down. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t… Monica would kill me if… She’d kill herself if…” he mumbled Faith’s mother’s name again and again like a mantra, trying to decide what to do.

In the end, hours later, he’d made his decision.

He couldn’t let Dahlia become… one of those things. She was already condemned. He’d just… put her out of her misery before it got worse.

“Daddy, no, please,” Faith clung to her sister as hard as she could, Dahlia still crying clutching Faith back. She was getting weaker, hour after hour, which only made Faith hold onto her tighter. “Daddy, there has to be something you can do, please, please-“

“I can only help her die herself and not a monster,” he grabbed Dahlia’s arm, tears falling from his eyes too as he separated the girls. His voice was hoarse from crying, and he carried Dahlia away to another room inside the old house as she cried too, reaching with her short arms towards Faith for the last time.

“I’m sorry,” Faith repeated, again and again, hoping her plea would make him change his mind. There had to be something they could do. Anything. It couldn’t be happening, not to Dahlia, not to them. “Daddy I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Minutes later, the shot of a gun in another room made Faith cover her ears, closing her eyes curling up into a ball on the floor as she cried. She hadn’t cried this much since her mother died. And now, Dahlia was gone too.

Because of her fault.

“It was my fault,” she cried, unable to hold back the sobs anymore. “It was my fault.”

“No, no,” said Joel, coming closer to her. “Ellie’s fine, she’s-“

“Not… Not Ellie,” Faith’s shoulders shook with each cry, each one coming from deep withing her own soul, buried for years and now free. “… My… My sister.”

Joel’s chest tightened as he crouched down beside her, the boards creaking softly under his weight.

“My sister,” Faith choked again, barely managing the words through the flood of grief. “Dahlia… she was just a kid, and I—” Her voice cracked, too raw to finish the sentence.

Joel didn’t touch her, he just let the silence hold the weight of it, let her cry it out. He could tell she was pouring it all out, most probably for the first time ever. It made him wonder how long she’d had to live with that grief to carry all on her own.

“I fell asleep,” she whispered, as if confessing a sin she’d held too long. “I was supposed to be watchin’. I had the gun, and I—I was so tired, and it was just for a second. Just a second. And then it was in the house, and she screamed, and I froze.”

“How old were you?” he dared to ask, his voice deep, steady, but also… hurt. For her. For what had happened to her that had made her become… this. An emotionally repressed and distant girl at only sixteen years old.

“I was twelve,” she muttered. “… Dahlia was eight.” she wiped her face roughly, the heel of her hand scraping across red, rain-chilled cheeks. “My dad blamed me. I blame me too. He kept sayin’ her name like he could wish her back, and I—I just sat there. Like a coward. Like a fucking coward.”

Joel stayed still, listening. His own jaw clenched, not from anger, but from the too-familiar ache of guilt. Of loss. Of all the things you couldn’t undo. Something flickered across his face at her words—grief, probably. Or recognition. But it passed, like a shadow.

“I held her ‘til she got too sick,” Faith went on, her voice getting softer, more distant. She wasn’t even really realizing that she was telling him this. It just slipped out, after all this time, a burden too big to carry on her own. After what had happened with Ellie… Faith had reach her limit. “She was holdin’ onto me so tight, Joel… But her grip, it just- she had less and less strength after each hour. My dad took her away from me. I begged him not to, but he—he said he couldn’t let her turn. That she deserved better than to... die a monster.”

Joel’s throat burned from solely imagining the scenario. The morning fog hadn’t lifted, and neither had the weight in his chest. “I’m sorry,” he said, and it was all he could give, but he meant every word. Now he began to understand small things about Faith, like how she had stormed out of the room when he had been talking to Henry that night, or how she had lingered just a second longer watching that infected little girl.

Faith nodded faintly, her eyes staring somewhere he couldn’t follow. “That shot… it still echoes, y’know? Every night. And I always wonder if she was scared. If she thought I let it happen. If she… If she knew I loved her.”

“She knew,” Joel said firmly. Gently, but with no room for doubt. His paternal instincts took over as he reached out a hand to Faith’s, squeezing it tightly. “You said she was holdin’ onto you, wasn’t she? Of course she knew,” he sighed, shaking his head. “You were just twelve. You were just a kid, too.”

Faith finally turned to look at him then. Her face was blotchy, her eyes rimmed red, with something else there too—something fragile. A kind of stunned relief at having said it out loud. At not having to carry the weight alone, if only for a moment.

Joel hesitated for only a breath before reaching out, setting a steady hand on her shoulder now. A silent gesture, full of meaning: I’m here, you’re safe now, it’s okay. Faith looked down at the hand on her shoulder. Then back at the horizon, still pale and gray with the morning.

“…I ain’t told anyone before,” she muttered, starting to feel a bit embarrassed by her emotional breakdown. “Not really... Sorry if, uh… Sorry if it was too much, I just– with what happened to Ellie, I– ”

Joel gave her shoulder the gentlest squeeze. “It’s okay,” he muttered. “I get it.”

Faith nodded again, slower this time. The sobs had stopped, but the ache lingered, hollow and heavy.

“…Thanks,” she murmured, just barely audible. “How… How is it possible?” she asked, a bit louder now. “Bein’ immune… It’s a fuckin’ miracle.”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head no. “She hasn’t told me. Probably doesn’t know herself. I just know… It’s real.” He still had doubts from time to time about it, but there was no twitching, no growing infection. Just… Ellie, still alive, still herself. “I’m sorry about not tellin’ you about it sooner,” he said, sincerely. “You deserved to know.”

“It’s okay,” she shook her head. “You barely know me, I- I get it.”

“Yeah, well… You’ve been with us for a month. At first I thought you’d ditch us after the first week, but now… I was kinda hopin’ for you to stay around,” he shrugged, as if it was nothing. “You’re good at covering our rear, and, uh… Ellie seems happy when she’s with you, and if she’s talking to you she lets me be, so…”

Faith’s lips curved into a small smile, twitching for a moment into something wider. Joel saw, and his heart made a little flip, as if reciprocating her smile even if he couldn’t show it with his face. His eyes, though, did soften, and Faith could swear they darkened a bit, turning a shade warmer.

“All good now?” he asked, reaching out a hand for her to stand up.

She nodded, accepting his hand. “All good now.”

(…)

Faith didn’t really know how to apologize to Ellie about the whole incident -pointing her rifle at the girl, almost shooting her, not believing her when she told Faith that she was immune-, because she wasn’t really good with words.

She didn’t need words, though, to show Ellie that she cared about her and that she felt sorry.

After leaving the house to continue their journey west, they’d been walking for hours. The air was cool and dry, the kind that made your breath puff out white even if the sun was still clinging to the sky. Trees flanked the broken road, brittle leaves crunching under their boots. No one had said much since morning.

Joel had led the way, rifle slung over one shoulder, his eyes always scanning. Faith trailed just behind him, trying not to glance too often at Ellie, who was unusually quiet—arms crossed, shoulders tight, head down. She hadn't cracked a joke all day. No sarcastic comments. No humming. Just silence.

Faith knew why. And she didn’t blame her.

Faith had nearly shot her—actually had her finger on the trigger, believing Ellie was infected, thinking she was lying. Even though everything had settled down since, the tension was still there. The silence said what neither of them had.

They stopped near the edge of a clearing where trees thinned into the remnants of an old orchard. Joel glanced around, then motioned with a subtle jerk of his head.

“We’ll take ten. Stretch your legs. Hydrate,” he said.

He moved off toward a fallen tree and sat, pulling a water bottle from his pack. Ellie dropped her bag onto the grass and crouched beside it, picking at the strap. Still not talking.

Faith didn’t really know how to apologize. Not with words, anyway. She just… wasn’t good at that kind of thing.

But as she stepped away from the trail, something red caught her eye. A thicket of hawthorn bushes sat at the orchard's edge, their leaves thorny, little red berries dotting the branches.

She crouched down, brushed off a few leaves, and picked a small cluster. Her mom had shown her these once—how they were tart but safe, how they could help a person feel steady when their heart was pounding too fast. ‘Good for hearts,’ she used to say. ‘Not just the bleeding kind.’

Faith stood, berries in hand, and turned back.

Ellie was sitting now, elbows on her knees, eyes distant. Faith hesitated, then walked over.

“Hey,” she said, stopping a few feet away.

Ellie looked up, eyebrows raised slightly. Still wary.

Faith held out her hand. “These are hawthorn. They're safe to eat—just chew around the seeds.”

Ellie stared at the berries for a second. “What is this? Are you… making peace with fruit? Or are you just trying to poison me because the bite didn’t do its job?”

Faith’s mouth twitched. “Something like that. Thought you’d maybe like to try fresh fruit, for once, that’s all.”

There was a pause. Then Ellie reached up and took one. “If I die, I’m haunting you.”

“Fair.”

She popped the berry into her mouth and chewed, face scrunching a little. “Tart as hell.”

Faith sat down beside her. “Better than another can of beans though.”

Joel looked over from his perch across the clearing. He didn’t say anything, but his gaze lingered on them for a few moments longer than usual. Then he shifted back to scanning the tree line, letting them be.

Faith reached into her backpack and carefully pulled out a small, worn bundle tied with old twine. She set it down between them and unwrapped it.

Ellie leaned in. “What’s that?”

“A journal,” Faith said softly. “My mom’s. It’s got notes on wild plants, stuff about how to find food, treat scrapes, how to stay alive if the world ever went to shit.”

Ellie smiled a little. “So, like… a pre-apocalypse apocalypse guide?”

“Pretty much.”

Faith flipped to a page marked with a pressed flower. In tidy handwriting, it read: Hawthorn – good for hearts. Not just the bleeding kind. A small ink drawing of the berries curled in the corner.

Ellie’s fingers brushed the page. “She was smart.”

“She was,” Faith said, her voice quieter now. “She taught me how to spot safe plants, how to know when the wind’s about to change. I didn’t pay much attention back then. But… she tried. Now I’m thankful for the effort she put into it.”

She turned to another page with a rough sketch of nettles, and then another—blueberries. Each note was gentle, patient, almost loving.

“After, uh, my sister was born…” she bit her lip, struggling to find the words. She desperately wanted to show Ellie that she was trying to… make things right again. She figured that sharing a part of her past was a good peace offer. “My parents decided we’d have to leave the QZ. KC was getting more dangerous every day, and well… You’ve seen it yourself. They didn’t manage until a few years later, though. I was eight when we escaped, and my sister was barely four.”

“What were their names?” asked Ellie, timidly, her curiosity getting the best of her. “Your sister’s… and your parents?”

“My mom’s name was Monica,” she smiled, actually smiled. It had been very fucking long since she’d last said her mom’s name out loud. She loved the ring of it. “Dahlia was my sister. And my dad was named Eric.” she didn’t linger long on the memory of her father. That was still.. Too much. “Anyways, uh… When my parents escaped with me and my sister, we were with a few more families. When we finally settled somewhere a bit stable, my mom would teach me how to live from nature. I wasn’t the best listener, but she was stubborn and kept teaching me stuff anyway.”

“You got your stubbornness from her, then,” Ellie joked. She couldn’t help herself. And she knew to appreciate that Faith was sharing something personal with her.

From his spot a bit further away, Joel was listening too, pretending not to, though.

“Guess so,” Faith shrugged, smiling softly. “If you want, uh… I could teach you some stuff. You know, about wildlife, and, uh… You know, plants. To survive and, well, not eating anything poisonous.”

Ellie stiffed back a laugh at Faith’s awkwardness. “Sure,” she said, after a beat. “I wouldn’t mind not dying from eating the wrong mushroom.”

Faith huffed a small laugh of her own. “Good goal.”

There was a pause. Not the uncomfortable kind from earlier—but something softer, like a fragile thread being tied between them again.

“Your sister,” Ellie said, more gently this time, “Dahlia. What was she like?”

Faith didn’t answer right away. She looked down at the open journal, at her mother’s looping handwriting. When she spoke, her voice was quieter than before.

“She was... loud,” she said, smiling faintly. “Like, never stopped talking kind of loud. A bit like you, I guess. Just, without the horrible puns,” she joked softly. “She used to sing to herself—little songs she made up. Sometimes they didn’t have words. Just sounds.” Faith rubbed her thumb over a corner of the page. “She had this way of making everyone pay attention to her, even when she wasn’t trying. Drove me crazy back then.” she swallowed hard. “I’d give anything to hear her hummin’ again.” she caressed a pressed flower from the book, ever so gently. “This is a Dahlia,” Ellie frowned silently, her eyes dropping to the journal and the single pressed flower between the pages. “My mom loved these. Dahlia was obsessed with finding one herself, always asking if every single flower we came across was a Dahlia.”

“Did she find any?”

“No, sadly,” she smiled sadly. “I also haven’t seen any myself, to be honest. Maybe Dahlias are just not fit to grow in the apocalypse.”

Joel interrupted them, telling them they’d be leaving in a minute. The girls nodded, starting to pack their things up.

“She sounds like she would’ve been cool,” Ellie said, and there was something real in her voice. Not just sympathy—recognition.

“She was,” Faith murmured. “She really was.”

The quiet settled over them again. But this time, it felt companionable. Faith reached down, picked another berry, and popped it into her mouth, grimacing.

“Told you they were tart,” Ellie said.

Faith nodded, chewing. “Yeah. But they’re good for you.”

Joel stood then, brushing off his jeans and slinging his rifle back over his shoulder. “Let’s move.”

Ellie stood too, slower this time, and didn’t look quite so closed off. She glanced at Faith, then nudged her elbow lightly as they walked to rejoin him.

“Hey,” she said under her breath. “Thanks. For the fruit and the... not talking like a total asshole.”

Faith smirked. “You’re welcome.” She paused for a few seconds, and then added, in a softer voice, sincere. “I know I messed up. Back at that town. I shouldn’t have reacted that way.”

Ellie didn’t say anything for a few seconds.

“You scared me,” she said finally, as they kept walking. “I wasn’t sure you were gonna listen. I thought you’d shoot me, like, for real. Game over.”

“I wasn’t sure I could trust what I was seeing,” Faith admitted. “But… I should’ve believed you. I do now.”

Another quiet moment passed between them.

Ellie held up another berry. “Well… this helps.” She grimaced at the taste again as she chewed on the fruit. “You still owe me a proper apology,” she said. “This was just snacks and soft feelings.”

Faith huffed a laugh. “I’ll see if I can find you a pie next time.”

Joel glanced back briefly between them, silent but visibly less tense.

He smiled softly, seeing them laughing again.

(…)

The trip didn’t go as smoothly for the next few days.

They’d barely made it a mile past the orchard when the weather turned yet again. Gray clouds swelled and sank low over the mountains like warning signs, and by nightfall, the rain came. Cold, steady, and endless. The kind that soaked through even waterproof gear and made the world feel like it was shrinking around you.

They kept moving anyway—what else could they do?

The roads became slick, the trees offered little cover, and the cold bit down harder than before. Ellie grumbled about her socks. Joel cursed under his breath more than once when his map got wet. Faith said… very little.

By the second day, her voice had gone hoarse. A sniffle turned into a cough. A cough turned into her pressing the heel of her hand against her chest every few minutes like it ached to breathe. She didn’t mention it—Faith wasn’t the type. But Joel noticed. And so did Ellie.

It wasn’t hard to guess what had started it. That night back in the abandoned house, Faith had been out in the cold for hours. Sitting alone, waiting, rifle in hand, expecting Ellie to turn into a runner.

Joel felt the guilt creep in every time she stumbled a little, or when he saw her blink too slow, like she was trying to push through the ache. If he only had told her the truth sooner…

They finally stopped near an old roadside gas station with half a roof and an office just barely dry enough to sleep in. Joel got a fire going in an old rusted barrel while Ellie unrolled their sleeping mats.

Faith was quiet, sitting with her back to the wall, wrapped in her coat, eyes glassy.

Ellie sat beside her. “You okay?”

Faith nodded automatically, but it was a lie. She was shivering. Her lips were pale.

“You look like shit, though.”

“I’m fine,” Faith said, and then winced as another cough rattled through her chest. She barely got her hand up in time.

Joel, crouched by the fire, turned to look at her. “That ‘fine’ comes with a fever?”

“...Maybe a little.”

He stood and walked over. She looked up at him, eyebrows drawn, too tired to keep up any kind of front. Joel knelt beside her, back cracking slightly as he crouched. He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead without asking. Warm. Too warm.

“Shit,” he muttered.

Faith blinked at him, surprised at the softness in his voice. “It’s not that bad.”

He ignored her. “You got chills?”

She nodded, teeth clenched.

“Headache?”

Another nod.

“Chest feel tight?”

She hesitated—then nodded a third time. “Are you a doctor now or what?”

Joel exhaled slowly, running a hand down his beard. “You’re burning up. Probably caught something out in that cold, maybe even pneumonia.”

Ellie’s eyes widened. “Wait—pneumonia? That’s like, serious-serious?”

“It can be,” Joel said. “Especially if we don’t rest her up. No more walking tomorrow.”

Faith looked like she wanted to argue, but didn’t have the strength.

Joel got up, pulled a blanket from his pack, and draped it over her. “Lie down. Drink something if you can.”

Faith murmured a faint thanks, and sank onto the mat, shivering even under the blanket. She fell asleep quickly, discomfort still written all over her face but also clearly exhausted. Ellie sat beside her again, chewing her lip.

“I should’ve made her come inside that night,” Ellie whispered, not wanting to risk waking her up. “She didn’t believe, and I was pissed. I just let her sit out there.”

Joel didn’t respond at first. His gaze lingered on Faith’s slumped figure.

“That ain’t on you,” he said finally, voice quiet. “She was scared. Didn’t know what she was dealing with. I would’ve done the same as her. Maybe I would’ve shot you.”

“You didn’t shoot me when that infection machine detector thing turned red,” Ellie said, recalling the night they escaped Boston QZ.

“Yeah, but if I’d seen an infected bite you, maybe it would’ve gone different.”

Ellie didn’t deny that possibility. “… Guess that would’ve been a chance. I’m glad it didn’t happen like that with you, then.”

Ellie turned back toward Faith, whose breathing was shallow but even. For a moment, it was just the crackle of the fire and the patter of rain.

Ellie shifted a little closer to Faith and pulled the blanket up to her chin.

“You shouldn’t sit that close to her,” said Joel, gesturing between the two girls. “Can’t have you gettin’ sick too.”

“It’s cute when you’re actually nice,” Ellie said, smiling softly. “And show that you care about me.”

“I don’t care about you.”

Ellie smirked. “Sure.”

Joel muttered, “I just know if you get sick too, I’m screwed.”

Ellie laughed. “That’s what this is about?”

“I ain’t playin’ nurse for two teenage brats. One’s already a full-time job.”

“Wow. So much love in this room right now. I feel it radiating.”

“You should feel my foot radiating toward your ass if you don’t get some sleep.”

They didn’t fall asleep until a while later; Joel stayed up, keeping watch over the two girls, readjusting Faith’s blanket when she moved in her sleep, tucking it around her carefully, like muscle memory.

By early morning, Faith was still sleeping while they prepared something for breakfast (a can of beans to share, again). Ellie watched Joel as he kept glancing at Faith, his face… down.

“You okay?” she asked him.

Joel didn’t answer right away. He glanced at Faith, then over at Ellie.

“I should’ve told her about you sooner,” he said. “Could’ve saved us all some trouble.”

“You were trying to protect me.”

“Still,” His voice was low. “She got sick on my watch.”

Ellie hesitated, then reached into her pack and pulled out the tattered joke book. “She’ll be okay,” she said. “She’s tough. Like you.”

Joel gave her a look, half-skeptical, half-grateful.

(…)

Faith was seriously sick.

Ellie wasn’t helping, asking Joel if he thought she’d die. He told her to keep those thoughts to herself, when really, it was so he didn’t have to hear the same questions he was already asking himself out loud.

He wouldn’t let her die. Just… no. Not happening. Not on his watch.

They stayed in that room for five days. Five very long days.

The storm outside made it easier to stop—sleety rain coming in waves, too cold to risk exposure. The gas station they’d holed up in wasn’t ideal, but it had a storeroom that locked, and a few shelves still mostly intact. Joel got a fire going in a broken-down metal drum using chair legs and shelving bits. He used a small camping pot they had to collect rainwater and boil it so they’d have something to drink, made sure Faith was bundled up with all their blankets and the two sleeping bags zipped together… She coughed through the night, and Joel didn’t sleep, only during the day for a few interrupted hours, never too long, just the minimum to keep functioning.

On the second morning, Ellie sat cross-legged beside Faith, poking at the blanket.

“You know, for someone who likes plants, you sure didn’t dodge the whole nature trying to kill you thing very well,” she said, glancing at her. “It’s okay, though. I found a joke that might cure pneumonia.”

Faith blinked blearily at her. “God help me.”

Ellie grinned. “What do you call a fake noodle?”

Faith squinted. “…I dunno.”

“An impasta,” Ellie said proudly.

Joel, who was crouched by the fire feeding in more scrap wood, groaned. “You’re gonna finish her off with that crap.”

“She laughed a little,” Ellie pointed out. “She snorted. That’s progress.”

Faith rolled her head to the side, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “I regret ever telling you I liked dumb jokes.”

Joel muttered, “Takes one to appreciate one.”

“You sayin’ I’m dumb?” Ellie said, offended in the most theatrical way.

“I’m sayin’ anyone who thinks impasta is comedy gold might be running a fever themselves.”

“I’m brilliant, actually,” Ellie said, flipping her hair over her shoulder with exaggerated grace. Then she softened, reaching over to adjust the blanket tucked around Faith’s chest. “Seriously though, you need anything?”

Faith gave a weak shrug. “Dunno. Maybe some kind of tea. I have dry herbs in my bag. My mom had stuff in her journal, for coughs. Headaches. Might be something useful in there.”

She reached for her bag with trembling fingers. Joel was already beside her in a second, gently taking it and setting it in her lap.

“Easy,” he muttered.

Faith managed to undo the flap and pulled out the small, twine-bound journal. Her hands shook as she handed it to Ellie.

“You can look through it. Just… be careful.”

Ellie took it with something close to reverence. “Promise.”

She sat down beside the sleeping bags, flipping carefully through the pages. “Whoa… your mom had pretty handwriting.”

“She was a botanist,” Faith murmured, her eyes fluttering closed. “She taught science before…”

“Before the world went to hell,” Ellie finished for her, quieter.

Joel didn’t say anything. He was standing now, arms crossed, watching the way Faith was breathing. Shallow. Uneven. He hated the sound of it.

Ellie turned a few more pages. “Okay, okay—here! Look. It says something about pine needle tea. Good for colds, vitamin C, and uh… something about 'clearing the lungs' or something. It also says to avoid yellowed needles, and don’t use any from... Ponderosa, whatever that is.”

“It’s a type of pine tree,” muttered Faith, letting out another cough.

Joel came over. “Let me see.”

Ellie handed him the journal, pointing at the page. Joel scanned it, lips tightening as he read.

“Yeah. We can work with this.” He looked toward the boarded-up front of the gas station. The rain had eased into more of a mist, but the wind still howled like it was pissed at the world. “If I can find a decent tree out there, I’ll get what we need.”

“I’ll come with you,” Ellie offered quickly.

Joel shook his head. “You’re stayin’ put. She needs someone here if she takes a turn.”

“I’m not a nurse, you know.”

“You’re better than nothing,” he said, already checking the pistol in his belt and shrugging on his jacket.

Faith stirred, frowning faintly. “Joel…”

He stopped at the door.

“…thank you.”

He just gave her a short nod. “Be back soon.”

The wind was brutal, but he returned about half an hour later with a handful of green pine branches, rain dripping from the brim of his jacket. He crouched by the fire, stripped the needles, and tossed the safe ones into the pot with freshly boiled water. The smell that rose wasn’t great—but it wasn’t bad either. Kind of foresty. Clean. Alive. Hopefully also healing.

“Bottoms up,” Ellie said when the first batch was ready, holding the camping mug out to Faith, who took a sip, wrinkled her nose, but kept drinking. After a few seconds, she leaned her head back on the pile of folded coats Ellie had tucked under her and sighed.

“Hey,” Ellie said brightly. “While you enjoy your botanical brew, I have more jokes. You can’t stop me.”

“God,” Faith whispered.

“That’s not the joke, but good guess,” Ellie said, flipping open a crumpled page of her book. “Okay, okay. What do you call a can opener that doesn’t work?”

Faith blinked. “I don’t—”

“A can’t opener.”

A groan came from both Faith and Joel this time.

“Oh, c’mon, you both walked right into that one.”

“Ellie,” Joel said slowly, “if she throws up now, it’s your fault.”

Ellie snorted. “That one was worth it.”

Faith leaned weakly against Ellie’s shoulder for a moment, the warmth and laughter seeming to lift her a little. Her fever hadn’t broken yet, but the colour in her face looked less frighteningly pale. Joel noted it quietly, didn’t comment.

Later that afternoon, after Ellie left to check what was left in the gas station shelves for anything useful—snacks, meds, literally anything—Faith finally let herself cry.

It wasn’t loud or messy. Just silent, stubborn tears leaking from the corners of her eyes as she lay back in the sleeping bags, half-sitting now, the mug of tea still clutched loosely in one hand. She hadn’t said anything, but Joel had noticed. Of course he had.

He didn’t say anything either. Just moved over and slowly, gently, sat beside her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered suddenly, her breath hitching a little.

“For what?” he asked.

“For slowing us down. For being—”

“No.” His voice cut clean through her self-blame. “No, Faith. You get sick, we stop. That’s how this works. That’s how I work. You understand?”

She hesitated, then nodded.

Joel looked at her again, sensing all of her walls crumbled down by the sickness that had overtaken her body. What remained, was a lonely sixteen year old girl that had been alone for far too long, since she was far too young.

He placed the back of his hand against her forehead. It stayed there a beat longer than necessary.

“Seems like your fever is finally breakin’” he muttered, relieved. “Was ‘bout time, kid.”

She smiled weakly, leaning her head back onto the wall. She looked at him, just looked at him with something… something Joel couldn’t really place. Was it sadness? Nostalgia? Or were her eyes just glassy because she was sick? He couldn’t tell.

“What is it?”

“I forgot how it’s like… when, uh, someone takes care of you,” she said timidly. “It’s, uh… it feels good to not be sick on my own, for once.”

He nodded, understanding. “It’s nothin’” he shrugged.

“But it is,” she corrected him quickly. “It means a lot, Joel. Really,” she bit her lip debating if she should keep on talking or not, but she did before she could think otherwise. “You’re good at this Seems like… Like you’ve done this before. Takin’ care of someone,” he didn’t answer, but she noticed how his face hardened. “You don’t have to tell me anything about it. I… I get it. You know I’ve lost people too. And it’s… fucking hard letting someone else in after losing someone you love, so… I guess I’m just tryin’ to say thank you. For not ditching me, and, uh… Bein’ here, even if it hurts. That’s all.”

Joel didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to.

He just stared into the fire, the way he always did when his thoughts got too heavy for words. But then he shifted closer, just slightly, like his body moved before his brain allowed it. He looked at her—really looked at her—and something in his expression cracked open.

The silence stretched again, but it didn’t feel empty. It was full of all the things they weren’t saying.

Faith shifted closer too, maybe half an inch, her padded shoulder touching his. And that was it. No dramatic sobbing, no big declarations. Just a girl letting herself feel comfortable for the first time in years, and a man remembering what it felt like to be there for someone who needed him.

“You’re not a burden,” Joel said quietly, his voice rough. “You’re with us. And you’ll get better, and we’ll be back on the road again in a few days. You’ll just be sick from hearin’ Ellie’s horrible puns, m’kay?”

Faith nodded, smiling sheepishly. Yeah, that sounded good.

Next Chapter

Taglist: Taglist: @kitdjarin1@christinamadsen@abtjudex@hongjoong-titties @cokoladasljesnjakom

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x platonic!reader #joel miller x daughter!reader #joel and ellie #joel miller x oc #joel miller #ellie williams #arcane #the last of us #pedro pascal #joel miller tlou #found family #daughter!reader #ellie tlou #fanfic #screw canon #bella ramsey

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tryingtofindava · 8 months ago

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── 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

: ̗̀➛Back to Source

INCLUDES: Toby, Nat, Jane, Sally, Kate.

A/n: so oops this is 3 days late my bad, enjoy these late headcanons (ᵕ—ᴗ—) These can be read as romantic or platonic BUT SALLY IS STRICTLY PLATONIC!! Fem! Reader

╰┈➤ 𝐓𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐢 𝐓𝐨𝐛𝐲

Trick or treating with you makes him feel like a kid again.

Reminds him of the times where everything was a little less shitty… He could just dress up with Lyra and scavenge the neighbourhood for the best sweeties.

HE’D LOVE DOING A MATCHING HALLOWEEN COSTUME TOO WHILE YOU GUYS ARE TRICK OR TREATING!!

Speaking of costumes, I feel like he’d point out Halloween costumes of people/characters he finds cool.

He’d get so excited and giddy too when he does recognise people’s costumes. What a cutie.

He will sorta feel silly still knocking on doors at his age, I mean, he’s at least handing out sweets age now.

“Fuh-fuck yeah!! I-I got a Nuh-Nuh-Nougat!!”

“Ew, they’re so gross, dude…”

Will trade the sweets he doesn’t like with you, and he’ll either not like said sweets from the flavour or the texture since he’s funny like that. (I’m self projecting…)

╰┈➤ 𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤

She’s not gonna knock on doors with you sadly, claiming that ‘She’s too old for that, and Halloween for her now is about getting totally shit faced’.

But, she’s more than happy to walk around with you and admire the Halloween decorations… Oh, and the chicks who dress up.

Without a doubt like Toby will point out costumes too!! Just…for another reason.

“Woah, when did Tinker Bell become an only fans model?” Nat will nudge you, nodding towards a group of girls dressed up as the pixie hollow fairies. A smug grin etched upon her scarred face.

“Shh!! There’s kids around…” You quiet her down.

╰┈➤ 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

Wouldn’t go out trick or treating with you sadly, she’d be way more interested in staying in your guys’ shared suburban home handing out the sweets to trick or treaters.

The night before she’d drag you along to the shops with her, and choose the best sweets the trick or treaters would love.

She’s also dress up, I can see her going as Lydia or Morticia since they match her gothic vibe she’s got.

She’d also make you match with her by going as the female versions of Beetlejuice or Gomez. She’d think it would be cute to match, and it was!!

╰┈➤ 𝐒𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲

SHE LOVES HALLOWEEN SM!!

Adores everything about it, the decorations, the dressing up, and especially the sweeties!!!

She also loves the fact that the blood permanently leaking from her head wounds are okay to freely walk about with during this special night.

The eight year old will drag you around to every house knocking of the door with a grin, waiting to get her little hands on the best sweet treats.

She’ll make you take pictures of her and every Halloween prop she sees.

Anyways it’s just the cutest bonding moment between the two of you, she views you as her cool older sister that takes her to get a sugar rush.

“SWEETS NOW, PLEASE!!”

“Sal, you’re supposed to say trick or treat…”

╰┈➤ 𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫

Like Toby, it also reminds her of simpler times… Before all the madness and chaos the Operator brought into it her life.

Being out and walking around with you reminds her of when she was younger going out with Lauren and CR to get all the best sweets.

While she won’t dress up anymore, or knock on doors to get treats, she will reminisce about her childhood and teenage years.

And she will hold onto this time with you probably for the rest of her life.

Kate watched you as you walked slightly ahead of her, navigating through the groups of kids and parents. Looking over your shoulder at her, a grin on your face. “You good, Kate?”

She snaps out of her trance for a moment, shaking her head as she nods at you. “Yeah, just remembered something.” She spoke quietly. You remind her of what she’s lost, so, so much.

Guys I wanna write an angst one shot of Kate so bad dhjdkdudjsnjcksjdjdjdidujfjdj. So uhm anyways this wraps up my HALLOWEEN SPECTACULAR for this year!! Yip yip!!

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moon-princess-93 · 3 months ago

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Zayne Hospital Story 18+

All right, here is the long awaited long Zayne story that everyone voted on. I hope you guys like it, I typed this up a while ago when I first started playing the game. I'm not the best writer, but I tried. Lol

Synopsis: You sent some naughty text messages to Zayne while he was hard at work, but oops you have an appointment with your doctor. Too bad it happens to be Zayne!

-Dom.Zayne. P in V, Creaming, Evol out of control, Naughty texts, Zayne's office in Asko Hospital, Sorta proof read, An aspiring smut writer so take it with a grain of salt on bad writing (Sorry!)

Word Count: 4.5~

Mndi 18+

"Oh shit…." Thinking to yourself as you mournfully walked into the Asko Hospital. You knew there was going to be big trouble as soon as you walked into the hospital today after all of those naughty texts you'd sent Zayne earlier. You had the day off and knew Zayne would be hard at work all day so what the hey, let's tease him a little bit. You loved getting a rise out of this stoic man. Pushing him to his limit before he was grabbing you by the face, giving you a hard kiss and ripping your clothes off.

You had sent him some photos of yourself wearing one of his t-shirts that you had “borrowed” from him with only a pair of your sexiest panties. You had too many to choose from in your panty drawer so you just went with a pair that was soft in color. Zayne usually liked the more neutral colors anyways. They were light blue hipsters with white lace on the sides accentuating your hips. Most of the pictures were ass shots, but you had some under boob hanging out from his shirt. He didn’t seem too bothered about the pictures, at least not enough to really get a rise out of him until you decided to send him a video of you fingering yourself moaning his name. Panting his name while you finger fucked yourself as deeply as you could into cumming. Zayne’s fingers were so long that he didn’t have to reach far to make you cum. That's when you got him on the hook.

“Fuck me…, I’m at work. You have to send this to me now, especially right before I have a meeting…. I'm going to have to punish you for this,” he texted back quickly. “Well you know where to find me,” you send a winky face, giggling to yourself on how such a bad girl you were. That was until your phone chimed that you had an appointment in an hour, making you die a little on the inside. The usual appointment that you always have every two weeks to make sure your protocore hadn’t exploded yet or your heart, whichever one that wanted to go out first.

Oh my God… Your jaw hit the floor when your phone chimed again saying you had thirty minutes left to get to the hospital. Realizing you had been standing in one spot for thirty minutes made you mad dash to get changed and out the door. How could you have forgotten this?? In the time of your merrymaking to piss off your lover made you forget a lot of things. You debated about whether or not to cancel it before you stepped out the door, but you knew that Zayne would be even more pissed off at you if you didn't show up. He almost made you pay a no show fee for being one minute late for your last appointment. You sadly made it to the hospital in time with plenty of time to spare in your crazed dash to get there.

Reluctantly walking up to the reception desk, you check in for your appointment. “Wow, you're actually here on time! Early, even! Dr. Zayne won’t be mad at you this time. A nurse will be with you soon to take you back,” the receptionist gleefully smiled at you. You weren't sure if she could see the impending doom in your eyes or not, but you smiled weakly at her before going to sit down. You sit down while waiting for your name to be called, waiting for the ultimate ass chewing that you’d receive in about five minutes or so. Your stomach has butterflies trying to escape out of your stomach at the thought of all the things you texted to Zayne and how you'll be punished.

"Y/n!" You jolt back into reality as another nurse calls your name to come back. You stand up lightning fast, shocking the nurse a little but by how fast you stood up and quickly follow after her to Zayne's office. You are absolutely sweating by the time you get to the door with a bright red face and your fists clenched tightly. 'Fuck me…. I'm in so much trouble!!' The nurse knocks on the door, patiently waiting for an answer when you and her both hear a cold ‘Come in’. She opens the door to Zayne’s office and it feels like a blizzard blows out of the room freezing you and the nurse. She ushers you in and hands him your charts.

There he is like usual at his office desk, typing away while he fills out patient charts. You walk in behind the nurse slowly making your way over to the chair, shivering as you walk inside. After she hands Zayne your clipboard she leaves the office and closes the door behind her giving you a happy ‘have a nice day’. You get to the chair in front of his desk and ease down into it gently as if not to disturb him, sitting down on the edge. Definitely ready to bolt out of this chilly doom room. The two of you wait in silence until he's done typing away which feels like an eternity. Zayne looks down at your charts for almost an equally long amount of time before speaking to you.

"So you're here just for your usual checkup on your heart?" He asks in a soft, icy tone. Eyes scanning the papers in front of him, not looking up at you.

"Yup! That's all I'm here for!" Your response is high pitched and squeaky that it makes you jump. Doesn’t help that all your nerves feel like they’re on fire despite the chilly atmosphere in the room. Hopefully he'll end this quickly so you can go home and forget about any of this happening! Why did you have to tease him on a day like today??? Maybe he has forgotten what all you had sent him earlier? If so then you could ask him out to dinner, that would be a plus!

Zayne gets up and comes to you with his stethoscope in hand. He places it on your chest checking your pulse, you flinch at how cold the stethoscope is. His lip curls up a bit in the corner, “Sorry, it's cold.” You hold your breath as his cold fingertips graze your chest with the equally cold stethoscope. Couldn't he have warmed it up for you before he started touching you? He usually does, but this time was very different. Maybe this was the start of your punishment, icy cold stethoscope. Goosebumps slowly creep across your skin after the lingering spots the stethoscope was.

"You know I could hear your heart better if you actually breathed, right?" He says with a slight smirk. You didn't realize you were holding your breath the whole time he was touching you. Not sure whether you were holding onto your breath because of him or just how cold everything touching you was.

"Oh…. I'm sorry," you mumble as you try to breathe calmly and deeply for him to hear better. Zayne takes his stethoscope out of his ears and wraps it around his neck. He then proceeds to touch you in places like your neck, behind your ears, and holds your wrist to finish your checkup. “Have you had any problems? Shortness of breath, chest pains, etc?” He asks while pressing along your collarbones and chest. “No?” you fumble, taking in his warmth of being so close to you as well as his scent. Hints of mahogany, jasmine, and disinfectant fill your nose making you feel all warm and fuzzy. “No?” he pulls you back into your current conversation. “I’m good, I promise!” you stammer out while he goes to sit back down behind his desk. The silence is deafening as he says nothing then proceeds to scribble things down on your chart. Double checking things on his computer as well and refilling your prescriptions like he usually does.

"All right, you're good to go. You have a clean bill of health for now until I see you again. I’ve refilled your heart medications as well. Next time we’ll have to do some imaging so have the nurse schedule you an appointment when you leave. Is there anything else you need while you’re here?" Zayne doesn't even look at you while he fills out your paperwork. You breathe a little easier since it seems like he's not too bothered about your texts. Hopefully….

"Um… No, not that I can think of. Thank you, but I wanted to let you know that I was just kidding with those text messages from earlier," you nervously babble out of your mouth. He stops writing for a brief second then goes back to writing the rest of his notes down. When he’s done writing, Zayne looks up at you with hazel eyes drilling holes into you making you feel vulnerable. You almost feel naked in front of him with how serious his expression is. You’ve been such a brat today, how is he going to tame you this time?

"A joke, huh?" He puts his pen back into his doctor’s coat, and leans forward onto his desk still drilling into you with his eyes. His hands neatly folded together with his chin gently resting on them.

"U-um… yeah…" you look away from his cold stare, wanting to leave immediately from his intimidation. He takes his stethoscope off of his shoulders and puts it on the desk sighing. You shiver again, making more goosebumps appear on your skin. The air in the room changes as well, seeming to get colder by the second like Zayne was trying to use his Evol to intimidate your brat ass into acting right.

"Too bad cause I thought you were serious about all those naughty texts you sent me," he leans back into his chair looking hurt? It's very hard to tell if he's serious or not. "And here I was planning to take you out to dinner after this, but I guess plans have changed," he looks back at you with a small pout on his face. He slowly takes off his glasses and lays them on the desk. He proceeds to rub the spot where his glasses were on his nose as if in annoyance. He was starting to get tired of your games, especially when his cock was throbbing so hard before you arrived at the hospital. Zayne was trying to hold out, but his patience was running thin. Your skimpy skirt didn’t help, nor your hard nipples pebbling up from how cold his office was.

"W-well we can still go to dinner if you want. There's that new restaurant I know we've been wanting to try. The one with the spicy hot pot…." You suggest still being nervous because you didn't want to get rejected after all the naughty texts you sent him, but also you guys hadn't had dinner together for a while now with all the long hours he’s had to work. Hell, you guys hadn’t had sex in a couple days either and it was starting to make your cunt ache for him so much.

"I'm not really sure if I want to go to dinner now after all of those texts. They have me thinking of what I should do to punish you instead, especially since you sent those right before a very important meeting that I had to calm myself down before I went," he said to you, his eyes turning dark. Knowing what all you sent to him earlier was making you pulse in your core more, but you were excited at the teasing thoughts of him fucking you hard. Pulling your hair and saying how naughty of a girl you were while he fucked you until you hurt for a couple of days.

"Um… well we could go to dinner and then go to your place for some fun?" You tried to tease with him, but you knew he'd see right through it. Seeing if you could maybe prolong the inevitable punishment you had coming to you. You rocked from side to side in your chair trying to dissipate the ache in your cunt, but he was so handsome from behind his desk. Your panties were starting to get soaked.

"Come over here," he commands while motioning a finger to come towards him. You stand up slowly and walk over to the desk almost in a trance. You put your hands on the edge of the desk in front of him waiting obediently for his next command.

"I said come here," he pointed down towards the floor directly in front of him behind the desk. Zayne moves his chair back from the desk enough for you to stand in front of him and slightly turns his chair. While you hesitantly walk over to where he's pointed on the floor, he moves his paperwork and computer over to one side of his desk. "Sit," he motions to his desk directly behind you and you oblige in his demands. You put your hands behind you and lift yourself up onto the top of the desk. While lifting yourself up, you can see Zayne's hard cock bulging in his pants.

He wanted you just as much as you wanted him. Seeing the sight of his big dick straining against his pants made you soak your panties even more. You lick your lips lustfully at him before sitting fully on his desk. You had worn a skirt in your rush out the door just because it was easy to put on. You didn't really think about it until now sitting here in front of Zayne that he could probably see your wet panties.

He gingerly puts his cold hands on your thighs, slightly gripping them. A small whimper escapes your lips eager for more touches from him. You had hoped to go to dinner with him and maybe get it on at his place, but Zayne couldn’t resist you anymore especially now that you were here in the flesh. Wearing a tiny skirt with a blouse that accentuated your tits. He was basically drooling in his mouth, panting as he gripped your legs.

"Zayne…," you whine. "Someone is going to hear us, especially see us if you do anything now!" He chuckled darkly at your pleads. "No one is going to hear us if you keep quiet plus the door is locked so no one can come in. So are you going to keep quiet?"

You pout at Zayne. Being heard that the hospital would definitely not be great for his reputation, but it puts a thrill in you that someone might possibly find out. This was going to be a great test of your will power.

"Now… Spread," he commands while pushing your legs apart. You let him dominantly spread your legs open to reveal your soaked light blue panties. Zayne rubs the wet spot on your panties glossing over your clit making you whimper at his touch. “Z-Zayne…” He hums in response before lifting your skirt up and pulls down your panties. You lift yourself up so that your ass rests on top of his desk. It's so cold that you get goosebumps that rise on your thighs. You shiver from the cold wood top from his desk. He takes your panties and shoves them into his front right pocket. "Is that really necessary?" You look at him with your eyebrow slightly raised with blush creeping across your cheeks. "I'm confiscating them because you've been a brat," he smirked devilishly.

“I'm glad I took these because they're the exact same pair that you teased me with earlier,” he chastised. You bit your lip nervously at him, “Well I didn't exactly have time to change them…” You trail off not sure how to continue.

"Fuck… I've been thinking about this all day," he says quietly while marveling at your leaking slit. He slowly runs his thumb up along your slit until reaching the top. He then places his thumb upon your bud and starts rubbing in circular motion.

You whimper quietly, still nervous that someone might hear you while he kisses your thighs and continues rubbing. You lean back onto your elbows to fully expose yourself to him. "Mmmm, that feels so good," you purr at him. Zayne continues kissing up your thighs until he gets to your clit then switches his thumb in favor of his tongue. You moan a little bit louder this time, throwing your head back from the pleasure. You were trying your best to keep it to a bare minimum, but god did he know how to make you feel so good.

While still eating you out like the delicious meal you are, he slips a long finger into your heat making you hum for more. You feel so hot from all the stimulation, while Zayne slowly slips in another finger sending you deeper into ecstasy. You lean forward while resting on one elbow and grab the top of Zayne's head, shoving him deeper into your slit.

He slides his fingers out for a second for his tongue to slip down into your hole, licking up the sweet juices flowing out of you. You shove his head in deeper causing his nose to hit your clit. You try to will your hips to stay still, but Zayne keeps licking all the right places. He comes back up to suck on your bud making you moan and grip his hair harder. The velocity at which he’s finger fucking you takes you closer and closer to toppling over the edge. He’d been wanting this just as much as you, his cock pulsing painfully against his pants.

“I-I'm about to c-cum…,” you whimper at Zayne to finish your climax. He hums in response to oblige your needs. He starts to finger you a bit faster while lifting the tips of his fingers to graze your sweet spot, edging you closer to your orgasm. “I'm gonna… c-cum!” You lean up and grasp Zayne’s hair pulling him closer to you as you start to convulse in pleasure.

Zayne helps you ride out your waves of pleasure. After your spasms, Zayne lifts his head up to look at you while wiping off your love juices from his mouth. He licks his fingers from where he was just finger fucking you licking them off like he can’t get enough of your sweet love juices. His hair is disheveled from where your fingers were from pulling. “Well that was an exquisite appetizer,” he grinned mischievously. You sigh as you lay flat on top of his desk, woozy. “That was so good,” you mutter sleepily.

Zayne stands up, “I'm not done with you yet, there's still the main course to be had.” He lifts you off the desk, setting you flat on your feet before spinning you around where you're facing the desk. He kisses your neck before he trails off to nibble at your ear. “Are you ready?” You start to get goosebumps at his musings. You can feel his hot girth on your messy pussy as he rubs against you.

“Yes….” Your eyes flutter. His hands were warmer from when he first began touching you. “Good girl,” Zayne growled into your ear. He pushes your feet apart with his luxurious dress shoes, he unbuttons his doctor's coat, and unzips his pants then lifts up your skirt so it lays on the lower part of your back out of the way. He then lays his hard dick between your ass cheeks, feeling the hot warmth of him makes you wet all over again. You’ve had his dick several times before this, but the girth and length of it always made you nervous at the sheer size of it.

“Now… tell me what you want,” he begins teasing you by sliding his dick up and down your ass cheeks with his precum. He was always good at warming you up before slamming his big cock into you. Zayne was a gentleman and you always came first before his needs.

“I want you…” you pur at him. “You'll have to be more specific,” he torments you. You almost want to just grab his dick and slam it into you, but you don't want to mess up your chance to have his girth in your hot, wet slit. “I want you… inside me please,” you beg as you lean back into him, making his dick ride up the crack of your ass.

“That's my girl,” he growled. Zayne then lets his dick slip down the crack of your ass before lining up with your wet hole and slowly slides himself into your pussy. White hot electricity goes throughout your entire body as he thrusts inside of you. You gasp as more is inserted more into you inch by inch. His hands grasp your hips tightly trying to maintain control over his primal needs as he starts to pump torturously slow into you.

“Fuck me…,” he moans. “Your pussy is so fucking wet.” Hearing him say those words just makes you clench your gummy walls around his dick. “Damn baby, not so tight!” he tries to command you, but he’s almost lost in pleasure himself. He pumps a couple of more times before pushing you down on the desk. He grips you with his left hand on your left hip while his right hand pulls your right arm back towards him. You start to drool out the corner of your mouth from how rough he's being with you.

His grip on you is tight, but his Evol starts to freeze on your hip and your wrist slowly. He’s trying his best to hold back, but you can tell by the way he's pumping into you that he's getting closer to the edge of losing control especially with the ice creeping onto your skin. Zayne is usually in control, but with the texts you had sent him just made it so much harder to control his Evol.

“Zayne….,” you gasp out, “I'm… gonna… cum..,” He grasps your hip tightly, “Not yet,” he demands harshly. You feel like your body is being torn in half from how aggressive he's being now and your wrist and hip are getting colder by the minute. He lets go of your arm and your hip before he leans over you with his hands on the desk next to your shoulders while still thrusting into you. Some of the things on his desk have fallen off from how hard he’s thrusting. The papers he was writing on before had fallen and his name placard bounced off the floor. On the edge of losing control, he starts pumping harder where your hips are knocking into the desk. If people didn’t hear that, they definitely heard the desk scoot across the floor a little bit.There definitely will be bruises tomorrow, but at this point you're in so much ecstasy that you didn't even care.

“I'm gonna cum,” he gasps into your ear. He latches onto your neck leaving marks along your pulse point that’s thumping out of control. Hearing that makes your gummy walls grip on his length even tighter. “Fuck me harder, cum in me,” you pant. Upon hearing this releases a primal urge in Zayne. He pumps several more times groaning and whimpering in your ear before releasing his load into you. You both orgasm together whimpering in pleasure as not to alert the whole hospital of your activities. Zayne lingers inside you for a few minutes panting in your ear before slowly pulling out. You feel every inch of him pull out and it almost makes you cum again.

Before lifting yourself up, you realize that where Zayne's hands were there's medium sized ice circles with his hand prints in them. Seeing his Evol go a little crazy gives you shivers, but luckily they start to melt away when you stand up. Even where he was holding your arm and hip earlier is slightly red from his ice.

Zayne opens one of the larger drawers on his desk revealing towels and extra clothes in the drawer. He grabs a towel and cleans himself off and sits down. “We made quite the mess, didn't we love?” He had a smirk playing on his lips. “Yeah, we really did,” you try to grab the towel from him, but he swats your hand away. Zayne takes another towel out of the desk before he cleans you off. After he finishes cleaning you off, he pulls your skirt down for you ever the gentleman. You stand in front of him with a love drunk smile on your face.

His hair is all messed up from where you grabbed it and his tie is slightly askew probably from where he was leaning on top of you. He places his hands on your hips while you fix his hair and tie for him. Zayne takes your wrist and examines the red band around it. He looks slightly upset about his Evol hurting you. You reach out and cup his cheek with your other hand. “It’s okay, it doesn’t hurt,” you say quietly. “I just need to be in better control of myself, but with you it's hard to do sometimes.” his eyes are miles away, but when he looks back to you, his look softens.

“Are we still going to dinner? I mean real dinner,” you sheepishly look at him. Zayne looks up at you with a smirk, “I suppose we can if you're still hungry.” You nod at him, even though you did fully enjoy your so called meal it was time to get a real meal in you before you got hangry. “Then we can, but are you ready?” He questioned seriously. You then thought about how you must have looked at that moment, your clothes slightly askew. Trying to smooth out your hair and clothes the best you can, Zayne comes in to help you like you did for him a moment ago. Zayne didn’t give back your panties as part of your punishment. Maybe the wind wouldn't lift up your skirt on your way to dinner.

Zayne stands up and straightens up his clothes a bit more. He takes off his doctor's coat while walking to the door and puts it on the wall hanger next to the door. You walk behind him slowly following about to head out the door with him when he grabs your chin and leans in for a kiss.

“Hey…” you pouted after he pulled away. He chuckled softly, “Are you ready to go? Maybe we can have dessert at my house later.”

#love and deepspace #l&ds #lads #lads smut #l&ds zayne #lnds zayne #zayne li #lads zayne #Evol #fanfic

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