#year round queue posts | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months ago

Text

Roads Untraveled 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, pregnancy, 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: Single and pregnant, you discover a super soldier in the dumpster but he might not be hero you think he is.

[This is a rewrite of a series of the same name which I removed a couple years ago]

Characters: Silverfox!Steve Rogers

Note: I finally did this.

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!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

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

‘When he went away The blues walked in and met me Oh, yeah if he stays away Old rocking chair’s gonna get me All I do is pray...’

You sway to the melody as you wipe dry the last plate. You set it in the rack as Etta James’ soulful crooning wafts around the kitchen. Just the simple task of washing the dishes has you out of breath. You can no longer hum along as you’re suddenly light headed with sweat speckled across your brow. Even the breeze drifting in through the open window can’t cool the constant heat brewing within you.

You brace your lower back as you reach for the dish towel and pop open the cupboard. The music drones to silence as the next some in queue loads. Your rounded stomach presses to the counter as you take a mug and dry it inside and out. Strange, you don’t remember the song starting like that; the strange warbling noise much unlike Marvin Gaye’s rich tones.

You set the mug on the shelf and back up. Another noise peaks your attention, too tinny to be a snare. You rub your stomach mindlessly as you sling the cloth over your shoulder. You waddle across the tile to the folding table beneath the window. You tap pause on your phone and the bluetooth speaker goes silent.

Your fingers pick the damp fabric away from your bump. These days you can’t avoid getting soaked. Even as you can’t forget about the burden of your condition, you’re still oblivious to how it gets in the way until it does. You sigh as you listen for another clue.

A pained deep grunt floats up from below. Distant but decisive, another rustle beneath the unexpected noise. You lean over the table, a hand on the ledge as you push the pane higher. You bend, stomach pressed to the speaker, and peer down. You expect another dumpster diver searching for empties to trade in; rather you meet a most unexpected sight.

There is a man in the dumpster, alright, but he isn’t moving. From there, you can’t see very clearly. You squint at the figure strewn among the trash but the zigzag of the fire escape obscures your eye line.

You shouldn’t go and see. Not only is it a lot of effort, but it’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be wandering into alleys to check on strangers in dumpsters. You don’t know any good reason someone might be swimming in garbage. Nor do you think they would want to be bothered.

Still, the prickling in your neck urges you to do something. There’s just something so peculiar about the angle of the arm you can see clearer than the rest of the body. At least they’re moving, even if they sound agonized.

You take your phone and untether it from the bluetooth speaker. You unlock it and keep your thumb ready to dial out. You move as quickly as you can, not very, and waddles along the back of the couch into the entry way. You take your keys from the hook near your door and step into your cushy slides.

You turn back the latch and leave the door unlocked behind you. The slides shift on your swollen feet as you rush down to the elevator. God, your back hurts. You try not to lean too far back as it only adds to the pain. You need a belly belt but they’re so darn expensive.

You’re out of breath as you step on and turn to watch the numbers count down. You’re still panting as you reach the lobby and push through the front doors, leaning into the heavy grated iron until it creaks loudly. You clamour down the steps to even ground and your hips pang.

You put your hand under your stomach, trying to lift it and ease the pressure in your hips. You blow out between your lips as you have to slow down. You shuffle across the grass and into the paved lobby. The stink of the trash brings you back to those early days of morning sickness. And afternoon sickness. And night sickness.

You try not to inhale too deeply as you step between the brick buildings. You bring your phone up, ready to hit those three digits in a heartbeat. You should’ve done so already. Even if you do, it’ll take hours for anyone to come out here.

You stop and listen a few steps from the dumpster. You don’t hear anything now. You look up at the sky, dimming towards evening in a mixture of pink and blue, the moon peeking palely through the hue. You grip your phone tight, keys jangling with your movement as you continue forward.

“Hello?” You call out, “is someone in there?” You linger near the corner of the dumpster, the trash reeking in your nostrils, “do you need help?”

No answer. You stare up, wondering how you might see inside. If you weren’t built like a keg, you might be able to see from the lower level of the fire escape but you can’t even make it one rung. You blink and call out again.

“Hello? Are you okay?”

You wait for a response. Silence again. Maybe they found their way out on their own. You huff. So much for all that. All you’ve done is added to the pain in your arches. You turn on your heel and a groan gurgles and plastic crinkles noisily.

You stop again, wavering, and peer back over your shoulder. A hand appears over the tops of the dumpsters edge and grips it. You face the large metal bin as the knuckles strain within the stained brown leather, fingertips poking out nakedly, blood and dirty tinged across the flesh. A long grunt follows as the figure drags himself to look over the top.

“Sir, are you--” you begin, voice catching at the sight of the cowl and the man’s square jaw. The white star on his chest stuns you. It’s him. Everyone knows that uniform, that face, even under his helmet. New York’s own Captain America.

You gape as the super soldier strains and swings himself out of the dumpster with one arm. His other is hanging limply as his feet hit the pavement. His knees crack and buckle. He drops down onto them and hisses.

“Captain America?” You utter dumbly.

He puts his fist to the ground and leans on his arm. He hangs his head and heaves. He drags a leg forward, planting his foot, and makes himself stand. He pushes his shoulders back and winces, reaching to cradle his dangling arm.

“Steve,” he rasps, “goddamn.”

You don’t expect the obscenity. Not from him. He leans against the dumpster and turns his chin up. He gnashes his teeth as he grips his arm and jerks, moving the heavy bin with his effort. The pop of his shoulder is sickening as he growls tightly. He stomps his foot and as he shakes out the arm he just put back into place.

He reaches up and peels off his cowl as he puts his head straight. He looks at you as he wipes the streak of blood from lip to chin. His blond locks are streaked silver and his face is lined. He looks much older than the magazine covers and the TV screens. The magic of editing, right?

He swipes the sweaty hair from his forehead and huffs.

“Steve,” you rest your phone on your stomach, “are you okay?”

He pushes himself away from the dumpster and puffs, “I’m fine. Just... a hiccup.”

You stare at him. He looks tired and worn. You believe him when he says he’s okay. He's a super soldier and the world has seen his many feats. Yet he looks completely hollow.

“Are you sure? I could call someone or...” you step forward and point to the slash that borders chest and shoulder, “you should clean that out, shouldn’t you?”

He looks down and grimaces, “had worse. I got comms. HQ doesn’t care about a few scratches.”

He goes to step forward and stumbles slightly. He snarls and kicks his foot into the gravel. He wiggles his knee and bends to rub the joint.

“I...” your mouth opens and closes. This isn’t the man you’ve seen in the media. He's not smiling and golden and shining. Still, he’s the Captain. “I live above,” you gesture upward, “I could help... or maybe you can just... sit for a little bit. Get yourself straight?”

He looks at you. As if for the first time. His forehead smooths as the tension eases from his jaw. His gaze slowly crawls down to his stomach and you see the dimple in his cheek.

“Your husband okay with that? I’m a bit of a mess,” his tone is lighter as he fixes his grip on his cowl.

“Oh no, I don’t have--” you chew your lip and look at the brick wall, “it’s just me. But I have first aid kit and learned to stitch in summer camp. I think I can still remember how.”

He glances around and nods, “got a back door?”

“Yeah, it’s... past you,” you nod in his direction.

He pivots stiffly and cranes to see around the dumpster. You near him and your keys jingle again. You follow him to the metal door with the glass window and you shove the key in and twist. You pull it open a few inches. It’s heavier than the front door. He grabs it and wrenches it all the way back.

“Thanks,” you murmur. “There’s an elevator.”

“Hm, fewer people see me, the better,” he sniffs as the door clanks behind him.

“It might take me a while,” you warn, “I’m slow.”

“What floor. I’ll meet you,” he offers.

“Sure, it’s three.”

“Number?”

“310.”

“I’ll find it,” he states and marches towards the stair sign.

You go to catch the elevator, stewing in disbelief on your ascent. You step off and continue on to your apartment. He’s already there. He stands with his hand on the frame, looking over his shoulder as you waddle down the hall towards him.

“It’s unlocked,” you say.

He opens it and waits for you. You thank him as you enter and he follows. He locks it and lingers behind you. You put your hand to the wall as you slip off your slides. He gently lays his cowl on the corner table and bends to unlace his boots. You hang the keys on the hook and place your phone on the small table.

He leaves his dirtied boots on the mat and limps forward. You stand in the open doorway of the living room and peek back at him. He looks around reluctantly.

“Please, sit down,” you insist and wave through the doorway before you pass through.

“I...” he begins and you hear his uneven gait down the hallway. “I don’t want to dirty your couch.”

“I have a steam cleaner,” you assure. “Sit, I’ll get the kit.”

He stares, his eyes once more scanning the space. Does he think this is a trip? That you’re some covert agent who all too conveniently found him? That’s absurd. Look at you.

You shrug off that ridiculous idea and cross to the kitchen. You open several drawers before you remember it’s in the bathroom. Of course. Your brain likes to play games these days. You grab the metal tin from under the sink and return to Steve.

He pulls off his gloves and balls them on the side table next to the couch. You come around the other side of the couch and sit, leaving lots of space between you. You squeeze the kits as you’re once more out of breath.

“You okay?” He turns the question on you.

“I’m not the one bleeding. Just pregnant,” you smile.

You balance the kit on your stomach as you lean back. You sanitize a needle and weave it with surgical thread. You put that aside and fish out an alcoholic swap. You shift the kit aside and push on the back of the couch as you try to sit forward. You shake and he helps you, a humbling assistance.

“First,” you turn to him, “we’ll see how deep it is,” you tear open the swap, “can I...”

“One sec,” he dips his fingers into the fabric and tears the sleeve, renting the fabric like tissue. His arm is thick and well-toned despite the years. A centurion like him can’t complain for the shape he’s in, even battered. “I can do it myself.”

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be easy.”

You reach as he angles towards you. You gingerly dab around the gash and he tenses. He takes a sharp breath, “you don’t have to be so gentle. I can handle pain.”

“Right,” you work more diligently.

He’s quiet as you tend to him, picking out gravel and some metal slivers. You worry that you might miss some. You lean in closer and he steels himself at your proximity.

“So,” he clears his throat, “just you and...” the kid?”

“We all make mistakes,” you chuckle. You can only laugh about it, as scared as you are.

“Mmm,” he flinches as you sweep down the length of the cut. It’s not that deep, mostly superficial.

“Let me put some steri-strips on, shouldn’t need the stitches, ” you say as you sift through the kit with one hand, “if you’re hungry, I have leftovers. You like chicken?”

You don’t know why you’re offering. Maybe it’s because you owe him. Like everyone in the city. It’s your chance to give back to the hero who gave so much. Or maybe it’s because you’re so damn lonely talking to your own stomach.

“I should go,” he insists as you place a strip across the cut.

“Up to you,” you say, “I don’t mind either way, but I’m not going to chase Captain America out of ym apartment.”

He doesn’t say anything. You finish dressing his wound and gather up the wrappers and all. You crumple it in one hand and rock yourself to stand. You’re overly aware of him watching you. You touch your stomach and rub it, soothing your nerves. You find him watching the movement of your hand.

“You must be pretty far along,” he says.

“Six months. Chicken tortellini, if you want. I was gonna reheat some. I haven’t eaten since work.”

“Work?” He frowns and stands, moving better than before. “Should you be?”

“I’m at a desk. It’s nothing. HR got me some ergonomic stuff. Nothing compared to what you do.”

You put away the kit and toss the garbage. You wash your hands before you search out the container of pasta in the fridges. You sense him behind you, just in the wide archway that peers into the kitchen. You reach into the cupboard you left open and take the single plate that isn’t in the rack.

“So, you want some?” You ask.

He’s silent with contemplation, the shift of his weight creaks in the floor, “I appreciate it, yes, please.”

“I might have something you can change into,” you say. You wonder why you’re doing all this. Maybe it’s that maternal instinct kicking in. “The father, before he took off, left a few things.” You peek over your shoulder, “he was a bit smaller than you.”

He shrugs then winces at the careless gesture. “Do you mind if I wash up before I eat? I smell like garbage. I don’t wanna overstep--”

“Go ahead, it’ll take a while to warm this up,” you say.

Another long lull. He taps his fingers on the wall and inhales deep enough for you to hear, “promise, I’ll get out of your hair after dinner.”

“Please, take your time,” you say as you put the tortellini in a glass pan to rebake. He backs away and you sense his hesitation, “oh, down the hall, to the left of the bedroom at the end.”

“Thanks,” he intones, “oh, uh, just realised, you know who I am...”

Your brows pop up and you stop before you can put the pan in the stove. You look back at him and give your name. He nods.

“Pretty,” he comments, “also, it’s just Steve, not Captain.”

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #roads untraveled #silverfox au #au #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #captain america #avengers

569 notes · View notes

lola-writes · 4 months ago

Text

Diagnosing Desire

Pairing: Tom Bennett x nurse!reader

Word Count: 5,6k

Themes & Warnings: pov first person, use of Y/N, swearing, fluff, drinking, smoking, eventual smut

Synopsis: Working as a wartime nurse, you’ve been charged with seeing to the physical exams of new recruits. It’s not until Tom Bennett shows up that you realize just how physical the exam can get.

A/N: Not surprised so many people wanted more Tom Bennett. Some inspo taken from Pearl Harbor. Not everything is medically accurate for the sake of the plot. Found this picture (bottom right) of a soldier getting an exam during ww2 that looked just like Ewan from behind!

Song: Angel Of Small Death & The Codeine Scene - Hozier

Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated ❤️

Enjoy the read!

“Efficiency is key,” my uncle declared, rustling through the recruitment papers with a grim determination etching his features. “We need to be swift yet thorough.”

“How about I take the main parameters from the start,” I offered. “Leaving you more time to fill out paperwork. Then, I hand them over to you and fill out their files as you examine?”

A thoughtful crease furrowed his brow. “That might just work,” he said, tapping his finger against his lips in contemplation.

The car rattled upon the cobblestones as we lurched onto Manchester’s main street, shuddering us into silence. Every window, lamp post and building were decorated in posters and placards of soldiers with brandished rifles, blaring red pronouncements reading ‘RECRUIT NOW’, ‘EVERY FIT MAN WANTED’, and ‘RALLY ROUND THE FLAG’.

Neville Chamberlain’s haunting voice echoed in my head, a remnant of his crackling announcement on the Home Service.

This country is at war with Germany.

A knot of dread tightened in my stomach.

I despised war, the very notion of violence solving anything. Yet, here I was, about to be thrust into the heart of its machinery.

But if war was inevitable, I would steel my resolve, seeing to put my expertise to good use.

Fresh out of basic nursing training at King Edward VII Hospital in Sheffield, I’d been dispatched with my uncle and a contingent of colleagues to Manchester. As an NHS nurse, we were tasked with overseeing and assisting in the physical examinations of the city’s new recruits. My uncle, Dr. Benjamin Clark, a seasoned veteran with ten years under his belt, would lead the examinations, while I served as his right hand.

The car turned a corner, then another, before coming to a grinding halt at the curb. I nudged my uncle, yet engrossed in paperwork. Once he glanced up, a gusty sigh escaped his lips.

“Plan B then,” he muttered, his voice laced with resignation.

The queue leading into the induction center stretched for what seemed like miles. Tracing its path with a sinking heart, a chilling realization dawned on me and settled in my stomach.

There was endless work ahead of us.

The induction center hummed with activity and crackled with a nervous energy as we entered. Sunlight streamed through high ceilings, illuminating rows of tall, numbered privacy screens. Each makeshift booth held a white-clad nurse and a trepidatious recruit clutching a folder.

The Manchester center pulsed with a daily influx of hopeful faces, each ushered through a chaotic dance of physical exams, fingerprints, fitness tests, and dreaded vaccinations. My days blurred into a whirlwind of vision checks, height and weight measurements, and the familiar sting as I administered countless injections.

Most of the men I examined were models of civility, enduring the process with a stoic resolve, a wince of pain at the stick of the needle their only betrayal. Yet a few shattered the façade, their bravado crumbling into crass jokes and unwanted advances. Thankfully though, my uncle was a fortress of composure, and would swiftly shut them down, but each encounter left me with a residue of unease and a tear in my patience.

I wasn’t unused to being flirted with. Now, however, it felt like a relentless barrage, a desperate grasping for normalcy in the face of oblivion. By the end of each day, I felt like I’d fielded more marriage proposals than a fairytale princess. I could hardly blame them, though. These men were teetering on the precipice of war. Desperation hung heavy in the air, clinging to these men about to face the unknown. They would depart with no guarantee of whether they’d ever return.

While I couldn’t offer them a forever, I could offer a gentle smile and as kind of a rejection as I could muster. A disarming act for some, but for others, it wasn’t enough, their misplaced advances requiring security to escort them out.

“Go on, love, give us a chance,” this one man wheedled at my desk after completing his examinations.

I skimmed his file splayed open before me, everything appearing to be in order. ‘Keith Worsley’, it read.

What a cruel joke, I thought, as I stamped his papers for approval, plastering on my most saccharine smile. He practically vaulted the desk, arms outstretched like he was about to give it a big hug.

A firmer approach perhaps, a harsher deflection, would expedite his departure. The insistent line of restless faces behind him fueled my resolve.

“You’ve passed,” I announced, my voice clipped, as I shoved his folder shut, thrusting it towards him. “And there’s a queue.”

He ignored the dismissal, looming closer, his breath a noxious cocktail that I could almost taste on my tongue, threatening to crack my carefully constructed façade.

“You gonna deny a soldier his one shot at happiness?” he pressed, his voice thick with misplaced entitlement.

I sighed internally, a silent scream trapped in my chest.

Efficiency is key, echoed my uncle’s voice in my head. What a struggle that turned out to align to.

“I might die fighting the Nazis,” he continued.

I started to think it funny just how common that sentence turned out to be. And how these men begging for my hand, publicly liked to expose just how self-absorbed they really were. Pathos disguised as romance.

“Let’s live life to the fullest tonight, baby,” he drawled, desperation clinging to his words like a bad cologne. The urge to laugh was a battle I nearly lost, but the bile rising in my throat solidified my resolve, and I leaned in closer, a sugary smile plastered across my features.

“I’m afraid I’d rather be fighting the Nazis,” I quipped.

He clamped onto my arm, a jolt shooting through me.

Perhaps not the best candidate for my newfound ‘ice queen’ persona, I thought.

“Think you’re clever, hm?” he snarled.

Before I could respond, or seek refuge beneath my uncle’s wing, a voice sliced through the tension.

“Get yer coat, mucker, it’s not gonna ‘appen,” it drawled, its tone snarky, dripping with playful menace, and with an undertone of complete and utter disregard for law and custom.

Keith rose from the desk, my hand still hostage in his grip. We saw him simultaneously.

A tall, wiry figure, all straw-blonde hair and icy blue eyes stood behind him in the queue, a scowl twisting his features as he sized Keith up and down, eyes rimmed with lethal venom.

“The fuck you say?” growled Keith, his grip tightening on my arm.

“Y’ heard me.” The blonde dipped his chin. “Now, let go of the lady’s hand. She’s done nothing but take care of ya.”

Kieth obliged before lumbering towards the blonde, towering over him, fixing him with an unwavering glare. But the thick tension ran thin when the blonde suddenly erupted in laughter, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Something funny?” Keith snarled, nostrils flaring.

“Keith? That’s yer name?” the blonde derided, amusement lacing his voice as he nodded at Keith’s dog tag.

A beat of stunned silence followed.

“What about it?” asked Keith hesitantly.

“Well, Keith was always the name of that kid who wore a balaclava till’ April, candle wax snot angin’ from his nose.” The blonde grinned widely.

My jaw clenched to stifle a snort of laughter. What a cheeky fucker, was all I could think, before Keith’s fist met his face with a resounding blow. The blonde was on the floor before anyone could stop it.

Security materialized in seconds, hauling both men out the door in a flurry of limbs and shouted obscenities.

I rubbed a hand over my forehead, the day’s stress settling into my bones. I sighed deeply, before waving forward the next recruit.

The next day was no different. Another deluge of recruits. Hundreds lined up to get their vision checked at my desk, their anxious energy buzzing through the air.

Another folder slapped onto my desk as I was finishing up with the one before. The pen slipped around in my clammy hand, still getting used to the rhythm of work.

I opened the new folder with a practiced flick, my eyes scanning the documents. To service the Royal Navy, HMS Exeter (68).

“Tom Bennett,” I read aloud, already filling out the form.

“Yes, ma’am,” a voice replied promptly, a hint of salt-laced amusement clinging to the words.

“Read row eight for me, please,” I instructed, pointing at the Snellen’s chart over my shoulder, my focus remaining on the papers.

“D-E-F-P-O-T-E-C,” he declared, rather fast, considering the small size of the letters.

“Steady on, sailor,” I chuckled, glancing up.

My breath hitched in my throat.

The tall, straw blonde mischief with the quick wit, a deep purple blooming around his left socket.

“Goodness,” I gasped, my mind scrambling for a more eloquent response.

He flashed his infuriatingly charming grin, pointing at the damage with his thumb. “Y’ should see t’other bloke,” he winked, coaxing a giggle from my lips.

He towered over the desk, his hands folded in front of him, assuming a casual, almost nonchalant posture that somehow commanded attention. His sharp, protruding chin and aquiline nose dominated his features.

But it was his lips that truly captivated me. They were set in a sort of perpetual pout, settling him into a curious air of sensuality that contradicted the hint of arrogance in his demeanor.

Suddenly, my mouth felt dry. Words seemed to evaporate as I looked up at him, a nervous flutter awakening in my chest, and a pulse settling in my core.

“Thank you,” I managed, a wave of unexpected gratitude washing over me at the thought of this stranger taking a punch for my dignity. “For yesterday, I mean.”

He dipped his head a fraction. “Come on,” he lulled, wetting his lips. “Who wouldn’t lend a hand to a lady in distress?”

A hesitant smile touched my lips, sweeping a glance around the room before meeting his gaze again. “A lot of people,” I countered.

He scrunched his nose and curled his lips. “Bunch of wankers, the lot of them.”

I offered him an amused smile as his eyes settled on my face, a playful smirk slowly tugging at the corner of his mouth as our gazes lingered a beat too long. The intensity sent a blush creeping up my neck. Flustered, I ducked my head to his file, though the words swam before me, my eyes failing to comprehend regular English.

“No worries like,” he said, pointing at his papers. “I’m mint in my file, healthy as a horse.”

“Right,” I replied, checking off the twenty-twenty vision, hearing, and speech. “Procedure demands a full exam, though,” I said, rising from my chair.

“Ey?” He cocked his eyebrows, his eyes following me towards the privacy screen. “Y’ gonna examine me?” he asked, almost in disbelief.

“Please, step behind here,” I said, gesturing behind the screen.

His eyes sparked with satisfaction as he rounded the desk towards me, his gaze fixed on me with a mischievous glint, his hand brushing me in passing as he slipped around me behind the screen, sending a warm current through my body. I followed suit, my mind suddenly a blur, as I attempted to regain my composure, busying myself with sterilizing equipment, discarding used needles, and filling new syringes with vaccines, all the while feeling his gaze on me.

“Alright, so… how’s this whole exam thing gonna work then?” he asked, restless fingers exploring my equipment.

I gently swatted his hand away, a wry smile playing on his lips.

“We’ll start off with a quick height and weight measurement,” I explained. Tom nodded and started towards the scale. “Then, you’ll need to undress and I’ll…”

“Whoah…” he countered, stopping in his tracks. “Undress?” he repeated, his voice darkening beneath something amused.

“Well, yes,” I confirmed, raising an eyebrow. “Were you never briefed beforehand, Mr. Bennett?”

Tom curled his lips.

“Did they not tell you what to expect?” I clarified.

“Never stuck ‘round for that long. Just thought it’d be a quick look in me gob and I’d be sorted,” he drawled, a sly grin spreading across his face. “But if y’ want me to get me gear off, just say the word,” he rumbled, looking me up and down.

The audacity of his suggestion both flustered me and strangely titillated me. I fought back a laugh from the utter impertinence of his man, channeling my frustration into professional courtesy.

“I appreciate the enthusiasm, Mr. Bennett,” I said, forcing a politeness into my voice, though betrayed by a hint of mirth despite my best efforts.

“For you,” he said, curling his lips. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I cleared my throat to steady my beating heart, and began to explain the procedure to him, in the most professional way possible. But as I did, his face grew more and more smug.

“Christ,” he muttered, elation sparking in his eyes. “Least let a bloke buy ya a drink first.”

“The doctor will be conducting most of the physical examination,” I informed him, a faint smile tugging at my lips.

“That’s a shame,” he droned.

I studied him with disbelief, to which a cheeky smirk curled his lips.

“Yer hands all over me. Mind ya, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” I said, rolling my eyes as I pulled the latex on my hands.

“Wouldn’t be needing those either,” he said, nodding at my gloves. “Wouldn’t want ya choking your lovely hands on my account.”

“Let’s keep it professional, Mr. Bennett,” I countered, a playful edge to my voice as I slipped on the second glove.

He sniffled. “Mmhm,” he hummed, his lips pursing defiantly.

“Right,” I said, clicking my pen to the ready. “Let’s get started.”

“Fire away, love,” he drawled, his amusement an inescapable distraction.

I took a deep breath, willing my butterflies to settle.

“Would you mind emptying your pockets and stepping onto the scale for me?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, and began rummaging through his pant pockets, pulling out a metal lighter, a packet of fags, some pounds, and his ID. He placed them in the bowl I held out and hopped onto the scale. I noted down his weight and height.

“Excellent. Now, please remove your shirt.”

A satisfied glint lit up his eyes. He clicked his teeth and crossed his arms over his stomach. “Quite like bein’ ordered about,” he said, before pulling the shirt over his head.

“I suppose you have to get used to it,” I replied, my eyes flickering over his toned chest, his dog tag nestling between his pectoral muscles. Turning away to grab the measuring tape, I silently berated myself for the warmth blooming up my neck.

“Wouldn’t be ‘alf as good from anyone else, though,” his voice, a low rumble, sent shivers down my spine.

When I pivoted back, his height loomed over me, his hands clasped behind his back in a soldierly posture that accentuated his broad shoulders and chest, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes.

“Would you mind…?” My voice trailed off as I hesitated to make physical contact. Unlike the others I’d processed with practiced efficiency, the thought of touching him set my nerves on fire. “Standing like this for me?” I finally managed, my voice a gentle whisper, my hands reaching out to gently unclasp his from behind his back, raising them straight outward. “Perfect.”

I drew closer. The scent of him, a mix of clean sweat, tobacco, and bad decisions, filled my senses as I reached around him to fit the measuring tape around his shoulder blades. As I straightened to fix it around his chest, I caught him observing me. The playful glint had softened, replaced by a simmering intensity that sent a warm tremor through me. I half expected him to lay an inappropriate or snarky comment, but a beat of charged silence hung in the air, save his breathing which had gotten slightly labored.

I quickly recorded the measurement and released the tape. “Perfect,” I said, a touch too brightly, charging my voice to attempt to salvage my composure. “You may lower your arms.” Scribbling the numbers in his file, I forced myself to focus on the next task. “I will have a look at your teeth next,” I said, picking up the light source and a wooden spatula.

“Alright,” he said. He dipped his chin for me to reach, his lips pouting with arrogant sensuality, as I approached him.

His presence consumed me. His scent, the warmth of his body, mere inches from my own, radiated through me like electricity. I hesitated again.

“I don’t bite,” he grinned, to which I rolled my eyes, and placed my hand to his chin in defiance. His timber lowered into a throaty whisper, “Only if ye ask me nicely.”

My breathing shallowed, heat shot through me like licking flames, my heart drumming against my ribs. “Good to know,” I said, attempting to sound unbothered, tilting his head toward me. “Say ‘Ah’.”

“Ahhhhh…”

I depressed his tongue with the spatula and examined his teeth, making a mental note of the slight misalignment of his incisors. “Bite down,” I instructed. Another minor misalignment appeared. “Hmm,” I murmured, and released him, noting it down in his file.

“Problem?” he asked.

“Did you have braces as a child?” I inquired, setting down the equipment.

He scoffed. “Fuck nah. That gear’s for mugs only.”

His foul mouth was disarming

“I see,” I said, before I turned and started towards him. His eyes had become hooded, the ice melted into a dark sea, holding a challenge I couldn’t quite decipher. His lips inched up into an askew smile that pitted his cheek as I reached for his face again. I felt a prickle of awareness as his gaze flickered down my body, before returning to my face.

I palpated along his jaw, starting below his ears, then down towards his throat. He sighed deeply. His skin was so very warm beneath my fingers.

“Been experiencing any fever or illness of late?” I asked, my fingers continuing the path down his neck. His gaze flicked to my lips.

“No,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble.

He was extremely warm. Borderline feverish.

“Currently on any medications?” My fingers continued down his broad neck, down to his collarbones. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, and his ‘no’ came out hoarse and shaky.

I systematically checked the rest of his body for abnormalities, checking for any bruises, hernias, anything deviating. His breath hitched as my fingers grazed his arm, then the other. Then I took a turn about him, checking his neck, shoulders and back. My eyes travelled lower, and something fluttered through my stomach.

He had a very cute butt.

He tilted his head to the side when I came around him, a devilish grin on his lips.

“What d’ya reckon, doc? See somethin’ y’ like?”

“Everything seems to be in order,” I announced, going to stand in front of him, ignoring his blatantly rude comment. “Just like you claimed, healthy as a horse.”

A satisfied grin tugged at his lips, “Told ya.”

“Now for the really tricky part,” I continued, watching Tom’s smug grin slowly fade from his face as my uncle emerged from behind the privacy curtain.

“How are we doing in here then, Y/N?”

“All done, Dr. Clark. He’s all yours,” I confirmed, a hint of amusement dancing in my eyes. Tom’s confusion was a welcome change to his previous arrogance.

Dr. Clark cleared his throat and flipped through the file. “Mr. Bennett,” he addressed and looked up. “For the lower body examination, please remove your trousers,” he said, smacking his gloves into place.

Tom looked to me, a silent plea I readily understood, and I flashed him with a sweet smile.

“Good luck, Mr. Bennett,” I sang, tearing the gloves from my hands.

He turned to my uncle, then hesitated. “Could I…” Then he cleared his throat, his voice lowering to a whisper, though loud enough that I could hear before I vanished behind the screen. “Could I have a moment?”

The next day, a familiar name landed on my desk at the vaccination booth.

As I looked up, intense blue eyes met mine.

“Mr. Bennett,” I greeted him professionally, though something stirred within my chest.

“Y/N,” he said with a charming grin which made my heart trip over its next beat.

Fuck. He must’ve heard my name from my uncle yesterday.

“And please,” he continued. “Call me Tom.”

“Alright, Mr. Bennett. Right this way,” I said, rising from my chair.

He hesitated at first, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features before he obliged and rounded the desk, following me behind the screen.

“Pull down your trousers and lean over,” I instructed before he could manage to land some witty remark.

“Actually, I-,” he started.

“Chop chop, sailor,” I interrupted, ushering him to the table. “We haven’t got all day.”

“Right uh… Like this?” he asked, his back turned to me, his cheeks exposed before me.

I looked him over. “That’s right…” I said absently, my eyes travelling.

Focus.

As I readied the vaccine, a beat of awkward silence stretched between us before Tom spoke again, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant.

“So, listen uh…” he began, clearing his throat, an unfamiliar vulnerability lacing his voice that unsettled me. My gaze drifted to the way his jaw clenched, a flicker of some apprehensive in his eyes. Was he scared of needles or something? “I know a lot of these other blokes been causing ye trouble and that, and uh…”

Gosh, he was so fucking cute when he was nervous.

“I was wonderin’ like…” He rubbed his chin in his hand. “Would you want to like…” His fingers tapping out a nervous rhythm on the table, attempting to urge his words forward. “Maybe…” His voice trailed off, searching for the right turn of phrase.

Oh god, he was about to ask me out.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

I loaded the syringe in a nervous blur, and tapped out the bubbles at the top.

“Like… wanna go out with me – argh!” His whole body cramped up as I stabbed the needle into his butt cheek.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I poke too deep?” I asked with feigned concern.

A throaty groan escaped his lips. “Clattered me bones, I think,” he wheezed, his head bent over the table, swaying slightly as he held onto it for support.

“Go on, sailor. You can take it,” I said gently, patting his back as he pulled his trousers back up, groaning as he went.

I thought he must’ve forgotten what he was about to say, because he started staggering out of the booth, one hand rubbing his arse.

“Nah, hang on,” he said, turning on his heel, his jaw ticking with determination. “Listen, I really wanna take ya.”

My cheeks flared red. “Excuse me?”

Alarm sparked in his eyes, as if just realizing what he’d said. “Out!” He corrected. “I’d really wanna take y’ out. That weren’t meant to come out like that.”

Suddenly he started acting very strange. It started with staggering. He steadied himself on the IV pole at his side, the metal rattling under his weight.

“Mr. Bennett?” I asked, approaching him slowly, “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head to his senses, “Just gon’ a bit… wobbly, is all.”

Something dawned on me. I snatched his file from the table and opened it. ‘Andrew Howarth’ was hidden beneath a sticker of Tom’s alias.

I slammed it back down on the table, my voice sharpening. “Have you already had this shot?” I demanded, turning back to him, venom lacing my voice.

“Well,” he mumbled, his eyes fluttering. “Just t’ once.” Then his head hit the floor.

Exhaustion gnawed as I exited the doors to the induction centre, the hours of work settling heavy on my cognition. The golden glow of lampposts cast long, spidery shadows across the slick cobblestones as I descended the stairs. The memory of Tom swam up before me, his handsome face against the cold floor, concern flooding me after his fainting spell. I recalled him muttering incoherently in my lap as a crowd gathered, my uncle eventually pushing through to help.

A warmth, unexpected and foreign, bloomed in my chest. He’d taken a punch to the face during our very first encounter, then nearly experienced an anaphylactic shock trying to ask me out on a date. Underneath that snarky, arrogant mask, I believed, was something so much deeper.

My heels clicked against the stone as I approached the car. I opened the door and slid inside, just starting to pull it shut when a voice echoed from outside.

“Y/N!”

A jolt of adrenaline shot through me as I saw a figure jogging up the street towards me, hands shoved in their jacket pockets.

A thrill sparked in my chest as they drew closer. I flung the car door open again and stepped out.

“Hello, Mr. Bennett,” I uttered, attempting to hide the shakiness in my voice as he approached. “How are you feeling?”

“Made up,” he said, flashing a lopsided grin, and I noted that the purple around his eye had deepened somewhat. “You?”

A laugh, tinged with delirious exhaustion, escaped my lips. I shrugged. “Pretty knackered, actually.”

Tom’s grin diluted slightly, as a concerned frown etched his features. “Course y’ are! Made up you’re knackered after all that!” There was a soft concern in his voice that spun in my ears like silk. I smiled at him as a comfortable silence settled between us. But when I turned my heel slightly on the cobble, he spoke up.

“Listen, uh…” he began, putting honey in his voice. “Before all of that with the fainting,” he said, drawing closer. “I wanted to ask ye out.”

I smiled, nodding. “I know,” I admitted softly. “It was pretty obvious.”

A cheeky grin lit up his features, and he tilted his head. “So…” He pursed his lips. “What d’ya say, doc?” His voice lowered into a gentle caress, and I felt his fingers brush against mine ever so lightly. “I need someone lookin’ after me while I recover,” he winked.

I couldn’t keep from smiling, my gaze drifting down to the cobblestones, as I considered his request.

“I’ll be a good boy, I promise,” he said, grinning, coaxing a laugh from me.

Exhaustion threatened to pull me under, but a different kind of weight settled in my stomach as I met his gaze. He was off to war, soon to be on a ship across the Atlantic, with no notion of when he’d be back. If he’d ever be back…

Dread coiled in my stomach.

If he was going to die, we should at least live tonight.

I winced internally at the cheesy quote from that Keith bloke. But it was the only thing that seemed to fit the urgency in my heart.

“Alright,” I heard myself say.

“Yeah?” Tom’s voice dripped with elation, a melody that tugged at my already strained emotions. “C’mon then,” he said, offering me his arm. “Everyone reckons a cold brew sorts ye right out after a dizzy dossin’.”

A honeyed glow emanated from The Old Wellington, pulling us like moths to a flame. Inside, a vibrant symphony of voices rose and fell, punctuated by the melodic clinking of glasses. The air thrummed with the mingled aromas of spilled ale, aged leather, and an undercurrent of cigarette smoke. Tom, a whirlwind of charismatic energy, navigated the throng, his smile as familiar as the worn grooves on a favorite record, his banter bouncing off patrons like playful echoes. Their easy camaraderie spoke of a shared history, a hidden world I longed to decipher. Here, in the heart of Manchester, I was an explorer in a land of unknown faces and customs, adrift but not entirely lost. But when he grabbed my hand and pulled us towards the bar, none of it mattered.

“A pint and a gin martini, if y’ would, Kristina,” he tossed over his shoulder to the bartender.

The cheek of this man. Did he just assume what I’d be drinking?

“A gin martini? Really?” I arched an eyebrow, a playful challenge in my voice.

He pivoted towards me, a smug pout plastered on his lips, one hand casually tucked in his pant pocket as he leaned against the worn wood.

“Thought y’ might need a touch of sophistication, ya know, a taste of the high life,” he drawled, his eyes twinkling with something akin to a dare.

And I was up for the challenge.

I snorted and mirrored his stance, my arms crossing atop the bar in a playful imitation. “Do elaborate,” I replied, my voice laced with amusement.

A genuine grin erupted across his face. “Well, gin martinis are for proper ladies like, the kind with a bit of mystery and that,” he said, his voice dropping a touch lower. “Like yourself,” he finished, wetting his lips as his eyes flicked briefly down my body.

A shiver danced down my spine and vibrated in my stomach.

“So, a woman of intrigue is defined by her choice of beverage?” I countered, cocking my eyebrows in defiance, a playful glint in my eyes.

He shook his head ever so lightly, a flicker of something deeper gracing his features, like I’d totally missed his point. “Nothin’ could ever define ya, love. Y’ more than a drink,” he said, his voice growing suddenly serious.

A warmth bloomed in my chest. This cocky charmer held an unexpected sweetness beneath the surface, a complexity that piqued my curiosity even further.

Kristina placed our drinks on the bar and Tom slid a bill across to her. “Cheers, Kristina.”

I nodded at his pint. “So, you’re a lager then,” I joked.

He tilted his head, a dimple flashing in his cheek. “A simple brew for a simple bloke,” he said, placing the rim to his lips and taking a swig.

I laughed and shook my head. “You’re anything but simple, Tom.”

“Seems my theory holds some water, then,” he grinned, mischief glittering in his eyes.

He pulled his packet of fags from his pocket and lit one with a practiced flick, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked in. Smoke curled from his lips in a grey cloud, momentarily obscuring him in a hazy veil. In that moment, a strange desire flickered within me – to be the tobacco stick consumed by his flame.

“Fancy one?” he offered.

“Why not?” I said, watching him already pull a second one out of the pack, putting it to my lips, the subtle graze of his fingers against me singeing my skin like hot coal.

“So, what d’ya think of the war then?” he said, flicking the lighter shut.

I exhaled, tapped the ash, and pursed my lips. “That there must be a better way to solve conflict.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. He pointed at me with the cigarette wedged between his fingers. “You and me dad would get along,” he stated.

Intrigued, I leaned in. “How so?”

He took a blow of his cigarette before he answered. “He’s a conscientious objector,” he said, breathing a plume of smoke.

“You clearly don’t share his sentiment,” I said, stirring my drink with the olive stick.

Tom curled his lips, a furrow etching between his brows, his finger flicking ashes into the ashtray. “Let’s just say it was either this or a stint in Her Majesty’s finest accommodation.” He rubbed his nose, a cocky sniff escaping him, as if the topic was bothersome. “Not exactly dad’s proudest moment.” His voice lowered somewhat, his fingers tapping atop the bar.

My eyes skimmed his fidgeting hands in contemplation. He’d enlisted for redemption, though I wasn’t exactly surprised he was a troublemaker, lacing him with even more intrigue than I had expected.

The liquor flowed freely as he unraveled his story – his pacifist father, the ache of losing his mother young, his spirited sister who appeared to have stepped into their mother’s shoes. With each revelation, an invisible thread tightened between us, drawing our bodies closer, a silent conversation blooming beneath our skin.

By the time I finished my second martini, a reckless glint danced in my eyes, my fingers feeling daring and loose. They brushed down his arm while he was talking. My gaze flickered to his lips, a silent invitation. Tom, immersed in some topic I’d failed to keep up with, trailed his hand up my side absently, his fingers grazing my hips, up to my waist, his body radiating into me, my mind consumed by his scent as I attempted to focus on his words.

A husky chuckle grazed my ear. “A bit bevvied, are we?” he whispered into it, his voice laced with amusement.

“Not any more than you,” I countered.

“Pfft,” he said, frowning theatrically and pursing his lips. “I’m off the wagon.”

His hand drifted down my back, a single finger tracing a tempting path to my tailbone, the motion sending sparks downward. Desire flared within me, a wildfire consuming my inhibitions, fueled by the euphoric buzz of the alcohol. I leaned into him until I could feel his breath mixed with liquor and tobacco upon my lips. My fingers came up to his chest, my lips savoring his every breath like it was life itself. I just needed him to make a move. Close the gap between us. Draw his tongue into my mouth so that I could taste it. But he was still, ragged breaths fanning me, his muscles drawn taut beneath my fingers.

“Fancy a change of scenery?” I whispered against his mouth.

“Bet,” he mumbled, his voice thick, before creating distance between us, the electricity cut, sparking like static. His hand in mine, he steered me out of the pub, the night air a stark contrast to the heat that had been building inside me...

Tag list: @venmondiese @diespulcher @izfrogzy @fan-goddess @yyrzmomo @slytherincursebreaker @canpillowscry @mhmhey @meadowscollectivelight @jasminecosmic99 @funnyzgirl @rhaethoughts @rosaness @beautifulballads @ramielll @maplesauce43 @elmageber @gxuxhdjdu @randomstory56 @darylandbethfanforever9 @allthethingsel @kkdragongirl @saintlavie @haleyheart0197 @kind3sstuff @mooneeishorny @hikaerys @swagfancroissantpizza2 @thescooponsof @venmondiese @lovelybruises @sonolynn @pandoras-bussy @babymilkxd @diespulcher @aiyaiy @lovebambon @stapleyourfacebackon @banditlovespunks @gvmmie-bear @airadajascake @anyaisssleeping @liv-cole @hc-geralt-23 @elleinex0x0 @dovesandorchids @gothmuppet92o @meganryannnn @forreadsstuff @baddieduhh2 @sushiapril @mel0man1a @onemillionpeopleinone @hermoonfan @bitchwithlebrains @xxxkat3xxx @ultravxl @zesldl-blog @reeseelise @strangemaximoff @imaginecrushes @anyaskywalker21 @littybeech @achaoticeternal @im-perched-in-the-dark @stcrrjoon @wxnderingthoughts @starkwlord @rhxenyra-txrgxryen @rafanadalgeek888 @summerposie @hederahelix-mj @aegonswife @wwwrafecom @shadowolf993 @kalasyrtiaan @starwarsgirlsimmer1 @maybeijustwanttobeme @violetiss3lfish @ecstaticactus @magicalkidchaos-blog1 @fan-goddess @solairestar @shelby-leah @forbiddengrimoire @magnificentdelusionr @issshhh @luvsfics @rhaenyslay @beautifulmilkshakearbiter @thelastofkryze @slytherincursebreaker @thought--bubble @doll-joh4n @zackyvravageme @youngunicorn16 @jexify @odeioemail @canpillowscry @sinistersnakey49 @osferthswifey

Divider by: @saradika

A part 2 is planned soon!

479 notes · View notes

wtfsteveharrington · 7 months ago

Text

take the upper hand | carmen berzatto x reader

push the reset button we're becomin' something new

description: carmen berzatto is stubborn and anxious and doesn't always know how to express himself. your best friend drags you to a party that carmen knows you'll be at and he shows up to make amends and thank god he does because he saves you from dealing with some drunk asshole.

content warnings: angsty!! drinking/party scene, shitty drunk guy w/ a shitty guy mentality!!, reader gets hit on with one night stand suggestion tones, carmen's ready to swing, mentions of anxiety and jealousy. mentions of reader drinking. kissing, mentions of intimacy related scratches, some light smut references.

author notes: my first time posting something that isn't just smut!! also something that no one but me has read!! normally i always get a proof read, not today. but this idea has been rattling around in my ole noggin' for a minute now so here we are. reminder!! you are responsible for your own media consumption!! if this won't be your jam then there's tons of other fics in the sea (: ily thank you!

even if it's handcuffed i'm leavin' here with you

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The last place you wanted to be tonight was some house party in Wicker Park. With Pitbull, of all artists, playing so loud in the basement that the floor upstairs was still vibrating. Everything was sticky and stinky and you did not wanna be here.

But your best friend was hooked on this guy from her gym.

It didn’t help that Carmy recognized his name from high school and mumbled out some remark about, “Oh yeah, no Dave’s a pretty solid guy.” She was convinced it was a sign that they were meant to be. Not to mention she found his mom’s Facebook and a post from two years ago that included his birth time. The whole train ride over you listened to how compatible the two of them were and how much she loved that he was a Scorpio rising.

She had begged you to come to this God forsaken party and help put in a good word for her. Something had her convinced that if you mentioned just how well you were getting to know Carmen to this Dave guy that he would hold your opinion of her in higher regards.

And sure, maybe there was a part of you that hoped Carmen would be here even while the two of you were feuding. He knew it was coming up but couldn’t promise he’d be off in time - Something you got quite used to. It normally didn’t bother you that he had so many late nights at the resturant but when it rains, it pours and now you’re stuck sitting next to the sink littered cups filled with what can only be best described as some sort of horrific finance bro jungle juice. A mix of 1942 and fresh pressed juice.

Your nose wrinkles up at the smell but you’re quickly refocused at the booming sounds of Ethan Callaghan stumbling through the back door. Another man Carmy knew from high school but didn’t like as much. Something about always being too in-your-face. Though you were pretty sure he was close with the guy your best friend was currently hooking up with in some random bedroom down the hall.

The second his eyes land on you there’s a lopsided smile being thrown your way as he tries to fluff his hair and stand up as straight as possible. He’s stumbling into the kitchen with a full drink in hand, droning on and on about how he was ‘just so jealous’ that your friend went into that bedroom earlier. How nice it must be to not end the night alone. No pleasantries at all, just right into the whole lonely and horny act that was grossing you out.

No one particularly knew you and Carmy were together yet - He wasn’t the type who wanted to label right away and potentially mess things up and you weren’t the type to out your dating status to random drunken men either. Besides, you weren’t so sure that ‘I have a boyfriend’ would put an end to this pitiful man’s sob story.

As if, on queue and manifested right out of thin air, Carmen rounds the corner and takes a second to soak in the sight in front of him. You’re sitting there with your eyes trained on the water bottle in your hands. Ethan’s yapping away about how pretty you are and how big his apartment is. An excellent view in Streeterville that you’d love to see with the best brunch place in town two blocks away blah, blah, blah. Your shoulders are hunched over, body leaning away from Ethan as he stands at the window watching his reflecting in the window above the sink.

“Hey - Been looking for you.”

Carmen.

Your head whips around to the sight of his voice instantly. There’s a pang in your chest at the sight of him standing in front of you after you two had been apart for these last few days. He looked tired. Wearing a sweater he knows you love because he wants to look nice for you. God you wanted to run over and crash yourself against his chest. Screw the petty fight. Instead you’re stuck giving him a very pointed look, hoping he takes the hint to save you.

He’d be lying if there wasn’t a split second where Carmen feared you were actually going to go home with this loser until he saw the panic and annoyance written across your face. Ethan’s laughing at the sight of him. “Hey, Dude. Think we’re all good here, yeah?” Oh he hates this dick.

There’s a thick level of tension in the room as Carmen squares up his shoulders and steps further into the room. His eyes are trained on Ethan who clearly wasn’t expecting much of a fight out of Carmy. He stops when he’s standing between your knees, putting himself between the two of you. Something about the way he instantly turned possessive turned up a feeling deep in your stomach no matter how annoyed you still were.

“Pretty sure someone out back was looking for you, Dude. It doesn’t seem like anyone in here wants you around. Now either you’re too fucking dense to realize it or you don’t care that you’re not wanted, but I’m here to let you know. So I suggest running out back and getting the fuck out of our hair.”

Ethan’s clearly entertained while looking between the two of you, a playful glint in his eye. You’re silently begging him to walk away and find yourself bringing a hand up to put on the small of Carmen’s back. While you’ve never seen him actually fight, you’ve seen many scraps between him and Richie. Heard stories of him growing up and heard the Bachelor party story.

You’re fine not having your own fight stories to tell.

T-Pain is now blasting in the background and the contrast of people laughing and singing downstairs versus the situation you’ve found yourself in is making your head spin. The whole time your best friend is clueless and wrapped up in Mr. Scorpio Rising. She owes you big time. Like you’ve secured friend of the year already and she needs to throw a parade in your honor after going through this.

Ethan’s finally putting his hands up in the air, that shit eating grin still plastered across his features. “My bad, my bad. Didn’t know you were already claimed.” Claimed. Gross. Your fingers press into Carmy’s back, a silent plea to beg him not to escalate this even more. He’s laughing at the sight of the two of you before snagging a half finished bottle of vodka off the counter and backing up towards the back door.

Carmen steps out from between your legs and follows Ethan to ensure he leaves. Shoulders pushed back, chest puffed out. You’d find the sight entertaining if you still weren’t so on edge. Carmen Berzatto, your protector.

And sure, he’s probably just making this asshole someone else’s problem for the night but he doesn’t care. The main priority is getting you away from him and getting you safe.

You catch the sight of his curls out of the corner of your eye when Carmen returns and instantly steel your spine. The shift in the air now that Ethan is gone was thick. He was a distraction from the distance between you two but now you’re preparing yourself for another argument when really you had no energy left to give it. There was a small worry that he’d think you gave Ethan any inclination that you were interested. Even though you two had been tense, there was never anyone else but you but him. Even if you’re too stubborn to drop that information just yet.

Carmen’s quiet. His heavy boots against the floor make your heart beat faster. Everyone had scattered out of the kitchen when he walked Ethan out of there but not before giving you two a nervous glance as they went. Some probably disappointed there wasn’t a fight if we’re being honest.

“Hey.”

You don’t dignify him with a response. Crossing your arms over your chest and taking a sudden interest in the magnets that littered this guy’s fridge. Toying with the idea of putting the ‘Area 51 is for Lovers!’ magnet in your pocket. You figured you deserved something for going through this hell of a night.

He stops himself once he’s reached your side, the silence awkward and thick in the air. Carmy’s hand is on your knee now, his touch not as firm as you’re used to. The whiplash of emotions once again not helping either of you know just quite where you stand.

“M’still mad at you.”

He winces but he knew it was coming.

The two of you wallow in silence. Carmy’s just about to finally speak but someone stumbles in on the hunt for vodka, takes one look at the annoyance on your boyfriend’s face, before quickly muttering they’ll find it somewhere else.

And you still won’t look at him.

He’s grabbing at your waist now, pulling you from the counter and against his chest. You wanna protest but there’s still a buzz going through your body that makes it hard to think quick enough to push back. Plus God does he feel warm and smell so good.

Carmy’s walking backwards towards the fridge, waiting until his back is flush against it to slide down. Bringing down those magnets you wouldn’t stop staring at, family photos, whatever was in his way came with the two of you. He’s tugging you until you’re straddling his waist while he brings his knees up to support you. Grabbing a hold of your face, finally making you look at him and fuck he looks like shit close up. Dark circles, hair a little messier than he’d normally allow, a bit of fear deep in his eyes.

“You gotta tell me how to fix this.” It’s all unfamiliar territory for him. There wasn’t exactly a good example set for him growing up to say the least.

Four days ago Carmen watched as the barista at some coffee shop you wanted to go to flirted with you. That shit already annoyed him, but he tried to bite his tongue. Then your latte came out with a heart in the foam and you kept explaining that’s just how they all come out but he was jealous and possessive and didn’t know how to communicate that so instead the two of you fought in the car for an hour. It was so stupid and he’s been kicking himself in the ass ever since.

The past four days you refused to talk to him and had done a good job at dodging the situation. Normally you two fight, you fuck, and then you pretend everything’s okay. The cycle was getting old and wearing you down.

Until now.

You give a heavy sigh, reaching out to toy with the bottom hem of his shirt. Carmy really did look like it had been going through it so you’re throwing him a small bone. “Maybe not making me sit on a sticky floor would be a good start.” He’s muttering out this small laugh, thankful to hear anything coming out of your mouth let alone a joke, the sound vibrating against your fingertips and you hate how much it fills your heart.

He waits for the rest. The other shoe to fall. Every ounce of laughter is gone when you finally collect yourself enough for - “Do you think we’re good together, Carmen?” You can feel him stiffen under you, his hands gripping at your waist because he needs something to give him some stability.

A beat goes by. “I think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Another beat, this time it’s Carmy who refuses to look at you. Eyes downcast and trained on your lap. “But I’m not sure I’m good for you.” You weren’t expecting that.

Once again silence falls between the two of you, still toying with the hem of his shirt before you lean in to bury your face in the crook of his neck. Taking a deep breath that’s filled with his cologne, faint smoke, and just Carmen that you’ve grown to crave. “You just gotta learn to trust me, Carmen. Outta everyone in this world, I’m the main one who never wants to hurt you. Especially for some barista with a fuckin’ comb over.”

You hoped he would laugh again, but the sound never comes. Instead you feel his arms go tight around your body, his knees coming up a bit more which makes you fully lean into his chest. He’s clinging to you, wishing so badly he knew what to say (or could let himself) say what he knows he needs to. Instead he’s just pressing a kiss to your head, sighing into your hair.

“I wanna be better for you. Just don’t know how.”

The two of you cling to each other and fight to get as close as possible. The distance apart these past four days has left the both of you physically aching for one another. It’s been hours, days of a tense heart and checking phones for texts neither of you knew how to send. You press a kiss against his neck, leaning back just enough to grab his face in your hands and stroke your thumbs over his cheeks.

“It’s scary for me too, y’know? This, us. You’re not alone in being scared but lashing out at me isn’t gonna solve anything. I’m not going anywhere, Carmy.” You take the first step in mending the relationship by leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. There’s a hand coming up to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place as if he’s still scared you’re going to change your mind and run off before he can realize it’s happening.

He’s letting you take the lead and only deepening the kiss once he feels your hands slide under his shirt. Fingers trailing along the toned skin while Carmey licks your bottom lip. Your hands glide around his back where you’re able to trace over healing scratches left on the skin from your last night together.

Your lips part and you take the lead once again, letting your tongue slide along his and giving a low moan into his mouth as you taste him. There’s the lingering taste of cigarettes mixed with black coffee and Carmen. Once again indescribable and simply him. His grip on you tightens up in response and you know if you’re not careful then you’ll end up disheveled and tangled up in the backseat of his car or bent over one of the sinks in a disgusting bathroom. Both options you refuse to pick over getting home and letting him properly make this up to you.

Dragging your nails along the healing marks, Carmen starts to lose track of his kissing. His grip on your neck tightening a bit more, hips rocking up towards you against his better judgement. The motion’s getting needy and sloppy and you have to pull away much to both of your disappointment.

Shaking your head and bringing your hands up to rest flush against his warm chest. “You’re not gonna fuck me on this nasty floor. I deserve better than this.” Which, of course you do. He just gets carried up when he’s wrapped up in you. He’s nodding in agreement but can’t stop himself from licking his own lips to chase the sensation of you.

He’s looking over your features, his heart picking up pace even more than he thought was possible anymore. “Think you’re meant to be my forever, y’know? Sometimes I look at you and it scares the shit out of me because I look ahead and-... It’s you. Kids sitting at a table in the restaurants doing homework. A honeymoon overseas where I get to drag you around different pasty shops and restaurants and we’ll find random art in flea markets to hang when we get home. Take photos that end up framed. It’s you. Always.”

Now how are you supposed to be mad when he’s this open and honest. Unpacking a future you had thought only you considered so far. You hope this behavior sticks. It’s not easy for either of you, but it’s worth fighting through the learning curve. “Kids, huh? Multiple? They’ll be your harshest critics, Carmy. I dunno if you can handle their reviews quite yet.” He’s chuckling, shaking his head with a lazy smile. “No, not yet. But one day.” The promise of more between you finally putting an end to this discussion for now. You make a mental note to remember this moment when the two of you bicker in the future - No matter what there’s always more on the road ahead of you.

Which makes you smile too. Wrapping your arms around his neck. “One day.” You reward him with one more kiss, knowing that’s all the two of you can risk before you end up sprawled out on this floor.

Carmy’s desperate to keep the lightened mood. He’s giving it a moment for both of you to calm back down from kissing before playfully scrunching up his face. “God you taste like shitty tequila.” It works. You’re laughing and swatting your hand against his chest, feeling a bit lighter than you did when you walked into this place. “Carmen Berzatto be nice to me!”

He’s beaming at you now. Bright, happy.

It’s a stark difference from the funk you’d both been stuck in since this fight started. The sight makes your heart swell and you bring a hand up to push some curls back off of his forehead. Leaning in to press a kiss against the tip of his nose.

“Lemme take you home, yeah? Get you some food on the way? Gotta make sure someone so pretty doesn’t wake up with a hangover.” He loves taking care of you in anyway you'll let him.

You nod and carefully start to shuffle off of his lap. Getting yourself to your feet before reaching down to help tug Carmen up to his feet. You catch as he adjusts himself in his pants, a flush blooming along his cheeks and down his neck. Stepping back in until you’re chest to chest with him, you press a line of kisses along his jaw. Rough stubble going away once you find his lips yet again. You hum against his mouth, bringing your hand up to cup his cheek. “You gotta shave in the morning, Carmy.” He’s nodding instantly, reaching his hand down into his pocket to fish out the car keys.

There’s a notification lighting up your phone - Perfect timing. A simple “Gonna spend the night ;)” text from your best friend. You can’t help but to grin and roll your eyes, turning the phone around so Carmen can see the notification too. He’s laughing while sliding a hand into your back pocket and starting to lead the two of you out of the kitchen.

“Yeah, remind me to tell Dave that his friend fuckin’ sucks.”

#why am i nervous to post this #♡: c.b.#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen x reader #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto x you #carmy berzatto

405 notes · View notes

historical-fashion-polls · 1 month ago

Text

the normal pinned post for the blog can be found here

hello my spooky lovelies! 👻🦇🎃🌙🩸💀🕷

in celebration of the spookiest month of the year, I have allowed some mischievous spirits onto the blog to pause our normal queue and instead host (ghost host, if you will) a month-long halloween-themed bracket tournament of some outfits that have been featured on the blog since its inception 🎃🦇

here is how this will work:

there will be seven different brackets, each based around a halloween-y color combo (listed below with links to the masterpost for each bracket)

each poll will last ONE DAY rather than the usual week, after which a winner will be decided to go on to the next round

due to the number of outfits in each bracket, five brackets will start at the same time (sept. 28), and two will begin partway through october

the brackets will not compete with each other, so there will be seven winners at the end

the round one matchups have been chosen roughly based on date (so, it might be an outfit from 1837 versus one from 1843), but the mischievous spirits have little regard for orderliness, and have shuffled the various matchups so that in the second round, a 1950s outfit might be competing with one from the 1880s

as a result of this, various matchups may not be very comparable (especially as the tournament progresses), so use whatever criteria you see fit to pick which outfit you'd rather wear 🎃🖤

with all those logistics aside, I encourage you to peruse the brackets, choose your favored champions, and even fill out a bracket if the... spirits... move you!

THE BRACKETS (updated daily(ish))

SPIDER (green and black)

VAMPIRE (red and black)

SKELETON (black and white)

BAT (all black)

GHOST (all white)

PUMPKIN (orange and black)

WITCH (purple and black)

(as always, if you have questions, please feel free to reach out! 🎃)

#curatorial updates #the curator speaks #historical fashion polls (halloween edition) 2024 #spider bracket #vampire bracket #skeleton bracket #bat bracket #ghost bracket #pumpkin bracket #witch bracket

171 notes · View notes

queerjaneweek · 1 year ago

Note

[image description: Jane Crocker from Homestuck wearing a shirt with the pink lesbian flag colours. She has spikey dark brown hair, light brown skin and she has pierced ears. Jane is holding the bottom edges of her shirt and is looking down at it with a small smile while blushing. end]

Jane in a lesbian pride shirt may bee

#art #lesbian jane #described #year round queue posts

422 notes · View notes

didyoulookforme · 3 months ago

Text

need you tonight

part of give me a moment (aka stylist au as briefly described in this tag)

warning: 18+, smut. probably grammatical errors, typos.

au masterlist here

-----

“sorry—‘m sorry”

you’re pretty sure those are some of the only words that stumble past his lips as you go down on him. perhaps an apology for his ring getting tangled in your hair, trying to keep you close. but to be honest, the more cynical part of you hopes it's pure regret for fucking someone else just hours before.

it was not strange for you to crave a nicotine hit at this time, more often than not stepping out the bus to smoke a cigarette or two prior to calling it a night, that first inhale always making your head buzz a little as the all-too-familiar warmth runs through your limbs, a much welcome sensation to try leave the tiredness behind.

every day was like clockwork. bus arrives at the venue. stage and lighting are assembled. band soundchecks. you have a quick dinner. then it's time for him. after all, it's what you're here to do, work as matty's own personal stylist during the tour.

you had no clue luck had finally struck when you opened those dms earlier this year.

(13:43) trumanblack: hey (13:43) trumanblack: i found your profile via my friend (13:44) trumanblack: i really like your style n you look pretty cool

(13:58) trumanblack: sorry if this sounds creepy. promise i'm a real human tho (13:58) trumanblack: x

you didn’t recognize him. however from a swift scroll through the feed, you gathered that his name was matty. apparently the front man of a seemingly popular band with a fanbase head-over-heels lusting for them.

mostly him, though.

you couldn't help but gaze at his lanky frame and pale skin adorned with ink, zooming in on certain posts to try decipher what they were. he definitely had a point of view when it came to dressing himself—sometimes a bit messy and chaotic, but for the most part pleasing to the eye, a quality you appreciated given your line of work. his seemingly playful demeanour across photos made it seem like he was perhaps younger than you, this time a google search confirming that, in fact, he was born three years later. april 1989.

countless press photos appeared under his name and you spent the next half hour swiping back and forth between articles, finding him intriguing enough and giving you the surge of confidence to respond.

and that's basically why you're leaning against this tour bus now. the friendly banter with a stranger led you to travel the world and do what you enjoy most. the fancy clothes. the colourful glitz. the wild after parties. this stuff that you always dreamed about was somehow now your own reality that you often had to pinch yourself to ensure you weren't just passed out cold on the sofa back home.

however, this almost too good to be true gig also led you to fall for a guy, the same one whose collar you straighten almost every night.

the most fucking cliché story. some assistant falling for her boss just months after being hired. it actually makes you feel sickeningly stupid, embarrassed. still you can't seem to stop digging yourself deeper into a hole with every hour you spend caring for him, not being made any better by matty being nothing but affectionate towards you behind closed doors.

you know he’s the reason your nicotine addiction has increased tenfold, always finding yourself alone at this hour enveloped in smoke, part of you still wanting to pretend you do so to numb out the sleepless nights. took you a while to finally admit you did it as an attempt to cloud out any thought of him.

tonight’s really no different.

you’re not sure how much time has passed, but it’s enough for the cold to start settling on your skin. perhaps it’s your queue to stop and go back in. you snub out your cigarette, watching the red embers fade just as a car rounds the corner. it halts to a stop only a few meters away, and you catch the faint sound of a door creaking open, followed by the murmur of voices filling the night air.

then you hear it. that unmistakable high pitched laugh that can pull you awake in a single second. him.

and, of course. you immediately know why.

you’d learned pretty early on this was a common end to the routine: matty picks up a girl at the gig, goes fucks her somewhere, and has her drop him off right after.

reminds you of the number of red and purple bruises you often cover up before his show. it wasn't rocket science figuring out the cause, yet he never really addresses it, choosing silence and averting his gaze as your fingertips dab foundation on tender skin, temporarily hiding any remains of nights prior.

you didn't even notice your eyes had closed. not until the car door slams shut, jerking them open just in time to see him blow a kiss in her direction. your heart fractures at the sweet gesture, but only hurts for a second before he's walking towards you, his stupid wide grin mending it better.

"didn't expect to see you out here.”

open button-up untucked. blazer over his shoulder. dark curls frizzy and disheveled. everything making it crystal clear he's just slept with someone else and still not you.

"only making sure you make it back alright so i can tuck you in." of course, you wish that were the case.

it's only a few seconds until he settles next to you, leaning over to kiss your cheek. soft lips gently brushing against your skin. the way he always greets you—but only when no one's watching.

"aren't you sweet, then?"

"trying my best." given the circumstances, it's pretty much all you can do.

he pulls out his beat-up cigarette box, flicking it open and offering you one. you decline, showing him the smothered tip of your own before finally tossing it aside.

"guess it must've been a pretty good time today," you lick the pad of your thumb before rubbing a lipstick mark off his jaw. it’s always ruby red or deep maroon. those same tones which he'll compliment you on. a similar shade you left on his lips the only time your mouth had been on his.

you finish cleaning the stains off his skin, matty murmuring a soft ‘thank you’ for having done so. it’s your turn to kiss his temple. “‘tis my job, you know? making sure you look good.” you should be mad, upset, have some sort of negative emotion. instead, you can’t help but have your heart intermittently flutter when he returns a sheepish smile, his arm wrapping around your shoulders to pull you close.

neither of you say much, but that’s alright. you rest your head on the crook of his neck, noticing how nice it feels. how nice he feels. you see the chipped nail polish on his fingers. the wrinkled fabric of his flowered shirt. the dark hair down his torso. the unbuckled belt at his waist. it’s only then that jealousy creeps itself back in and suddenly your shoes seem all that more interesting than the man standing by your side.

"why do you do it, matty?" the sweetness of your voice never fails to mask the envy you actually feel. or at least you hope it does.

"hmm?"

"the sleeping around.” you finally lift your head to look at him, surprised that his pretty eyes were already on you. the toothy smirk is gone, though, replaced by a thin, expressionless line at his lips. he doesn’t owe you an explanation. you know that. thus why you’re surprised when he actually starts to talk.

"dunno, really.” he lights up another cigarette and you notice as he gets lost in his mind. “i mean, it’s kinda difficult to say no to sex or a blowjob when they’re literally throwing themselves at you.” he seemingly tries to joke, but you don’t have time for funny right at this moment.

instead you wonder if it’s actually that easy.

“let me do it, then.”

“so—sorry?” he chokes mid-drag.

“let me give you a blowjob just like those other girls do. just like she did,” you point at the ghost of that green car from before, “ just tonight.”

it’s like his face cannot figure out which expression to land on, flipping between confusion, surprise, and something else that reads between need and desire.

“what the fuck?” his voice is shaky and it stings when he pushes you aside, yet, he doesn’t try hard to put much distance between you two so it’s not difficult to invade his space, standing right in front of him until your face is a breath away from his. large, calloused hands grasp your shoulders tight, halting you from inching closer.

“don’t.”

“what’s the difference between them and myself, then?” seems like a simple enough question to you. “why can they have you and not me?”

but he has no answer, at least not one that he can properly voice. his hold on you starts to lessen, perhaps giving you some permission to let you do whatever you want.

you bring your hands up to his and pull them away, kissing his knuckles before placing them on your waist. an almost incoherent ‘fuck’ leaves his lips, and, as if on cue, his head falls back willingly, giving you the space to kiss his neck. the faint smell of her still on him.

“please let me,” you whisper against his skin.

it’s not even a question at this point.

his fingers dig into your hips as you look at him once more, now noticing a mixture of lust and care in those almond coloured eyes. for a minute there, you get lost in them, admiring how his pupils dilate when your hands find the button of his pants, and how they shrink back as you finally undo the zipper. you don’t want to waste any more time—you’ve already waited too long—so you slide your palm down his pants to grab his half-hard cock, his eyes instantly rolling to the back of his head when you wrap your fingers around him.

“is this okay?”

you take the buck of his hips as a confirmation, giving you the courage to spread the precum along his length. he feels nice. having him in your hand seems just right and you only hope that he won’t regret this when he wakes up next morning in bed.

tonight is your turn to suck on the skin alongside his jaw, the thought of having to cover your own marks making you smile.

“fuck, baby.”

you’re not sure if he even noticed that sweet name leave his mouth, but you like the sound of it, and it’s all it takes for you to drop to your knees, dragging his pants and boxers down just enough to pull out his dick.

you look up at him once more, his left hand coming to tangle on your head, his other loosely holding his cigarette, almost done and fully forgotten. you kiss his tip, your gaze still not leaving his, thoroughly enjoying yourself as he bites his bottom lip each time your thumb hits that spot under the head of his cock. his scent is almost too much to bear so you take him in one go, feeling his cock twitch inside your mouth. it doesn’t take long before he’s fully hard and hitting the back of your throat.

the plastic taste of latex is still on his skin. a sad reminder that you weren’t his first tonight. that maybe you are an afterthought. just another girl who he uses to make himself come. but at least it means you get to have him even if it’s just this one time.

matty. that’s all that’s on your mind. once again. somewhat difficult to not think about him when you’re sucking him off, those heavenly sounds coming from his mouth making your own slick drip down your leg.

you pull away to catch your breath, using your hand to keep stroking him, pleasantly surprised when he pulls on your hair each time your red fingernails graze the underside of his cock. you do it again and again until he breaks and fucks your hand, apologizing for not being able to help himsel. it’s a sight you’ll commit to memory as long as you’re alive.

now that you’ve had a taste, it’s only so long you can go without having your lips around him. and that’s what you do, take him again, hands urging his hips to fuck your mouth. to fuck himself senseless in the hopes that you’ll be the one he turns to when he needs somebody else. he doesn’t deny your request, throwing away the wasted cigarette to guide you, setting a pace that allows him to stay steady on his feet.

purely drunk on him, you're barely aware when his phone vibrates in his pocket, matty muttering 'sorry' before grabbing and letting it drop onto the grass at your side. nosiness always gets the best of you, so you can't help but glance down, catching sight of a text from an unsaved number asking if he could fuck her again tomorrow.

you feel his hips falter. he knows you've seen it.

“’m sorry.”

this time it's a mix between a cry and a whimper. perhaps he did feel bad. perhaps some part of him did care about you in the way that you needed him to.

you reach back to place your hand on top of his, making him push your head further into him, to thrust into you until tears pool at your lashes just as he spills hard and fast down your throat. his taste overtakes every cell of your being as you swallow, feeling him soften against your tongue before you reluctantly pull away.

you didn’t even realize your knees were so sore until you stand up, not wasting a second to ask him is he's going to see her again the following night.

"do you want me to?" his thumb wipes away some of his cum off the corner of your lip. you reach out to suck it, slowly shaking your head in response.

he laughs nervously as his mouth clashes against yours, stealing both the air from your lungs. this wasn't the first time you’d kissed, but this wasn’t like before. the way he quietly moans against your lips. the softness of his fingers resting on your face. the crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he pulls back.

"can i see you tomorrow, then?"

you could’ve sworn you heart stopped. can you truly believe those words after watching him leave you behind all those nights? the soft circles his thumbs draw on your skin do feel sincere, the reassurance you need to perhaps let him in, give him a chance even though you know it’s a slippery one.

it’s your turn to brush your thumb against his mouth, slowly pulling at the bottom lip and watching it bounce back up into place. you kiss him one last time before confirming 'okay', immediately turning to finally head back in. not wanting to linger for too long in case he changes his mind.

you catch his reflection on the mirror, noticing as he tucks himself in, and it’s that slight smile on his face which keeps you awake for hours on end.

-----

for this lovely anon here. thank you for the inspo :) <3

#wrote most of this while high so i apologize if it doesn't make sense #give me a moment #stylist au #matty healy smut #the 1975 smut #matty healy fanfic #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy x reader #matty healy x you #matty healy imagine #gmam #mw

173 notes · View notes

yan-lorkai · 12 days ago

Note

I’m not sure if I can request this and I don’t know much about Halloween but I can totally imagine the first year gang starting a little pumpkin farm at Ramshackle. They’d carve pumpkins together and maybe sell some of them to earn a little pocket money

If it’s too much, no worries. just ignore this. Have a great day

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/n: This is such a lovely idea tbh, now i kinda of want to do something like this with my friends aaaa. This was supposed to be posted at 6am as always and i forget to queue it lol. Anyway, enjoy it darling!

The Ramshackle Dorm had never been busier nor more vibrant than now. It all started with a simple idea from Ace: “Hey, why don’t we grow some pumpkins here?” he had said a sunny afternoon, eyes glinting with mischief as gestured to the dead garden of his dorm.

“We can carve them for Halloween, and maybe even sell a few. Easy money, right?” He turned to Epel, who, just as mischievously, nodded.

With a few enthusiastic nods from Jack and Deuce, the plan was set in motion. Soon, even Sebek, who had initially scoffed at the idea as "a frivolous waste of time," found himself secretly invested when Malleus found out and praised him for having a hobby with a bunch of friends.

Days turned into weeks, and the once dead, wild yard of the Ramshackle Dorm was transformed. The first-year gang tilled the soil, planted seeds, and tended to their patch diligently. They took turns watering the sprouts, pulling out weeds, and shooing away curious crows. It was hard work, but there was a certain joy in it.

Jack took special pride in watching the tiny green shoots grow into fat, round pumpkins, while Epel appreciated the physical labor - he said that in that way he could gain muscles. Ace and Deuce made it a game, challenging each other to see who could grow the biggest pumpkin, which led to much bickering and laughter.

The yard was filled with the warm, earthy scent of pumpkins, and the air was filled with laughter. Each carved pumpkin was a reflection of its creator, scattered around the steps and windows of Ramshackle, glowing with flickering candles as the sun dipped below the horizon.

As the pumpkins ripened, the dorm's front yard slowly turned into a sea of orange, each pumpkin unique in size and shape. On one particularly crisp afternoon, as Halloween approached, they gathered around to start carving. Carving tools in hand, they sat in a circle, some humming, others chatting about what designs they’d make.

Ace boasted that he would create the scariest face, while Deuce shyly admitted he wanted to make a pumpkin with a cute smile so he could take a photo and sent it to his mother. Epel’s was, of course, carved with incredible detai l— a miniature masterpiece of intricate patterns, as he was used to carve apples. Jack’s was simple and classic, just like him. And Sebek, determined to outshine the rest, carved an elaborate dragon that he claimed was a tribute to his master, Malleus.

“Not bad, huh?” Ace said, admiring their work. “I mean, I could probably sell mine for way more than any of yours, but still.” He smirked, dodging a playful punch from Deuce.

“We’ll see about that,” You shot back, wiping your hands on your overalls. “Who wouldn’t want to buy one of mine?”

Throughout the day, the first-years ran the stand, chatting with students and selling their carved pumpkins. Sebek was surprisingly the best salesperson, his loud voice catching everyone’s attention and his pride making each pumpkin sound like a royal treasure. Epel made sure every customer left with a smile, slipping them a little extra vine or a perfect pumpkin seed as a token. Even Grim, though not directly involved in the growing process, found himself helping out, lured by the promise of sharing in the profits.

With their pumpkins carved, the group turned to the next phase of their plan. They set up a small stand by the gate, decorating it with the leftover vines and smaller pumpkins. A hand-painted sign read, "Pumpkins for Sale! Buy 1, Get 1 Free (if you can guess who carved it)!" It was Ace’s idea, of course, to add a little game to attract more customers. They were soon joined by curious students from other dorms, many who had heard about the little farm project and wanted to see the fruits (or rather, gourds) of their labor.

You still were surprised that their idea really attracted people. Even Sam was there, examining the pumpkins.

By the end of the evening, the pumpkin patch looked a bit emptier, but your pockets were a little heavier. All of you were tired, but it was the good kind of tired, where your cheeks hurt from smiling and your muscles ache in a satisfying way. As you sat together on the steps of Ramshackle, trapped between Deuce and Ace, watching the last of the daylight fade, there was a warm sense of accomplishment between them.

“This was a good idea,” Jack said, breaking the comfortable silence. “We should do it again next year.”

“Yeah,” Epel said, stretching out his arms. “Maybe we’ll even beat the big guys at their own game. Imagine if this little patch becomes the talk of Halloween.”

"What if other dorms try to do something like this, though?" You asked them.

You had so much fun those past few months, working at their side after clubs ended and the homework was made. You laughed, you chased them when they teamed up to tease you. Overall, it was the most fun you had since coming to this world.

Ace, who was using your left shoulder as a pillow, leaned up so he could see your eyes. "If this happens..." he looked at the other boys before catching your eyes again. "Then we'll crush them, no doubt."

"Figuratively speaking, right?"

Deuce smiled spread through his face as Epel laughed and Sebek and Jack tried to hide their face from you.

"Yeah... Figuratively speaking, of course, Prefect."

The others nodded, their eyes bright with ideas about what to do if the other students tried to do something like that.

As the night settled in, the carved pumpkins flickered warmly, casting playful shadows across the yard. And you felt as if, for just a moment, like you were back home with your small, happy family — gathered around a shared project, their laughter and camaraderie filling the air with something brighter than any candle could provide.

If you were here the next year, then you wanted to do the same thing with them again. And if you aren't... You wanted them to continue that little tradition.

142 notes · View notes

queerjaneweek · 1 year ago

Photo

[Image description: An image of Roxy Lalonde and Jane Crocker. Roxy is a tall black girl with pink eyes, short kinky pink hair held back with a headband with the colours of the transgender flag. Roxy is wearing a pink long sleeve shirt and a grey vest, with a tie that has the colours of the lesbian flag. She is also wearing white earrings with her cat symbol, and a gold ring on her ring finger. Her fingernails are painted Jane's cyan blue colour. Jane is a shorter and chubby brown skinned girl. She has a few moles on her face and has medium brown hair. She is wearing a short sleeved white shirt with a collar, and is wearing suspenders that are bright blue with white moustaches on it. She has a bowtie with the colours of the bisexual flag. She is wearing a pin of pink cotton candy in a waffle cone. She is wearing a gold ring on her ring finger, and her fingernails are painted pink. She is wearing red rimmed glasses. Jane and Roxy are facing each other, with Jane raising her right arm and flexing it, she is smiling and has her eyes closed. Roxy is holding Jane's bicep in her hands and is looking down at her smiling. End of description.]

I am… so proud of this… a commission for @gay4monsters. I worked as hard as I could to make it as wonderful as possible. I’m rlly proud tbh… <3

#art #bi jane #bisexual jane #roxy #jane x roxy #shipping #described #year round queue posts

163 notes · View notes

maboroshi-no · 3 months ago

Text

Hamefura LN14 Chapter 1 Part 2 Summary

I am currently reading Hamefura LN14 and will post summaries after each chapter.

On second thought, there will be 3 parts for Chapter 1 because I couldn't help going into details in some scenes.

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1: The Encounter at the Party: Part 1

Chapter 1: The Encounter at the Party (Part 2)

Keith will make another round of greetings since the queue of people waiting to greet the royals has decreased. He asks Katarina what she will do.

Katarina would like to continue enjoying food, but she knows that greetings are important. While she is hesitating, Keith insists that she is forbidden from overeating even if she stays behind. Katarina is amazed that Keith can guess what she is thinking. Keith also adds that he can't have her go out alone in this big crowd. He leaves her with two choices: either she stays here, or she goes with him to greet people.

Mom Mary and Prince Mary

---

Mary: In that case, will you wait here and talk with us? (To Keith) I will watch her so she won't overeat.

She said the second part like she was telling Keith, "I will look after your child". It was like I would switch guardians. I was an adult woman, though.

Keith: In that case, I'm leaving her to you, Mary.

Mon Keith told Mom Mary this like he was telling her "I guess I'll leave her to you then".

Nicol: Mary, your child seems to be asking for help.

Nicol murmured this.

Huh? Mary's child? When I looked in the direction of Nicol's gaze, there was the youngest prince of Sorcier, Alan.

The royals had split up a bit after the greetings had calmed down. Alan was looking even more tired than earlier, and on top of this, he seemed to be surrounded by aggressive ladies approaching him. There was "Help me, Mary!" written on his face.

Mary looked in his direction. Being a lady, she made an extremely displeased face. So displeased that I could imagine her clicking her tongue if she hadn't been a lady.

Even so, Mary was good at taking care of people and she couldn't leave alone the underling… or rather the child… no, the fiancé she had been looking after for years, so she let out a big sigh.

She said, "I will leave for a while" and gallantly set out to rescue her child Alan.

When he saw Mary, Alan made an expression that said "I'm saved!". Mary stood to protect Alan from the noble ladies and started driving them off.

If it had been a romance novel, this would have been "a prince saving a princess" scene. Of course, the prince would have been Mary and Alan, the princess.

Based on looks alone, Alan was a charming prince and Mary was as pretty as a princess, but in this world, things didn't go like in novels.

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

Towards the Other Princes

Katarina turns her gaze away from Alan and Mary and looks towards the other princes. They are also approached by ladies.

Jeffrey handles the ladies skillfully as he seems used to it.

Ian is distant and rejects the ladies' invitations with a stern face.

Geordo skillfully handles the ladies, like Jeffrey. But there seems to be something wrong with him today.

Katarina wonders why there are so many ladies approaching the princes today. Keith thinks it is because there are many foreigners at the party. Katarina doesn't understand how it is related. Keith explains that many foreigners ignore that the princes are engaged. And depending on the country, they may consider it fine to freely change fiancés. Keith's explanation makes sense to Katarina.

Keith Gets Angry at Katarina

---

Keith: Things are different and complicated in many ways since there are many foreigners, so please be extra careful. Anyway, will you go around greeting people with me or wait here with Lord Nicol and the others?

Keith asked me this again.

Katarina: Hmm~ In that case, I will…

T/N: It wasn't explicitly written but Katarina supposedly says here that she will go see Geordo.

Keith: Just when I thought he wouldn't come our way since he is busy, why are you saying you will go see him yourself…?

Keith inadvertently muttered this.

Katarina: What?

I asked him in response.

Keith: No, nothing… I just thought it would be fine if you didn't go since we were told we didn't need to greet the royals today.

Keith said this with a little dissatisfied face.

Katarina: I know that, but Prince Geordo's expression bothers me a little.

That's right. When I saw Geordo earlier, his expression bothered me.

It would be fine if it appeared he wasn't sick. It was just that Geordo was the type of person who endured things even if he was sick.

Keith: Wasn't he skillfully engaging with people with a smile not so different from usual?

Katarina: Huh? No, he was not. Keith, you're also his childhood friend, so you could tell, right?

After all, Keith had also been with Geordo for nearly 10 years. But Keith fell silent and fixedly stared at me.

Katarina: Eh, what?

When I stared back at him, Keith made for some reason a sulking face, extended his hand towards my cheek, and… pulled its side.

Katarina: Gné? What?!

When I let out a confused voice because of the sudden situation, Keith said…

Keith: It's because you pissed me off so much.

He said this and quickly removed his hand from my cheek.

It didn't hurt at all since he didn't put much strength into it, but I was just surprised

So he pinched me because he was pissed off? And he did with a tiny bit of strength? What was that?

After that, he indeed escorted me, but his eyes wouldn't look my way. I seemed to have completely wrecked his mood.

Keith was always eagerly looking after me and somewhat acted like my mom, so seeing him pouting like that was extremely unusual.

I remembered how adorable Keith was when he just arrived in the Claes family.

He was cute and small like a girl and his cheeks were also squishy. While his soft flaxen hair was now so high up, back then it was below my eyes and could I stroke it as much as I liked.

After thinking about it, now I incredibly wanted to touch his soft hair again. I extended my hand and touched them for the first time in a while.

When I did, his blue eyes opened wide and fixedly looked at me, so…

Katarina: Your pouting was so cute that I unconsciously stroked it like in the olden days.

When I said this while sticking my tongue out, his face became bright red at once.

This was bad, I made him even more furious! Or so I thought, but Keith…

Keith: This oblivious charming…little devil.

Because he just muttered something and didn't pinch my cheek again, I felt relieved.

Then, when we arrived near Geordo and the others,

Keith: Listen, don't do anything like what you did to me earlier to Prince Geordo, understood?

…he told me with a stern face.

Katarina: Huh? What, touching his head?

Keith: …Yes, this.

Katarina: Oh, right. It would indeed be improper to touch the head of a prince in front of many people.

Keith: ……That's right. So don't do it, okay?

Katarina: Okay!

After I gave him a firm reply, Keith sent me off.

----

Alan Can't Handle Mary's Lessons

Katarina heads towards the princes, but on the way, she encounters Alan and Mary.

---

Katarina: Prince Alan, isn't it great that she could safely save you?

Alan: Yes, she saved me with splendid skills.

…he replied.

If it had been the child Alan, he would have probably said, "She didn't save me!" but Alan was very honest now that he had been completely tamed by Mary.

But his savior "Prince Mary" looked a little angry.

Mary: Whenever you face these kinds of ladies, you always are so useless if I don't come in. Please endeavor yourself so you can somehow handle them by yourself.

Alan: …! I know that, but I won't be able to nail it right away!

Mary: In that case, shall we have a ladies' countermeasures lesson again?

Alan: Urgh! Please spare me from that already!

Alan's face twitched.

Katarina: A ladies' countermeasures lesson?

When I asked out of curiosity, Mary answered this.

Mary: Since Prince Alan can hardly dodge the noble ladies approaching him, it is a lesson I thought of to teach him how to do so. It would be great if he could at least apply what I taught him to dodge me when I play a noble lady approaching him, but he can't even do that well.

After Mary angrily said this, Alan shifted his eyes.

Katarina: This sounds like a very useful lesson! Shouldn't you make him take more of it?

When I said this, Alan whispered this to me so Mary wouldn't hear it.

Alan: Hey, don't underestimate Mary's acting skills. Seriously, she completely turns into an aggressive lady approaching me. The real deal.

Katarina: Well, that's Mary after all.

Mary, the perfect lady widely known as the Model Noble Lady and the Belle of High Society. She even had great acting skills.

Katarina: Is it so bad? If she's like the real thing, doesn't that make it a good countermeasure?

After I had said this, Alan opened his eyes wide, turned my face towards Mary, and whispered this to me again.

Alan: Look closely at Mary. With those looks of hers, she seriously approaches me as an aggressive noble lady would. It's not the same force as the noble ladies around here.

After he had said this, I looked at Mary again.

The unequaled beauty who was reputed even in high society. Her prominent parts were prominent and her slender parts were slender, she had such splendid proportions. When I imagined such a beauty seriously approaching me, even I, a woman, felt a little apprehensive about it.

Katarina: …I'm sorry, Prince Alan. It might be an ordeal for me too.

When I whispered this back to Alan, Alan's face lit up, and…

Alan: Right? Right? I knew you would understand.

…he said in a low voice, expressing his joy.

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

Katarina Tries to Convince Mary to Reconsider her Lessons

Katarina figures she should talk to Mary for Alan's sake.

Katarina tells Mary her lessons might be too strict for Alan.

Mary gives it a little thought but still thinks Alan needs to stop relying on her or he will be troubled in the long run.

Katarina agrees with Mary but she must still convince her to stop her practical lessons for Alan's sake. She hopes she can convince her without telling her the truth.

Katarina suggests to Mary that she leaves practice aside for the time being and teaches Alan using books instead. But Mary doesn't agree: Alan needs to learn fast since ladies are currently approaching him, and it will be faster through practice.

Katarina feels like she won't be able to convince Mary without telling her the truth after all.

Katarina tells Mary that her overflowing charm makes Alan nervous when she seriously approaches him. Alan is flustered now that she went and said it, but she had no choice.

Mary is shocked. She didn't expect Alan to feel nervous with her now after they had been engaged as children.

Katarina feels like Mary never expected it because she probably considered Alan like a pet she had cared for ever since he was little.

But for Katrina and Alan, fellow members of the Zero Romantic Experience Team, being approached by an attractive person seriously was a lot to handle.

Katarina: It is true, but you are so attractive that it cancels that out. Your charm is so powerful that even I, a fellow woman, could get dizzy if you seriously approached me.

Mary blinks her eyes. She asks Katarina to confirm what she has just said. If she seriously approached her, she would make her dizzy?

Katarina confirms it. With her charm, Mary could make any girl dizzy.

Mary is processing what she has heard.

Katarina adds that for this reason, Mary can't be Alan's partner for his practical lesson. Katarina offers to replace her if needed. There shouldn't be any problem with her since she isn't as charming as Mary.

Alan and Mary both refuse in unison.

Alan flusteredly explains to Katarina that with her, it would be even harder for him.

Mary tells Katarina they won't take her time since she is so busy. She also adds that Katarina has plenty of charm herself.

Katarina feels like Alan and Mary teamed up to refuse her offer. It appears they won't ask her to help with the lessons.

Mary tells Katarina she will start by having her niece approach Alan. Alan says she really shouldn't.

Katarina leaves Mary and Alan.

On the Way to See Geordo

Katarina is on her way to see Geordo.

Katarina sees Ian with Selena. Ian tells the women approaching him that he is only interested in his fiancée Selena and that he has no intention to talk to them. Selena blushes after hearing Ian's words. Katarina is glad to see the two of them are still as lovey-dovey as ever.

Katarina sees Jeffrey. He is skillfully entertaining the women approaching him. Katarina wonders where Susanna is. When she looks around, she sees her talking with an old scholar person. Given her sparkling eyes, she is most likely talking about magic. She really appears to have no interest in her fiancé. But Jeffrey doesn't seem to have any intention of compelling her to do anything. The two of them are the same as always.

Katarina Sees Geordo

Katarina has arrived at Geordo's location.

Just like Jeffrey, Geordo is skillfully entertaining the women approaching him. Looking at him, Katarina realizes that Geordo and Jeffrey are similar inside, while Alan and Ian are similar inside (even if Alan is bad at dealing with women).

Katarina goes toward Geordo. Geordo immediately notices her, quickly dodges the ladies approaching him, and comes to her.

Geordo welcomes Katarina with a sweet smile. She feels a little nervous. His sweet smile reminds her of the adult kiss he gave her. It affected her so much she couldn't look at him for a while.

Geordo smoothly escorts her, then turns to the ladies and tells them that he will stop talking with them now that his fiancée has arrived. While smiling, he gives off an aura that won't allow any objection.

Most of the ladies silently accept it, but some strong-willed ones won't step back. One of them tells Geordo that he shouldn't care about his political fiancée. In her country, there is no political marriage and everyone marries their true love.

Katarina thinks to herself that the lady's country sounds like the setting of an otome game. She wonders if an otome game is unfolding there.

Geordo (large smile): Is that so? While there may be some political engagements, I sincerely love Katarina here from the bottom of my heart, so there is no problem.

Hearing this, all the ladies freeze in shock. Katarina can understand their reaction since a charming prince has just told them that he loves her, a villainous-faced woman who doesn't excel in anything.

After thinking about this, Katarina feels her face turning hot. She needs to think about something else. She decides to recall the time her mother saw her entering the manor covered in dirt after working the fields. It works, the heat on her face decreases.

Geordo says goodbye to the ladies and quickly escorts Katarina away before anyone chases them.

Geordo and Katarina Talk in the Resting Room

Geordo and Katarina arrive at the resting room.

Geordo turns towards Katarina and asks her with a serious face what she talked about with Cezar earlier.

Katarina is surprised that Geordo saw Cezar and her talk at the buffet since they were at some distance and Geordo was busy greeting people. Katarina realizes that it was not her imagination when she felt earlier that she made eye contact with Geordo.

Geordo gets impatient. His eyes look anxious.

Katarina tells Geordo that Cezar only asked her about her health, then left to call Keith for her.

Hearing this, Geordo feels relieved. He mutters to himself that he thought Cezar had approached her again. Katarina doesn't think Cezar would approach her but doesn't say anything since Geordo's expression has softened.

Katarina asks Geordo if it was because it felt bothered that he seemed different from usual. Geordo is surprised that Katarina found him different from usual. Katarina explains that he looked tired or sick. Geordo is very surprised: he thought he could act like usual. Katarina reassures him, most people didn't notice and she only could because she had known him for a long time. Their childhood friends probably also noticed.

Katarina has known Geordo for 10 years. Even if Geordo is harder to figure out and better at hiding his bad physical condition compared to when he was a child, she can at least naturally tell when he is pushing himself behind his smiling mask.

Geordo tells Katarina that he thinks she is the only one who can tell. Katarina is about to deny it, but Geordo puts his index finger in front of her lips.

Geordo: Yes, it is. When I am weakened, you always tell me the words I need and come to my side. It is because you are here that I can do my best. That's why I want you to stay by my side forever, Katarina.

Geordo smiles. Katarina is unconsciously fascinated by his face. She has known him for 10 years but she realizes again how handsome his face is.

Then Katarina sees the shape of his lips and it reminds her of the adult kiss. Her face turns hot. Geordo extends his hand to her cheek. His hand is firm, big, and warm…so warm…too warm…? Wait, it's hot!

Geordo Is Sick

Geordo is moving his face close but Katarina quickly puts her hand on his forehead. It is hot. She flusteredly tells Geordo he has a fever. Geordo moves a little away from Katarina and makes a pouting face.

Geordo: I am fine…

Katarina: No, this fever is not "fine" at all! You've been like this during the greetings, haven't you? You knew it and you still pushed yourself!

Geordo: I felt sick a little ago but I've been like this since I woke up in the morning. But if it's only this much, people won't notice and I can manage, so there's no problem.

Katarina is glad that Geordo has recognized that he isn't well, but he stubbornly insists that there's no problem.

Katarina: There's a problem.

Geordo: I won't cause trouble, so it's fine.

Katarina is annoyed by Geordo's stubbornness.

Katarina: No, it's not.

Geordo: I can properly do my work.

Katarina: Geez, it's not about work! You're pushing yourself while you're in such poor shape and that's why I can't help worrying about you!

Geordo: …

Geordo seems to finally understand. Katarina makes Geordo sit on the sofa. She asks him to wait here while she calls someone, and leaves the room.

Katarina Tells Jeffrey About Geordo

Katarina wonders who she should go to regarding Geordo's issue. At that moment, she sees Jeffrey coming from the opposite side of the corridor. Katarina thinks he is the perfect person in this situation and calls out to him.

Katarina explains to Jeffrey that Geordo is sick. Jeffrey is sad that he didn't notice it despite worrying about him working so hard lately. Katarina replies that it couldn't be helped since Geordo is good at hiding his bad physical condition. Hearing this, Jeffrey is first blank, then makes a wide smile. He agrees, but he thinks Geordo will be fine since he has someone who notices it when he isn't well.

Katarina decides she will scold Geordo more next time since he makes his family sad.

Katarina remembers that Jeffrey said that Geordo had been working hard lately. She asks him about it. Jeffrey explains that Geordo has been busy investigating the backgrounds and circumstances of the persons involved in Maria's incidents. Jeffrey has also been investigating them but since he had many other things to do, he had been relying on Geordo, probably too much. In retrospection, he will ask Geordo not to push himself so hard again.

From what Jeffrey said, Katarina realizes Geordo has been investigating Maria's incident all while taking care of his official business, and he even visited her the other day. It is no wonder Geordo collapsed.

Jeffrey tells Katarina he will make Geordo leave the party and rest. Katarina thinks this should be fine.

Jeffrey sends some directives to the servant waiting on him, then tells Katarina they only need to persuade Geordo to rest. He adds with a smile that he's leaving this job to her.

Katarina and Jeffrey Try to Persuade Geordo to Rest

Jeffrey and Katarina enter the resting room.

Seeing them, Geordo is surprised and stands from his chair. Jeffrey tells Geordo he has heard the situation from Katarina and asks him not to push himself so hard. He can rely on his dependable brothers at any time.

Geordo sulks and tells him he isn't so sick.

Katarina walks to Geordo and puts his hand on his forehead. It is still hot.

Katarina: It is still hot. It isn't "fine" at all. You will stop with this tough act.

Katarina puts her hand on Geordo's head.

Katarina: Prince Geordo, your job is now to rest. I won't accept any objection. You must stop being unreasonable and rest properly.

Katarina lightly taps Geordo's head. Since Geordo is putting on a tantrum, Katarina tries to scold him like an older sister.

Geordo: …"unreasonable", that's just…

Geordo is looking like a pouting child.

Jeffrey: That's right. You will stop being unreasonable. Be a good boy and rest.

Jeffrey grabs Geordo by the shoulders and starts dragging him to his room. Before leaving, he tells Katarina to return to the party with his servant. He will return once he has put Geordo to bed.

While Jeffrey is dragging him, Geordo lets out a faint "Thank you very much" towards Katarina. She couldn't see Geordo's face since he was facing downward, but she feels relieved that Geordo doesn't resent her for meddling too much. She tells him "Please rest well and return healthy!"

Katarina Tells Keith About Geordo

Katarina returns to the venue with the servant. As soon as she returns, Keith calls her out.

Keith has been worried since she didn't seem to return. He has been waiting for her near the entrance.

Keith asks her how Geordo is doing. Katarina tells him Geordo is sick and has returned to his room. Keith is surprised that Katarina was right. Katarina tells him that Geordo just keeps pushing himself hard, he's impossible. She has scolded him already but she will scold him some more next time.

Hearing this, Keith starts laughing. Katarina is surprised. Keith explains that Katarina is probably the only one who can be like this with Geordo. He adds that when he imagines Katarina scolding Geordo, it just looks so funny.

Keith starts laughing again.

Katarina tells him that Geordo wasn't dejected, he just listened with a pouting face.

Keith laughs even more. Katarina wonders if it is that funny.

#hamefura light novel #hamefura #my next life as a villainess: all route lead to doom #katarina claes #keith claes #mary hunt #nicol ascart #alan stuart #geordo stuart #jeffrey stuart #ian stuart #selena berg #susanna randall

43 notes · View notes

creepy-girls-do-it-better · 4 months ago

Text

I already live like it's halloween year round. Just found halloween at homesense n I have the itch, so imma spam a bunch of spooky shit on tumblr as an output lmao 🎃🖤

Edit: I have a BUNCH of stuff queued up. Rn I think the queue is set to post 4x a day (this doesn't include the halloween countdown tho lol). I'll likely reblog things here n there too but should be a steady stream of spooky pics, vids, gifs and art basically until Christmas 👻🖤

Edit 2: I don't have a problem... Do YOU have a problem???

I'm also not done lmao. Working on a queue and scheduled fun monthly posts for this year and a few into next year. So if you like spooky movies, crafts and horror stick around 😘🖤

35 notes · View notes

cinnamongorll · 1 year ago

Text

a fragile line - chapter 2

read on ao3! (111k words) | previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse.

Fic synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Word count: 2.4k

Chapter 2: ‘Put It On Me’

Joel Miller: cold, aloof, and famously uncharitable.

Not a man you could ask for a favour. Especially not to join a stranger in a highly dangerous and potentially deadly journey across the country.

But Joel, despite his reputation, was not a god, he was only a man and that meant he could be bribed or blackmailed, perhaps.

Drugs or alcohol were not an option. Despite being the most sought after product in the Qz, Joel wouldn’t be interested. He was the one who sold them.

A dull ache had begun to spread across the back of Juliet’s skull. She dropped her head onto the table and felt the sweat coating her skin stick to the glossy paper of the map.

The spiral turning in her mind started to pick up speed again, her darkest thoughts now gripping her lungs. Juliet forced herself to take a deep breath, and another, and another. Her father knew where she was now, she had to get out of her apartment and out of the QZ, fast.

Juliet thought back to every interaction she could remember having with Joel, every time their eyes met or every time he looked away too quickly. Joel was impenetrable, always holding his thoughts close to his chest.

Juliet sat up quick, her hand instantly reaching to her forehead to calm the wave of dizziness that washed over her.

She remembered something:

Abe, a kind but pliant man, worked the radio for the QZ and held ‘office hours’ on weekdays. Anyone in Boston who wanted to contact another QZ waited in a large queue in the dusty hallway outside Abe’s apartment.

Not Joel, though.

Juliet was walking through the building a few days ago when she shuffled past the line of bored residents. With no intention of stopping, she kept her head down and avoided eye-contact, as always. Her pace slowed, however, when she heard a familiar name. Juliet turned her head and noticed two men complaining, not very discreetly, about Joel:

“This isn’t the first time he’s done this,” grumbled a tall man who leaned against the peeling wallpaper.

His friend grunted and moved closer, “he just walks past, skipping the whole line like we ain’t even here” he replied, rolling his eyes.

The tall one snorted, “As if he’s the only bastard in Boston who needs to use the radio.”

Juliet paused, now incredibly interested in the conversation of the two whining men. Joel was sending messages out of the QZ? To who?

Juliet continued to walk past the queue and rounded the corner until she could safely tuck into a dark corner and attempt to catch a glimpse inside Abe’s apartment/office.

There he was. Joel Miller, sliding a piece of crumpled tin foil across Abe’s desk.

It didn’t take a genius to know what was inside.

Joel sat forward, his elbows now resting on the dark oak as he watched Abe open the silver package. She was only able to catch a glimpse of his profile but Juliet could still make out the hard clench of Joel’s jaw, locked in place, as he waited for Abe to take a puff.

They started to talk and Juliet inched forward, careful to remain in the shadow of the corner, but she was too far away to hear any part of the conversation. It was clear it wasn’t going well - for Joel, at least.

Seconds later, Joel abruptly rose from his chair, the screech of metal rang out along the hallway, and he stalked out of the apartment without looking back. Terrified she might be caught snooping, Juliet was gone before he reached the doorway.

Juliet shook her head, she had forgotten all about that strange observation, having been immediately caught up in another Firefly ambush when she left the building.

Now though, the memory flushed her body with adrenaline. She sat up straight, the ache in her head had begun to recede. A plan started to take form in her mind, the different puzzle pieces clicking together. There was someone important to Joel outside of the QZ. If she found out who that was, she could use that information to her advantage.

That meant she had to pay a visit to Abe.

Unfortunately, he didn’t share intel for free.

Juliet turned to the window on her right, the glass was clouded, aged with the building. Still, Juliet could make out the dark blue sky as night rapidly descended on Boston. Shock had dulled the passage of time, the minutes silently passing around her.

Juliet walked to her cupboard, her steps quick as she grabbed her hidden backpack filled with supplies ready to be used at a moment’s notice. With one last mournful look at her apartment, Juliet made her way across the hall to Kenny’s door, the neighbour who didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

He broke into her apartment on more than one occasion. It was only fair she repaid the favour.

Juliet pulled a hair pin from the inside pocket of her jacket and started to work on Kenny's rusted lock. Her neighbour was notorious for arriving back home seconds before curfew, always narrowly missing the enforcers. So Juliet had some time, less than an hour to be exact.

Seconds later, Juliet heard the familiar metallic pop and she was in. Similar to most in the QZ, Abe was very receptive to bribes. She had witnessed it first hand when Joel expertly slid that tinfoil in his direction and Juliet watched a lazy grin glide over Abe’s face.

Good thing Juliet knew someone else Joel sold to and good thing that person was stupid enough to leave his supply on his dining table where anyone with a hair pin could find it. The small, chalky white tablets were now safely tucked in her jacket pocket.

Juliet made her way out of the apartment, cringing as the old linoleum creaked under her cautious steps. She took the time to lock the door behind her before tiptoeing down the stairs and past Margaret’s apartment. Juliet prayed no shadows under Margaret’s door announced her departure from the building.

Outside, the streets were quiet, most residents of the QZ probably now tucked away in their apartments. A peaceful night of relative safety was taken from Juliet the second she picked up that letter.

She was on borrowed time anyways, Juliet always knew her father would find her eventually.

Tendrils of doubt and fear threatened to creep back into her mind and destroy the numbness which currently clouded her thoughts. As she moved through the murky streets, Juliet wasn’t just racing against time.

When she arrived at Abe’s building, Juliet sacrificed a precious moment to rest her back against the red brick wall and let her eyes fall closed. Juliet was not a naturally hostile person, she always prioritised indifference in her daily interactions. But she was a survivor, which meant that she would do anything, be anything to ensure her safety and the survival of the people she loved. Meaning, for Ethan, she would wear a mask of hostility.

She entered the building and hugged shadows to Abe’s apartment. Juliet didn’t wait for an invitation to enter before she stalked through the unlocked door.

“Abe, I need a word,” Juliet declared, she kept her voice clipped and steady.

Abe stood by the radio and turned quickly at the sound of Juliet’s entrance. A puzzled expression took over his face, his mouth turned downwards.

“Juliet? What are you doing here? It’s almost curfew,” he said, his voice cushioned with a cautious tone.

When Juliet just stared back, Abe released a heavy sigh and walked over to his desk. He pushed back his chair and dropped himself into the padded leather.

“Take a seat,” Abe huffed as he pointed across his desk at the vacant chair.

Juliet approached at a leisurely pace as she took the seat opposite him. She placed her backpack on the floor, leaned forward in her chair and placed her elbows on the table. Then she straightened her back, attempting to imitate the air of intimidation she had witnessed from Joel.

“I’ll keep this short,” Juliet asserted. “I need information about Joel Miller.”

Abe’s furrowed brow deepened, confusion now etched in the fine lines of his face.

“Joel?” He asked, before sighing.“I don’t deal in information, Juliet. I just listen to the radio,” Abe replied, dismissal clear in his tone, as he shifted in his chair, moving to stand.

“Stop,” Juliet commanded. She raised her left hand and willed it to stay steady as she reached her right hand into her pocket, pulling out the pills. Just like Joel, Juliet locked eyes with Abe as she slid the contraband.

A smug smile twitched at the corner of her mouth as she leaned back in her chair, folding her arms over chest.

“Like I said,” Juliet maintained, stretching out the words, giving Abe time to make the right decision. “I need information on Joel Miller.”

Abe stared back at her and for a moment, one terrifying moment, Juliet thought he would throw the pills back at her. But no, Abe’s irritated expression eventually transformed into a sly smile to match her own.

“Okay. What do you want to know?” he asked, already reaching for the drugs.

Relief was sudden and intense, it settled deep in her stomach and relaxed her tight muscles. Juliet was careful to not let it show on her face.

“I know he has someone on the outside he’s contacting,” she paused.“I want to know who.”

Abe whistled low then tossed back one of the pills with a swig of water.

“Well, that’s a whole can of worms,” he replied.

Juliet raised her eyebrows and made a vague gesture with her hand - go on.

“He’s got a brother,” Abe began, swallowing rough.

Once again, Juliet willed her features to remain neutral, to show no sign of the shock now coursing through her body. A brother?

“He stopped responding to Joel’s messages about three weeks ago,” Abe continued.“Not like him, he usually replies within a couple days. Got Joel all worried.”

It was Juliet’s turn to be confused. Joel, worried? Juliet had yet to see a glimmer of emotion on the man’s face. He was always so stoic, always so detached. It was a surprise to hear there was someone he cared about, someone he worried about.

Unaware of the turmoil that raged behind Juliet’s steady features, Abe continued to speak as he rambled something about Joel’s accusation of his incompetence. Juliet collected this new information about Joel and held it close as though it was the key to getting to Ethan. It might well be.

“I told Joel not to go after him, that it might just be a fault in the signal. But of course he wouldn’t listen,” Abe muttered, rolling his eyes.

Juliet perked up, tuning back into the conversation… Joel needed out of the QZ.

“Where does his brother live?” coaxed Juliet, attempting to exude only vague curiosity.

“Wyoming,” Abe replied, shaking his head. “He can’t be serious if he thinks he can travel that far alone…” he trailed off, resting his hands on the desk in front of him.

Wyoming… Juliet’s fledgling plan became a concrete shape, igniting a flicker of hope within her. Her old community, her father’s community, was in Iowa. After years of studying old maps, Juliet was almost sure that it was about halfway between Boston and Wyoming.

This could work.

“Is he planning on going alone?” Juliet asked, eagerness seeping into her tone.

Abe’s eyebrows shot up. “Yes, he’s been dealing for a car battery, no luck though. He can’t wait around much longer,” he replied.

Juliet nodded as she placed her sweaty palms on the dark wood of the desk and pushed herself out of her chair, grabbing her backpack.

Abe leaned back, rolling a pill between his fingers.

“Juliet… Joel’s a capable guy but there are worse things than infected out there. I hear everything on the radio. There are raiders, there are slavers…” he trailed off again.

Juliet knew this all too well.

“I appreciate the concern, Abe, but that’s not what I paid you for,” cautioned Juliet. “Keep this quiet,” she warned, turning towards the door and out of the building.

She didn’t look back.

Outside, curfew was now in place so Juliet pulled her hood up and moved silently through the dark streets. The pressure in her chest was slowly building through her entire conversation with Abe. Now, it threatened to burst. Juliet stopped on a corner and tucked herself into an alleyway. The rain had started, it splashed off the pavement and dampened her jeans. Juliet’s skin was buzzing, electrified by the string of new information about Joel.

For years, Joel was a mystery. Juliet had learned more about Joel in that five minute conversation with Abe than she had in the three years they worked alongside each other, and now she had to use her newfound knowledge against him.

Juliet had no other choice. She would use Joel’s desperation to sedate her own.

Juliet looked up towards the night sky, letting the rain glide over her skin. She took a long breath, licked the water from her lips and moved out of the alley. Juliet danced along the sides of buildings as she headed towards Joel’s apartment.

She had watched him head home a few times after their shifts, his apartment in the same direction as her own. This time, though, it appeared before her so suddenly that she had to force herself to stop, to calm her racing heartbeat as she made her way to the front door.

Shivering, Juliet gripped the door handle into the building, turning it open as her heart continued to pump more adrenaline straight into her gut.

Juliet stalked up to Joel’s apartment, releasing a trembling breath from her damp lips. This was all happening too fast, the puzzle pieces forming her plan had clicked together so quickly. All she could focus on was the bigger picture. But what about the smaller details? What would she say to Joel? Would he even recognise her? Should she knock the door and risk his neighbours hearing her?

Juliet didn’t have to agonise over those thoughts for long. Without warning, the rapid sound of multiple locks consecutively turning reverberated through the dark hallway, before the door swung open.

Joel Miller stood before her, one hand on the handle, the other on the chipped wood of the entryway. Juliet released a strangled gasp, her eyes widened at the sight of his permanent scowl and furrowed brow.

“Juliet?”

#joel miller x oc #joel miller x original character #joel miller x reader #joel miller angst #joel miller x female oc #joel miller fic #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller hbo #joel tlou #ao3 fanfic #pedro pascal #Spotify

107 notes · View notes