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bbypedrito · 2 years ago

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Rough | Joel Miller/f!Reader

Joel is a big ‘ol softie about you and your bad pain days and as much as you love his gentleness, sometimes you crave something a little more rough.

rating: explicit, minors DNI

warnings: one shot, established relationship, vaginal fingering, spanking, slight praise kink, joel calls reader a good girl, no y/n or reader descriptions besides references to experiencing reoccurring flare ups of pain. setting is purposefully vague but definitely post-outbreak.

a/n: i genuinely didn’t have ANY plans to write joel anytime soon - i was actually gonna write a marcus pike fic instead - but then the other day i was having a pain flare up and started to think about joel to cheer myself up and things got…self indulgent. i don’t know if it’ll resonate with many other people here but i thought i’d share it anyway :-) this has been my first time ever writing a reader fic, first time writing joel or any pedro character AND my first time writing hetero sex in a very long while so…please bear all of that in mind 🥲

📌 can now also be read on ao3!

“I just don’t like it,” Joel says. It’s about the third time he’s repeated the phrase since you broached the subject this evening, pacing back and forth in your tiny shared room like an agitated wild animal trapped in a cage. His footfalls are heavy, old work boots thudding rhythmically on old floorboards, and you wish the stubborn man would relax for just a second because this is getting ridiculous.

“Joel,“ you try, but he shakes his head.

“Wouldn’t feel right.”

“Joel-“

“Too much risk.”

“Joel!” You grab him by the arm to stop him in his tracks and he immediately stills, finally looking you in the eyes. “I’m asking you to fuck me rough, not perform open heart surgery on me.”

Unamused, he rolls his eyes at your joke. “Might as well be, with all the stress you’re puttin’ me through.” Noticing your face fall, he immediately softens, “I just don’t wanna cause any more hurt than necessary, sweetheart.”

It’s sweet, the way Joel is careful and so, so achingly gentle with you. He knows the pain you’ve been through - still go through - and he always goes the extra mile to make sure you’re comfortable.

You learned quickly it’s Joel’s love language - his actions speaking for him rather than words - and it’s downright romantic, in an honest, simple, Joel Miller kinda way. He trades anything he can give to make sure you have painkillers that actually work, always somehow gets his hands on fresh, clean, soft blankets just for you to burrow into when you need rest days in bed and he always seems to know when to give you either the space or the company you need depending on your mood.

And when he takes you to bed, he treats you with such tender care and gentle reverence it makes your chest hurt.

You love it, love him for it and you know it’s one of his ways to show he cares for you too but…God, you want more. You want the man Joel is clearly putting a herculean effort into holding back when he slowly and gently takes you apart. You want him to fuck you, selfishly take his pleasure from you, make you feel every single inch of him with every step you take the next day.

“You won’t hurt me,” you reassure him, “not in a way that’s bad, anyway. I want it. I want you.” You cup his face in your hands, stroking his bearded cheeks with your thumbs. Joel tilts his head just a fraction and leans into your touch with a soft exhale. “Do you trust me?”

“��Course,” he replies, and you resist the urge to laugh fondly and kiss the frowny crease between his brows because it comes out a touch sulky. You don’t wanna risk wounding the man’s pride at this juncture — not when you feel so close to getting what you want.

“Good,” you lean in to kiss him, both hands splaying on his broad chest, “so trust me when I say,” a nip at his full bottom lip, “I want you to ruin me.”

You pull away slowly and feel victorious when you see Joel’s dark eyes looking back into yours, pupils so dilated they’re almost pitch black. Knowing you’ve just about already won this argument, you decide to stoke the flames further by nuzzling into the thick tendons of his neck and letting your teeth catch on the sensitive skin there. You feel rather than hear the soft groan this pulls from him, the way it rumbles in his chest, and your hands tighten their grip on the soft fabric of his wash-worn shirt.

“What you’re askin’ me for is…I won’t be gentle,” Joel warns.

“Is that a promise?” You tease.

Finally, finally, he starts touching you back, reaching for your hips to pull you in closer and kiss you properly. You moan into his mouth needily and that’s when Joel’s resolve snaps like the string of a bow drawn too far beyond its limits. His hands tighten on your hips before moving down to grab your ass and use it as leverage to press you against his chest and the strain of his cock against his jeans.

“I’m just givin’ you one last chance to back out, sweetheart, that’s all.” His chest is rising and falling heavily, his nostrils flaring and his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen pointed in your direction. He looks half wild and it really shouldn’t turn you on but it does, fuck, so much that you’re delirious with it.

Maintaining eye contact, you grind yourself insistently against him and it’s the final answer Joel seems to need. He curses under his breath, muttering something about you being the death of him before guiding you backwards against the wall and kissing you with such heated fervor your head spins and your pussy pulses with need.

He brackets you in with his arms, bracing himself with hands either side of you on the wall and you gasp when he presses a thigh between your legs for you to shamelessly grind down on through your sleep shorts. The rough denim is only barely the right amount of friction you need and you whine as you grind down harder, trying to relieve the deep ache of arousal in your cunt.

“That’s it,” Joel murmurs between kisses, lips brushing yours. “I got you, baby. Use me just like that.”

You tug him back in for a needy kiss, hands running up his chest to cling to his shoulders, then up again to run through his hair, before back down again to paw uselessly at his shirt. Joel pulls away and huffs with amusement, disentangling from you to undo the buttons so you can hungrily pull it off his broad frame and discard it. Feeling confident — and perhaps a little heated and possessive in the moment — you run your nails down his bare chest, leaving little white lines that turn pink and then red in their wake. Joel inhales sharply, watching you with hooded eyes and you shiver at how nakedly hungry he looks.

He reaches for his belt to unbuckle it, but pauses for half a moment. Seemingly changing his mind, he decides to undress you instead, pulling your t-shirt up and over your head and unhooking your bra. Your head falls backwards against the peeling wallpaper with a soft thunk when Joel harshly pinches at your nipples with rough hands, rolling them between calliused fingers until they’re peaked and swollen. You squirm, sensitive, the sensations going straight to your already soaking wet cunt.

“Please, Joel. Please.” You’re not even sure what it is you’re pleading for, and you whine almost pitifully when Joel stops touching you and takes a step back.

“Turn around and brace yourself against the wall.” His voice is firm and you obey immediately. “Good girl.”

The praise makes your heart and your cunt flutter and you barely have time to catch your breath before Joel abruptly pulls down your shorts and his hand comes smacking down on your ass. You gasp at the sharp shock of it, the sting that immediately warms and blooms into hot pleasure.

Joel chuckles. “This what you wanted?”

“Yes, please, again, please,” you babble, sweaty palms slipping a little against the wall.

“Good girl.” Another smack, a little harder this time, and your hips buckle forwards, trying in vain to seek friction. Joel notices the desperate wiggling of your hips and reaches round you to cup your mound, his other hand running over your reddening ass cheek. “So wet for me already, just from gettin’ spanked like this,” he says, voice rough but hushed as if in awe of your response to him.

All you can do is nod frantically in reply and press yourself greedily against his fingers and he clicks his tongue at your eagerness. Two thick fingers sink inside of you easily and when you try to fuck yourself on them Joel uses his free hand to land another hard smack on your ass.

“Greedy,” he admonishes, “you just can’t wait, can you?” He crooks his fingers, pressing them up against the perfect spot inside of you and lands another hard smack and you moan so loud you’d be embarrassed if you didn’t feel so fucking good.

With a murmur of praise and lips pressed hotly to your ear Joel adds a third finger and the tight stretch around him burns and knocks the air out your lungs in a ragged gasp.

“Fuck, Joel,” you whimper, and it spurs him on, his fingers pumping in and out of you at a relentless pace. Your back arches, hands scrabbling for purchase and you fall forwards slightly to press your forehead against the wall, eyes screwing shut. The wet sound of your slick as Joel fucks you with his fingers and the smack of skin on skin as he spanks you in time with his thrusts fill the room and it’s so obscene your face flushes, heart pounding in your ears.

“Fuck,” Joel moans, “you gonna come for me like this? Pressed up against the wall and all over my fingers?”

“Yes,” you breathe, “please.”

Joel presses his thumb to your clit, rubbing tight, demanding circles until you buck against him uncontrollably and tighten around him with a cry. He buries his face into your shoulder as your hips shake, fingers still working in and out of you as you ride out your intense orgasm.

Boneless, you slump back against him with a sigh and Joel catches you, wrapping his free arm around your middle. Your cunt is still sporadically pulsing around the fingers still inside and you hold back a whimper when Joel eventually eases them out of you.

“How’re you feeling?” He asks you, pressing soft, fluttery kisses down the side of your neck. The brush of his moustache against your sensitive skin makes you giggle.

“Fucking sublime,” you reply, grinning. In truth, your body is aching and you can feel dull pain starting to thrum in your joints and muscles, but you’re used to that by now and you know you can handle it. Besides, it was definitely worth it. You tilt your head back to look Joel in the eye. “Thank you — for trusting me, I mean. But also the really great orgasm.”

Joel’s lips curl upwards into a fond smile and when his arms tighten affectionately around you his hard cock presses up against your ass. You start to move back against him and he groans low in his throat, but before things can get heated again he turns you around so you’re standing in front of him at arm’s length.

“Not now. Next time,” he promises, bending with a grunt to pick up your clothes and handing them to you. “I don’t wanna push you too hard tonight.”

You can’t hide your pout of disappointment, but when your body protests with twinges of pain when you move to get dressed you concede to yourself that Joel’s right, so you let him gently guide you into bed. You watch surreptitiously from under your cocoon of blankets as Joel undresses down to his boxers and when he catches you looking he rolls his eyes playfully.

“Insatiable creature,” he scolds before settling into bed next to you. You curl yourself around him, tangling your legs with his and pressing your face against his broad shoulder.

“Wake me up if you start hurtin’ any, are we clear?” Joel grumbles into the pillow.

You smile fondly against his warm skin. The rough, slightly wild Joel you got to finally experience tonight was definitely everything you’d been hoping for, but this version of him now, soft around the edges, soft bare skin, sharing a bed with you, this version of himself he’s worked so hard on rediscovering in order to take care of you will always be your favourite.

“I promise.”

#joel miller #the last of us #joel miller/reader #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #i am so NERVOUS 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫#my fic

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prettybbychim · 9 months ago

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there’s this thing i’ve noticed on ao3 since i’ve started posting stuff again. like i post a chapter, it’s been about a month since then, someone comments smth like “hey was wondering if ur gonna update or if you’ve abandoned it”

my guy it’s been a Month

it takes me a month to get about 10k out (which seems to be my average word count for my chapters) if and only if i’m writing everyday and im running into minimal issues

this fic in particular i have this written in like 2 places

ironically enough, this is a revamp of an actual abandoned work lol

it’s just strange to me because it hasn’t been long at all. i know there’s some popular authors that can churn stuff out on the daily or have a regular schedule and that’s good for them. they probably have a backlog of content, it’s probably all finished or nearing it and they’re posting in stages. or they’re a speed demon and have abilities us mortals cannot comprehend

i’m too impatient to do that stuff lol if i have a good thing going, i wanna share and yeah, sometimes updates are few and far between but that’s just how i roll lol might be bad for the numbers or whatever but im trying really hard not to give a shit about that lol

i’m not angry i wanna make that clear, i’m just perplexed lol (a little frustrated) like i’d expect this kind of question after a year or smth, but a month?

honey pls i don’t even work rn i’m at home near 24/7 dealing w health issues and i can write all fucking day long if i so pleased and im still not going to get stuff done in under a month for a large variety of reasons (editing, sending it to my beta, reworking scenes, rearranging scenes, first draft and the many between the final draft, just to name a few), pair that with my adhd and frequent flitting between whatever topic is the shiniest to me at the moment. i have 7 fics im actively working on. nothings really getting done but stuff is progressing at a relatively slow rate because of it

and sometimes you just need a break. like a real break. shutting my brain off for a good week or so

i’m aware that my readers don’t know this and they can’t know this unless they follow me on here and i happen to be talking about it lol

but still, a month? have you abandoned it?

honey pls i just started it! it’s been a month. give a guy some slack here. we’re human and busy and stressed and first and formost, we’re doing this for fun

fortunately, in my case, these comments don’t upset me. rather, they make me want to write that fic out of spite like fuck u it’s not abandoned look at me making so much goddamn progress on it

most people are not like me. they will get discouraged. i can’t keep up, is it even worth trying when im disappointing my readers over and over again?

then that fic u like so much might actually become abandoned.

this is not encouragement. even for me who might be spurred into writing that one work, it’s not positive encouragement.

i’m so so happy you like my work enough to inquire about it, but this is not the compliment you think it is.

#writing #fic writing #fanfic #ao3 #ao3 comments #this is not a rant this is a psa lol

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roci-wolf · 1 year ago

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ROCI IM SO SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO REPLY I FORGOT 😭😭😭

but okay lemme go one by one by what i remember from what you said

i’m so sorry you’ve been going through a hard time. it isn’t easy when you feel like your mental health is failing. i know firsthand how hard it can be. but i’m so so proud of you for working on yourself and your mental health. and i’m glad you decided to take a break for yourself. i hope the break has been fruitful!

and gosh i’m so sorry about your bunny :( it can’t be easy. my cats go play around away from the garden for a bit and i freak out when i don’t see them around. so i can’t imagine how terrible it must be.

but AHHHHH NEW KITTYYYYYY!!!! so excited!!! did you get the kitty already? what’d you name it? what kind of cat is it??? heheh i love cats and i’m so excited for you!!

i’m proud you’re working on your self esteem and i get that sometimes the stuff we want comfort from most tend to become the most stressful because we’re in a bad place and the magic and comfort just doesn’t feel the same and it just… ultimately feels worse cause it feels like you lost something very important to you :(

but i hope slowly you can return. i miss seeing you on here and i miss your lil asks and your opinions on my random posts jshdjsjdjsk but no pressure! take your time and i hope you feel better soon 💛💛💛 and i’ll be here~ with a bunch of comfort fics if you wanna ever read em hehe

nooo don't worry, i don't frequently check my notifs anyway so i didn't notice 😭

yeah, my biggest problem was getting out of survival mode, i am the avoidant type of person so it's very hard for me to deal with anything in my life that's out of my comfort zone, but i finally stepped up and started to figure things out. ofc it's still hard and because i've been focusing solely on survival for so long i don't really know what i want from life anymore?? but i am proud i can at least relax a bit more and i can give time to myself to think and reflect. thank you for the words~ you're so kind

yeah, i kinda got used to the idea that i'll never see my bunny again and i'm consoling myself with the thought that she's in a much better place now and that she's hopping happily without my cat bothering her lol 💗

unfortunately smth came up so i can't pick up the cat yet. i'm actually getting him from my friend bcs her cat gave birth a few month ago and she's giving me one of her kitties, but i have to wait 2 more weeks till i can finally get him. also, because i'm getting it from my friend, i actually don't know its breed 🤣 my friend doesn't know the exact breed of her cat and the dad is unknown (lol), so i can't tell for sure, but the mom is a combination of a tabby with some other fancy breed that i cannot recognise. it has many orange spots of her coat mixed with the regular tabby colors, does that make sense?? but he kitty i'm adopting has a dark coat with no orange spots at all. it looks like a tabby, but much darker than usual, idek how to explain 😭

ALSO i actually SUCK at giving pets names 😭😭 i always get overwhelmed bcs it feels like such a big responsibility to me so i always collect ideas from other people. sooo if you have any cool male cat names in mind 👀👀 i'm more than glad to hear

yeah, that's exactly how it feels with comfort places 😭😭 that's why i got away from tumblr a little bit, i didn't want it to start feeling like a 'responsibility' or like something i needed to do, i tend to do that with my hobbies sometimes and it makes them unenjoyable. i also stopped writing for a while and opening tumblr was reminding me about that and it made me feel a little guilty haha

but! it's summer vacation now and things are moving in the right direction (in my opinion at least) so who knows.

aw, THANK YOU, TI, you're so sweet 🥹🥹 i miss sending asks and answering on random stuff too 😭 i am glad i was not an annoyance with those lol

and!!! i actually do want to read what you've been posting since i disappeared 👀 is there anything you'd recommend me to read first??

#roci's ✉️#sulfurcosmos

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babyboibucky · 4 years ago

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Angel on Her Knees

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You give Bucky the TLC he deserves.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: SMUT, an overly eager blowjob 😏

A/N: So this is the first blowjob fic I’ve ever done and this is all thanks to @borikenlove sending me ideas with encouragements from my nasty babes @bitchassbucky and @sarge-barnes-sir okay tbh I didn’t proofread this because I’m super excited to post this filth 😌 I hope this reached y’alls expectations 😬

MAIN MASTERLIST

Bucky’s had a long and rough day, judging by his heavy footsteps and soft grunts when he arrived home.

You were in the kitchen washing the dishes, eyeing Bucky warily and gauging his mood.

“Rough day, babe?” You called out sweetly, your eyes following Bucky as he sat on the couch.

He merely groaned in response, throwing his head back against the back of the couch, his eyes closed and brows furrowed in deep thought.

The scowl on Bucky’s face was supposed to make you feel bad for him, he looked tired and worked up— exhausted actually. Would it be inconsiderate of you if you were legitimately turned on by how your boyfriend looked right now?

You found yourself tilting your head to get a better view of Bucky on the couch. His legs were wide open, stretching out the garment of his jeans across those thick thighs of his; the rapid movement of his chest as he heavily breathed out through his nose, the black shirt he had on only accentuating his pecs.

And his face, did he really have to have that expression when exhausted?

Licking your lips, you turned off the faucet and wiped your hands dry. Your eyes never left Bucky the entire time as you silently waltzed into the living room.

For a super soldier with enhanced hearing, Bucky sure wasn’t attentive enough to notice you when you knelt down on the ground, positioning yourself in between his legs.

“How tired are you, baby?” You purred, holding onto Bucky’s knees.

Bucky jolted in his seat, eyes snapping open when you spoke. He lifted his head up and saw you looking up at him and the sight alone instantly made him forget what he was stressing over.

You on your knees in between his thighs, looking so innocent yet devilish at the same time. How could Bucky say no to you when you were gazing up at him like an angel who looked more than ready to sin?

“Not too tired for whatever it is going on in that head.” Bucky rasped out and lovingly caressed your hair.

You took your lower lip in between your teeth, your hands immediately sliding up from Bucky’s knees towards his thighs. Bucky watched you with half-lidded eyes and his mouth parted as you impatiently fumbled with his zipper.

“Just sit back, baby. Let me do all the work.” You whispered before taking Bucky’s semi-hard cock out of the confines of his boxers.

Bucky let out a hiss when you pressed an open-mouthed kiss on the tip as you wrapped a hand around his shaft. It only took him a couple of kitten licks on the head for his cock to fully harden and you moaned out loud when you felt it pulse against your palm.

His cock was hot and heavy, red and already seeping with pre-cum. And you haven’t even taken him into your mouth yet. Bucky’s hands found purchase on the edge of the couch as he watched you flatten your tongue against his shaft, licking your way back up to the tip and then sucking the head into your mouth.

“Jesus fuck...” Bucky grunted, hips thrusting upwards with need.

You tutted and pulled back, “Stay still and keep your hands on the couch, babe.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose and nodded, letting out a growl when you started pumping his cock in your hand. Your strokes were slow, too slow for Bucky’s liking and good god, the way you were staring up at him was making it hard for Bucky to hold back.

He wanted to take your head and fuck your mouth, wanted to feel you gag around his cock, wanted to see you look up at him with tears in your eyes.

Obviously, that can wait until next time because as much as Bucky loved to take control, seeing you take the wheels on this one was something else.

Bucky’s knuckles turned white when he gripped the couch tighter than ever, his thighs trembling when you finally took his cock into your mouth.

You didn’t go slow, that was for sure. You went straight to it, taking him deep into your throat and keeping him there until you choked. You released him with a gasp, moaning when you saw how Bucky was looking down at you with feral eyes.

“Keep watching me.” You said, darting your tongue out to scoop some of his pre-cum and humming at his taste.

“You’re fuckin’ killing me, sweetheart.” Bucky grunted, scrunching his face in pleasure.

You grinned up at him before taking his cock back into your mouth, hands curling around his knees for support as you went to town. You bobbed your head up and down, letting your tongue swirl around the crown of Bucky’s cock every once in a while.

A mixture of spit and pre-cum started dribbling from your lips as you sucked his cock, humming whenever you felt him hit the back of your throat.

Bucky’s jaw tensed as he watched you, your cheeks hollowing whenever you pulled back. His neck and ears were red as opposed to his hands that were turning white as they clutched onto the edge of the couch so tight, his fingers were close to digging holes through the fabric. He was fighting so hard not to lift his hips up, he felt like he was going to combust any time now.

The vulgar slurping sounds of your mouth as it does wonders to Bucky’s dick rang through the air, coupled with the low growls reverberating from his chest.

“God, baby...fuck...you’re sucking my cock so well.” Bucky moaned, throwing his head back as he focused on how your mouth felt so fucking good around him.

“Watch me, Bucky.” You preened and started pumping his cock with both your hands.

“Wanna see your face when I suck your cock.” You moaned and waited for Bucky to meet your eyes before sucking him back into your mouth.

Bucky let out a growl when your hand squeezed his balls, fondling it in your palm as you continued to bob your head.

The whirring sound of his vibranium arm caught your attention. Bucky was so close, so so close and he was holding back from lifting his hips up that the plates on his arm moved on their own.

You smirked, mouth full of Bucky’s cock and then you sucked him so hard that he came without warning. Ropes of his cum filled your mouth, some escaping from your lips and dripping down to your chin.

“Goddammit!” Bucky grunted and grabbed your head, trying to push you back when you continued to suck.

Bucky was moving his hips away but you refused to let him go, pressing your hands down on his thighs to keep him in place. You sucked and flicked your tongue, ignoring the string of curses that left Bucky’s mouth.

“Baby...jesus...s-stop babe...” Bucky’s moan was never like this, high-pitched and so wanton and it spurred you to keep going, curious to see how long Bucky could take.

Bucky’s toes curled inside his shoes, his entire body feeling tingly from how you kept sucking his cock. His head was spinning and yet he couldn’t look away from you as you continued working him up as you eagerly sucked him.

Bucky’s legs began to tremble, pleasure and pain mixing into a certain sensation that he couldn’t even describe.

It was too much but so good at the same time.

Bucky hissed, his lower lip quivering as he let out a loud groan. You slowly pulled back, lips dragging against his softening shaft and tongue flickering on his slit.

You hummed and wiped your chin clean with the back of your hand. Bucky let out a deep, long sigh before relaxing onto the couch. Resting his head against it as he tried to catch his breath.

You could see the aftershocks course through Bucky, his cock stirring oh so slightly whenever he shuddered.

“Good god, woman.” He breathed out with a chuckle.

He looked divine like that, his forehead sweaty and entire face red. His brows were furrowed, lips pink and swollen from being bitten down whenever he held back on his moans— it made your pussy clench around nothing.

“How are you feeling now?” You teased and moved on top of Bucky, straddling him.

Bucky lifted his head to give you a kiss, “I don’t think I can even remember my own name. Fuck, I thought you weren’t going to stop.” He said, his hands caressing your thighs.

You giggled, “I wouldn’t if you hadn’t moaned so wantonly like that.”

Bucky burst out laughing, “That was my soul leaving my body.”

You hummed and took Bucky’s vibranium hand, bringing it down to your clothed cunt and letting Bucky feel how drenched you already were.

Bucky growled and stroked your pussy through your damp panties, “How about I let you experience what it’s like for your soul to leave your body?”

It was your turn to elicit a moan so wanton and needy, you were sure that you wouldn’t even have a soul left in your body by the time Bucky’s finished with you.

Everything Bucky Tag List:

@ddowii @jessou893 @stealapizzamyheart @bagelofthelord @mxnt @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @jeeperky @ohladymacbeth @wildflowergubler @supraveng @twinerd14 @buckysmar @bakugouswh0r3 @sweetcoldharmony @wintersfilm @charminivy @amelia-song-pond @iamvalentinaconstanza @mcubqrnes @i’m-squished @tcc-gizmachine @sipsteacasually @prettyintopeerpressure @weloveyasmin @est19xxshit @bloodhon3yx @dressed-in-prada @lizette50 @thatfangirl42 @sunflowerbunny2 @unmagically @okiegirl24 @sugarpunch-princess @enlyume @vvipgotbb @slimeyderp @lyoongx @just-deka @nobody-will @jaziona92 @elisebuitron @dpaccione @suvikamahes98blr @buckybarneshairpullingkink @earthtonav @x-judyjude-x @nani-kenobi @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @belladonnabarnes @iloveangstposts @weenersoldierr @asemistablehundredyearoldman @reidbuck @lizzarooni @girlfriday007 @5-seconds-of-mendes @whoth3hellisbucky @bonkywobble @lost-in-the-stars03

#bbb writes #oneshots: bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #sebastian stan

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l223m0nade · 3 years ago

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lil sickfic (Captain America, Steve & Bucky, prewar)

it’s my first tumblr post! I’ve just been lurking until now and I’m pretty clueless, but I wrote a fic! I’d like to dedicate this to @softersteve and @buckysnose, both of whose stories have brought me an absurd amount of joy the last few months since I discovered this wonderful corner of the internet. But also everybody else loving sneezes and fanfic and hyperfixation on Bucky Barnes, I can’t believe I’m not the only weirdo out there and I love you for it.

this turned out angsty in the first half, sorry if that’s not your cup of tea, i totally get it, but it does turn into a cute sneezefic I promise. minor content warning for Steve being seriously ill but nothing graphic, sad bits and reference to canon character death. Can be gen or stucky, fill it with your stucky feels please :)

4.5k words

i wrote myself a prompt and then filled it. I love Steve whump and Bucky sneezes and all h/c but most of all Bucky sneezes eeeeee ahem ok here it is

—the actual thing where someone’s doing a bunch of stressed as fuck caretaking and going on all cylinders and not sleeping and as soon as the crisis finally passes they get sick because it’s like their body put all the exhaustion on layaway for later. So, that, with Bucky and pre-serum sick Steve!

It’s winter, Sarah is gone so they’re like 20 say, broke, and Steve is super sick but not quite sick enough for the doctor or hospital—at least according to him: “I’ll shake this off soon either way. And I wanna be able to afford dinner this month instead of starving.” But he goes from sick to miserable to bad cough to bedridden in a couple days, and then stays in bed with a high fever for a couple more, and at this point with the cough wheeze and fever Bucky’s not sleeping in favor of keeping vigil by his bed, convinced any second he’ll have to rush out for the doctor or to bring Steve to the hospital. And he’d force the issue, but he honestly doesn’t know how the hell they’d pay for it; plus something about how Steve glared up at him when lucid demanding he not decide that for him, something about how completely frail and helpless he was lying in that bed, made it impossible for Bucky to consider forcing anything on him.

On Friday evening, when he brought a bowl of chicken noodle soup over to a feverish but clearheaded Steve and he made a small move to reach for it, flushed pinker and mumbled down towards his lap, “Arms are about as much use as those noodles, Buck,” the hollow pit of anxiety in Bucky’s stomach yawned suddenly wider and plunged toward his toes. He didn’t let it show on his face, just casually snagged his paperback from the coffee table and settled in the chair pulled up to the bed, fixing his rolled-up sleeves as Steve continued, “can’t even swing a spoon around. M’ hardly hungry anyhow…”

“Well, we can’t have that,” said Bucky easily, “Mrs Petrauskas from down the hall pressed the whole pot on me and she’ll never hear no for an answer, since she saw you tearing down those posters the other week.” As he continued, “I sure can’t tell her Steve turned his nose up at her chicken noodle soup that she claims has healing powers, I gotta walk past her on the way to work every day, she’ll put a hex on me,” a spoonful of soup rose up to Steve’s face as if by accident, Bucky’s face casually half-turned away.

Steve almost jerked in surprise. Bucky had never even attempted such a thing before; Steve’s reaction to that kind of coddling was about as positive as an angry alley cat’s. But since managing to push himself upright against the pillows, his arms felt frighteningly weak, unable to move much beyond his fingers. He was woozy with fever and his belly felt hollow and empty in a way that felt connected to the shaky weakness in his whole body. The last two or three days were a blur when he tried to look back at them and he couldn’t remember the last time he ate. Bucky had seen him badly off plenty of times, but he hadn’t been this sick and helpless in a long time, not since before his mother had died. He’d never wanted Bucky to see him like this; when things were really bad it had always been Sarah by his bedside.

After a tense second he leaned forward and opened his mouth for the spoonful of soup, swallowing it with difficulty around the hard, hot lump in his throat. The spoon went back to the bowl and reappeared in front of him, not too close and not so far away. Bucky went on chatting mindlessly about the Petrauskas and whether noodles or dumplings were better in soup and where the hell was Lithuania on a map anyhow, glancing at Steve and the spoon just enough to keep from spilling, somehow making it seem like a friendly disembodied arm was feeding Steve while he and Bucky shot the shit like any old evening.

Halfway through the bowl his demeanor changed, and he finally let a little of his concern show as he said softly, “Seems to me we gotta start thinking about the doctor soon.” Their eyes met for a moment. Steve realized with a pang that there was a very slight tremor in the hand holding the spoon.

Steve ate, then said towards the bowl, “Think that’s all the damage I can do tonight.” His voice was a thin rasp. “It’ll help though. We gotta be sure to thank her, do something—” he was cut off by a few deep wheezing coughs that scraped his throat and lungs the whole way out.

Bucky’s expression was one of mild, sensible concern, but his eyes couldn’t quite sell it: they were tight, haggard, and though he tried to hide it they were shining with increasing desperation. “It’s been four days now, with this fever, with no break. It’s not letting you sleep. I remember—” he stopped himself just in time, Jesus, he’d been about to say I remember what your Ma told me ‘bout in case if— “Just. Four days. It’s. It’s getting to be too long.”

Steve blinked. The fever hadn’t left but it had abated somewhat for the past hour, the only reprieve he’d had in over a day. Now he could feel it returning, rolling back into him like thick smoke, making his head spin and his thoughts hazy. Bucky could see it coming back, too, in the hectic spots of color rising on his cheeks. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped.

He was almost whispering now, and his pretense of calm was wavering.

“…Steve. Please. I’m—I’m getting worried. I gotta—I—” he cut himself off sharply and gave his shoes a wide-eyed look. I promised.

Steve gave him a long look as he slumped down his pillows. Bucky looked like he’d just about run himself completely ragged, worrying and fussing over him, still working 10-hour shifts and then rushing home to hover over him every day this past week. He wanted to ask, when are you going to bed? But he had a feeling his body wasn’t going to let him get too many more coherent words out, and he needed to make sure Bucky didn’t panic and haul him off to the hospital in the middle of the night.

“Tomorrow,” he rasped. “I’ll have this thing beat—the fever, at least— by tomorrow afternoon. If I don’t I guess we’ll see about a doctor.” He held Bucky’s eyes and tried to show certainty. “I ain’t gonna croak on you tonight, Barnes.”

Bucky managed a little smile and said, trying to joke but sounding more like a scared kid,

“Promise?”

“Promise.” It made something warm in Steve that even in this useless state he could still reassure his friend. It was all he could manage, though; the wheezing cough took hold of him again and Bucky could see the awareness fading from his glassy eyes.

“Alright. Tomorrow. You rest now, buddy.”

It was a bad night.

Bucky read aloud for a while to keep Steve company as he tossed and coughed, clearly neither asleep nor fully present, until his movements quieted and his breathing calmed somewhat. It still sounded thready and uneven, but even if he wasn’t actually sleeping, he seemed to be getting some kind of rest. Bucky moved to the floor, leaning against a sturdy bedpost, so Steve wouldn’t see him still in the chair if he woke up and fuss at him to go to bed. He closed his eyes and let himself drift while keeping tabs on the audible breathing coming from the bed. He’d been getting one or two hours of sleep a night since Steve got sick enough to be stuck in bed; those weak, uneven breaths and the constant possiblity that they could stop provided more than enough suspense to keep him wide awake, he’d read about Chinese Water Torture in a comic once and thought it had to feel something like this, just waiting and waiting and never knowing when it might—

Bucky’s eyes suddenly flew open, wide as dinner plates. There was dead silence in the tiny room for a moment that seemed to stretch into an eternity and he sat listening to it, frozen to the spot. The spell broke with a high, gasping wheeze: the sound of air being forced through a space narrower than a pinhole.

“Steve!”

Steve’s eyes were bulging, sightless and terrified, as his hand fisted in the fabric over his chest. He was trying with all his might to breathe but he wasn’t getting any air.

The practical part of Bucky’s brain that knew what to do when Steve had an athsma attack took over the blank, screeching panic, somehow. He was moving Steve into the best position, supporting him, injecting calm into his voice in place of the gibbering fear he was feeling: easy buddy, I got you, don’t panic, see if you can relax just a little, that’s it, listen to my breaths, nice and patient, I got you Stevie, just breathe, just breathe, I got you

Just as Bucky detected a shade of blue in Steve’s lips, the asthma relaxed its talon-grip on his airways and he lapsed into desperate, gasping coughs that seemed only minutely less cruel than the asphyxiation of before. They went on and on, Steve helpless to do anything but cough, trapped in his sick body, and Bucky helpless to do anything but rub his back and watch.

Finally he could settle back and try to catch his breath, which was struggling like he’d run miles. There were beads of sweat on his forehead and Bucky could feel furnace heat coming from him. He went to the sink and filled a glass with shaking hands.

“Here, pal, drink a little water, it’ll help your throat,” supporting Steve’s head and bringing the glass to his lips. He managed a few swallows and then choked a little and sputtered, coughing, eyes flicking around the room with a wild, delirious look in them.

“Wha— where…” He had no voice at all now, just a soundless whisper, full of agitation.

“Shh, hey…” Bucky stroked the side of his head. Steve’s eyes locked onto his without recognition. Then his eyebrows crinkled and suddenly the face Bucky was looking down at wore an expression he hadn’t seen since they were six years old: a miserable, frightened little boy on the verge of tears.

“…Mama? Where’s— Mama—”

“Shhh-sh-shh,” Bucky’s breath was shaking. He lowered himself into the chair and moved as close to Steve as he could and went on stroking his head as his words dissolved into wet gasps, as some vague realization dawned even in his fever delirium, that his mother was not coming. Bucky went on stroking his hair and burning forehead, feeling as though he were floating above this scene and watching it, thinking calmly that he’d had no idea it was possible to hurt so bad without bleeding, just sitting by his friend’s bedside.

The fever climbed even higher. He wasn’t talking anymore, just moaning and mumbling and thrashing, looking all around but not seeing his surroundings. Bucky felt like he’d passed panic by a few hours back and was now somewhere far beyond it, just frozen and staring when he wasn’t trying to soothe Steve a little with a cool damp cloth. He believed Steve’s promise: he had said he wouldn’t die tonight. But it was impossible not to believe the opposite at the same time. The sickness was winning and the window framed nothing but pitiless darkness; the sun was still so far from rising.

Bucky jerked violently awake. He was lying on dusty floorboards. There was a threadbare rug under half his face. Thin grey light was streaming through the window. Someone was coughing loudly, hoarse, wet coughs somewhere above his head. …Steve. Bucky must have fallen asleep on the floor at some point, and apparently now it was morning. The coughing petered out into a long, miserable groan.

He lurched to his feet. “Steve,” the guy looked profoundly unhappy, drenched in sweat, exhausted, with a greyish pallor. He also looked clear-eyed and generally alive.

Bucky put one hand on his forehead and he other on his cheek, staring at him closely, feeling a little crazed. “How ya doin there, buddy? Thinking about rejoining the land of the living anytime soon?” Steve scowled darkly, wriggling away from his hands and burying his face in the pillow with another groan that turned into a few more coughs.

His skin was clammy and damp, and he was clearly still weak as a kitten. But the terrifying heat burning under his skin was gone. Bucky’s knees turned to water and he fell into the chair. Steve regarded him through half-open eyes, still scowling and miserable but managing to look a bit smug despite it all, and rasped, “Told ya so.”

Bucky tried to laugh but didn’t quite manage it, bringing his hands up to run roughly over his face. He paused like that, and Steve, frowning, saw the tremor in his hands, more pronounced now. After a moment a long, shuddering inhale came from behind the hands, followed by a gusty exhale another long moment later. Steve wanted to say, I’m sorry for worrying you so bad. He wanted to say, When was the last time you got any actual rest?

Instead he closed his eyes like maybe he’d drifted off to sleep and gave Bucky at least the illusion of a private moment to pull himself together. He heard Buck manage a huff of a laugh after a few more seconds, then he stood and rested his hand on Steve’s bony shoulder. “Yeah, you told me so. I was stupid to worry, like you’ve ever quit a single damn fight.” His voice was a little rough but he could hear the smile in it.

Steve did drift off then, as Bucky moved off with a hearty sniff and shambled through a quick version of his morning routine. Now that the terror and overwhelming relief had released their grip on him, all Bucky could feel was exhaustion. The start of a headache poked at his temple, and his head and throat felt slightly full, tender, and itchy, probably from catching an hour’s sleep on a cold dusty floor.

A bowl of oatmeal and mug of coffe plunked down next to Steve’s head. “You won’t be getting any more of that five-star service from last night, I gotta go to work. You better eat that stuff, though, after I slaved over it. And this place better be spotless when I get back.” He winked cheekily as he pulled on his jacket, then cleared his throat and gave a dry little cough and sniff, frowning distractedly.

Steve narrowed his eyes. “Like I asked for any of your damn mollycoddling. You better get back here quick and take care of yourself for a change.”

“Yeah, yeah, see ya in a few pal.”

Steve was on the couch and feeling quietly triumphant about it when Bucky got home. He’d managed not only to eat a whole bowl of oatmeal under his own power, but also to shakily drag himself to the washroom to get a little cleaned up, and changed his clothes. He no longer felt disgusting in his own skin, and he’d brought a pillow and blanket to the couch and set himself up there. He was wiped out from these efforts, and felt like a sick, wrung-out dishrag, but compared to the last few days it was a vast improvement. The cough was still plaguing him and tearing at his throat, and he knew from experience it would be slow to fade, but it was on the mend nontheless. He was relieved for his own sake and for his friend’s as well; Bucky needed to relax and rest and he wouldn’t until Steve seemed convincingly better.

He wasn’t too surprised when he heard keys in the door a couple hours earlier than normal. Bucky hadn’t been paying any attention to the mirror that morning —something almost unheard of— or he’d have noticed that he looked in pretty rough shape: stubbly, several shades paler than normal, with a frayed-around-the-edges look and deep purple shadows under his eyes. He looked little better now coming through the door, more awake but just as tired and with a faint suggestion of pink around his nose.

“You’re early,” Steve remarked. Bucky nodded as he shut the door, and then wrinkled his nose.

“It was slow,” he said with a froggy rasp, and stopped to clear his throat hard. “So yeah, they cut some of the younger guys.” A distant, quizzical expression came across his face, and his hand drifted slowly up to his nose, as Steve asked,

“Yeah? The foreman cut you cause of your tender youth, or because you look like shit, like a nut who hasn’t slept in about four days?”

Bucky glared and opened his mouth to respond, but got overtaken by a sneeze instead and twisted aside with a quick “esshh’hu!”

Steve tsked under his breath. The only thing that put a dent in Bucky’s robust health was when he was seriously stressed. It happened around the holidays once or twice, and during a few of the leanest months of the Depression when he was running around taking any work he could find. And now, apparently, after running himself ragged nursing Steve, because unless he was blind Bucky was coming down sick.

He sat down next to Steve and began wrestling his shoes off, looking up foggily halfway through like he had to sneeze again, but then exhaling and shaking his head. Shoes off, he leaned back with a long sigh, took a handkerchief out and began absently worrying at his nose with it. Steve knew he’d only get the brush-off if he tried to call him on getting a cold, right up until Bucky was ready to admit it and start moaning and getting sympathy. Besides, he was off work the next day, and there was still chicken soup left for dinner. Bucky would survive. He didn’t have to worry about that, he reflected morosely, the way Bucky did about him. The way he had last night.

As if picking up on his thoughts Bucky cleared his throat again and said, “So, you trekked all the way to the sofa on your own steam, huh? Guess you were getting tired of hamming it up in bed and getting waited on?” There was already a different sound to his voice to match his increasingly pink nose.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Guess so. I mean, the food’s alright but the nurses here sure are ugly.” They shared a happy normal grin a moment, then Bucky said as though he couldn’t quite stop himself,

“So you’re feeling better, though, really?”

Another eye roll, but smaller. He was probably still in danger of getting hauled off to a doctor. “Yes. I mean, for a given value of better. I still feel like shit, but the fever’s passed. The rest of this,” he said while coughing a few times and gesturing at himself, a touch of bitterness bleeding into his voice, “pretty much business as usual.”

Bucky scoffed gently, “yeah, sassing me and and the whole world to boot, sounds like you’re getting back to normal.” His smile turned soft and his eyes were a little admiring as he added quietly, “You’re one tough nut, Rogers.”

Steve squirmed a little. He didn’t feel tough at all. But Bucky still seemed pretty frazzled, even as he gradually unwound. He didn’t remember last night hardly at all, but he had a feeling he might have come close to breaking his promise. If Bucky wanted to call him tough after seeing him through that he was gonna let him. Suddenly he remembered something, and checked his watch. “It’s five past four, there’s a ball game on!”

Bucky gave him an amused, long-suffering look and went over to the radio. He had to pause while fiddling with the dials, pull out his handkercheif, and stifle a strong “k-tchht!” into it, followed by a few hitching breaths and a stronger “ihhTCH-ihh!”

He coughed and sniffed and grumbled a few times, as Steve raised his eyebrows and said “bless you” in a neutral tone of voice.

“Tea?” Bucky offered briskly, and Steve said yes, gratefully, pleased when Bucky came back with a steaming mug for himself as well. They sat and listened to the baseball game coming scratchily through the radio, Steve coughing and Bucky surreptitiously sniffling and rubbing his nose at the other end of the couch, his blinks getting longer and slower as he steadily lost the fight to drowsiness.

Steve was staring out the window absorbed in the game when he heard a soft snore and looked over to see his friend sound asleep. It wasn’t fair that Bucky’s only reward for taking care of Steve was to catch his cold, even if his constitution meant it would be just a cold for him and not a near-death experience like it was for Steve. But Bucky was sick so rarely, it felt alright to be amused at how he’d deny it for as long as possible, even when it was obvious. It was pretty, well, cute.

Steve caught himself thinking and huffed. Bucky was funny because he was a dumbass, end of story. He sneakily managed to shift the blanket covering him onto Bucky’s legs, and turned his attention back to the last inning of the game. It ended in the usual defeat, and Steve went without the usual cursing tirade so as not to wake the sleeper at the end of the couch. He took out his sketchpad and began quietly doodling.

A while later, when Steve had started a cartoonish drawing of a tousled head of hair sunk into couch cushions, and the winter sunlight was fading into dusk, Bucky’s nose woke him up.

Steve was looking right at it, getting more details of the face, as it twitched visibly, then scruched up. He brought his wrist up to rub at the tickle, still asleep. He seemed to settle but a few moments later his sleepy breath caught and a tiny sneeze burst out, “tichsh!” His eyes opened, bleary and utterly confused, for just a second before the tickle took hold again, not letting up as he jostled himself awake with sneezes:

‘hitsch, ih-Hitschoo! snff, ugh, h-het-schiew! ESHoo! heh…heh… ” He looked around urgently and finally noticed the clean handkercheif Steve was offering, sneezing two more helpless, ticklish sneezes before he managed to blow his nose, and sighing. Then he noticed the time and pushed the blanket back onto Steve with a scandalized air.

“The game’s over? Aw, why’d you let me sleep so long?”

“You needed it,” countered Steve defiantly, “you haven’t had a real rest in days and now you’ve caught my cold. And I’ll be the one who has to look after you once you turn into a big whiny baby,” Bucky just scoffed.

“I never get sick,” he said imperiously as he got up and headed to the kitchen to heat up the last of the soup. His words were followed by a snff! and a suspicious sounding eh-hitchmpf! Steve rolled his eyes.

He wanted to sass Bucky more and hear him sniffle and sneeze his way through denials of being sick, but he got caught by a coughing fit that didn’t want to let go. He was getting the air he needed, unlike the last few days, but it was still no fun; his lungs felt like they had glue in them and they wouldn’t let him rest until they’d coughed at least some of it out.

He ended up bent double over his knees, hacking into a handkerchief, and when he opened his eyes he wasn’t surprised to see Bucky crouched in front of him, face full of undisguised concern. He put one hand to his forehead and the other on the side of his neck, murmuring as he did, “Feel like the fever’s coming back at all?” He was serious in a way Bucky hardly ever showed, and it made something in Steve’s heart squeeze again, to know his illness had frightened his best friend so much.

“I’m alright, Buck.” He said with all the certainty he had. He took a deep breath and felt absurdly proud when it didn’t rattle. “Still sounds bad, I know, but I’ll be fine. And I got the fever licked. I said I would, didn’t I? And I did.” He was getting mulish now, like he always did. Bucky’s look turned skeptical, and he appeared to be warming up for a good lecture, but then a scowl of exasperation and a vacant sneezy expression came over his face and he turned aside quickly with a quiet but strong “eh-ish’sheh!” He raised his face from the crook of his elbow for a few hitching breaths before the a second sneeze shivered out: “hih-tihISHooo!”

Steve chuckled, despite the glowering look from Bucky it earned him. “I’m sorry I worried you so much, and got you sick in the bargain. Now will you admit it and stop being stupid and look after yourself for a change?”

Bucky had stood back up, and looked quite as mulish as Steve. There was no need for this to turn into one of their great Contests of Stubbornness, however.

“I’m telling you, I’m not…siihh…” Steve almost felt bad for Bucky as his nose betrayed him, and he did feel bad when the sneeze vanished at the last possible moment, leaving Bucky with an “EHHT—huh” and a look of total miserable bleary ticklishness. He humph’d back to the kitchen, dishing up two bowls of hot soup, but before he made it back to the couch and the small table pulled in front of it, his breath caught yet again. Holding a bowl in each hand and trying not to spill, he aimed the strong sneeze toward his shoulder, “heh-ATSCHeeiiww! ugh, snff, uugh.”

He set the bowls on the table, sniffed, groaned, sat, blew his nose, and groaned again. “Fidne. I’mb sick. Happy? I ndurse you through the cold watches of the night and this is the thanks I get, a cold in mby ndose.”

He cut his eyes over to Steve trying not to laugh at him and his sulky, congested voice. He couldn’t help it: Bucky was so funny, the way he flipped on a dime. And Steve was on the mend enough that he could pay his friend back a little tomorrow by waiting on him while he spent his day off snuffling and sneezing in bed. He’d hardly noticed the grim pall hanging over the little apartment the last few days, but now it had lifted and things seemed practically jolly.

“Oh, well, gosh, Buck,” he smirked, “you’d never know you were under the weather, secret and stoic about it the way you are.”

“Yeah yeah, yuk it up and—eh—and…ATSCHOO!” into the handkerchief, “and eat your damnb soup.”

#sneezefic #captain america #steve and bucky #i dont know how to tag yet #my fic

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expectingtofly · 4 years ago

Text

Take a Load Off

2.5k

fluff, post-canon, human!cas, anxious dean, established dean/cas

(i saw this post by @emptymeg and couldn’t get it out of my head, so here’s a fic :)

also posted on ao3

“What’s in the box?” Dean asked, coming into the library to see Cas setting a large package on the map table with a huff. The table creaked under its weight. “Hey, name that movie.”

Cas cocked his head. “What movie?”

Dean groaned. “Seriously, dude, you’re hopeless. What’s in the box! Brad Pitt?” Cas shrugged and Dean sighed. “Forget it.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Cas said, fetching scissors from a drawer, “This box is for you. I bought you something.”

“Oh?” Dean came to the table, interest even more piqued. “What kind of something?”

Cas gave him a look. “Not what you’re thinking.” He cut through the tape securing the box. “I read that this can relieve stress and help you sleep better.”

“I already know something that can do that.” He added a wink for good measure.

“So,” Cas continued, ignoring him, “I thought you should try it. You haven’t been getting enough sleep lately and I’m worried about your anxiety levels.”

“Wait a moment,” Dean protested. “What do you mean, my ‘anxiety levels’?” Cas opened the box and he leaned over to look at the contents. Folded, silky dark grey fabric. “What is that, a blanket?”

“A weighted blanket,” Cas corrected, heaving it out of the box. “Twenty pounds.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” He plucked at the fabric. “This is supposed to help?"

“It’s proven by science.” He nodded at a chair by Dean. “Go, sit.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean sat down and Cas draped the blanket over him. “Fuck.” Dean lifted his arms up under the blanket, then dropped them. “This is actually heavy.”

“Do you feel relaxed?”

“I feel ridiculous.”

“You don’t look it at all,” Cas deadpanned and Dean kicked at him. Cas pulled a brochure out of the box. “Soft cotton filled with poly pellets,” he read. “Alleviate anxiety and increase serotonin.” He studied Dean, eyes squinted. “You still look tense.”

“Sorry, Cas.” Dean shoved the blanket to the floor with a thump. “Think you got duped.”

“You’re not doing it right,” Cas grumbled, picking it up off the ground. “You have to give it a chance.”

“I just gave it a chance.” Standing, he brushed Cas’ hair off his forehead, gave him his best you love me smile. “Now, do you really wanna help me relax?”

Cas studied him for a long moment, then said, “Okay.” He carefully folded the blanket. “We’re keeping this, though. I still think it’ll work.”

Dean made a face behind his back and started to follow him out of the room, but the phone Sam had recently installed in the library for a hunter hotline started ringing. He groaned and Cas hesitated in the doorway.

“Do I have to?” Dean asked him.

“I suppose so,” Cas sighed and set the blanket down on a chair. Turns out the call was from a hunter out near Boise who needed help with a case. Of course, Sam was away visiting Eileen, so he and Cas got stuck spending the next two hours going over the case information, trying to figure out what the monster was. They finally settled on vetala, a whole pack of them, and after instructing the hunter on how to kill them, Dean hung up the phone.

“Fuck,” he swore, rubbing at his eyes. “Who knows how big the pack is. Could be a whole dozen of the freaks.”

“Well, now she knows how to kill them,” Cas said. “And there’s other hunters in the area who can help.”

“Yeah...” Dean fiddled with his pen, tapping it on the open pages of his dad’s journal.

“What’s wrong?” Cas asked.

Dean realized he was frowning. “Nothing.” Flexing his shoulders, he stretched out his back, stiff from poring over books. “Just, three people are already dead. I better be right that it’s a pack of vetala.”

Reaching over, Cas rubbed his back in small circles and Dean leaned back into his hand. “We did all we could, Dean.”

Dean wasn’t so sure that was true. But, short of driving all night out to Boise, he supposed there wasn’t much else they could do. Still, he didn’t like the idea that he might’ve missed a clue, might’ve misled the hunter. He clicked his pen again and again, going over the case in his mind, worst case scenarios—

“Are you going to sleep now?” Cas asked, and Dean glanced at him.

“No.” Dropping the pen, he pushed his chair back and got to his feet. “Don’t think I can now.”

“Would you say you’re feeling stressed? Anxious, perhaps?” Cas deliberately looked to his right and Dean followed his gaze to the weighted blanket folded on a chair.

“Dude, don’t even start.”

“You should use it,” Cas urged. “There’s no shame in feeling anxious, I often feel the same way too.”

“I’ve dealt with worse before, this is nothing new. Just comes with the job.”

Cas sighed. “You put too much on your shoulders.”

Dean shrugged. “Like I said, comes with the job.” If he wasn’t always on edge, he figured he was doing things wrong. Get too comfortable and bad things happened. Just the way it was.

“Still, you can admit you need a break.”

“Jeez, Cas, I’m wounded.” Dean pressed a hand to his chest. “It’s like you don’t even know me.”

Cas rolled his eyes and stood. “Don’t stay up too late.” He seemed to hesitate, fighting against saying more, and Dean said,

“I’m fine, Cas, really.”

“Okay.” Cas didn’t look too convinced, but he kissed Dean goodnight and headed off to their bedroom.

Dean cleaned up the mess of books and papers on the table, turned off the lamps just to do something with his hands. Normally, this is when he’d grab a drink, try to calm his head, but he’d been trying to cut back lately—blame Cas’ concern for his liver—so instead he decided to head to the Dean Cave. Maybe a few episodes of Dr. Sexy would distract himself enough to sleep.

Leaving the room, his eyes fell on the weighted blanket again. Cas and his ridiculous ideas. If Dean hadn’t been sleeping too well lately, that was just the result of living their kind of life. Nothing to do about it. Ignore the stress or end up drowning in it, that was his motto.

(And a horrible coping method, according to Sam and Cas)

Either way, lying under twenty pounds of “cotton and poly pellets” wasn’t going to help. Though the blanket had been really soft, he’d give it that.

He forgot all about it the following day, though, when Sam found a case a few towns over, and Dean and Cas drove over to meet him there. Disturbed gravesites, people disappearing near the cemetery at night. A ghoul, by all signs. A day of morgue visits and interviewing witnesses, then another two days of sitting parked in the cemetery, waiting for the ghoul to emerge again and feed. Dean was almost happy to see the thing when it crawled out of its grave. Almost.

Killing the damn thing hadn’t been too easy. But after inadvertently destroying a few gravestones, nearly falling into an open grave, and narrowly avoiding losing a few limbs, they finally bashed the ghoul’s brains in thoroughly, and split up from the cemetery. Dean went to speak to the latest victim’s mother while Cas and Sam got rid of the remains.

Returning to the bunker first, Dean showered, blood and ghoul remains washing away down the drain. But even the warm water couldn’t ease the jitteriness sitting high in his chest. The ghoul had been strong, fast, and Dean’s heart had leapt into his throat when it got a hold of Sam. Even Cas had struggled to stop the thing, gunshots only serving to anger the son of a bitch more.

Getting out of the shower, he scrubbed himself dry with his towel, inspected a cut along his arm. Not deep enough for stitches. If Sam had avoided a concussion, they were lucky. The ghoul was dead, at least. Left a dozen ruined graves and a few torn apart teenagers in its wake, but dead.

As he changed into clean clothes, he heard the bunker door open. “All good?” he asked, entering the war room to find Sam and Cas setting down their bags.

“If you mean will the trunk always reek like ghoul, then yes,” Sam said. He grimaced as he took off his boots, muddy footprints already leaving a trail down the bunker stairs. Then he glanced at his phone and smiled, said, “Eileen’s calling.”

“Whipped,” Dean mouthed at him as Sam answered his phone, smiling at the screen and walking off down the hallway. “Well,” he told Cas, ”you look like shit.”

Cas gave him his best, I can smite you even without my grace look. “Charming.” He headed off down the hallway towards their bedroom and Dean followed. “How did Mrs. Landis take the news?”

Dean sucked in a breath. “Uh, 'bout how you'd expect, I guess. Told her a bear had gotten to her son, but it was all taken care of now. Not much else to say.”

The mother had sobbed and thanked him. He’d done a piss poor job of comforting her and left with an all-too-familiar sick feeling in his stomach; they hadn’t done enough, they could never save everyone.

“And you?” Cas asked, pulling him from his thoughts. He glanced at Dean as he pushed open the door to their bedroom. “Are you alright?”

Dean started to nod, say fine, but he knew Cas would see straight through the lie. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he shrugged, dropping his hands into his lap. “Just shook up. Coulda been a bad one.”

Cas nodded as he pulled off his trenchcoat, the edges bloody and muddy. “We’re all safe. You don’t have to torture yourself thinking about what could’ve happened.”

Dean shut his eyes, took a deep breath. “I know.” Easier said than done.

He heard Cas’s footsteps, then felt Cas’ fingers on his cheek and tilted his head into his palm. Breathed in and out. Cas smelled like blood and guts and sweat, not a particularly pleasant combination, but his hand was warm and his other hand was carding through his hair and, shit, that felt nice.

“Go to sleep,” Cas said quietly. “You need rest.”

Dean nodded and Cas kissed the top of his head. He left to take a shower and Dean scrubbed his hands over his face.

Fuck, this hunt had been a close one. Closer than they’d had in a long time.

Dropping his hands, his eyes settled on the weighted blanket that Cas had left folded on the chair at the desk, a silent plea for him to use it. He rolled his eyes. Anxious, his ass.

He started to pull the covers back on the bed, but the thought of lying down with the hunt running on repeat through his head was less than appealing. Cas’ trenchcoat hung bloody on the wall, and Dean clenched his hands into fists to stop them from shaking, adrenaline and nerves still rushing through him.

Alright, maybe a little anxious.

With a glance at the door to convince himself Cas would be in the shower for a little while longer, he grabbed the blanket, brought it to their bed.

Getting under the covers, he draped the blanket over himself and lay down, shifting to get comfortable. Once settled, he stared up at the ceiling and waited for the miracle blanket to work its wonders. How much money had Cas spent on this shit? He really had to hide the credit cards.

He shifted again, the mattress creaking, and dropped back with a huff. Not that he didn’t appreciate Cas trying to help, but a twenty-pound blanket wasn’t what he needed. What he needed was a full night of sleep and a blow job and an all-expenses-paid trip to Cancún. His nose was itchy, his knee was bruised, his back was fucked up from getting thrown against a gravestone, Sam had already found another case in Albuquerque, and, fuck, he was just so damn tired.

Shutting his eyes, he forced himself to breathe through the sensation of his chest tightening. He could feel the blanket rise and fall with every deliberate breath, and he counted like Sam had taught him years ago when he’d woken with a panic attack—breathe in for seven seconds, hold for four, let out for eight.

Don’t think about what could’ve happened. We’re all safe. Cas is safe, Sam is safe. I’m safe.

His heartbeat slowly settled. The blanket’s weight was strangely comforting, warm, trapping him under the covers. Forced to stay still, he felt his limbs slowly relax into the mattress, the tenseness in his shoulders dissipating, his back easing and hands curling loosely along the sheets.

Okay. Shit. Maybe there was something to this weighted blanket thing. His mind grew hazier as his thoughts began to wander, and he found himself drifting off to sleep when the bedroom door creaked open and startled his eyes open.

“You’re using it,” Cas whispered excitedly, standing in the doorway. “Are you relaxed?”

“Fuck off,” Dean told him. He would’ve flipped him off, but that would require lifting his hand out from under the blanket and he was too—dammit, Cas was right—relaxed to move.

“I knew it would be perfect,” Cas said, sounding too triumphant. Shutting the door softly, he got into bed next to him—well, tried to. He shoved at the blanket encroaching on his side of the bed. “Dean, move over.”

“Nope.” Dean shut his eyes again. “Reap what you have sown.”

Grumbling, Cas turned off the light and got under the covers with more rustling and movement than necessary. Finally, he settled down. The bunker hummed, the heating running, the pipes in the walls creaking as a shower turned on down the hallway. The blanket heavy on top of him, Dean began to fall asleep again.

“Are you really gonna keep that on all night?” Cas asked, disturbing the quiet.

“Yup.”

Cas huffed and Dean could only keep up the ruse for a few more seconds before lifting the edge of the blanket. “Come on, get under.”

Sliding over, Cas got underneath, and they laid side by side, pressed against each other. Their fingers brushed, and Dean crooked a finger around Cas’ thumb.

“This is nice,” Cas commented, voice quiet. “I’m glad it’s helping.”

“Mhm.” He was starting to think he should’ve bought one of these things a long time ago. He hadn’t realized how strung out he was before until now, all the tension in his body slipping away.

Cas shifted onto his side and Dean blinked open his eyes to look at him. “I guess I was right all along, wasn’t I?”

“Don’t push it.” He caught Cas’ smile in the dark and elbowed him on principle before shifting over to kiss him. Then he tugged at Cas’ arm and turned onto his side, prompting Cas to press close against his back and wrap an arm around him.

He smiled, eyes falling shut at the warm press of the blanket and Cas’ body around his. Now he was relaxed.

tag list:

@becky-srs @xojo @marvelnaturalock @aelysianmuse @prayedtoyou @letsjustdieeveryone @good-things-do-happen-dean @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @theninthdutchessofhell @madronasky @famouspsychicpizzabandit @multifandomdisorder @arcticfox007 @improvedpeanut @castiel-is-a-cat @harmonyhelms @thetrueliesofafangirl @dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you @theangelwiththewormstache @confusedisaster @welcome-to-crowleys-hellhole @celestialcastiel

let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the tag list :)

#missed all the drama about the 15x20 script bc i was writing this last night #finale who?#dean and cas are alive and thriving #destiel fic #cw anxiety #expectingtofly writes #fluff

213 notes · View notes

kireimarkeu · 4 years ago

Text

Yellow; l.mk

+another repost, one of my favourite works ever. its unfortunate not many liked it... ;-; but im still gonna post it anyways. i did not make any changes to this fic.

summary: a journey where boxer!mark and you start to fall for each other.

5.8k words... it wasn’t supposed to be this long.. sorry guys ):

i changed the title because sunflower reminded me of johnny lmfao! also i know you guys don’t like long fics but istg i didn’t want it to be so long either ;;

warnings: mentions of blood & violence, f words

+Day 1

The loud cheers were really starting to annoy you. Why did you let your friend drag you here in the first place?

You let out a grumbled sigh when your friend had pulled your hand, leading you closer to the ring. Truthfully, you hated anything that has got to do with blood or violence. You didn’t dare tell your friend that since she told you that she has always wanted to go to an underground match.

People were pushing you around as you struggled to keep your balance. You hold onto your friend’s wrist, to avoid from falling.

Your friend must have noticed your discomfort and leaned towards you, “you okay?”

Shaking your head, you reply, “yeah... this- this is just not my type,”

She pouts, “do you want to leave?”

“No, no, you’ve been waiting for this, let’s just watch the match,” you reply, looking back to the ring. Your friend nodded, looking back front.

The match started within a few minutes, both participants standing on each side started getting closer, waiting for one of them to throw a punch.

“That’s Jung Jaehyun,” your friend says, pointing to the one who had chocolate abs. He had some parts of his black hair dyed a dark green, which really suits him.

Jaehyun.

He was handsome. Pretty face— really pretty face. However, his neck was filled with tattoos, which gets rid of his cute demeanour. You already knew he was the type to get lots of girls just by doing nothing.

“And that’s Mark Lee,”

Your eyes gazed on the boy with black hair.

Oh.

He’s cute. He’s really cute. Super cute features. Plump lips, cute cheeks— you just want to pinch. You were surprised why he would be in a ring with such adorable features. You wanted to coo at his ears, why are his ears so cute?

If you were to pick one, you would pick the latter. He’s just your type.

Great, you’re doing it again. Thinking which boys you would choose.

Shaking your thoughts away, you focus on the match.

Jaehyun suddenly throws a punch, to which Mark managed to dodge. Mark suddenly throws a punch, straight to the other boy’s cheekbones.

You let out a gasp, flinching at the sight. Though, the crowd continues to cheer.

In a blink of an eye, Jaehyun has Mark under him, his arm tightening around Mark’s neck.

“Isn’t that dangerous?!” you screech, turning to your friend who was happily watching the match.

“That’s what makes it fun,” your friend winks.

Your mouth was left wide open as you look back at Mark who was struggling to breathe. You notice Mark tapping on Jaehyun’s arm as the latter lets go of his crazy tight grip on the boy.

“This is crazy,” you whisper out.

Despite being absolutely terrified of the scene that had just happened, you wanted to see more.

After a few matches, it was declared Jaehyun had won this time’s match. You actually expected it- seeing how he was slightly more builded than Mark. At the same time, you were disappointed that Mark had lost the match.

The people around you started getting closer, excited by the first match. It was making it hard for you to breathe.

You tap your friend’s shoulder, “I am going to step out for a while,”

“Do you want me to follow?” she asks.

You shake your head, “no, enjoy the rest of the match,”

“Okay, text me if you need anything,” she tells you as you let out a hum and step away from the crowd. You climb the flight of stairs, pushing the tinted glass door open. You take a deep breathe, finally able to breathe fresh air.

You rest your back against the brick walls, fishing out your phone to reply to some texts and scroll through Instagram.

“Hey,”

“Oh, jeez!” you jumped, your hand pressed against your chest, turning to see Mark.

Mark laughs, staring at you in amusement, “weren’t you from inside? I saw you,”

You gulp and nodded, “yeah, yeah I was, I saw you too,”

You scan his features. He had multiple bruises and cuts on his cheekbones and lips. You notice a deep cut on his eyebrow, and a bruise on his neck. You look back up to his eyes.

“Are you okay?” you ask him, pointing to the bruises painting his face.

He chuckles at your question, wiping the blood staining his lips. “Your first time here?”

You nod, your head moving to scan the cuts on his face, “are you going to clean that up?”

“I’m okay,” he reassures you, a small smile playing on his lips, “this is nothing,”

You wince. That was nothing? You would be crying in pain if you had that many cuts and bruises on you.

“Okay,” you whisper.

“I’m Mark,” he says again, “what’s your name, pretty?”

Your face turned a crimson red, “y/n,”

“y/n,” he repeats, the name rolling out of his tongue smoothly, “beautiful name for a beautiful girl,”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his words, “how many times have you used that phrase, Mark?”

Mark was flustered for a moment, but quickly regain his coolness, “well, as of 3 seconds ago… once?”

He laughs when you grimace at his response, shaking your head in astonishment.

“So, what were you doing in an underground boxing, y/n?” he asks you, “you don’t seem like the type to be around this area,”

“My friend has been dying to come to an underground match and she dragged me with her,” you explain.

He hums, “ah, your friend? She really caught Jaehyun’s eye earlier,”

You smirk, knowing your friend definitely has been crushing on Jaehyun too.

“We should set them up!” you say excitedly.

+Day 15

2 weeks later, you were back at the same place. This time, you weren’t forced, you had begged your friend to bring you again. You would go alone but being alone in a place filled with rowdy men scares you. You knew your friend would agree since she wanted to see Jaehyun too.

“You usually don’t like this type of things, why are you suddenly so excited?” your friend asked, grabbing her bag, while you were tugging on her arm.

You bit your lip nervously, knowing the exact reason why, but you refuse to tell her.

***

“You’re back again,” says Mark, looking down at you with a smile plastered on his face.

“Yeah, I just need some break from the chaos at school,” you explain. You were actually doing well in school. Unlike other students, you let out your stress from doing work and projects.

Mark hums as he looks around, “wanna go somewhere quieter?”

“But—” you turn away to find your friend, but she was nowhere to be found.

“She’s talking to Jaehyun,” Mark tells you.

You turn back around, holding your breathe when you see Mark leaning awfully close to your face. When he saw your flustered state, he started smirking, letting out a low chuckle.

“Come,” he says, tugging on your elbow, pulling you out of the crowd. Climbing the familiar stairs, the both of you walked towards an empty playground. The both of you take a seat on the swings.

“It’s kinda scary to be in a playground at night,” you state, looking around the extremely quiet area.

You hear Mark laugh at your statement; you look at him confusingly. “You know what you remind me of?”

You raise your eyebrows.

“A sunflower,” he tells you, making you blush. “Anything with the colour yellow,”

“And why is that Mark?”

He rests his head on the rope of the swings as he stares at you, “You seem like someone who is absolutely cheerful, everyone needs someone like you in their life,”

You smile at his sweet words.

Your eyes gaze on his hands that was wrapped in bandages, blood seeping through them.

“Are your hands okay?” you ask, nodding your chin towards his hands resting on his lap.

He looks down at his hands then back at you, smirking, “why? Did I make you worry?”

You look at him like he was crazy, “of course you did! The guy went pretty hard on you,”

Mark felt embarrassed at that. You came to watch his match twice and he still couldn’t win in front of you.

He looks away from your gaze, “it was nothing,” he murmurs.

You were quiet for a while. You felt guilty for bringing it up, knowing he was already beating himself up for it.

“You did great,” you blurted out, “I came to support you actually,”

“Really?” he chuckles, his gaze still on his shoes.

“Yup, you did so well, I think I should take you out for lunch,” you blurt out without realising. Your eyes widen at what you had just said.

Oh god, why did you say that? Did you have no shame? What if Mark didn’t even feel the same way?

Mark swiftly turns to look at your confused face. Fuck, he just wanted to hug you so bad.

“Are you asking me out on a date?” he asks, an amused grin plastered on his lips.

Oh god.

You quickly face away from the boy who was staring at you with amusement. “N-no,”

He lets out a defeated sigh, “damn, really? I was hoping it would be a date,”

Oh fuck, he was smooth.

“Shouldn’t you be asking me out on a date?” you huff.

“Do you want me to ask you out on a date?”

“No! I mean—”

“Y/N, will you go on a date with me?”

+Day 17

The date was originally scheduled in 5 days but Mark was too excited and had asked you to meet slightly earlier, to which you agreed.

This time, Mark wasn’t in a tank top and shorts, he didn’t have cuts on his face or bloody hands wrapped in bandages. He was dressed in a button up and black skinny jeans.

He’s so adorable.

“What,”

“What?” you look at him weirdly.

“You keep staring at me,” he points out, “do I have something on my face? Or am I too handsome?”

You grimace at his words and threw a fry at him, giggles leaving your lips.

Mark wanted to take you out on a proper expensive date, but he was also a broke college student— just like you. He felt bad about not being able to take you out on a proper date, but you had reassured him that you’d rather eat McDonalds kids meal than eat a $50 meal that is the size of a pea.

“You know,” you start, leaning back on the chair, “If I saw you for the first time, I wouldn’t believe it if you told me you were a boxer,”

“Why?”

You shrug, “you look like a baby to me,” you tell him, “just wanna pinch your cheeks,”

He scoffs, puffing out his chest, “I may look like a baby, but I fight like a man,”

+Day 23

Mark: hey are you coming later

You: where?

Mark: my match you loser

You: I don’t think so :(

You: i have a bunch of work to do :((

Mark: :(

Mark: oky then :/ make sure you rest enough

You: I will :) don’t worry haha

+Day 25

“I didn’t know Mark had many girl friends,” your friend says.

You raise your eyebrows at that. The both of you weren’t official yet, only at the talking stage. He has never mentioned his friends or his family, but the information had your suspicions growing.

You pretend to not be affected by the words, “how’d you know?”

“You know the day you couldn’t come for his match?” you hum, “I think he invited some girls because they were all hugging and talking,”

You would be lying if you weren’t heartbroken by your friend’s words. However, you have no rights stopping him from seeing his friends. The both of you weren’t a couple.

“Aren’t you guys a couple?”

“No,” you answer with a sharp tone, “it’s his life he can do whatever he wants.”

“You’re not fazed by it?”

“Why would I be?” you murmur, “he’s not mine to begin with.”

+Day 35

Mark: hey :)

Mark: it’s been a while

Mark: I miss you

You: I knw haha

Mark: are you coming for my match tomorrow night?

Mark: no no you have to come tomorrow!!

Mark: ok?

You: hahahah

You: I will oky

You: im finished with my work & all so why not haha

You: but I need you to come get me hehe

You: my friend wont be following so its just me :3

Mark: that’s great!!!

Mark: I’ll send u home too ok

You: oky Markie :3

+Day 36

You had your hands resting on Mark’s face, cleaning up his bloody face. Mark had lost this time round; his opponent was three times your size and had beat Mark down like a pipe.

“I don’t even know why I support you doing this,” you mumble, wiping the blood running down his face, “you make me worry too much,”

“I’m okay.”

You glare up at him. “If you think this is okay then I don’t what’s your definition of the opposite.”

He frowns at you but didn’t say a word.

It took you a good 30 minutes to clean up all of his wounds. You lean away from him, “make sure you rest for a week,”

He hums, staring at you, “thank you,”

You felt bad for being so harsh on him. You reach for his hands, holding it in yours, your thumb stroking the back of his hand.

“Can you take me home now? I’m tired,” you sigh.

Throughout the ride home, you had one of Mark’s hand resting on your lap. You didn’t let go for a second, loving the warm feeling of his hand clasped in yours. Before you knew it, his car stopped infront of your apartment building.

You pout, turning to face him., “I don’t wanna leave yet,”

“Me neither,” he chuckles, “don’t go,”

You lips break into a grin, “you loser,”

He hums.

You unlock the door, ready to open the car door but Marks tug on your hands. You face him. He lifts his free hands, his pointer finger tapping on his cheek.

You snicker at his actions, your pointer and middle finger pushing his cheek away. You stick your tongue out when he pouts at you. You open the car door and left the car, shutting it, turning to face the boy who was still pouting.

“Thanks for today,” you say, “make sure you rest for a week before you start working again,” you reminded him.

Upset that you didn’t kiss him, Mark clicked his tongue and gestured for you to go in.

+Day 40

Your eyebrows furrow when you saw the pictures Mark was tagged in Jaehyun’s photo. You knew this photo was recent from the evident bruises on Mark’s face.

You had already warned him to completely heal for a week before going back to work but why was he so stubborn?

The girls who was surrounding the guy you like didn’t go unnoticed by you. You noticed how he had his arms snake around both girl’s waist.

Shutting your eyes close, you let out a frustrated sigh.

“Is this from today?” you ask your friend, showing her your phone.

Your friend takes a look and nods without hesitation.

A loud and angry groan left your lips. Getting up from the couch, you stomped to your bedroom, shutting the door as you climbed in bed.

God, why was liking a boy so hard?

Tears started rolling down your cheeks. You were so frustrated with Mark. You liked him so much that you hated seeing him being hurt— even if it was something he loves doing.

It wasn’t the first time he was seen surrounded by girls. Although the both of you weren’t in an official relationship, you didn’t enjoy seeing him touching girls. Maybe you were being dramatic with the girls, but did you really want to date someone like him? Someone who could potentially be taken away in a flash?

You sit up, rubbing your eyes with a deep sigh. Everyone deserves a chance, even if he had hurt you.

You turn on your phone to send Mark a text.

You: you went to work today?

It took him less than a minute to respond.

Mark: how’d you know?

You: jaehyun’s Instagram

You: I thought I told you to rest?

Mark: sorry :( it was just a last minute match

You: hm

Mark: but on the bright side, I won this time!

Right. Of course he would win the match when you’re not there to support him.

You: was it fun?

Mark: yeah! Our friends came to support us

You: ohh who?

Mark: just some ex-school friends, you don’t know them haha

You: okay hha

Mark: you’re not angr right? Haha

Mark: angry*

You: no why would I be

You: you’re not my boyfriend so I have no right to be

You: mad

+Day 58

“Hey,” Mark sends you a bitter smile, “you okay? Been a whole year since we last saw each other,”

“It’s been 2 weeks, Mark,” you reply dryly.

Mark pouts and takes a seat next to you, “two weeks too long~”

He leans his head on your shoulder as his gaze on your phone. You turn to him slightly, offering your bubble tea to the male who happily accepts. He rests his hand on the plastic cup and your hand holding the cup, pulling it towards his lips.

You giggle, “you’re so cute, Mark.”

He squints his eyes cutely at you as he continues sipping on your drink. You didn’t complain, you love seeing him all happy.

You clear your throat, earning his attention, “I want to ask you something,”

He tilts his chin upwards, “what’s up?”

You try to think of a way to phrase your words together without sounding possessive.

Mark notices your furrowed eyebrows, he cracks a grin and nudges you with his shoulder, “don’t be so serious, what’s up?”

“Are you going to introduce me to your friends?” you blurted out.

Mark fell silent at your question. He wasn’t annoyed or anything— not at all, he couldn’t ever be mad at you. But it was just so sudden, where was this all coming from?

“I mean- you don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” you explain, “it’s not like I want to,” you laugh awkwardly, looking away from the male.

“N-no,” he stutters out, “it was just so sudden, where is this coming from?”

“I’m sorry,”

“Do you want to meet my friends?” he asks.

“I’m not forcing you,” you state, “it’s just a question- it’s not important,” you mumble the last part.

He let out a chuckle, “I want you to meet my friends,” he says, “but, they just…”

You purse your lips, already expecting the answer. Of course he won’t introduce you to his female friends. It would be a lie if you said you weren’t disappointed, but you couldn’t do anything. you can’t force him into doing something he doesn’t want to.

“I’m sorry,” he sounded sincere, too sincere. It’s weird.

You feign a smile, “It’s okay, but I have to go now,”

He frowns, watching you stand up to grab your bag, “already?”

You nod, “I’ll see you when I see you, I guess,”

Before he could even hug you goodbye, you had already left the bubble tea shop.

+Day 62

You had this habit of overworking yourself whenever you were down. You had drowned yourself in projects and work. The incident that happened a few days ago has left your mind, especially when he hasn’t sent you a single text.

“Hey,” your friend called, you hum in response, although your gaze was still glued on your laptop. “Have you been talking to Mark lately?”

Your fingers freeze at his name. Suddenly you were furious just by hearing his name.

“Why?” you reply crudely.

“He’s been asking me about you. Did something happen?” your friend asks, worried about you.

He’s been asking about you? So he has been thinking about you this whole time? Your heart fluttered a little at the thought. You genuinely liked Mark and it sucked that the both of you were already having arguments even before being a couple.

You bit your lip, turning around to look at your friend, “what did he say?”

Your friend passes you her phone, showing the text message between the two.

Mark: hey, im sorry if im disturbing you but

Mark: is y/n okay?

Mark: we haven’t been texting lately and I thought she needed space so i gave her that

Mark: I just want to know if she’s okay? If shes eating healthily?

Your lips tugged upwards at the text. God, he was so cute. You scroll down a little more to read more texts.

Mark: could you update me everyday on how she’s doing?

Mark: I miss her :/

“He really likes you, you know,” your friend says abruptly.

You pass her phone back, looking up at her.

“I know I’m not officially his and I have no right on stopping him who he should hang out with,” you explain, “but it upsets me seeing how he’s being surrounded by girls every single night,”

Your friend places her hand on your shoulder, her thumb caressing your shoulder comfortingly, “you should talk to him about it.”

She was right. Communication is key. You can’t keep it a secret forever. If it upsets you, then you should voice out.

You were going to talk to him about it.

+Day 67

You were at the underground boxing area again. Mark had texted you to come and support him. You were going to talk to him about it today. After his match. This was the only way that was going to make you feel better.

This time, you were standing near the wall, furthest from the boxing ring. Mark had warned you to stay here because of all the rowdy men crowding the area.

“With your petite size, you are just going to be stepped on,” he had said.

You locked eyes with Mark who was standing in the ring. You automatically grin at him. Mark struggled to keep a straight face after seeing your adorable smile.

‘Good luck!’ you mouth, lifting your hands to show a thumbs up, then sending a heart to the male.

Mark’s heart flutter just by looking at you. He looks away to keep a straight face. Soon, the match started.

“Hi,”

You swiftly turned to see a handsome male standing next to you. You send him a polite smile before turning back to look at Mark.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“I’m just here to support a friend,” you say plainly, your eyes gazing on Mark intently.

“I see,” the man says, “I’m Yuta,”

Does he ever stop talking? You hum, hoping it would stop him from talking to you.

“What’s your name?”

You wanted to roll your eyes at his question. You face the man, “I’m y/n,”

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” he flirts, winking at you. You grimace at his words. “You’re really pretty,”

You didn’t respond, irked by his presence.

“Do you hate talking or something?” he asks you. He rolls his eyes when you didn’t reply. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No, I don’t, Yuta,” you sigh.

“Then? Do you hate me or something? Do you hate someone you’ve never met?” he asks you, leaning closer to you.

Unbeknownst to you, Mark saw you talking to the male and was distracted by it, which resulted in him getting punched in the jaw by his opponent.

Loud gasps and whistles filled the room.

You quickly turn to see Mark laying on the ground, getting stepped on by his opponent. Your hands went up to your mouth, watching in horror. Once his opponent was pulled away, you ran to find Mark, but was stopped by Yuta grasping your arm.

“Let go of me!” you shrieked, pushing his arm away, running to find Mark.

You see Mark in the room, holding his jaw painfully while Jaehyun helped him bandage his hand.

“Mark!” you call, running up to him. You instantly hold onto his elbow, scanning his face that was littered with bruises. He had a black eye too.

Mark meets your worried gaze. His eyes held something different— anger and annoyance.

“Are you okay? Are you badly hurt anywhere?” you ask.

The male suddenly pushes your grip off him, looking away from you. Your eyes widen at his actions.

Did you do something wrong?

You look at Jaehyun, hoping he would signal you something— anything. But he only looked away from you guiltily. You frown at the both of them.

“Mark?” he ignores your voice.

You felt your heart clench painfully. You didn’t know what you did wrong for him to treat you this way. A disappointed sigh left your lips as you turn around, leaving the underground boxing match.

You rest your back against the brick walls, you felt tears trail down your cheeks. You came here with Mark and was expecting him to drive you home, so you didn’t bring any money with you.

“Fuck,” you whisper, your fingers wiping the stray tears.

You fish out your phone, unlocking it but only to see a black screen. You harshly pressed on the button multiple times but it wouldn’t turn on. Great, your phone must’ve died. You look around, trying to find someone who could help you out.

“Are you going to get in?” a deep voice says.

You look up to see Mark standing next to his car.

+++++

A shaky sigh left your lips, brushing away the tears that wouldn’t stop leaving your eyes. You look out the window, hoping it would distract you. Another tear rolled down your cheeks.

“Stop crying,” Mark murmurs.

You wanted to scoff at that. How ironic, especially when he was the one who made you cry.

“I’m fucking trying,” you say through gritted teeth.

The car comes to a halt as you see your apartment building outside. However, you didn’t leave his car.

“Did I do something?” you ask. You have been dying to ask the question ever since.

He rolls his eyes, “I don’t know y/n, did you?” he responds sarcastically.

“Can you stop that?!” you shout, turning your body to face him, “Just tell me what I did so I can fucking apologize!”

He scoffs at your words, “who was that man? Openly flirting while I was in a match?”

Your brows knit in confusion. Is he being serious?

“Firstly, I don’t know who the hell that man was, and I was definitely not flirting with him,” you explain, “and secondly, you’re not my boyfriend. So, even if I wanted to flirt, I am allowed to.”

This relationship was starting to get confusing.

“We are in the talking stage!” he shouts, “technically you are mine.”

You laugh at that, “really? I can’t flirt with anyone but you’re out here hugging and touching random girls!”

He becomes quiet, looking away from your intense gaze.

You push your hair back, frustrated. “what now, Mark?”

He looks down at his lap, playing with his fingers. He felt like crying— he never cries. “I don’t think this is working out,” he whispers, voice cracking. “I think we should stop seeing each other,”

You feel your lips tremble, tears threatening to fall again. You close your eyes, the tears falling down your cheeks. Your hands clenched into fists, hoping it would stop you from letting out sobs.

“Okay,” you mutter, “I’m going to go,”

When you reached your apartment, your hand immediately rests on the wall, steadying your balance. You couldn’t even breathe properly as you let out loud sobs. Your heart was beating rapidly from your unsteady breathing.

You felt like you were going to die. You didn’t expect this to hurt so much.

You are going to get through this. You will get through this.

+Day 83

It has been a few weeks since you had last seen Mark. You had spent most of your time in your room crying your eyes out. If it wasn’t that, you would be sobbing on the couch while your friend would try her best to comfort you.

You didn’t have the energy or appetite to eat. Your friend always made you drink lots of water and would sometimes make a sandwich for you.

Your friend had secretly sent text updates to Mark, but he would just ignore them. He was hurting as much as you were. Just by hearing your name, his heart would clench painfully. Mark had spent most of his time at the ring, taking out his frustration by throwing punches and kicks.

You were washing the dishes since your friend had left to support Jaehyun in the underground match. She had invited you to come with her, but you’d rather stay home, knowing Mark would probably be there.

Your phone started ringing. You let out an annoyed sigh, quickly putting the plate on the rack, then walking over to grab your phone. You answer the call.

“What?” you sigh, “I’m busy cleaning, you know?”

“y/n,” your friend breathes heavily. This was weird. “Can you come here?”

Your eyebrows knit in confusion, “what? Why? What happened?”

“Mark passed out,” she tells you.

Your eyes widen, “w-what?”

“He’s going to be sent to the hospital, you need to come, now,”

+++++

“What room is he in? Is he okay?” you ask, looking at your friend and Jaehyun with wary eyes.

“He’s okay,” Jaehyun says, “he’s in the room,” he nods towards the door.

You had tears threatening to leave your eyes. You couldn’t help but let the tears fall. You felt your body grow weak, you squat down, covering your face with your arms as you let out loud sobs.

It was all your fault. If you hadn’t taken care of him more often, none of this would’ve happened.

Your friend frowns at your state. She bends down and pat your back comfortingly. “Go in,” she persuades, “he has been dying to see you,”

You lift your head to look at her, a small pout on your lips. Your friend wipes your tears with her thumb, smiling at you.

Letting out a soft sigh, you stand up, smoothing your hair and your pants. Walking towards the door, you knock softly before sliding the door open. Mark tilts his head, seeing you walk in quietly with your lips pursed.

He didn’t know what to do. Should he send you a smile? Should he act cold?

When you got closer to him, you scan the state he was in. He had his forehead bandage and his arm in a cast. His lips were busted, a plaster on the bridge of his nose.

“Hey,” you say, voice still raspy from the crying earlier, “what happened?”

He clears his throat and looks away from you. He feels bad making you worried. But at the same time, he didn’t expect you to be here.

“Just a few bruises here and there,” he says.

“Mark.”

“It’s nothing, really!” he exclaims.

You glare at him, “fuck you,” you spit. “I came down here because everyone was so worried about you. I was so worried about you. And now that I’m here, you’re going to tell me it’s nothing?”

Mark was unbelievable. God, why do you like him so much?

His eyes soften at your words. He bit his lip nervously, intimidated by you, he slowly looks up at you, “I just don’t want to worry you,”

You scoff, “your job already worries me, Mark.”

He pouts without even realising. He looks down at his lap guiltily, playing with his fingers.

You felt bad for shouting at him. Letting out a huff, you amble closer.

“You’re okay now, right?” you ask him.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, his gaze glued on his lap.

A pregnant silence fills you two, unsure of what to say to each other. You didn’t want to leave, and Mark doesn’t want you to leave. You bit your lips awkwardly as you look everywhere but Mark.

“I think I’ll leave now,” you say, “I have work to do and I don’t want to… disturb you,”

You stare at him, waiting for him to say something. Anything. disappointment fills you when Mark looks away from your gaze. You turn around, ready to leave the room when Mark calls your name.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, “that day,”

You stop in your tracks, your back facing him. Your grip tightens on your sweatpants.

“Mean what?” you repeat, “you suggested it, Mark,”

“I know,” he breathes, “I regret it,”

You missed Mark. You missed his dumb jokes and his annoying laughter which you loved so much. You turn around to look at him.

“I don’t like seeing you this way, Mark,” you confess, “your job scares me, it worries me,”

“What can I do to make you not worry, y/n?” he asks, eyes widening, “should I stop doing it?”

“That’s not what I meant,” you reply harshly, “if you would actually let me stay by your side, it might ease my worries,”

You step closer to the boy, your hand resting on his cheek. He subconsciously lean against your soft hand.

“I’m sorry for what I said the other day,” he professes, “I..I didn’t mean what I said,”

You take a seat on the chair that was next to his bed, holding onto his hands tightly. “Then, why would you say that Mark?”

“I just—“ he sighs, “I just didn’t want to lose you to someone else, y/n,” he explains, looking up at you, “we weren’t even dating yet! I just knew that I genuinely like you.”

Your heart clench at his words. “I didn’t like seeing you with other girls either,”

“I know,” he huffs, his free hand going up to ruffle his mop of black hair, “I was just stupid,”

Your thumb strokes his hand comfortingly, “It’s okay. It’s all over now,”

“I don’t want to deal with this anymore,” he tells you, “all this, jealousy and possessiveness.”

Is he going to…?

“I have been dying to ask you this question for the longest time,” he continues, “would you like to be my girlfriend?”

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uwuwriting · 4 years ago

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Bad day for the pros w/ Bakugou, Shinsou and Todoroki

Request: May I ask for some headcanons of pro hero Bakugou, pro hero Shinso and pro hero Shoto, they had a very very bad day at work, some heavy stuff happened and it was their fault, but fear not! y/n is here to save the day with love, good cooking and cuddles to be their hero. (Fem reader if possible)- anonymous

I haven’t written for Shinsou in a while, same goes for Bakugou. Shoto is baby, I can never go for too long without writing for him. My midterms are coming up so I won’t be posting next week at all, I’m stressed and depressed and whenever I think that in June I’ll be taking my university entrance exams I wanna wretch. So yeah life is going great. Love ya.💖💖💖

masterlist II rules

warnings: tired babies, fluff, some angst, self doubt.

Bakugou Katsuki

-People really have no chill and poor baby is barely keeping it together.

-He’s minutes away from committing mass murder and man slaughter.

-It’s common knowledge that he has no patience whatsoever and people today seemed to be testing his control.

-But alas finally this awful day was over and he could go back to your shared apartment and relax, eat something and sleep.

-Stepping into the apartment he dropped his duffel bag with a loud thud letting out a sigh as he slowly peeled off his jacket and slipped into his slippers.

- “Katsu?”

-Your sweet voice rang through the halls, your head peeking out from the corner eyes landing on his slumped shoulders and tense features.

-Wordlessly you gently grabbed his hand and guided him into your bedroom.

-Passing him a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie you pushed him into the bathroom where the tub was already filled with steaming hot water.

- “Dinner is almost ready, take your bath and I’ll be waiting.”

-Giving him one last kiss on the lips you exited the bathroom.

-Almost 20 minutes later he came into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around your waist as you stirred the soup.

- “Bad day baby?”

-He only answered with a grunt as he buried his face in the crook of your neck nuzzling his nose in your hair.

-Mumbling something under his breath you let out a chuckle as you gave him a plate and guided him to the living room couch.

-Settling down next to him you kissed him again before digging in.

-Soon enough you were cuddling on the couch, his head on your chest and your hands intertwined.

-You’re running your fingers through his spiky hair, smoothing down the knots as he goes on and on about his awful day.

-People really were pushing his buttons today.

- “You wanna go to bed then?”

- “But it’s early for you.”

-Shrugging you got up taking him with you.

-Once in bed you cuddled again with you being the big spoon since your mans needs some well deserved comfort.

-“No matter how bad your day is I’ll always be here for you.”

- “I know shitty woman.”

- “Awww I love you too.”

Shinsou Hitoshi

-He was tired of people doubting his motives.

-Really it was getting old.

-The mocking and the lingering fear even after five years in the hero industry.

-His agency had booked another meet and greet so they could do some damage control with the hate Hitoshi was getting and of course he couldn’t bring you along.

-He was kinda jealous of your day off.

-Jealous because he wished he could spend time with you and Mochi rather than deal with random strangers changing sidewalks during his patrol.

-He was exhausted as he stepped into your shared apartment that night, Mochi sprawled on the hallway carpet waiting for his other owner.

-Awaiting for his belly rubs with open paws, Mochi ignored the dark aura his master was emanating , or he just chose to ignore it.

- “Didn’t Y/N give you belly rubs? I bet you have been taking my place all day mister.”

- “You know he can’t replace you, love.”

-He looked up only to be met with your dazzling smile and bright eyes although he could see the faint signs of sleepiness clinging to your eyelids.

-He could feel your eyes inspecting him and soon enough he would be kissed and pushed towards the bathroom for a much needed shower because you would see how tired and drained he was.

-He could never get away.

-It was a power you had since high school and try as he might he could never hide his fatigue.

-Before he knew it he was up on his feet, capture tool placed on the hanger near the door and slippers on his feet, a kiss on each cheek and one lingering one on the lips.

-Soon he was soaking in the tub with you behind him massaging his scalp with that special lavender shampoo while humming a soft tune.

-It always amazed him how you could calm him without using words and if he was being honest he wanted to keep it that way, the silence was always nice and he loved basking in your presence but today he really needed to be reassured.

- “Why do you stay with me?”

-Your movements stilled at his words and he could feel your eyes widening.

- “It’s bad publicity for you, you’ve been held back on hero ratings because people believe that you are conspiring with me in some master plan.” he sighed before continuing leaving you no space to speak. “You could have anyone you want. It would make your life 100 times easier if I wasn’t in it.”

-You would have never guessed that those thoughts were running through his head when he walked through the door moments earlier.

-Hugging him closely to your chest you finally spoke.

- “I fell in love with you and you alone. I would never leave you because some pompous asshats keep saying that you are a villain. Hero rankings can go suck it for all I care along with anyone who wants to call you a monster.” Turning around so now you were straddling his lap you cupped his cheeks connecting your foreheads. “I love you with all my heart ‘Toshi, don’t ever forget it.”

-You might be a witch putting him under a spell with your sweet words.

-He believed you and with that he relaxed in your grip, hugging you like his life depended on it because in his eyes, it did.

Todoroki Shoto

-He couldn’t even count how many times he was told he looked like his father today.

-He couldn’t begin to describe how gut wrenching those comments were.

-One would believe that being compared to the retired n.1 would be a big fit for an upcoming hero but not for Shoto.

-The first thought that always runs through his head when those words are heard is his mother.

-The fear in her eyes and how much she hated his left side, to the point of scarring him for life.

-He begins to wonder if you too look at him with such disgust and hatred from time to time.

-He knew of your dislike towards his father since you two were in high school and he finally shared his past with you.

-This undying dislike carried on into your adult life even after multiple family dinners and warm, friendly exchanges with Endeavor.

-Did you also think he was like his father?

-Did you see Endeavor when he walked inside your shared apartment at night?

-He got home before you or at least that's what he remembers.

-You found him with his head resting in his hands and back pressed against the hallway’s wall when you returned from your patrol.

-At first you thought that he was hurt but after he didn’t answer to your fifth call of his name you knew it was more of a mental struggle.

-Crouching down to his level you slowly pried his hands from his face, giving him a smile once his eyes came into view.

-Cupping his cheeks, you brushed your fingers over his scar once, twice before leaning in and giving him a little peck on the nose, then on his forehead, then on each cheek, on his scar and last on his lips.

- “Sho my love, what’s wrong?”

-Your hand was now running through his hair, untangling the soft locks of white as your other still lay on his other cheek, your thumb making small smooth circles on his scar.

- “Do you see me as Endeavor?”

-Taking in a sharp breath you stopped your ministrations for a moment before shuffling closer to him and raising his chin so he would finally meet your eyes.

- “I see Shoto when I look at you. I see the shy boy who wouldn’t sit next to me during movie night in our first year so he wouldn’t make me uncomfortable. I see the boy who overcame his fears and used his quirk. I see the pro hero who has saved hundreds of lives in the three years he has been in the industry. I see the man I’m in love with. So no, I don’t see Endeavor.”

-He looked at you then, really looked at you.

-You were smiling at him, one of your sweet as honey smiles while your eyes almost sparkled as they were locked with his.

-In one swift movement he wrapped his arms around you, bringing you flush to his chest a thousand I love you’s leaving his lips as he kissed senseless.

- “Now would you like some takeout soba from that place you like or homemade soba with my lovely cooking.”

- “I wanna actually eat so takeout.”

- *le gasp*

TAG TEAM AY:

@the-arcana-fan-fic @angelwritings @axerrri @reinyrei @storage11037 @dnarez @wolfkid22 @letscheereachotheron @ezoyscorner @dark-thoughts-and-red-roses @threeamwriting

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adorethedistance · 4 years ago

Text

READING MY BOYFRIEND’S FANFICTION?? - Owen Joyner x Influencer!Reader

JATP masterlist

Requested: OMGGG!! Could you do a an Owen fic based around his girlfriend being an armature youtuber/social media influencer (shes also an actress and they met on set and have been dating for a while) and it’s “reading/reacting to my boyfriend’s fanfiction” ? You can do whatever you want with the fanfic part it’s just a concept that has been running around in my head for a while. LOVE ALL YOUR WORK!!

Warnings: swearing, allusions to sex, very mild

Words: 1460

A/N: A fic?? From Ace?? Hi. I’m off spring break officially and so my stress has dissipated immensely. School was becoming so much these last two weeks and I thought I’d be stressed or worried, but I’m actually fine? It’s weird lol so I decided I could be productive with my stress-free moment and post a little fic for y’all. I love this prompt, and before any of you writers panic, I’m using my own fics for the fanfictions because I wouldn’t want to put y’all on the spot like that. Also this is my 3000 post! thought that was cool lol

“Do you wanna do the intro?”

“I think I have to do the intro.”

“Okay, go for it.”

“Alright,” Owen sighs out a heavy breath in exaggerated preparation for my (some would say lengthy) intro. “Hello, hi. Yes, okay, this is Y/n Y/l/n vlogs, welcome or welcome back to my channel!” Once Owen finishes his statement I’m so stunned I can’t generate any sort of response other than a slacked jaw semi smile.

“That was not even close. Do you know my intro?”

“I got the first part right!”

“You’ve lost intro privileges,” I turn back to the mess of lights and tripods in front of me and ignore the disaster of an intro Owen offered. “Oh, hello, hi! I am Y/n and this is: Reading My Boyfriend’s Fanfiction!”

“That’s basically what I did.”

“No, it is not! It’s ‘oh, hello, hi. I am ‘name’ and this is: ‘title of video’.”

“You don’t ‘welcome to my channel’?” Owen’s voice has dropped to a hushed volume as he genuinely inquires about the segments of my usual introduction.

“I do not.”

“Don’t use any of this,” he pleads when making direct eye contact with the camera. “Mister Sid. Editing Sid, please don’t embarrass me.” His pleas fall on deaf ears, knowing that I’ll be using the footage in full.

“Anyways. Butchered intro aside, I am Y/n and today I am here with my lovely “So Many Stars” costar and scene partner, Owen Joyner!”

“I’m also your boyfriend.”

“That too,” I give Owen’s pointed comment a soft place to land, “So, yesterday--it was actually like, two weeks ago, I don’t know why I said yesterday--a little while back, I came across a tweet telling me someone had written a fanfic about us-”

“Did you read it?”

“On Wattpad. Of course, I read it. There are only three chapters up right now and they’re all in the 2-3k range so it was a quick read.”

“2-3k?”

“Words,” I reply nonchalantly as I unlock my phone. I bookmarked a few one-shots beforehand for us to read, and I’m slightly cocky about my selections. Owen then responds with an outburst of shock.

“2-3 thousand words is a short read?” I merely give him a blank stare.

“Judging by that reaction, Owen hasn’t read any fanfics in his life.”

“Is that not long to you- That’s what she said.” Owen cuts me off with his own stupid joke and I briefly sigh before answering.

“No, that isn’t long. Baby, I’m here for that 130k slow burn enemies to lovers on AO3 with the ‘only one bed’ and ‘locked in a closet’ tropes.”

“The what?”

“Oh, we have so much to catch you up on.”

__________________________

“So I saved three fics, an angst, a fluff, and a smut. Which do you want to read?”

“Wait, what does that mean?”

“Oh my- okay. Angst is the sad shit, it’s what you read when you need your heartbroken and a good cry. Smut is pretty much in the name, it’s explicit content that will undoubtedly get this video demonetized, but that’s okay because we do have a sponsor. And fluff is the cute moments, domestic and sometimes mundane romance that makes you smile like an idiot and put the device down to screech into a pillow.” Throughout my whole explanation, I can tell Owen was becoming more and more lost, so I opt to give him a few moments to collect his thoughts.

“Let’s start with the fluff just to ease into things.”

“Smart choice. This fic I have saved is called ‘Baby Fever’ and the summary says ‘you and Owen spend a day at the zoo babysitting Baby Shada, and her presence sparks conversation about adding a new presence of your very own’.”

“That sounds so ominous.”

“Here, I’ll read the narration and reader’s POV, and then you’ll read your own dialogue.” Owen nods and leans over my right shoulder to read off of my computer screen.

“You actually start the fic.”

“‘You ready, little one?’” The instantaneous actor mode Owen slips into has me howling with laughter at which he looks at me confused. My gasping for air makes Owen laugh empathetically despite still being unsure as to what’s killing me at the moment.

“Why are you laughing?!” He yells, dramatically shaking my shoulder.

“Just the way you jumped into that, I wasn’t prepared for you to turn on the acting charm. Okay, uhhhh, ‘I bite back a laugh when I hear Owen’s voice coo from the back seat’.”

The two of us go back and forth between reading the narrative, bouts of laughter, commentary on the accuracy of Owen’s character, and we finally manage to finish the 2.5k fic in about forty minutes.

“‘When he looks up from CJ’s tiny body and recognizes the familiar ‘baby fever’ look in my eyes, he smiles and utters a simple-’.”

“‘I told you so.’”

“That was cute! I like the tie-in of having us watching over Baby Shada- or, sorry, you and ‘y/n’ watching over Baby Shada.”

“They wrote me kinda funny, I don’t think I’d ever fabricate a life to make conversation with a stranger due to baby fever.” My jaw drops slightly and before Owen can respond to my reaction, I cry,

“That is such a lie!”

“What?”

“You absolutely would do something like that, are you kidding me?!”

“No, I would not!” Owen punctuates every word with the utmost offense. He has the same look in his eye as when he was proving himself to be the cleanest phantom of the three on the Sunset Drive podcast.

“You literally told the guy at Home Depot yesterday that we were buying plants for our child’s nursery!”

“Okay, that’s different-”

“How is that different? That’s the exact same thing as fanfic you!” Owen’s furrowed brow and dropped jaw are a sight to be seen as he leans away from me, bending at the waist to stare at me with defiance. I raise my eyebrows pointedly as I await a response. Instead of actually producing a response, Owen lunges forward, grabbing my waist in his hands and squeezing gently. The feeling makes me screech and gasp of laughter from surprise and also being ticklish.

“Owen! Owe-STOP, I’m gonna drop my laptop!” I manage to say through my laughter and with one final grab, he releases me from his hold. It takes a minute for my laughter to settle but once I do, the two of us are simply breathing heavy and staring at one another with giddy smiles on our faces. In a moment’s clarity, I turn to look into the camera lens to talk directly to my editor,

“Sid, don’t use any of this. And please don’t cut to this after we finish reading to make it look like- things were happening.”

“Actually, I think you should, Sid. Just cut to right there and make the world think we-”

“OKAY, thanks for watching, bye!” I quickly stop the recording before Owen says something we’re unable to recover from. I hear him laugh gently behind me as I set my laptop down on the coffee table behind the tripod. Coming back to the couch, I move to plop down but before landing successfully on the cushion next to my phone, Owen grabs my body and moves me to sit on top of him.

“You are crazy, you know that?”

“Hmm. Crazy for you, maybe.” His cheesy line makes me scoff but smile nonetheless. I reach my right hand up to caress the side of his face as we sit cheek to cheek.

“Remind me to never film with you again.” The gesture is sweet and the sentiment is not which makes Owen laugh and he presses a soft kiss to my cheek. I lean back into him so my back is pressed flush with his chest as he lazily wraps both arms around me.

“You say that now but you’ll regret it when you wanna do a ‘boyfriend does my makeup’ challenge video.”

“Nah. I’ll just call Charlie to-” Without allowing me to finish my sentence, Owen is digging his fingertips back into the tissue of my sides and I squeal with laughter once more. This time the torment is short-lived and Owen releases me after a sweet, reconciling kiss. “Do you have baby fever now?”

“It was cute and all, but not really, no.”

“That’s too bad,” I stand up from my spot on his lap to grab my computer and hold it to my chest, “I was gonna say we could practice some baby-making.”

And with that, I turned on the balls of my feet, heading for my bedroom when I heard Owen stand up eagerly, quick to follow.

***

Taglist: @caitsymichelle13 @kaitlyn2907 @itz-jas @crybabyddl @kcd15 @kinda-really-lost @calamitykaty @morganayennefertyrell@n0wornever @dream-a-little-bigger-x @mrstodorooki@vicesvsvirturesfanfic @curlybrownhairedboys @amazinggracy @kaitieskidmore1 @asdfghjkl-fanfics @ghostlygreenbean @juliefromaustralia @merceret @jemimah-b99 @ifilwtmfc @thesweetestsinner @imsydneywalker @lovesanimals @thebloodthirstyvampress @bumbleberry-pie @losers-club6 @tefilovesreading @dmcfarland1@joynerxmercer @kexrtiz @talk-on-the-street @phantompogues @konciousdreamer @sunsetcurvej @warmnesss0ul

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inhum3n · 3 years ago

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Maladaptive daydreaming and fanfiction

Ya’ll. We’re here finally on a topic that has been on my mind for almost a month. Lets dive in.

You can tell I'm passionate about this shit because I actually wrote this post first on a doc. Than copied it over. Anyways lets dive in.

Maybe I'm extrapolating but I believe many MaDDers are familiar with fanfiction. And I mean if you're on tumblr then yeah duh you know fanfiction. But just in case, fanfiction is a written work based off an established universe like a tv show, book series, or movie. It can also take from the real world, like using celebrities. People write fanfiction for a lot of reasons, maybe because they wanna write some horny shit, or they want to rewrite the bad ending to a tv show they used to like, or they use it as a therapeutic outlet.

I wanna talk about the experience of MaDDers who are consumers of fanfiction. I can't speak for MaDDers who write fanfiction, a part of me doubts how easily a MaDDer could write a whole ass fanfiction, since I've seen MaDDers joke about how hard it is for them to write about their paracosms.

I've gone through periods binging and then dropping fanfiction. I am in a binging period right now. I read a lot of fanfiction. And I cannot deny how closely tied it is to my daydreaming. I only read fanfiction relevant to my current paracosms. So if I'm currently occupying a paracosm about marvel characters, all the fanfiction I read will be marvel based. If I start reading fanfiction from a different fandom that usually denotes either the beginning of a transition into a new paracosm or just a temporary deviation. Since the fanfiction I read is tied to my paracosms, fanfiction serves as a fueling agent, inspiration, and/or another form of daydreaming. I'll break each of these down.

Fueling Agent: I talked about this before, but a reason why daydreaming is so consuming is partly due to the prep/refueling phase. This is a 1 to 2 hour period where I consume content that'll give me that emotional jolt(motivation, excitement) to daydream. It's much more fun to go into a daydream out of eagerness rather than apathy and being dragged in. So if my current paracosm is marvel based, I would watch clips from marvel movies, look at marvel fanart, or read marvel fanfiction. Reading is an emotional experience, so fanfiction works well to reinvigorate my attachment and interest in my paracosms. I may write more in depth about his fueling thing in another post. I'd be interested to hear if you guys do this as well.

Inspiration: This is closely tied to the previous reason. There are so many talented and creative fanfic writers, who write such wonderful alternate universes with great scenes. Specific scenes or alternate universe themes can be very inspiring. And its not uncommon that after finishing a fanfiction of a certain AU to make a variant paracosm(a paracosm that’s similar to my current one but in a different setting - same characters though just a change of scenery) made similarly to that fic.

Fanfiction as a conduit of daydreaming: This one may be more confusing. The way I see it is daydreaming is a form of escapism into an alternate universe, and reading is well, the same. Especially since - and I cannot stress this enough - the fanfiction I read is directly connected to and contains the same characters that I am currently using as paras. And because of this close connection, fanfiction is extremely addicting. The daydreaming is addicting why wouldn't a conduit of it be as well? There's this urge and draw to immediately head off to ao3 when I have a little too much free time on my hands. And finding a good fic and reading it can be incredibly emotionally investing. Daydreaming is also an emotional investment. It's kind of like indulging in a daydream where I really have no control or knowledge as to where its going. And you can go back and reread the fic or parts of it the same way you can incessantly repeat parts of a daydream.

To conclude, I believe that my joy of fanfiction nearly all derives from its ties to my paracosms, thus attributing to both fanfiction and daydreamings addictive qualities. The main difference is that if I put my phone down I stop reading fanfiction, but I cannot turn off my brain so the daydreaming feels more invasive, uncontrollable, and addicting.

I'd like to hear your guys' thought. I'll probably reblog other reblogs to this post. Have a lovely day, remember to drink water and to give your feet a rest from all the pacing.

#maladaptive daydreaming #maladaptive coping #maladative daydreaming disorder #actually madd #MADD #madd thoughts #maladaptive daydreaming blog

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goldenchan-fx2thepeacock · 4 years ago

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Friendly Neighbourhood Phantom

rKay, y’all remember how I said I would write a fic for that one post I reblogged? Well, Wattpad still hates me, but here ya go.

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Danny was bored. He’d finally mastered the powers that decided to show up when he ‘died’ in the portal accident, but nothing was happening. Not that it was bad, just boring. He felt like he should do something. And when he overheard Sam talking about volenteering, he got an idea. “Sam, what was that thing you were talking about volenteering for?” He asked. “Oh, it’s a soup kitchen not far from here. You thinking about helping out?” she replied. “Well, yeah. I was thinking about using these powers for something useful,” “Danny, that’s genius. But volenteering is a big step. Maybe you could just help out people in ghost form?” “Huh, that’s not a bad idea. Thanks Sam!” He ran to class.

After school, he put his backpack down and changed. The first few times it was painful, but now it was a numb tingling sensation. He knew about the more sketchy areas in town and sped off.

He set down in a playground with a bunch of kids. There was one sitting off on her own. She was glumly playing with the sand. “Hey kid, want to play a game?” He asked. She stared at him. At first, she seemed startled, but she smiled. “Yeah! Let’s play hide and seek!” She giggled. He smiled. “Okay, I’ll count to ten and you go hide. Just don’t leave the playground,” He turned around and closed his eyes. She giggled and ran off. Once he finished counting to ten, he turned back around. He heard giggling from her, but decided to wander when looking for her. “Oh my gosh, you’re so good at hiding. I wonder where you could be,” He heard giggling behind him. After looking around a few trees, he acted like he’d just spotted the play structure. “Maybe you’re hiding in here?” He peeked under the structure. She giggled up at him. “You found me! Now it’s your turn to hide!” She ran off to the tree. He dashed into the slide and hid just in view. She spotted him immediately. “Ha! I found you!” “You did!” they played a few more rounds.

They were the only ones left when her dad showed up. “Iliana? Where are you?” He yelled. She dashed out from the play structure. “Right here daddy!” She yelled and ran over to Danny. He smiled at her and waved goodbye. “Iliana! That’s dangerous, don’t play with demons,” The dad snatched her away from Danny. “He’s not a demon!” Iliana said. “I’ve heard about things like you,” The dad narrowed his eyes at Danny. “Stay away from my daughter,” “We were just playing hide and seek!” Danny protested. “And I’m not a demon,” “Preying on children is wrong. Go back to hell,” Danny held back the tears and left. He knew the feeling. Transphobes liked to tell him to go to hell, but this was horrible.

Once he got home and finished his homework, he looked through his insta. Then he got a random idea. He went to the account blurb and clicked “make new account”. He took a selfie in his ghost form and set it as his profile pic. What to call it? He drummed his fingers on the desk and an idea came to him. He typed it in. Danny Phantom. He posted a bunch of anti bullying posts and selfies. He’d take pictures when volenteering as Phantom and put them up.

When he got to school in the morning, there was the usual buzz. Sam looked at him. Tucker was on vacation for a few more days. “So, how’d ‘volenteering’ go?” she asked. “Pretty good. I played hide and seek with a little girl. Is that a good start?” “Sounds good to me. But pretty good with you usually means that something happened,” She knew him too well. “I got called a demon,” He snapped. She grimaced. “Oh, Danny. I’m sorry. What was it?” “I think it’s just the whole ghost thing. I doubt he could tell I’m trans,” “Well, that’s gotta count for something!” “Maybe,” He sat down in Lancer’s class and pulled out a notebook. “Anything else happen?” “I started an account on Instagram for ghost me. I called it Danny Phantom. Should be easy enough to find,” “Don’t you think anyone’ll notice the parralels between that and Danny Fenton?” “The people here are too stupid to guess that. Besides, no one’s gonna connect the dots between me and a random ghost,” “Good point,” Lancer walked into the class. “Alright class, you know the drill,” Danny pulled out the novel they were reading this week.

Danny spent the rest of the week helping out in random ways and putting the pictures up on insta. Maybe it was kinda cheap, but unlike some accounts he’s seen, he was doing it solely for the purpose of raising awareness, not to make a good face. There were a few other derogatory terms thrown his way, but it wasn’t horrible. Today, he was going to start volenteering for real. He set down in front of the soup kitchen. “Listen, we don’t have soup till later. Come back then,” A guy wearing a big apron said. “Actually, I was going to volenteer to help out,” Danny said. The guy turned around. “You got a bit of a look going on there. Why do you wanna volenteer?” “To help out the community. And I can’t help looking this way,” “Huh. Well, get an apron on and help me make this soup,” The guy turned around. Danny obliged. “Uh, you never told me your name,” Danny said meekly. “Milton’s the name. And since I gave you mine, I’m gonna need yours,” “Danny,” “That all? No last name?” “You didn’t give me yours,” “Nah, but the kids like you usually boast about it. For a teen, you’re pretty humble,” “Thanks?” “Okay, enough small talk. Help me stir this while I get the other ingredients,” Milton thrust a long wooden spoon into Danny’s hands and walked off. Danny started stirring the big pot on the stove. He smiled and hummed a little tune to keep his attention. Milton walked back in. “No picture taking? You really are humble,” “I guess it just didn’t occur to me. I mostly made my account to tell people to be nicer to the less fortunate,” (Yes, the first part is a Toph line, but less condesending in this case) He kept stirring but didn’t pull his phone out. “You kids these days. Always an ulterior motive,” “I mean, I’m a ghost, so I could’ve been dead for hundreds of years for all you know,” Milton stared at him. “A ghost?” “Jeez, don’t panic or anything. Not all ghosts are malevolent. And I’ve only been ‘dead’, per se, for about a month,” “I thought it was just dumb hair dye and contacts,” Milton gaped. “Yeah, teenager just casually floats and nothing’s weird about that. Got the ingredients?” “Wha- oh yeah. Here,” Milton dumps the vegetable in the pot. “Sorry to scare you like that. I just didn’t want you calling me a demon or something when you found out,” “Why would anyone do that? Seems cruel,” “People don’t often care about anything but their prejudices,” “Generalization or stereotype there?” “Stereotype. I guess. Let’s just make soup,” He wasn’t about to spill his troubles onto a random stranger.

He stood in the window giving out soup. Sam was standing not far off taking pictures. He wasn’t completely sure if he should keep posting. But it was kinda late to do that now. Danny Phantom had started to gain attention Danny Fenton never would. “What the hell? I didn’t know Milton was the type to let freaks help out,” One skinny teenager in ripped clothes said. “I didn’t know there was a reason to not let a person help the less fortunate,” Danny handed him a bowl of soup. “Sorry man. I guess the stress of having to come here everyday is starting to get to me,” “It’s okay. When Milton takes his turn, wanna talk about it?” “Thanks dude,” The skinny guy sat down at one of the many tables set up. “No problem. It’s the least I can do,” Danny smiled at him. Milton walked up behind him. “I’ll take it for fifteen minutes. Ghost probably don’t need breaks, but I’d feel bad if I made you do all the work,” Danny nodded and ditched the apron. He phased through the wall and floated over to the skinny guy.

The guy looked startled. “You’re floating,” He stared at Danny’s feet. “Ya know, probably could’ve told you that myself,” Danny smirked. “Danny! Is your shift done or something?” Sam ran over. “Nah, I just was gonna let this guy talk about his problems to someone,” “You’re a ghost,” The guy looked lost. “Yes and no. Semantics. Listen, I’m not here to tell you about my weird life. I’m here so you don’t completely lose it from having to support yourself,” “Thanks again for that. So your name is Danny?” “Yeah. This is Sam. What’s your name?” “Jack,” Danny held back the snort that came with thinking of his bumbling father. Bumbling couldn’t have been more accurate. Jack Fenton gave Danny bumblebee vibes. “Nice to meet you Jack. What did you need to talk about?” Sam snorted behind Danny. “Shutup,” Danny slid into the seat across from Jack. “What’s funny?” Jack said. “Nothing. My dad’s name is Jack and you look absoloutely nothing like him. Sam is drawing certain parralels that don’t need to be there,” “Your dad? Do ghosts have dads?” “Half ones do,” Sam said. “We’re not talking about that. Why do you have to come here. You don’t look much older than 15,” “If it weren’t for the glowy hair and eyes, I’d say you don’t look older than 12,” “I’m fourteen,” “Close enough,” “Whatever. Why do you come here?”

Danny became a hit with the soup kitchen users. He’d talk to people about they’re issues with an air of concern. He didn’t shut anyone down no matter how small the issue. Soon, he wasn’t a freaky prospect, he was the ghost who listened to people’s issues. “I think we should get Jazz to help you out at the soup kitchen,” Tucker said one day at lunch. “I mean, she knows, so it can’t be that weird. It’ll give her some field experience with helping people out too. Yeah, that’ll work,” Danny took a bite out of the glowing sandwich. “Are you sure that’s safe?” Sam poked it. “Eating ectoplasm won’t kill me anymore than I already am,” “Touche,” Tucker said. “That’s not how touche works, at least I don’t think so,” Danny replied. “And you’re in academic english,” Sam laughed. “You are too! And english is like, my worst class,” “Fair enough. But yeah, getting Jazz to help out is a good idea,” She forked her veggy lasagna. “Okay! I’ll tell her tonight,”

The soup kitchen wasn’t the only place Danny volenteered. He kept up the random helping and stopped a few crimes when he came across them. It wasn’t like he went looking for crimes, but it came with the territory. He stopped a car crash one time. Danny Phantom slowly became a hit on Instagram. Danny had to turn off notifcations at night. He opened it and gaped. “500 followers overnight! And it’s going up?! Holy shit,” He turned the notifications back off and did his morning routine. It was break day, so he glared at the sports bra he knew he’d have to wear. “If I find that ghost boy, I’ll tear him apart molecule by molecule!” Jack Fenton said. Danny winced. It was normal at this point, but he didn’t like it very much. “Oh Jack. You know we should study it,” He head his mom say. Danny didn’t know what was worse, his dad’s threats of death or his mother’s dissociation. “Dann-o! We’re going looking for the ghost boy today!” Jack said excitedly. “What did he do wrong?” “Nothing, but he probably has an ulterior motive to all this helping stuff!” Jack replied. Danny sighed and pulled out the cereal. “That’s the ecto contaminated cereal Danny,” Maddie said. Mom, that’s what he meant. “Oh, whoops,” He put it back and grabbed a new box. “Why’re we keeping it anyways?” “It’s an experiment!” Mom replied. “You guys and all your ridiculous ghost stuff need to stop it,” Jazz huffed as she walked down the stairs. “But we have proof of ghosts now! And some of them can get they’re hands on human tech,” Jack- er Dad, said. “You mean social media? People could just taken random picture of a random guy doing that and made something out of it,” “He’s floating Jazzibear, that means something!” J- Dad said loudly. “Photo editting,” Jazz knew it was hopeless, but she did it for Danny. “Believe what you want,” Dad grabbed some fudge from the fridge.

Jazz and Danny walked to the soup kitchen. Well, Jazz walked and Danny floated. It was Saturday, so they were taking an all day shift. “500 followers Jazz! That’s crazy for one night!” “That’s great!” “I know. Oh look, we’re here,” Danny sped over to the kitchen while Jazz sat at one of the tables. “Hey, it’s my favourite ghost,” Milton said. “More like the only ghost you know,” “Yeah, let’s stir this pot and make soup,” Milton laughed. Maybe everything wasn’t great, but Danny was okay with that. He smiled and stirred the pot of soup.

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And, la fin. Maybe it sucks, but I felt like writing something for this. My first oneshot actually. Let me know if you want more of this! The idea came from a post I read by @redrobin-detective. I reblogged it for those who want to see the original concept. Sorry if my grammar is a little strange to you. I’m from Canada, and grammar here is different than the States.

#danny phantom #sam manson #tucker foley #fic #oneshot #jazz fenton #jack fenton #maddie fenton #mr lancer #trans!danny #tumblr accidentally made me post this so now it at least has tags #phandom #au

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ghostbustermelanieking · 4 years ago

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some thoughts on mag 200

i’ve been having trouble articulating this, but i wanted to get some thoughts down on mag 200, and the ending of tma as a whole, now that i’ve heard the finale twice and had some time to process it all. putting this under a cut in case people don’t wanna see it -- there’s gonna be a lot of praise here, but also some legit criticism. this is a way to sort through my feelings more than anything else.

first off, relistening to the finale, and sitting on it for a while, has made me feel a hell of a lot better about the whole thing. the episode comes off a lot better when you’re not vibrating with fear and anticipation, in my opinion. the final statement was very fitting and cool -- not my favorite ever, but i can appreciate it a lot as a final closing for the fears. and i don’t have an ear for soundscaping but the sound in that statement was cool as hell. the jonah magnus gets fucking murdered scene is incredibly satisfying. a lot of other people have said this, but i love that jon finally got his revenge, and was able to lash out against jonah for all the years of manipulation and beng used, and for tim and sasha and everything else. that was perfect. i genuinely thought we might not get a scene like this after 193 but i am so glad we did. incredibly satisfying. the girls made it out!! i am very glad that they’re ok and moving on and seem to be leaning on each other. (By God I Will Wring Found Family Out Of This Podcast If It Kills Me.) and the admiral’s okay. love that

and the jonmartin ending. oh my god. while i was never the biggest fan of the possibility of martin having to kill jon, the way it went down was so painful and good. i loved that final scene. i love the ambiguity -- that they might have died but maybe they didn’t, maybe they’re all right and happy and we can decide for ourselves -- i love that i got exactly what i wanted, that i get to have my cake and eat it too, all the angst of a jmart death and still the possibility of happiness... i am going buckwild. i love it. the longer i spend with this ending, the happier i am with it. i really really loved it

on another note... i do have some reservations about the finale and the season as a whole. i understand peoples’ irritations with the finale, and while i’m trying to focus on the things i did like, i definitely have some irritations. for one, i definitely wish the finale had been longer. i would’ve loved to see more of what wtgfs and basira were doing, and the actual lighting of the archives, etc. and while i completely understand why the scene at the panopticon went as quickly as it did -- it comes off very much as wild, frantic impulse in the heat of the moment where they’re in danger and trying to protect each other -- i do wish it had gone a little slower.

in my mind, the biggest issue in season 5 ended up being pacing. and this might be a personal preference thing -- there’s a lot of things within the show that i don’t personally vibe with, but i don’t necessarily think they’re badly written. but i do think season 5 was slow. and while slow things can certainly work in a certain context (season 4 comes off wildly slow til you listen to 160), i wish more of what actually happened in season 5 had been baked into the end game. the season felt like it had a lot of filler, which drives me mildly crazy, because the end game feels rushed and i don’t think it NEEDED to be. i liked a lot of what season 5 did -- there’s some impeccable episodes, the character interactions are weirdly lighter and softer than they have been in previous seasons, and i wouldn’t trade a lot of the things that it’s given us (all the jonmartin interactions, jon and georgie briefly rebuilding their friendship, martin and melanie friendship, wtgfs scenes and intimacy, backstory, lore, etc) for anything. but i do think it could’ve been structured and paced a little differently. i also think it could’ve given some more screentime to the character stuff we got from episodes like 161, 170, 186, 190, 191, 192, 199... i absolutely love both martin centric monologue episodes, but i hate that we didn’t get anything like that for jon. (or for melanie or georgie or basira...) the best episodes of the season, imo, are the ones that broke from traditional form of domain statement domain, and the ones that focused in hard on backstory, lore, character introspection, character interaction... i wish we had more of this.

when it comes to the jonmartin arc... i know this has been a point of contention with a lot of people, but i don’t hate it at all. maybe it’s just because i relistened to the majority of the season back in january, but a lot of the more grating moments that seemed large week to week (martin pressuring jon to smite people, the disagreements they had earlier in the season, jon using martin as bait in 176, etc etc) come off a lot more minor when you’re binging. personally, relistening to act i made those interactions come off as things they were struggling with through continued support and reassurance. there were absolutely things i wanted addressed, especially with the “kill bill arc” -- the disagreements early in the season, and how it seemed to turn on its head in the argument they have in 194. (i didn’t like martin blaming jon for the kill bill arc and i was hoping it would get brought up.) i also wanted to see a discussion of martin going with annabelle in 194 -- i wasn’t really ever mad at martin for doing it, but i did want to see them talk it out.

but! after relistening to 200, i think i have a better handle on why that couldn’t have happened. martin goes behind jon’s back to go with annabelle and they don’t talk about it; jon goes behind martin’s back to sabotage the plan everyone agrees on in order to prevent the fears from spreading. if they’d had a big talk about trust, and working through martin going off with annabelle, and then jon turned around and did the same thing, more or less... it would’ve completely soured that discussion. jon and martin needed to be in a place of discourse for this ending to work.

honestly, the more i’ve thought about this final JM arc, the better i feel about it. sure, jon and martin are in a bad place, and they’ve gone behind each other’s backs and been somewhat selfish, but i don’t think this ruins their relationship. for one, martin’s break in trust comes from a place of wanting to save jon and the world. and for another, jon genuinely feels he is doing the right thing, making a decision he can live with. (i have my own opinions as to how ethical jon’s decision was, but that’s another post. and i think the muddy ethics of this ending are on purpose -- it’s horror, a genre that often doesn’t offer ethical decisions.) their final decisions and final moments come from a place of love and protectiveness, and they change their decisions for the other. they still love each other, through all of it. i don’t think these late stage betrayals equivalate jonmartin necessarily being doomed as a couple (not that anyone has said that, but it’s worth saying). and i think it’s important to remember that this is still a relatively new relationship. it existed for approximately three weeks before the literal apocalypse, and it’s been under an immense amount of stress, as well as the constant fear that one or both of them would die. (which they did.) i’m not saying that excuses certain things they’ve said or done, but i am saying i don’t think the relationship is doomed. i think, if jon and martin have survived, they’ll need to work through things. they’ll need to talk it all out. and they’ll be able to! they’ll heal from this one way or another. the tragedy isn’t that jonmartin is doomed, or toxic. it’s that these moments of betrayal are what dooms them. and the beautiful undercurrent of it all is that they still manage to come together, and make decisions that mean they stay together. and that wherever they are, they’re still together.

all in all, i don’t think season 5 has been perfect, and i can make my peace with that. (tma’s worst is a hell of a lot better than most shows’ best.) (i also think it might be worth considering how covid could have affected certain aspects of how the season was written -- pandemics are stressful, and i can’t imagine what it’s like to finish an enormous, in the works for years project like this in the middle of that. personally, i’m impressed they’ve managed to finish the show through all of this and keep it to a similar quality.) i think critiques are valuable and worth discussing. and i think plot aspects aside, there are several other critique related things that could be brought up about this season that people have articulated much better than i ever could. but i also, personally, want to walk away from the show feeling satisfied. i tend to be weirdly positive about things i love (the x files finale was horrendous, but i managed to get to a place where i was happy with it, for example), and i think that applies here -- even more so because i really did love so many aspects of that finale. i don’t necessarily want to linger in my own mind over what i disliked, especially considering the show is over. although i did want to air out my thoughts.

i still love this show. i loved a lot of episodes this season, frustrations aside. season 5 will forever be my only live tma experience, and it got me through one of the worst years of my life, and i am very grateful for this. i genuinely did just want to air out my thoughts and get them all down on paper. these are just my opinions -- i don’t want to criticize anyone who feels differently about the finale, or the season as a whole. everyone’s opinion is their own.

i feel a lot, lot better about mag 200, to the point of genuinely loving it. i hope my appreciation only grows as i get further from that frenzied first day and have more time to sit with it. and i can’t wait to see all the art and read all of the amazing fics that are going to come out of this ending (and write some of my own). it’s been a wild ride. i’m glad i was here for it.

#tma #the magnus archives #mag 200 #tma spoilers #tma negative #not too strong i dont think but just in case #this might be completely incoherent lol but i wanted to get it down

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koreanmadeingreece · 4 years ago

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Why, why, why (3)

University student!Yuta x reader

Genre: slight enemies to lovers au, a bit of angst, a lot of fluff, and several mixups

Summary: You just got into uni and decided to move in with your childhood friend!Taeyong at the city where you are going to study. As you’re about to start your new, adult life, you meet his friends, and you realize that not everyone likes you. Nakamoto Yuta in particular almost seems like he hates you.

A/N: In this fic, Jonghyun from NU’EST appears for a while (just to avoid confusion). Also, wow I never thought I’d post this. I hope you guys like it. Also I thought I’d update every Sunday but I couldn’t restrain myself. Welp.

Warnings: n/a

Word count: 1.8K (I should let you know that I’ve finished writing it so I’ll update it every 3 or 4 days!)

Part 3/I don’t remember First / Previous / Next

Taglist: @melitadala @chxotickpoptrash (please let me know if you’d like to be tagged!)

When you entered the house, V ran into your arms for an embrace, calling you his savior, as you had just brought the food, which made the others laugh. When you reassured them again that you were okay with treating them, you all sat down in your freshly cleaned living room to eat.

That was when you noticed Yuta sitting a bit further than the others, eating quietly, and decided to come a bit closer to him.

“You’re not very talkative, are you?” You tried to joke around since no one would listen to you. The others were arguing about one of the professors at uni and if he’s single, so they wouldn’t even notice you switching places.

“Oh, sorry, it was just that I was thinking about something. It shouldn’t make you worry, really,” he answered.

“Are you sure? Because you haven’t talked to me all day. I mean, I know you just met me this morning and that I’m not your friend, but I’d love to get to know you a bit better.”

“I’m okay with that, don’t worry about me. I’m just paranoid sometimes and I’m thinking a bit too much about certain things, so just ignore me when I do that, okay?”

“So, we’re off to a good start, I guess.”

“Yeah, I guess you can say that.” He smiled at you. This was the second smile he had offered you ever since this morning, and it kind of made you light up a bit. You still didn’t know what made you so interested in him. You just had to get to know him.

The next day was similar to the first, as you had to finish cleaning and start unpacking both yours and Taeyong’s things and decorate the living room. Thankfully, Taeyong didn’t have a much different taste than yours, so it was actually easy to decide what you’d hang on the walls and what color the couch pillows would be. The biggest issue was your rooms and what you’d do with them.

You took the boxes with your stuff and Johnny immediately came to help, offering to also help you with your room. V followed you and Yuta went to help Taeyong. You enjoyed their company a lot if you were going to be completely honest, and you secretly thought they’d let you join them sometimes. You really thought you weren’t a burden for them, as they’ve been friends for years and you just came to disrupt their lives. You’d never even think of causing a problem to them, so you waited patiently for any signs that would show you how they felt about you. There was just one thing you had to ask.

“So, how did you guys meet?” you asked, as you were placing your clothes in the closet.

“Do you mean us two, or…”

“All of you. How did you become like… a group?”

“Ah, funny story,” V said, “I got into a fight on my first day of uni. Someone just came straight to me and called me names because I was zoning out, and Johnny with Taeyong came to my rescue.”

“Aw, they’re true heroes,” you laughed.

“Something like that. Taeyong and Johnny met right there in front of me, and then we all decided to go to lunch together. Then Yuta came. Taeyong had met him a few hours earlier and told him to go to lunch with him, so we all sat together. And we clicked.”

Johnny nodded in agreement and gave you a stack of clothes to put away, while V was telling the story from your bed. You hadn’t put the sheets on it yet, so it was only a mattress, but it worked well for him.

“I don’t know if I should be asking this but are Taeyong and Yuta that close? I mean, he doesn’t tell me much over the phone, and with all the stuff going on because of the house we haven’t really talked yet,” you asked.

“They’re close. They’re not together if that’s what you’re asking. They’re just really good friends. If you ask me, we make a great group. It’s just that he always was a bit more protective over Taeyong, but Yuta’s definitely straight. If he wasn’t I’m sure they’d already been together by now,” Johnny told you and you continued putting clothes away, when Johnny interrupted your thoughts. “Don’t mind him. He might seem a bit distant, but he’ll open up eventually. It’s probably that you’ve been friends with Taeyong for so long and he feels kind of left out.”

“Oh my god, have I done anything like that?”

“No, no. Don’t worry about it. He was thinking about it ever since he found out you’d move with Taeyong but, trust me, you haven’t done anything. I mean, you didn’t make any of us feel bad. You’re actually fun to be around. You can come to hang out with us whenever you want, okay?” Johnny’s words were music to your ears. What you were hoping for was coming true. Your new life had officially started taking its form, and you were ecstatic about it.

Your house was finally ready, your posters were on the walls and your clothes were in the closet. After you made your bed and had V try it out, you could finally sit and enjoy it.

“Did you call your mom? She’s probably scared to death that she just let you handle a new house on our own,” Taeyong told you after the guys left.

“I did and I also sent her pictures. She’s thrilled.”

“Your dad?”

“Mom said he just nodded. I wouldn’t expect anything else.” You sat on the couch next to Taeyong.

“He doesn’t get really involved, does he?”

“Only when he’s in the mood. Which happens about… five times a year?”

“Sucks to be you.”

“Yeah, especially when he missed my gymnastics performance.” You took a bite of your sandwich.

“Well, now you’re here. If he doesn’t want to lose you, he has some work to do. Now, will you give me a bite?” And that was how the evening passed with Taeyong. You were calm, relaxed and it was exactly how you imagined it to be. All you had to worry about for the time being was the first day of uni.

You woke up the next morning and looked too pale to be human, as you had barely managed to sleep last night. You got dressed in one of your favorite outfits, a loose red shirt and black ripped jeans, and washed your face before putting some mascara and lipstick on. When Taeyong confirmed you looked hot, you were ready to go. Taeyong left you outside of the building of your first class and left for his class.

You went inside and found a seat not too close to the professor, and soon after, you noticed a tall guy approaching you and taking the seat next to you.

“First day, huh?” he asked you. “Are you excited?”

“Yeah, pretty much. I’m kind of stressed too. What’s your name, by the way?”

“I’m Yugyeom. It’s nice to meet you.” He extended his arm to you for a handshake.

“I’m Y/N.” And that was your first acquaintance. He seemed really nice. Kind, at least. You liked him at a first glance. He turned to speak to you quite a few times during our first class, but he didn’t annoy you. He was quite pleasant to be around.

After a while, you heard someone enter the room, stumbling on the stairs.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” he said and took the seat next to you, on the opposite side of Yugyeom. “Was I too loud?” he whispered to you.

“No, don’t worry about it. No one’s going to remember it tomorrow anyway,” you smiled at him.

“I hope so. And, if they do, at least I made them laugh.” He smiled back. “I’m Chan.”

“I’m Y/N and this is Yugyeom,” you said and shook hands with him as well.

When the first class was over, you headed to the other classroom for the next period and sat next to the two boys you had just met. They were extremely fun to be with, especially Chan, who was a walking mess and extremely clumsy.

You suggested going for coffee after class, so you texted Taeyong not to pick you up and walked next to Chan and Yugyeom, who knew a nice coffee shop around the corner. You found a table and sat down when you saw a guy approaching your table.

“Hey, Yugyeom, wasn’t he sitting close to us in class?”

“Now that you mention it, yeah. Should we tell him to sit with us?” And, before you could even answer, Yugyeom was already standing up from his chair. “Hey! Wanna sit with us?”

“Uh, sure.”

“We saw you in class, we’re not creeps, I promise,” you reassured him. “This is Yugyeom and this is Chan.”

“I’m BamBam.”

“BamBam?” Chan asked. “Is it a nickname?”

“Yeah, I’m from Thailand and no one actually remembers my real name, so I use this one instead.”

“Oh, that’s so interesting!” Yugyeom was amazed and started talking to BamBam nonstop, which he didn’t seem to mind, so you just talked to Chan until Yugyeom’s rant ended.

“Would you like to order?” The waiter interrupted you. He was standing next to your table for a while, but no one had noticed him.

“Yeah, sorry,” you said and turned towards him, as he was standing beside you. That was when you noticed how hot he looked and, right after everyone ordered, you turned to Chan. “I don’t know if you’re gay, straight, or anything else, but that one was hot as fuck.”

“I’m bi, and yes he was. You should ask for his number.”

“Chan, I’m not that bold.”

“Yeah, but you have nothing to lose. Look, we can send you to pay when we’re done, so you can talk to him without us there. That doesn’t involve any flirting, right?”

“Fine. Give me your money, y’all.” The other two guys turned to you in shock, but Chan promised to explain while you were gone. So, you got up and walked towards the register.

“Hi,” you told him. When he turned towards you, you deeply wished you hadn’t agreed to this. He was too handsome for you to handle.

“Ah, they sent you to pay?” He laughed.

“Yeah, they did.” You paused and contemplated if you should continue the conversation when your thoughts were interrupted.

“Um, I’m sorry if it’s weird to ask, but what’s your name.”

“I’m Y/N.”

“Ah, that’s a beautiful name. I’m Jonghyun. Do you happen to go to uni here?”

“Yeah, film major. This is my first year. What about you?”

“Me too! But I’m in the third year.” He smiled at you, but he was called to a table and had to go. “You should come by again tomorrow. I can treat you to a cup of warm coffee. My shift ends at 6.”

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perhapsthanatos · 4 years ago

Text

10:32 pm with yuta ♡

nct’s yuta x fem!reader (got inspired by a dream of mine & found the idea really cute)

alternate title: be the james dean to my audrey hepburn

genre: fluff. a pinch of angst. non idol au. badboy!yuta au.

word count: 1400~

playlist: chinatown by wild nothing, lover’s rock by tv girl & work this time by king gizzard and the lizard wizard.

warnings: featuring johnny (not a warning though). smoking cigarettes. cursing. lowercase intended. not proofread.

a/n: hi i was supposed to post a vampire!haechan fic but i really wasnt happy w it in general :( the plot or overall idea of the fic was really good, but i just felt as if i didnt do it justice so here we are :( but ngl, i kind of like this concept more? maybe bc i can see it more vividly? idk, i feel like my writings r getting repetitive & its getting on my nerves lmaoo this is getting long im sorry do u guys even read this part anyway? i would also like to apologize abt the amount of projecting im doing lmao ive been having some rough days & i love my sister but hate being compared to her so often so this is a way for me to rant abt it ig? also so sorry its coming out a little later bc i woke up late today (& procrastinated for the rest of it so here i am posting really late at night) & decided to go to the convenience store to get ice cream (& a ton of other bad shit pls dont do this its rlly unhealthy) for breakfast bc i can :) any who, enjoy lovelies <3

“oh my, y/n! you’ve grown up so well! just like your sister!”

“oh! i’m sorry i’ve almost mistaken you for your sister! y/n is your name, correct?”

“y/n, darling, you are looking so dashing! you really do resemble your sister, don’t you?”

“ah, you must be y/n! i’ve heard all about you and your sister from your father!”

you swear that your reddening cheeks are threatening to fall off any moment now from all the fake smiling. the hundreds of superficial compliments, the insincere flattery and the need for these people to constantly compare you to your godforsaken sister makes you feel even weaker than you are. it gets harder and harder to keep up with a big persona that isn’t at all you. as lucky as you are to live such a lavish lifestyle, you can’t help but hate how your family has to be so perfect. you hate how you have never fit in with them, even if you are so good at faking it. you hate how you have always been stuck in your sister’s shadow, constantly haunted with the reminder that you yourself aren’t good enough. you hate how you now have to entertain the rich and brainless guests at your parent’s gala because she’s gone for some stupid prodigy competition and everyone is only talking about her in front of your face. so what if she’s better the better sister? you still have the right to earn respect, right?

you’re exhausted from all the small talk. your facade gets more brittle by the second under all the pressure. your body feels as if it's gonna give out due to your brain shutting down after all that interacting. you try to keep on going with the night as it unravels itself by being the perfectly poised poster child, trying to make your parents proud. but alive yet almost completely devoid, you decide enough was enough. what if you left right now? no one would notice, would they?

after pulling up your phone discreetly to send a few text messages, you pass through lots of people dressed in gold and finery in a way that wouldn’t have you noticed right away. keep your head down and don’t you dare make eye contact with anyone. nearing the end of the room, grabbing the first glass of whatever alcohol you see and downing it in one gulp, you start walking away as quickly as possible from the ballroom. “ignorant privileged fucks,” you angrily whisper to no one in particular, setting the now empty glass on whatever surface and begin to head to the main exit where no one could spot you running away.

“and what do you think you’re doing here, miss?”

a voice interrupts you, looking up you see that it is your father’s head butler; johnny. he is dressed in a simple black suit that makes him appear taller than he is. his long brown hair is slicked back and his bowtie seems brand new. you have known the man since he started working in your household less than ten years back. you were a reckless child, often trying to find ways to sneak out, finding a way to escape from this life and he sympathized with you. after all, he could barely imagine living your life, never catching a break for yourself and always pretending to be someone you weren’t. he often helped planning when you would sneak out into the night, scheduling things like what time you should leave and what time you should be back, more specifically a time when no one would notice. he would take care of your form of transportation and have your location on at all times, just to be extra safe. as much as he wants you to have fun and have a bit of freedom, he still worries that something might happen to you. because of all this, you two have grown to have a very strong bond. you could confidently say that he is most definitely a parental figure in your life since your parents (and even your sister) are often overseas for work.

“what do you think i’m doing? you think i wanna be in a room with those half-baked bipeds? fuck no!”

“i know, i was just joking. you looked like you were about to explode in there, i wish i could help.” he laughs, pulling out his phone preparing what you might need. “so what will it be for today? the driver? we just need to pay him to keep his mouth shut. a taxi? it’s cheaper than paying the driver, but you still need to pay… not like that’s a problem for you though. maybe an uber would be good enough—“

“actually, i got myself covered. thanks.”

his jaw slightly drops and his eyebrows furrow. he looks straight at you in shock. “what do you mean you got yourself covered?”

you look down at your feet, a nervous habit. “i got myself a ride, you don’t need to help me. i’ll be back as soon as dawn comes.”

he raises his eyebrow. “who’s your ride?”

“doesn’t matter,” you glance down at your phone seeing a notification and wave a goodbye, leaving rather suddenly. “i gotta go, i’ll text you when you need to open the gates!”

“y/n! wait! who’s your ride— and she’s gone.” johnny sighs, watching as you run towards the front gates, tossing your stiletto heels away on the grass while you’re at it. he heads back inside, silently hoping you’ll be fine.

knocking the window of the old black mustang parked outside behind the big bushes, the driver rolls down his window and sends the most charming smile.

yuta in his black beanie, long blonde hair, worn out doc martens, signature leather jacket and black skinny jeans. it almost makes you laugh on how he wears the same thing almost everyday but still manages to look so good.

he is most notable for having a big bad boy reputation and you knew that he was the breath of fresh air you needed in your life. a person who can understand having the pressure of having to be or to fulfill your persona. a person you can completely be yourself around. a person who is full of warmth no matter how cold he may seem on the outside.

“get in, princess.”

and that was all you needed. you tiredly walked to the other door and sat yourself in the car. rolling his window back up, he looks at you. you are wearing a simple yet stunning black dress along with silver jewelry adorned on your neck and wrists. your makeup is perfectly done but still struggles to hide the fog in your eyes. he has the sudden urge to clear them away. he softens at the sight of you. no one is perfect, but he finds you being perfect enough without ever having to dress up.

“where to?” he asks as gently as he could. he knows that you are most vulnerable during these moments and that it is hard to finally break down your walls after a day full of stress, so he doesn’t pry immediately. all he wants to do is to keep you here, safe and away from your burdens and for you to stay comfortable with him, even if it couldn't be for long. but is that too selfish of him to ask? he hates how you hate your life and it is taking every bone in his body to not run away with you. but who is he to tell you what to do or what to change anyway? all he can do for now is try to find a way to make you genuinely smile.

“take me anywhere,” you whisper to the latter. “i just want to be as far from myself and my life as possible. miles away or the nearest convenience store, just take the long way home before dawn.”

you look down at the cup holders, spotting an open cigarette box. you tug one out of the nineteen and light it with the lighter you kept in your pocket. you lean back and close your eyes. he only admires as you bring the cigarette to your lips, exhaling a cloud of smoke afterwards. letting the radio play quietly, he starts the car and begins to drive away from the mansion. he can’t help but wonder how you (an elegant daughter) and him (a bad boy) are millions of worlds apart, but more similar than you think.

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