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7spaceace7 · 3 years ago

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By Fireflies’ Glow (Bagginshield)

Soooo I made a Bagginshield fic based off of this post and it’s on my Ao3 if you prefer to read it there, but here it is! The firefly scene didn’t make it into the movie’s cuts, so I made it myself and made it gay for good measure.

Word count: 2237

Warnings: None, unless you count unreasonable amounts of pining

Rivendell’s magnificence only extended into the evening, after the last light of day passed over the mountains surrounding it. Streaming waterfalls cascaded over the cliffs below, leading into rivers and streams down past the elven borders. Dusk crept up on Eastern skies in parallel to the setting sun, until the moon above followed its path high into the sky. Where there was sunlight cast into the water, silver moonlight now shone upon its surface. Bilbo had never seen an evening so beautiful, not in all his years.

The beauty of Rivendell had so captured him that the hobbit had spent nearly all his time wandering about the kingdom. While his dwarrow companions dined together, Bilbo explored the main halls of Rivendell, and the hobbit was quick to continue his self-guided tour just after Thror’s map had been translated. There was no doubt that Bilbo had fallen in love with the Valley of Imladris. He had to see as much as he could before their journey picked up once more.

At least, that was his excuse to distract from the real reason he had put distance between himself and the others. In truth, he did not feel welcome at their table. Bilbo was acutely aware of his outsider status to the dwarves; he may have been a contracted burglar of this company, but the hobbit knew he was still viewed as little more than a burdensome stranger without any experience of the larger world. The worst part was that he couldn’t blame them.

It was no secret he was inexperienced. What he had in his skills of gardening and baking (the best cakes from scratch in the Shire, you see), he lacked in the practical adventuring repertoire of sword fighting and travelling across Middle Earth. He was a Baggins of Bag-End after all, such respectable hobbits didn’t just up and leave on journeys with strange dwarves who ate his pantry stock.

But then, Bilbo supposed he wasn’t a respectable hobbit anymore. He had left that title behind as soon as he grabbed his signed contract and rushed out of his rounded door all that time ago. Instead, he was a member of a perilous quest to slay a dragon and reclaim a dwarven kingdom. However, the title of “adventurer” didn’t seem to belong to him either.

Another rounded corner of the path led Bilbo to find himself back where his exploration had started in the gardens. He hadn’t meant to come this way again, but it seemed his feet had started wandering on their own when the hobbit became lost in doubt. Bilbo didn’t mind, though.

The gardens of the elves were some of the most enchanting he’d ever seen. Hedges encircled the area, trees sprung up their lanky limbs that seemed to welcome all who ventured there. It was well-kept, organized, and filled with flowers of all colors he’d only ever seen in books. The colors seemed to glow by moonlight as well, transforming into translucent blues, purples, and greens. Bilbo used to daydream about places like these from reading his books, wondering what it would be like to live in a place where such beautiful things can grow. Lord Elrond’s offer of staying in Rivendell returned to his mind.

“Master Baggins,” Came the rough voice of Thorin Oakenshield, pulling the hobbit from his thoughts in surprise. Bilbo’s head turned to see that the gardens had already been occupied by said dwarven king, who sat upon the backless, stone-carved bench alone. He held an expression that Bilbo could not place. At the least, it was not a glare or look of disdain toward him as usual. “I was beginning to think you’d run off. You made quick leave after reading the map. You weren’t at dinner, either.”

“You’re right, I was..”The hobbit shifted to his other leg. The words didn’t find him to explain that he didn’t think himself welcome in their company. Exploring didn’t seem much like a Baggins pastime either, so Bilbo’s sentence hung unfinished. “I didn’t realize someone else was here. I expect you wish to be left alone, I’ll take my leave-”

“The others are resting,” Thorin said before Bilbo could take even a step away. His gaze turned away from the hobbit and back to the open trees. “I couldn’t find sleep.”

“...So you came here?”

Thorin bowed his chin in a nod. The halfling recalled many sleepless nights of his own being comforted by the fresh air found in his garden back home. He allowed himself to wonder if this was something he and the dwarf had in common.

“I never took you for a lover of nature.”

Perhaps on better terms, Thorin might have seemed amused. “I assure you, I am not. The gardens just happened to be far enough away from the sounds of Bombur’s snores.”

“I see. It is rather peaceful. In the gardens, I mean.”

“Indeed.”

Moments of silence stretched between the unlikely pair while the two admired their surroundings, even if Thorin wouldn’t admit to elvish work capturing his attention. Bilbo remained awkwardly at the steps of the garden where he was first stopped. He didn’t mind standing since Hobbits had more resilience in being on their feet for long amounts of time, but to Bilbo’s surprise, Thorin made room on the bench beside him.

The halfling’s lips twitched in figuring what to say, should he say anything at all. Finally he decided that he ought to try and test the waters. If Thorin was offering him a place to sit, he would take the opportunity and see where it took him. The Tookish part inside told him that this could be his chance to reconcile their strained first impressions. Bilbo walked over and took his seat at the far end of the bench.

“I have my own garden, back in Bag-End,” He started, after the silence became too heavy to hold any longer, “You might have seen it when you arrived that night. It’s certainly not as impressive as this, but then I’m just one hobbit compared to many elves. Besides, it has all the flowers I really need, all of my favorites. The Shire has perfect weather for my hydrangeas best of all.”

The dwarf didn’t speak as he watched him ramble. Bilbo didn’t think Thorin much the type for listening about gardening techniques and therefore spared the details, but a quick glance over to the dwarf proved that he was, indeed, listening. Still silent as ever, but this was a bit different. The exiled king seemed at peace for once. Like he was grateful to hear of a hobbit’s silly affinity for plants instead of a mountain kingdom to be reclaimed.

It was a sight Bilbo found himself having trouble looking away from. He willed himself to focus on the fireflies gathering around the bushes instead.

“Gardens were not to be found in the mountain,” Thorin’s voice softened at the mention of his old home. He always regarded the Lonely Mountain with careful, almost protective, thought. Bilbo’s eyes settled back on the dwarf and clung to every word. “Nothing grows underground, of course. No grass or soil to grow it, and there was no true light, save for the forges and fires burning.”

“None at all? Did you never go outside..?” Bilbo asked. He had known dwarves were the type to mostly stay underground, but such a concept still seemed so foreign to him. Hobbits were known to spend practically all of their time outdoors, and there was light everywhere he could remember. Thorin, however, shook his head.

“Dwarves in that time were born into the darkness of caves. They grew used to seeing rock instead of sky, and I was no different. From the moment I could walk, my time was devoted to training, watching my grandfather as he ruled so I could one day take his place. Learning of the kingdom and its people, of how to protect and serve them, everything a young prince must know,” Thorin explained. His eyes cast toward the ground as he hunched over, deep in thought. It seemed a painful memory sprung from his words without his meaning to. “There was no time for anything but such duties, especially as my grandfather’s health began to fail...”

Thorin trailed off with regret held in his eyes.

“There was little I knew of the world outside of Erebor’s halls, and that’s how it would have stayed were it not for the snake residing there now,” The exiled king finished with bitten words. Bilbo shifted uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry to hear it.”

“I have no need of your pity,” Thorin’s words were said without malice. Instead, they were filled with shame, like he believed he did not deserve sympathy. Like this horror was his fault, somehow. “Especially from someone who knows a very different life.”

“Actually, it doesn’t sound completely different.”

The dwarf’s taken aback look was all he needed to continue.

“I mean, I certainly wasn’t an heir to a kingdom, but in the Shire you didn’t go much of anywhere else. Sometimes to Bree if you were the type, but that would get you odd looks from the rest of town, and by no means were you considered the respectable sort. In fact, I’m sure by now I’ve probably been declared mad beyond all reason, going off on adventures with strange dwarves and a wizard.”

The light brown curls framing Bilbo’s face bounced when he chuckled. Thorin found himself wondering why he noticed this.

“Hobbits simply don’t care much for learning what outside the Shire borders holds. We don’t get visitors, and we don’t do any visiting of our own. So..I suppose in that regard, I understand not knowing much else but what expectations you’ve been born to,” Bilbo finished with a hesitant smile. It was a smile simply for Thorin in that moment, reserved for his eyes and his eyes alone. And yet, the dwarf looked away, startled by its intimacy.

“I see both our clans have deemed us mad, then,” Thorin said, clearing his throat to hide the sudden topic shift.

“How do you mean?”

“The other dwarrow leaders called our quest a fool’s death sentence. I made mention of it before we left your home, but in truth they did not use as-- encouraging-- words as I led the others to believe,” The words of mockery bounced back bitterly to the forefront of his mind. “They believe we won’t make it alive to even reach the mountain. It is why we take on this task alone.”

Bilbo’s mouth twitched in thought again. “Well,” He began, “Perhaps they’re right.”

Thorin’s shock bubbled up instantly, paired with a list of insults in Khuzdul that he had half a mind to repeat from the aforementioned dwarrow council. The hobbit knew that look and raised his arms in defense.

“What I mean to say is, yes, perhaps you won’t reach the mountain, perhaps that’s how we’re fated to finish, but,” Bilbo took a breath, calmed his nerves, “It is still a noble cause to see through the end. And I know each of those who’ve followed you this far would agree. Anyone who doubts you hasn’t got the courage to see it as such.”

Thorin’s eyes softened. He looked down at the smaller creature, such a curious thing by anyone’s standards. A hobbit of the Shire, fond of books, green gardens, and the comforts of home, and yet it is he who has remedied his doubts of his birthright.

“...Thank you.”

Bilbo simply nodded. Even if he himself wasn’t fit for this journey, he truly did hope these dwarves would succeed. They’d all lost so much when their home was taken from them. Especially Thorin. Thorin Oakenshield, who’d braved unfathomable death and destruction and still stood, facing up against an almost impossible task. And here he was, thanking a small hobbit for mere words.

Their lives could not be more different-- and still, they were familiar.

A soft, shining glow from the middle of the garden grove brought their attention away from one another. Dozens and dozens of fireflies had snuck their way closer and completely surrounded the pair on the bench. Their patterns blinked and glimmered for all to see, with shimmering water nearby to exemplify the view. Thorin, surprisingly, was the one captivated most. His cobalt blue eyes shimmered from their reflection, trained on their light.

“Perhaps you were right. About us being raised too differently,” The hobbit mused. A smile tugged at his lips as he watched the king become a prince again. “I don’t remember being so enthralled by the nightly fireflies.”

Thorin chuckled. A small, but genuine, bout of humor. Honestly, it almost shocked Bilbo into the next age.

“Forgive me. I suppose I just never stopped to notice them before. Not in all my journeys across Middle Earth,” His smile lingered. Bilbo’s brightened.

They held such a gaze for some time in comfortable silence. At first meeting, Thorin had sized up the simple hobbit for a commoner, unfit for the wilds of the journey the company had planned to cross. And perhaps that was still the case. Only time would tell if Bilbo was truly a loyal member of this quest, but for now, they had this moment to share.

That is, until Gandalf’s voice was heard passing along the bridge mentioning the dwarven king by name.

#Bagginshield #the hobbit #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield #thilbo #thilbo bagginshield #the hobbit: an unexpected journey #Rivendell #Fanfics #lil bit of both canon compliance and canon divergence #obviously in my AU no one dies tho #did i mention the pining

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mrs-lockley · 5 years ago

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like real people do

Pairing: Poe Dameron x medic!reader

Summary: You were falling for the pilot, and it scared the shit out of you. But little did you know, he was falling for you too.

Word Count: 3,961

Warnings: brief mention of a past relationship gone sour, mutual pining, slow burns, angst that turns to fluff

A/N: Ahh this is the first fic I’ve ever written! Please let me know if you like it. I highly recommend listening to Hozier’s Like Real People Do, for that is where I draw my inspiration from.

Tagging: @writefightandflightclub, @callingmrsbarnes, @winters-buck

You close your eyes, your lungs stinging as you breathe in sharply, your hand pressed firmly on your chest. Grass and soil tickle your legs, and you had half the mind to pull at your uniform to fully cover your legs from the knees down, but you don’t. Instead, the moist breath of the soil anchors you to the ground with the fresh scent of pine tickling at your nose. Beneath your fingers, your heart flutters. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

With each breath, your mind wanders. The crickets in the air shift from melodious to something more familiar that makes your heart flutter once more. Your heartbeat begins to change.

Poe. Poe. Poe.

You squeeze your eyes shut even more, biting your lip and shaking your head. Heat floods your cheeks and neck as your heartbeat skips under your fingertips.

Stop it, you shake your head again. Stop it.

Your heart only laughs, for you already know deep down, no matter how much you run, he will find a way back to you, like the sun rising for the moon.

You still remember the first time you met Poe Dameron. Three weeks after shadowing the neurologist in the med bay, you were wrapping up your charting when there was a knock on the door. Looking up from your paperwork, you were more than stunned to find your roommate’s friend, Finn, standing in the doorway at such a late hour.

“Y/N, I know it’s late, but I was wondering if you could take a look at someone for me?” He asked quietly, his voice almost apologetic. Almost.

A trace of a smirk tugged at his lips, but you elected to ignore it.

You placed the chart in a folder and rose from your desk. “There’s no need to apologize, Finn,” you smile. “What happened?”

Finn laughed. “Oh, it’s not me, it’s him.”

Him?

He stepped to the side to reveal the man standing behind him.

Oh. Oh.

You had met Commander Poe Dameron before, three or four times in passing. Although you were new to the Resistance, you had your fair share of looking after a few members of the Elite Black Squadron whenever they returned from their missions. Normally you checked their basic vitals to make sure they weren’t concussed: shining a flashlight in their eyes, letting their eyes follow your finger, asking for their date of birth, what day of the week it was, etcetera. At this point, you were starting to move from performing the basic vitals to implementing a fMRI or MRI scan, but that would not be until next week.

As for Poe Dameron, the Commander was never your patient. Rather, you had seen him in passing. Whenever the Black Squadron finished their tests, you were just entering your shift at the med bay. You would flash them a shy smile as they walked by, often saying a quiet “hello” if you were bold enough to do so. Once or twice, Poe had warmly smiled at you in greeting, but was immediately rushed for debriefing. You never exchanged words with him, and you were observant enough to know that many men and women were enamored with the pilot, and from those small smiles, you quickly understood why.

You would never dare to admit, but you often wondered what it would be his girl. A small schoolgirl crush, you rationalized, but you shook the thought out of your head. You barely knew the man, and you know better than to daydream after …

The Commander smiled at you, a boyish grin on his face, his dark curls slightly askew. The sleeves of his flight sight were tied around his waist, leaving him in a slightly greasy tank top and a peeking silver chain from the waist up.

Commander Dameron had fallen off his X-wing, Finn had explained while you sat his friend down on the bed. While the Black Squadron did not have a mission, the Commander had been tidying up his X-wing when he lost his footing from the ladder and hit his head. BB8 had rushed for help, and Finn had brought him to the med bay for evaluation to make sure his friend was not concussed, despite Commander Dameron’s numerous bursts of protest.

So you did your job as a neurologist in training by testing his balance and coordination, reflexes, hearing. All while trying not to look into his deep brown eyes for a moment too long.

Kriff, you cursed, he was pretty, especially up close.

“You’re doing great so far,” you said as you tucked the flashlight into your pocket, “I just need to do a cognitive test to assess your memory and ability to recall information, and you should be all set.”

He smiled, “okay.”

You could not help but smile back, trying to steady your breathing. You were standing right in front of him, practically between his legs while you were administering his vision tests. His brown eyes were so deep, so warm, you could almost fall into him. Almost.

You tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, making a mental note to fix your messy bun once you discharged him. “Okay. What’s your name?”

“Poe Dameron.”

You nodded. Good. “What’s my name?”

“Y/N. Y/N Y/LN,” the Commander whispered. He hesitated for a moment, his gaze falling from your face to your hands, and to your face again. “I remember you.”

You faltered. What?

The Commander continued as he smiled, almost a little shyly. “You were coming in for your shift while I was leaving. Your hair was in two braids that day. You smiled at me and said hello.” He ducked his head for a moment, and looked up at you and grinned. “You have a beautiful smile.”

Oh, Maker.

You were blushing at this point, you were sure of it. Was he flirting with you? Or was he teasing you? You knew from your roommate Rose that sometimes, Commander Poe Dameron could be a bit of a flirt, but even so, he saw the best in everyone, as she told you. He was a good man.

But your heart sank. He treats everyone that way, you thought, why would I be any different?

His words resembled the words of another, of someone you tried so hard to forget as your heart sunk further into the cold sea below.

You blinked and turned away, but your cheeks still felt warm. “Thank you, Commander,” you whispered, your lips betraying you.

Kriff, you were smiling.

That was the first time you spoke with the Commander. Ever since that night, the Commander would smile at you whenever you crossed paths, whether it be at the mess hall, at the hangar, or when you were coming on shift. On the rare occasions you were on shift when the Black Squadron returned from a mission, you would find Commander Poe Dameron in your office, ready for his evaluations. He would smile at you and ask about your day, and it did not take long for you two to become good friends.

In replacement for the cognitive tests, you asked about his day. Sometimes, his little droid would accompany him and fill you in on Commander Dameron’s antics, much to your friend’s dismay. During that time, Poe would ask about your day and the things he missed while he was away. There were times he would be away for a few days, sometimes weeks, and the worst, a month. You cherished the moments you shared with him, and against your better judgement, you were slowly falling for him.

You loved sitting beside him on the wings of his ship, the two of you in the hangar as he shared some sweets he managed to salvage from some of his missions. The two of you shared stories of your past, how you came into the Resistance, and debated which one of you BB8 loved more.

(You were sure BB8 loved you more, given you were fond of the little droid keeping you company while you recorded your charts and paperwork.)

It was so easy to fall for Poe Dameron, as much as you hated to admit. Despite often working late at night to finish your charts and to check up on your patients, Poe (along with BB8) would wait for you in your office, a warm cup of tea in hand. Rose had teased you several times that the Commander had a crush on you (as you were crushing on him), but each time, you brushed her off, saying that two of you were only friends. Just friends.

(But deep down, maybe you wished for something more.)

Poe was different from your first love. You would never admit it to anyone, but deep down, your heart still ached. The scars may have healed, but your mind often drifted to how you met your first love and how he treated you. Your relationship started off the same way, with playful banter and stolen smiles. You opened up to him, but he lied to you and tore you apart.

As you sat beside him on the wing, you could not help but wonder if you were venturing down the same path. You hated to think Poe would do such a terrible thing to you when he has done nothing but shown you support and love … but you were hesitant.

You were falling for him, and falling fast. As he smiled at you, you could not help but smile back.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head, laughing. “It’s nothing.”

Poe sighed, a sad smile on his face. “Y/N, I know you weren’t listening for the past two minutes.”

Shit. You chewed on your lip sheepishly, guilt eating at your insides. “I’m sorry.”

You had no right to compare him to your first love. Poe was different; he was kind, sweet, sometimes stubborn, but a good man. The only times you had argued was over his safety when he was away on his missions, but it never escalated. You were comfortable around him and confided in him as a friend. But most importantly, you felt safe.

You did not realize you were looking down until the tips of his warm fingers brushed against your chin, tilting your head until you were looking up into his worried eyes.

His voice was soft. “What’s wrong?”

He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw.

This is wrong, you thought. Poe was your friend, and you had convinced yourself he saw you nothing more than that.

And you had repeatedly told yourself that. You were nothing but friends, but as you lay in the field, you scold yourself for pulling away from him and from running. You wanted nothing more than to lean into his touch and open up to him, but you were afraid.

Stars, you were afraid.

…

I’m an idiot. I’m an idiot. I’m an idiot.

Poe curses as he runs through the corridors, turning his head left and right to search for you. You were his friend, and he stepped too far when he caressed your face. But your eyes. Your eyes. In that brief moment, he saw nothing but hurt and fear, but it vanished as soon as you pulled away, almost as if his touch hurt you.

As much as you built your walls and ran from him, he knows that look, that hesitance, that fear. He remembers the hurt and heartbreak of a first love, and the months, maybe years it takes to heal. You might have been a few years younger than him, but Poe had been in your shoes and held that same look in his eyes for years.

Until he met you.

Commander Poe Dameron might have flown into fire and been tortured at the hands of Kylo Ren himself, but falling for you scared him. You were bright, intelligent, funny, and most of all, kind, and he had talked himself into ignoring his feelings for you. You were his friend. And friends don’t fall for each other or yearn for one another. You were his friend, his friend, his friend.

A familiar flash of white and orange flickers around his ankles, his thoughts interrupted by squeaky beeps.

The pilot falters, his steps slowing down. “You what?”

More beeps.

Poe stops and kneels in front of his droid, his brows furrowed. “Beebs, do you know where Y/N is?”

Affirmative beeps.

“Where did she go?”

The droid beeps and tilts his body towards the left, leading the way with the Commander at his heels. Poe quickly follows, squeezing through tight corridors and mumbling apologies as he breaks through the bustling Resistance members unloading cargo and other medical supplies. He passes through the hangar, past his X-wing, and outside of the base and into the jungle of D’Qar.

His breath fogs into silver mists of clouds as he steps into the early spring air, the night surprisingly chilly. The astromech droid stops and nudges his legs. Over there.

Poe stops and his eyes fall upon a small clearing ahead of him. Underneath the moonlight, your blue and white medic uniform appears to glow as you lay on the soil and grass, eyes closed. The pilot hesitates, taking tentative steps towards you, unsure if you were asleep or if you were resting.

The droid beeps in assurance, nudging his legs once more. You’re okay.

“Thanks, buddy,” Poe bends over and gives the droid an affectionate belly scratch, smiling as the droid joyously beeps. “I’m going to go talk to her.”

More encouraging beeps. With one last nudge, Poe smiles as BB8 rolls away and back into the hangar. He turns towards you, his heart beginning to hammer with each slow step he takes towards you.

What would he say? How would you react? Do you even want to talk to him, after what he’s done?

His legs shake, his throat running dry as he sucks in the night air. You look so peaceful, lying on the grass, he almost felt guilty at wanting to stir you from your rest.

He stops a few feet behind you and clears his throat. “Hey.”

Your eyes slowly open, but they widen once they land on him, looking up at you from an upside-down angle. Were you afraid?

“Hi,” you breathe and blink rapidly. “I wasn’t sleeping.”

Poe could not help but laugh, his heart fluttering as you smile sheepishly up at him, a tinge of a blush creeping on your neck. “I never said you were. Can I…?”

You nod, and he sighs in relief, hesitantly taking a seat next to you, but keeps you at a distance. He did not want to spook you or sit too close, not wanting you to drift away if he crossed a boundary.

You sit upright and lean back on the heels of your hands, at least a foot of space between you. Neither of you say anything for a moment, for the only thing Poe could hear was the rush of blood pounding through his ears, his hammering heartbeat in his chest, and the sounds of crickets chirping somewhere in the distance.

He could not help himself. Slowly, ever so slowly, his gaze drifts towards you on his right, gazing at you through the periphery. You look more beautiful in the moonlight, he thinks, not because of your physicality, but because of how peaceful you look, how calm. You were glowing in the moonlight, and he could not help but think perhaps you were the moon yourself, glowing in the night sky and causing him to gravitate towards you like the waves kissing the sandy shores.

If you were the moon, he was the sun, burning in adoration and love for you, willing to light the galaxies to keep you glowing. Even if you are apart, you are still together, lighting the night and day.

Poe wills himself to look away, afraid that you would catch him looking at you. You were his friend, he reminds himself.

He can hear his mother laugh in the back of his mind. My sweet boy, we both know how you truly feel.

The pilot breaks the silence by clearing his throat once more. “I’m sorry.”

You turn, your eyes wide and brows furrowed. “What for?”

Willing himself to face you, his eyes search yours, catching a glimpse of your walls lowering to reveal something he had never seen before: vulnerability.

Poe smiles lightly, but it does not reach his eyes. “I shouldn’t have touched you, I should have asked for your permission.” He pauses, watching you as you shyly look down, but smiling at the hint of a blush kissing your cheeks. “I don’t want to cross a boundary, but if I did, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s not that…” you whisper. A strand of your hair falls in front of your face, but you quickly tuck it behind your ear and look up at him. “It’s not your fault, it’s someo- something else.”

He catches your correction, but does not say anything. He knows, he understands.

“I know,” he whispers.

Poe could not help but smile as you groan, hiding your blushing face behind your hands and mumbling.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Hey, hey,” he reaches for your hands, his touch light as he grasps your wrists. Slowly, you lower your hands, your cheeks slightly pink from embarrassment. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

You stare at him, an unreadable look in your gaze. Poe swallows hard and releases your wrists, afraid he crossed your boundaries again.

After a moment, you reach for his hand, your touch warm over his. “You already know, don’t you?”

You look up at him again, a small smile on your lips.

“May I?”

You nod, and he shifts his body closer towards you until you are inches apart. He watches you trace lazy patterns on his knuckles with your finger, smiling lightly.

You catch him looking at you, a small grin breaking across your face. His lips mirror yours, and he finds himself leaning towards you, like the waves kissing the shore.

Poe stops until your foreheads touch, your nose brushing against his, breathing in your air. Your lashes flutter shut against his cheeks, and he pauses, admiring your serene glow as his hand hesitantly traces the side of your neck, your jaw, your cheeks …

You suck in a deep breath, and he pauses, testing the waters as he cups your cheek, his fingers tangling into your hair.

His eyes close as he traces his thumb across your cheekbone, his lips brushing against yours. It wasn’t a kiss, but it was close.

“Is this okay?” Poe whispers, his lips brushing against yours again.

Your lips were so soft.

He stops, feeling you freeze under his touch.

“I really want to kiss you,” you whisper.

With each word you speak, your lips brush against his in an almost kiss. Almost. There was something more intimate about holding you like this, sharing a breath, as you both lay in the moonlight.

The pilot pulls away slightly, chuckling as he catches a small pout on your lips. His fingers still remain in your hair, his thumb stroking your cheek.

“What’s holding you back?”

You look up at him, and he watches you hesitate and argue with yourself about whether you want to kiss him or pull away.

“I’m scared,” you murmur sorrowfully, angry at yourself for being so vulnerable. “I don’t want to ruin our friendship, I don’t want to keep thinking of, of-”

You stop yourself, but reach for his hand as you gently grasp the wrist holding your face and lean into his touch. “That’s unfair to you. But, Poe, I can feel myself falling for you, and it scares the hell out of me.”

Oh. Oh.

Okay.

Heat licks at his cheeks as he stares at you. Oh, you like him too. Oh.

This whole time, he had a feeling, but would chase the thought away and think himself foolish for thinking such things. Finn and General Organa would always tease him about his crush on you, saying that no, Poe, you idiot, she likes you too. You’re just too damn stubborn to see it.

(He could almost hear the exchange of credits somewhere in the base. He may have heard someone make a bet once or twice, but ignored them, thinking this was too far-fetched.)

Poe blinks, unsure of what to say. His heart swells, wanting to tell you that he’s falling for you too.

Being the idiot he is, all he says is, “I know.”

Maker. What. An. Idiot.

You blink, eyes wide as you freeze beneath his touch. “Oh, oh, um-”

Kriff. “No, I mean-” Poe shakes his head and gently holds you closer, not wanting you to leave his touch as he tries to redeem himself for his bluntness. “I mean, I had a feeling.”

His voice softens as he trails his fingers to the back of your neck. “I’m falling for you too, Y/N. I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to scare you, or lose you. But most importantly,” he stops, tracing your pulse, “I wanted you to tell me on your own, because you want to.”

Your gaze lifts up towards him, your eyes soft and you lean closer towards him. You don’t say anything, but his heart stops as you release his wrist and trace the contours of his face gently, your touch soft and delicate.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he adds as he leans towards your touch. “I won’t force you.”

Poe smiles as he sees you smile, your eyes shining. “Thank you.”

Maker, he loves your smile. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hmm?”

Poe smirks and leans forward until his nose brushes against yours. “I’m the better looking one, right? I mean, I also have a cool droid and can fly-”

“Stars, Poe-!” You laugh, your face scrunching up as you pull away to laugh. Poe grins as he watches you laugh. He loves making you laugh.

You smile up at him and boop his nose. “Yes, you’re the better looking one, but I think you have some competition with BB8.”

He quirks a brow. “Oh, I have to compete with BB8 now?”

“Well,” you pause, tapping your chin in deep thought, “he doesn’t do reckless double barrel rolls while fighting First Order TIE fighters, he stays out of trouble--”

“Okay, okay,” he groans, “I see how it is.”

Smirking devilishly, he tickles your sides and you jump, laughing as he pulls you closer towards him until your head falls on his shoulder and you’re pleading for him to stop before you start crying from laughter.

“Okay, I yield, I yield!” You gasp, giggling as he finally stops tickling you.

Poe laughs, brushing your hair out of your face and tucking the loose strands behind your ear. “I like seeing you laugh.”

You smile up at him and lean towards him until your lips brush against his. “Thank you for understanding.”

He smiles, placing his hand against your neck, his fingers in your hair and his thumb caressing your jaw. His smile grows as your lashes flutter against his cheeks again, a sweet sigh spilling from your lips.

The pilot leans forward, whispering against your lips. “May I?”

You nod, your hands tugging at the collar of his shirt to pull him close. “Yes.”

Slowly, his eyes fall shut and his lips seek yours, the sun meeting the moon halfway in the sky.

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips, we should just kiss like real people do.

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #star wars #I may have also based some of this on my personal exprerience #this was supposed to be a drabble #but it ended up being 11 pages of mutual pining oops #!!

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iwaxpoetic · 4 years ago

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fic: like you’d get your knuckles bloody (betty/archie, riverdale)

fandom: riverdale pairing: archie andrews/betty cooper, barchie There were so many choices that felt so small at the time. It seemed as if she blinked while getting a refill of her milkshake at Pop’s and woke up in a forest, covered in her boyfriend’s blood. She had been so many Betties between them - in a bunker, at the farm, chasing down a masked killer, in a black wig, holding Chuck Clayton’s head under water —

Standing beneath her porch light, her heart in her throat while Archie Andrews said, “I can’t give you the answer that you want.”

Was that the end of the beginning or the beginning of the end?--

Betty Cooper, before-and-after.

Her sense of narrative structure made her wish it was as easy as a before-and-after.

There was such clarity in a defining moment, in being able to spot the time when everything changed. There was a Cheryl before and after Jason died; a Jughead before and after he slipped on the Serpent jacket; the Breakfast at Tiffany’s Veronica before she turned In Cold Blood.

There was no clean before-and-after for Betty Cooper. There were so many choices that felt so small at the time. It seemed as if she blinked while getting a refill of her milkshake at Pop’s and woke up in a forest, covered in her boyfriend’s blood. She had been so many Betties between then - in a bunker, at the farm, chasing down a masked killer, in a black wig, holding Chuck Clayton’s head under water —

Standing beneath her porch light, her heart in her throat while Archie Andrews said, “I can’t give you the answer that you want.”

Was that the end of the beginning or the beginning of the end?

——

The old Betty, wherever she began and ended, was characterized by her discipline.

Every day, she suited up in her prim cardigans and slick ponytail, ready for another day as the dutiful daughter, the doting sister, the star student. She could handle any pop quiz, any turbulence in the Cooper household, any pressing deadlines at the Blue and Gold. When the pressure got to be too much, she would clench her fists and breathe through it.

And every night, she looked out her bedroom window at what she really wanted. Second floor, second window from the back, calling to her like a lighthouse. Archie’s window was lit up at all hours of the day and night, whether he was strumming his guitar or dozing off with a movie on. It was her nightlight. She fell asleep to its comforting glow, knowing their time would come one day.

She had to be disciplined, because she was hungry. Sometimes it scared her, how strongly she felt. There was a bottomless pit of want inside of her and she tiptoed around it, testing the edges but never letting herself fall in. Betty didn’t want to be the kind of person who was dragged around by her id. She wanted to be the person that other people thought she was. Sometimes that meant sleepless nights helping Polly learn her cheer routine, piling more volunteer hours on top of her already packed schedule, turning the other cheek to another Blossom insult.

Season five Betty Draper, Cheryl had once called her, as if she knew the half of it.

——

Betty had never thought Archie would love her in the exact way that she loved him.

She knew that love took different shapes in each container. She could see the way her mother and father fit together, pushing and pulling but ultimately a team, making each other better - a real laugh, in retrospect. One of her favorite memories was being eight years old, when Alice had just broken a big story. The pride lit her up from the inside and Hal’s beaming face reflected it right back. But she had also watched from next door as the Andrews fell apart. Fred and Mary lost something that seemed sweet and steady and kind, and then Fred puttered around that big house alone.

She thought about what that love might feel like, when it finally came.

Archie was all sweetness. Being his girlfriend would mean never walking to school alone, sporting his letterman jacket at games, and dancing together at prom. It would be afternoons working on a jalopy in the garage and nights cuddling together on the sofa. He would write songs about her and she would proofread his college essays and they would move to New York together after graduation.

It would be an awful lot like being his friend had been since they turned 13 and their parents had put a moratorium on sleepovers, except that she would get to touch the abs that had been taunting her. The heart that beat under those defined pectoral muscles was pure gold and it was an even better prize.

Something murkier lay beneath the surface for Betty. Sometimes she wondered if she loved him or if she coveted him. She wanted to know every thought in his head, every dream in his heart. Long before the school hallways had started to echo with Archie got hot!, she had been daydreaming about ways to get his hands on her. There were no dibs on a person, but she saw him first and had seen only him since.

Betty had never thought that Archie would burn for her, but she basked in his steady glow. Archie lived closer to the surface - he wore his heart on his sleeve and an easy smile on his face. That was one of the things she loved about him. They would be so happy together, but his devotion would never match hers.

It wasn’t until she was standing at the edge of a shallow grave, looking down at his terrified, resolved face with a shovel in her hand and a gun to her head, that she realized they may have misjudged each other.

——

A dam had broken in Betty Cooper earlier that fall.

It could have been one thing or any number of things — Veronica Lodge sweeping into town, Polly’s mysterious disappearance, Jason Blossom’s body washing up in Sweetwater River. It was an unusually active September, especially by Riverdale’s sleepy standards.

For Betty, it felt like the foundation had been cracking. With one firm tap, it was gone.

You are so perfect. I’ve never been good enough for you, I’ll never be good enough for you.

The careful balancing of what she should want versus what she did want is what had kept her in check for all these years. No one else seemed to have the same qualms. Betty couldn’t imagine Cheryl or Veronica denying themselves a thing. In fact, she knew they wouldn’t. Veronica had talked a big game about turning over a new leaf, but after less than a week in Riverdale, Veronica had seven minutes in a closet and Betty had a box of Magnolia cupcakes.

Only Betty had the discipline to decide to be something and then become it. It had gotten harder for her to see how that was a good thing.

— —

Jughead’s interest in Betty was both a balm and a sting.

Boys had never been interested in her. She wasn’t sure if it was because word of her strict parents preceded her or because her crush on Archie was so obvious that it was not worth getting their hopes up. Whatever the reason, she had made it sixteen years without being asked to the drive-in, having a note slipped in her locker, or having rocks thrown at her window by someone who wanted to date her. She did all those things with her best friend and had become aware that it was not the same.

Until Jughead crawled through her window and gave her her first real kiss, she didn’t realize exactly how different it was.

Being on the other side of the equation was a revelation. It was amazing to think that there was someone who liked her more than anyone else, who thought about her when she wasn’t around, who wanted to kiss her and hold her hand and maybe more one day. Jughead was a good person - he was cute and smart, with a wicked sense of humor that tickled at the dark side she kept such a lid on - but what made him special is that he thought she was special. Betty had never come first to anyone before and she dove into intimacy with the same enthusiasm and determination that she put into any task.

But it was her way to acknowledge the cloud even while she focused on the silver lining. Besides her, Jughead was Archie’s best friend in the world. If other boys had avoided her due to some unspoken claim, surely he would find her to be even further off limits. If Jughead liked her, it was because Archie never would.

Somehow it was more devastating than the rejection itself. A dramatic showdown in formalwear still fit with the narrative that she had imagined for Archie-and-Betty. Power couples faced obstacles. Even after homecoming, even after Melody, even after Veronica, a part of her still though she should be patient. It was the utter lack of drama in her courtship with Jughead that made it real. There was nothing to be dramatic about.

She made her peace with it, first with her nails dug into her palms but then genuinely. The pieces of her heart felt like they were rearranging. Jughead had burst his way in and made his home right in the center. The part that housed her feelings for Archie was smaller, but the scars had made the walls thick and tough.

She would always love him and now she knew what shape it would take. She felt lucky to have enough love in her life that she could feel the difference.

It took a few months, but Betty started to think Jughead might be her soulmate. They both felt a personal obligation to clean up Riverdale’s seedy underbelly, loved books and old movies, and, most importantly, they hated the same things about her. On his lips, “perfect” was scornful. After all of those years pursuing perfection, she wasn’t too fond of it herself.

——

People gave you a wide berth in the aftermath of a showdown with a killer.

Betty was distracted and distant in the weeks following the altercation with Joseph Svenson. People around town stared and whispered even more than usual, but they looked at her with pity and awe in their eyes. Even her mother and Jughead gave her space, assuming that she was reeling after weeks of cat-and-mouse.

When she was alone, Betty didn’t think about Joseph Svenson at all. She thought about Archie Andrews.

It wasn’t about the kiss, although it was hardly the one she had scripted for them long ago. She thought about the way that he had grabbed her hand as she put the pieces together and started to spiral, the only thing tethering her to this earth. She thought about how instantly he had responded to Get in the coffin or I’ll shoot her in the head right now.

To be willing to die for someone was the kind of sweeping statement of love and dedication that was easy to say because it was so unlikely to be tested. It was reserved for the most important people in your life, the ones that you would do anything to protect. When she was in danger, Archie hadn’t batted an eye. When she closed her eyes, all she could see was him lowering himself into a coffin for her. She had been looking at that face for years and years, had known it when it had a beaming smile of mismatched baby teeth, had admired its changing angles. His jaw was clenched but his eyes were as warm as ever when the lid closed over him.

It was unbelievable to think that only weeks ago, kisses and milkshakes had made her feel special. It wasn’t fair to hold up a high school romance against the ultimate sacrifice, but the tectonic plates of her life had shifted again. It was a secret humming under her skin. It was heady to know that there was someone in the world who would do anything for you.

In a way, the showdown with the Black Hood was the most romantic night of her life. That was Riverdale for you.

— —

Betty stopped thinking about Hal Cooper almost as soon as he was locked away. She had spent so much time pouring over the Black Hood and puzzling over her family secrets that when she tried to align the man with the father, none of the pieces fit quite right anymore. After the loss of Hal and Polly, the Cooper family structure coalesced neatly around Betty and Alice as if it had always just been them.

Compartmentalizing and moving on was another discipline that Betty excelled at. Most of the time, anyway.

She thought about Fred Andrews all the time. The lights were out in Archie’s room for the first time that she could remember, but she knew that he was home. The loss was unspeakable, so she never tried.

— —

Even for someone good at compartmentalizing, it could be hard for Betty to separate the way she felt about Veronica from how she felt about Veronica Lodge.

The simple truth is that they were friends because Veronica had decided they were friends. Betty had been skeptical but a little bit flattered. She had written Veronica off at first, sure that she would move on and nestle in at Cheryl's side like two rich bitch peas in a pod, but she had persisted.

No one had ever wanted to be her friend that desperately. Despite what her frilly pink sweaters might imply, she had never been much of a girl’s girl. Her only real friends were Archie and Kevin. That had always been more than enough for her, but there was something to be said for having Veronica in her corner.

But the only person better at compartmentalizing than Betty was Veronica Lodge. Veronica could claim that she was destined to be Betty’s best friend while snatching her lifelong crush out from under her. She could disavow her family’s shady business dealings, then join Lodge Industries and keep quiet about their plans for the Southside. She could love Archie, then sit by while her father destroys his life.

Betty had been tap dancing around questions of morality for a while. One did not get to make too many principled stances when their boyfriend was a gang leader who once partially skinned a woman, and she tried not to throw too many stones from inside a house where she had once blackmailed Cheryl Blossom into testifying on behalf of FP Jones. As she started to shed more and more of her Nice Girl persona, Betty thought she had become more understanding of all the gray in the world.

In a sweltering court room after Labor Day weekend, Betty had found the thing she could never forgive. She watched stupid - noble, self-sacrificing, stupid - Archie jump at a plea deal for a crime he had not committed, all to spare them another trial. Veronica had cried and dropped her head into her hands, but Betty could still see flickers of her in Hiram Lodge’s satisfied smile.

Betty held her friend as she cried and clamped down on her latest intrusive thought - none of this would be happening if it weren’t for you. From learning to read to wrestling him from Ms. Grundy’s clutches, there had never been a problem Betty could not solve for Archie until he crossed Hiram’s path. There was nothing Betty wouldn't do for Archie, but there was nothing she could do for him now, so she averted her teary eyes and tried not to let in the darkness that always seemed so close to the surface now.

Meeting Veronica Lodge was the worst thing that had ever happened to any of them.

— —

When Betty used to dream of Archie as the leading man in every romance, she had imagined kissing him with a frequency that made her blush to think about even now.

She had been inexperienced and was not even sure what she was longing for. In her mind’s eye, she saw him in everything - the foot pop at the end of The Princess Diaries, the foggy window in Titanic, on the dock in The Notebook - hell, even Spiderman dangling upside down in the rain. It was a collage of images that she could not quite attach a sensation to, but it made her blood run a bit hotter.

When Betty tried to flesh out her fantasies, she relied on a few tangible things she did know - the smell of his cologne, which she had picked out; his increasingly hard biceps, flexing under her fingers when they linked arms on the way to school; the way his hair felt when she playfully ruffled it; the slow drag of his fingers across her back and stomach, when he was winding up to tickle her.

It was almost like an out of body experience when she flung the microphone to the ground. Betty was somewhere else in the garage as she and Archie sang, circling the microphone, their traded glances growing less playful and more searching, until he swung the guitar behind his back and reached for her.

The touch of his hand was like it had always been, the tether that held her to earth and made sure she didn’t miss a thing. Betty had never been more present. After all those years of patience and restraint, she couldn’t get close enough.

— —

There was no clear before-and-after for Archie Andrews.

He had come a long way from being the boy-next-door. He had been the star football player and the sensitive musician. He had been groomed by his music teacher and apprenticed at the foot of a mobster. He had started a youth center for the underprivileged and shattered his hand pulling Cheryl Blossom out of a frozen river. It felt like a lifetime ago that it had just been Betty and Archie in a booth at Pop’s, but Betty didn’t feel like he had changed at all. When she looked into his eyes, she saw the same person staring back at her that she always had.

When there was such a bone-deep understanding, how could she ever feel like he was different? With every step he took, she was right there too.

It dawned on Betty that maybe her before-and-after had happened long before she started looking for it. There was a Betty Cooper before she loved Archie Andrews and she had been living in the after since she was 11 years old.

She flipped through her diaries, years and years of little choices. Her next one felt big.

#fanfic #archie andrews/betty cooper #barchie #archie/betty #riverdale #riverdale fanfiction #betty-centric

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

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Galactica, Chapter 9 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Please know how INCREDIBLY grateful we are to anyone who’s liked or commented on this story. It’s really a labor of love, and we’re thrilled that people are enjoying it! Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Violet suffered a hangover and, to her delight, found an assistant candidate that Fame approved.

This Chapter: A million girls would kill for Courtney’s new job.

***

Courtney took a deep breath as she entered the Galactica building and took the elevator up to the 25th floor.

It was a sunny day in early August, and she had dressed in her very best outfit since it would be her first day at her brand new job.

Courtney had applied for the job with little to no hope of actually getting it, but then the miracle happened, and she had been completely overjoyed when her new friend Violet had called her with the news; even if the interview with Miss Fame had been one of the scariest things she had ever done.

Courtney’s entire weekend had been spent in a frantic state of pulling together the mountain of paperwork HR had requested in order to get her visa, and of course there was the anxiety about having nice enough clothes to wear.

She had ended up enlisting Tyra to help, since her college friend was the most stylish person she knew, and managed to do it on a budget, too. They’d scraped together enough pieces for this week, but if Courtney lasted longer than that, and she desperately hoped she would, she would have to beg, borrow and perhaps steal some more.

It was 8 am, and Courtney thought she would have been the first one in the building, but when she made it to the office, Violet was already there. Courtney quickly checked her hair and her teeth in the glass door reflection, smoothing out the wrinkles in her light blue dress before she opened the door with a big smile and a cheery, “Good morning!”

Violet looked up. She was wearing a white buttoned up shirt, golden jewelry and a crimson pencil skirt, her long black hair falling down her back in curly waves, looking as beautiful and impeccably put-together as always.

Violet was organizing something at a brand new desk that had not been there during Courtney’s interview. It was placed directly across from Violet’s desk, on the other side of the door to Fame’s office.

“Ah. Courtney.” Violet smiled. “Good morning.”

Courtney sighed, a bit relieved. Today, Violet seemed much more like the lovely girl she’d met at the club last week, and less like the uptight hardass she’d been during the interview. Courtney supposed that maybe that had been a test, and she was thrilled she passed, because now they could be friends.

She looked at the new desk, which was equipped with a new iMac and office supplies, along with a thick binder and notepad with the Galactica logo.

“Fame is getting her hair recolored and cut at Juju Sandersons salon-” Violet took a brief pause, her eyes searching Courtney’s face for something, and Courtney realized that she was probably expected to know who that was, though she had no idea. “Hmm.” Violet tapped her papers against the desk, putting them into a neat and organized pile. “Which means we have time to get you ready before she returns.”

“Get me ready?” Courtney looked down at herself; she thought she looked more than fine. She’d tried to look as chic as possible in honor of the new job.

“Not that. Your outfit is acceptable today.” Violet gestured for Courtney to come sit at the desk while she continued to stand. “Here.” Violet placed a stack of papers in front of Courtney on the table.

“What’s this?”

“I need you to sign this before we begin.” Violet put a perfectly manicured finger down on the paper, and Courtney’s nose was filled with the overpowering scent of lavender. “It’s a standard NDA. You’ll do the rest of your paperwork with HR later, but I can’t show you anything until you sign.”

“Oh...okay.” Courtney wasn’t sure exactly what an NDA was, but if it was that important, she supposed she better sign immediately. She picked up a pen and began to fill it out as quickly as possible.

Her pen had barely lifted from the last line when Violet snatched it off the table, replacing it with the binder.

“Thank you.”

Violet pointed to the binder, a 4-inch monstrosity filled with tabbed sections and little flag stickers. “I took the liberty of preparing a manual for you. It’s nowhere near complete, but it’s enough to get you started. Read it, memorize it, get to know everything inside.”

“Sure,” Courtney said, and opened the cover, a little startled when Violet reached out a hand to snap it shut again.

“Not now.” Violet sighed. “Do that on your own time. Please.”

“Sorry.” Courtney swallowed. Guess party Violet was a lot further away than she had thought.

“I’ve pulled these for you from marketing.” Violet dumped a stack of colorful catalogues on Courtney’s desk. “Brochures for the last 10 years, so you can become familiar with the collections. Every day here can be a test, so be serious when you study them. Miss Fame will frequently ask for references, and sometimes she won’t give much information. You’re expected to be able to find ‘the powder blue tweed skirt’ or ‘the dress with the flowers’. It’s your job to figure out what Miss Fame wants. Never ask her for clarification.”

“Never?”

“If you do, she’ll be aggravated, and believe me, you do not want to experience her aggravated.”

“Right…”

“Remember, this will be fun,” Violet touched Courtney’s shoulder, a smile on her face. “You told me you love fashion, right?”

Courtney nodded. She was starting to have a sneaking suspicion that her idea of loving fashion was different from Violet’s.

“Here’s the company directory.” Violet put yet another document folder on the table, this time filled with laminated sheets. “All of these are obviously in the binder, section 2, but I made some laminated versions for your desk. You need to know this backwards and forwards. Focus on senior management first, they’re the most important, but you’ll be expected to name and know the other assistants. Know the support staff too, but that won’t be expected until at least your third week here. This-” Violet pulled another list out of the folder, “is a list of the company’s trusted vendors and consultants. Do not, and I repeat, do not, just use whoever you think will be able to do a good job.”

Violet waited for a beat to make sure Courtney had understood.

“And this is Miss Fame’s approved list - her close friends and trusted associates. Pay attention to it; none of the people here should ever have to wait more than an hour for a callback.”

“Is Adore on it?” Courtney’s eyes lit up, looking down at the list.

“This isn’t about your friend.”

“Right, of course.” Courtney added the new papers to the growing stack of material she was expected to memorize.

“Now...” Violet placed a brand new iPhone in front of her, which Courtney immediately grabbed, gasping when she turned it around and saw that it was the one in rose gold.

“Oh my god!” Courtney loved it. It was sparkly and fun and just what she needed after what felt like hours of white paper and black folders.

“Are you disappointed?” Violet looked genuinely sorry. “I can have it exchanged if you don’t enjoy pink, I simply thought-” Violet extended her hand, ready to take the phone back.

“No!” Courtney moved so Violet couldn’t get it. “No! It’s fine! More than fine! I love it!”

“Great.” Violet pulled a chair up to Courtney’s desk, sitting down and looking at her gravely. “This phone is your most important piece of work equipment. It’s not a toy, and it’s not for your personal use, okay? I don’t want to catch you playing Candy Crush or screwing around on social media with this.”

Courtney nodded, already knowing now that she did not intend to keep that promise at all. This was the best thing that had happened all day; her new phone was going with her everywhere from now on. She glanced around the office to see where the best selfie light would be, already imagining the post with #firstday in the caption.

“You will never, and I mean never, leave your phone unattended during business hours.”

Courtney swallowed, her daydream of selfies completely forgotten. Violet sounded serious. Way serious.

“We do have an office line,” Violet pointed at the phone on Courtney’s desk, which had a corresponding model on Violet’s, “but any calls get redirected to our phones if no one picks up within the first four rings.”

Courtney nodded again, trying to commit everything Violet was saying to memory.

“Fame uses these numbers to get in touch with us, so you’ll have it on, even during nights and weekends in case Fame needs us.”

“Got it.” Courtney smiled. It sounded kind of extreme and she was pretty sure Violet was exaggerating. Who had their work phone on over the weekends?

“Good. Now remember, there will never be any excuse good enough not to take your phone if Fame calls during the weekend, and you will always, and I mean always, have it fully charged. Nothing is more useless than an assistant you can’t get a hold of.”

Courtney nodded, keeping a very serious expression on her face to match Violet’s tone.

“Always bring a notepad with you too. Fame is busy and if we can help it we never bother her with any follow-up questions, we just do what we’re supposed to.”

“Right.” Courtney almost bit her lip, the word starting to sound stupid to her own ears since she had said it so much.

“Last but not least,” Violet placed a keycard in front of Courtney next with her full name and photo on it. “This is your keycard to the building. We have one of the highest security ratings, so never, and I mean never, ever, ever, lose it. We can go through every door on every floor except for senior management’s private offices, though yours will work for Fame’s.”

“We can go into Fame’s office?” Courtney smiled widely, already excited about snooping around in the inner secrets of Galactica’s glamorous CEO.

“Just because we can, doesn’t mean we should.”

“Oh…”

“We are assistants, Courtney, and therefore the least important people in this company.”

Courtney wrinkled her brow. She was pretty sure she had just heard Violet say they had access to everything, which seemed pretty damned important if you asked her.

“We’re not here for personal gain or to have fun, but to make Miss Fame’s workday as easy and effortless as humanly possible. If we fuck up, we can get fired, so I hope you have prepared yourself for that.”

Courtney gulped, realizing for the first time how much responsibility was about to be piled on her slim shoulders.

***

Violet glanced at the clock. She had spent about an hour introducing Courtney to everything in their suite, as well as the most important computer systems. It seemed like the blonde was picking it up well enough, but Violet could also sense that she was getting tired and overwhelmed.

It was understandable, but annoying, since Violet knew how rare it was for Fame not to be in the office.

She checked her phone, a text from Juju’s assistant telling Violet that Fame was safely in the chair at the salon, and Violet decided that it was time to throw Courtney a treat.

“Courtney. Get your things, come with me and I’ll give you a tour of the building.”

“Yes!” Courtney smiled brightly, pumping her fist and grabbing her things, relieved to be allowed away from her desk.

***

Courtney hadn’t seen much of Galactica so far, and as she followed behind Violet, she felt like she was being swallowed up by a world of white. Everything at Galactica was kept sparkling clean, the floors in some places so newly polished, Courtney could see her own face.

The only thing breaking up the monotony of the long hallways and immaculate conference rooms were giant pieces of art that hung on the walls, Violet offhandedly naming painters and artists like Courtney was supposed to know who they were.

Violet showed her the office supply closets, the boring interior of it, shelves stuffed with post-its and binder clips almost seeming wrong in a place that was otherwise so slick and fashionable, before opening the door to “Max’s studio,” where some kind of photo shoot was in progress, a few models in chairs getting made up. Courtney watched for a few moments, a secret thrill rippling through her at the thought of someday being in one of those chairs, before Violet shut the door again, pulling her farther down the hall.

“What was that shoot for?!” Courtney asked excitedly. “Do we ever get to-”

“This...” Violet cut Courtney off, completely ignoring her. “Is Raja Amrull’s office. Her assistant’s name is Ivy, and she’ll be the closest thing you have to a coworker here.” Violet pushed a door open, and as Courtney stepped inside, she felt like she was taken to another world.

Raja’s office was filled with plants, the white walls and somewhat sterile look of the rest of the company exchanged with a lush explosion of warm colors. The assistant’s desk was heavy oak, while the cream white couch of Fame’s waiting area was replaced with a deep brown leather one that stood on top of what Courtney could only assume was a real Persian rug.

“As you can see, Raja doesn’t share Fame’s appreciation for Scandinavian design.” Violet smiled, and Courtney was pretty sure that Violet had just made a joke.

She was just about to open her mouth when they were interrupted by a redhead who came through the door from the outside.

“Violet!”

“Hello Ivy.”

Ivy was absolutely stunning. Her copper red hair was collected on top of her head, and she was wearing a beautiful green pantsuit that suited her perfectly.

“Ivy, Courtney, Courtney, Ivy. It’s her first day.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Ivy held her hand out, a smile on her face as she shook Courtney’s, leaning in with a conspiratorial wink. “I know it can be a bit much when you start here, so let me know if there’s ever anything I can do to help you.”

Courtney just about swooned in gratitude, Ivy’s warm and caring nature so immediately different from anything else she’d experienced all day.

“I’m showing her around,” Violet explained.

“Do you want to check out the styling closets?” Ivy asked, a twinkle in her eye as she confided, “My favorite place in the company.”

“Sure!”

Violet checked the clock on her phone screen, sighing slightly, as Ivy led Courtney through a door in their suite to one of the most amazing sights Courtney had ever seen. When she imagined working at a famous fashion house, this was what she’d fantasized about. Racks and racks of clothes in every color, hundreds of shoes lining the shelves, every accessory you could ever want. Courtney’s mouth opened in delight; she had to resist the impulse to clap her hands and jump up as down like a child.

“This is incredible!”

“I know, right? Our own little slice of paradise,” Ivy said. “You know, sometimes when I’m cleaning things out, there are pieces up for grabs. I could maybe-”

“Thanks Ivy, that’s enough” Violet said. She leaned in to Ivy, muttering under her breath, “Let’s get her through the week before we promise her perks.”

“Violet,” Ivy admonished gently, eyes sparkling, but she went along with the request, closing the door.

“Wait, you mean we get to-” Courtney began.

“Courtney, come. We have a lot more ground to cover,” Violet said, ushering her out the door and down a flight of stairs.

Courtney followed along, feeling a bit more excited after what she’d just seen—the photo shoot and the amazing closet. Maybe this job would be exciting and glamorous after all.

“The 24th floor is basically everything not directly related to fashion and design,” Violet was explaining. “HR, accounting, operations. You should be sure to make friends with Shangela, the Director of Operations. She’d been here forever and knows pretty much everything about the management side of things.”

Violet opened the doors to a large bullpen. It was still white and slick like the floor above, but slightly busier, more office-like. Open cubicles with shining white desks, people bustling around, larger offices lining 3 of the walls, light pouring in from the big windows filling the 4th.

“Here we have marketing, which is led by Alyssa Edwards, whom you’ll get to meet soon enough.” Violet said, walking briskly through the space.

Courtney nodded, almost running a little to keep up with her, silently cursing herself for the sky-high stilettos she had worn for her first day - she would have loved to wear her 3-inch pumps, but after her interview she knew they wouldn’t cut it. But Courtney had no idea there would be this much walking in an assistant job; in her mind it had been a job mostly about sitting at a desk, fielding calls from designers and the press and being pretty.

“This is PR and social media. Pearl Liaison, who oversees that department, is notoriously difficult to get a hold of. She spends very little of her time at the office.”

“Where does she spend her time then?”

“Pearl goes to every fashion related event in New York City. She usually covers everything that Fame or Raja are either too busy to attend, or simply don’t care for.”

“Do we ever get to go to parties for Galactica? Like, as assistants?”

“No.”

“Oh…” Courtney bit her lip, a little disappointed.

“If you desperately need Pearl, tweet her.”

“Tweet her?”

“I’m trying to teach her to accept calls like a normal person.”

“Wait.” It almost looked like Violet was smiling, and Courtney suddenly remembered that she was pretty sure she had seen the woman in question before at the club. “Pearl? Isn’t she the one who-”

“Shangela!” Violet exclaimed, turning from Courtney towards a beautiful black woman in a pink skirt suit. “This is Courtney, Miss Fame’s new assistant.”

Shangela gave Courtney a quick once-over before shaking her hand. “Welcome aboard. You’re in good hands.”

“Thank you.”

“Violet, I know you’re still waiting on her to agree to pushing the Tuesday meeting, but I really think it’s important,” Shangela said. “Jaida and I need time to revise everything—you know what a mess everyone has been, we barely even have rough numbers.”

“I’ll do my best,” Violet said.

“Thanks, love.” Shangela gave her an air kiss and continued on her way.

“Okay, so-” Violet said, approaching the door to the stairwell again.

“What’s that?” Courtney asked, pointing to a room where several employees were gathered around an espresso machine.

“The breakroom. You won’t be needing it,” Violet told her, pointing towards the stairs. “This way.”

They took one more flight down and Courtney could tell from the way Violet’s face got a bit dreamy that there was something truly spectacular underway.

“Twenty-three is where the major creative work takes place. The executives for our makeup line have an office here, and design-”

“Makeup?! Here?!” Courtney squealed.

“Where else?”

Courtney knew, of course, that Galactica had a makeup line—a very high-end, exclusive one that she couldn’t afford herself, but she’d assumed that it was all done in some factory somewhere. The idea of having it in the same office was terribly exciting.

“Here’s where the designers work,” Violet said, pulling open a set of heavy doors, just as her phone buzzed in her hand. “Sorry, I have to- Hold that thought.”

Courtney tried to see the text that Violet received, but the other girl was too fast.

“Fuck! Courtney. Come with me!” Violet let the door to design close heavily, barely offering Courtney a glance inside, turning and racing back up the stairs in a panic.

“Violet, what’s wrong?!” Courtney ran after her as fast as she could, but the other girl was taking the stairs two at a time.

“Fame is on her way, her driver just texted me and she got in a taxi while he was circling the block, now come on.” Violet rattled it off, words falling from her like a waterfall, Violet barely even sounding out of breath.

“Is the tour over?” Courtney asked, panting. Damn, she was fast.

“What do you think?” Violet replied, her voice exasperated, her tone sharp as she rattled off orders. “Go to the coffee shop in the lobby, pick up a fresh latte, the barista will know her order. You’ll need to pick up breakfast from 10 too. Can you handle that?””

“From 10?”

“The tenth floor, are you even listening to-” Violet groaned, and turned on the stairs. “Courtney. I’m only going to ask you this once. Get your shit together, and get it together now.”

“I’m sorry!”

Courtney felt sweaty and disheveled by the time they made it back to their office, Violet throwing open a drawer and pulling out a wad of cash. She stuffed it into Courtney’s dress pocket and then shoved her out the door.

“Lobby, then 10! I’ll text you the order. Run!”

Courtney ran. By the time she’d gotten to the lobby, she had a series of texts from Violet with detailed instructions: exactly what the coffee order was (medium double extra hot skinny vanilla unsweetened almond milk latte, cold foam and 2 shakes of cinnamon), to remember to get a receipt and tip the barista (WRITE THE TIP AMOUNT ON THE RECEIPT), a reminder about Fame’s breakfast (her order’s been called in but you need to double check that it’s correct: egg whites scrambled with mushrooms and spinach, sliced tomatoes instead of toast, side of avocado--make sure it is SEPARATE and not touching the other food or it’ll get warm and she HATES warm avocado, small fruit salad with NO pineapple also in a separate container), and one last reminder, in case Courtney had forgotten the main objective, to HURRY!!!

She was in such a panic going back that when the elevator doors opened and she raced back towards the office, she didn’t even notice the imposing figure in a cream-colored coat strolling through the lobby.

When she did, attempting to stop short so that she wouldn’t crash into the woman, she had too much forward momentum to stop, and then everything happened in slow motion…

She stumbled in her heels, squeezing the paper coffee cup in her hand just enough so that the lid popped open, sending half of the contents sailing through the air, landing directly on said cream-colored coat.

As Courtney stood there in horror, blood rushing to her ears, Fame turned around, noticed the stain, and gave her a look that made her want to disappear more than she ever had in her life.

Heart pounding, Courtney opened her mouth to speak, to apologize, but nothing came out. Instead, the next word either of them uttered was when Fame turned away from her in a fury, and shouted,

“VIOLET!”

#rpdr fanfiction #thedane #veronica #galactica #lesbian au #fashion au #violet chachki #courtney act #ivy winters #shangela laquifa wadley

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sanchoyo · 5 years ago

Note

14 + 26: Characters of your choosing.

Thank you! (I assume these 2 messages went together sdkhasd)

SO: Massage fic + bodyguard au

I CHOSE TOMURA X READER bc if I'm being told to feel better soon why not try and feel better with self indulgence. Revelry in Decadence. Hope u like this. ore bodyguard than massage, but,, yes. :3c

_____________________________________________________________

You couldn't believe you were being let into the Paranormal Liberation Front! Well, okay. You could, because they were fairly lax with their new members and you'd signed up because certain jobs had pay, as in, cold hard cash, and you needed cash; you weren't really one for cults or big groups- they made you nervous, but hey, money was money.

No, what was unbelievable was the position you were in now.

So you had been born lucky, right? Your quirk was strong, you'd always been praised for it. You could make people faint with eye contact. You could've gotten a job somewhere less shady easily if you didn't have a criminal record. But here they apparently didn’t care about that kind of thing, and appreciated your quirk, maybe too much...You'd planned on making a quick buck and leaving, but that idea was quickly slipping out of sight.

You were told you would be Tomura Shigaraki's bodyguard.

Yeah, that Tomura Shigaraki. Kidnap hero kids, jump off a moving truck, fight a whole city Shigaraki. You'd heard his little..speech? If it could be called that, earlier, standing to the side of the crowd. You had barely been able to see him from where you had been, and you expected to never get closer.

Ah.

Well.

You were wrong.

"I-I'm hardly qualified. I mean, he took down the big guys under you, didn't he? I wouldn't be better at defending him than he already is-"

"Nonsense! Your quirk is well suited for this. He's undergoing a few procedures for the next few months and will be unable to do much. And you've shown loyalty to us plenty!" Normally you'd be stunned the CEO of Detnerat Co. was talking to you, but mostly you were stunned about the fact you were in a room with him and Tomura freakin' Shigaraki and a doctor you didn't recognize. The doctor was shuffling around, muttering to himself. Tomura was sitting on a medical table, swinging his feet.

"This is who you hand picked? What kind of quirk do they have? Show me."

You hesitated, eyes staying firmly on the ground. "I wouldn't want to, erm, hurt anyone-"

"Is it non-lethal? Use it on Re-Destro."

“Sure go ahead!”

The businessman sounded sure, so you looked in his eyes and he fainted. His head made an unsettling noise when it hit the linoleum floor.

"He'll be out a few minutes. Usually it only lasts around ten at most." You fidgeted. "Should I have gotten a pillow?"

Shigaraki snorted. "He's survived worse." 'From me.' Was the unspoken. "How does it work?"

"I just have to make eye contact."

"You can't turn it off."

"No. But I've gotten really good at staring at my own feet."

“Sunglasses?”

“No, sir, I haven’t found any that work.”

He was staring at you pretty intensely now. You could feel him from your peripherals. You had gotten really good at ignoring people staring, but you really wanted to know what kind of look he was giving you. After a few more tense seconds, he spoke.

“You must have good control then. You’re hired.”

You were so surprised you slipped up and looked at him with wide eyes, and oh god, oh fuck.

The first day of your new job started with you making your boss faint.

________________________________________________________________

The first week brought a schedule for you: first thing, you woke up and showered and ate- about fifteen minutes worth of blissful alone time at the base before you headed to the medical bay, standing outside the door. Shigaraki kept a weird schedule that his naggy doctor insisted was unhealthy, so he was up early too, complaining about that, and reminding you every time he passed through the door that he still had a lump from your quirk. You would stare at your feet the first few days, bright red and praying he wouldn’t fire or kill you for it, but he seemed to be joking, so after the first few days you tested the waters and teased back, sticking your tongue out at him.

“Oh, Medusa has a sense of humor after all.” You looked at his crutches; they’d been decorated with stickers and scribbled on with markers, several different signatures. You’d thought people were supposed to sign casts and not crutches, but you didn’t say that; the original league stopped by enough that you could guess they were behind it, and almost guess whos handwriting was whos.

“Medusa?” You crossed your arms. “Is that my official code name now, sir? I don’t have snake hair, unless something’s changed since the last time I’ve looked in the mirror.”

“Can you even look in a mirror? Won’t you faint?” Oh, and you’d heard that one at least a million times. You huffed, rolling your eyes. The come back came easily, in the same tone he’d used.

“Can you even jerk off? Won’t it disintegrate?” And, oh, hello foot, nice to see you in mouth. You had never been so glad you couldn’t look at people, because you did not want to see that glare, no, noooo thank you. You had this horrible tendency to not think before speaking, and it was going to get you killed for sure. Except he was snorting, not killing you, so, yay?

He didn’t answer you though, and you were left alone in the hall to wonder, your only solace was that he was maybe wondering about you, too.

________________________________________________________________

“Y’know, it won’t do much good if someone decides to attack and you can’t see if it’s a friendly or not.”

“A friendly won’t be shooting or using their quirk on me. Also, all your friends greet me, I know who’s shoes to look for.”

“Medusa is popular now, huh.”

You had been employed a little over a month now, and had gotten into a nice groove of standing against a wall, staring at the floor for several hours at a time. You’d gotten really good at daydreaming, and had several stories running in your brain at any given time, plots interlinking. Heck, you could quit this villain bodyguard stuff and start a podcast or something, those were popular right? Probably wouldn’t pay as well, but passion projects rarely did.

“I guess. Hey, when do you eat?”

“What?”

“I mean, I don’t get a lunch hour. Not complaining, but do you get to eat in there?” Actually, you had no idea what sort of ‘procedures�� he was undergoing; he always came back with more bandages, limping and sometimes even in a wheelchair. Some days seemed easier than others, sometimes he’d come out of that room hours later than expected, not even bothering with banter, and you were most concerned those days.

You were concerned in a professional way, of course, because he was your boss, even if he was young and fun to talk to, and it never ever bordered on flirting, not even if his voice was nice and a little hot-

You cut that train of thought short.

“I have food.” He confirmed. “You don’t eat at all during the day?”

“I have breakfast and dinner sometimes, but-”

“Come eat with me today.”

You blinked. “Doesn’t that defeat the point of a body guard? I’m suppose to stay out here?”

“Who’s the boss exactly?”

You shrugged, following him in. Hey, couldn’t argue with that. Also, you couldn’t argue with free food. It wasn’t even hospital food, it was like, good food! You could feel his eyes on you because you were kinda pigging out, but free was free!

“So long as you’re with me it should be fine.”

“Mfm?” Your mouth was still full of food, so the question came out muffled, but he humored you.

“I’m saying you should eat lunch in here, at least. The doctor is out for a while around this time anyway.”

“I thought you were the boss, why does it matter if he’s out?”

“It’s not like I know anything about this medical crap.” you looked around the room, unable to parse what any of the equipment did either. “I need his help, so…”

“Oh.” You knew asking what they were doing might be pushing the lines of how much he was willing to give, so you stared at the wall behind him. It was hard to not let your eyes drift towards him. Only seeing his torso and below was driving you a little crazy, and it wasn’t like you were totally oblivious to your own feelings, but still; he was your boss and that was definitely an inappropriate crush to let develop. “I probably shouldn’t eat in here then, huh?”

“You won’t? You don’t want to?”

“I.. shouldn’t.”

You could hear his chair scrape against the floor, and your breath hitched when his hand was on the table in front of you.

“I want you to. Didn’t you just remind me I’m the boss?” And he was crouching beside you, so quickly that you had to turn your head. He was inches away, so close you could feel his body heat. “Well? Or are you going to make me go stand in the hall with you to eat every day?”

“So gentlemanly,” You murmured softly, your voice catching in your throat. “Asking me to lunch. I guess if I don’t have a choice, sir.”

“Is it such a chore for you? Do you hate me that much?” There was a teasing tone to his voice; you wouldn’t figure out until later what he was really asking.

_______________________________________________________________

So, professionalism had totally been thrown out the window, kicked to the curb, and given the boot. You were originally supposed to ‘guard’ the room where he was vulnerable due to...’operations’, but you were eating with him, and following behind him to meetings. ‘Just in case’, he’d said, but you wondered. And it made you weirdly proud, to know you were wanted by someone so important to the whole organization.

Or, maybe you’d been properly brainwashed into a cult. This was how people became stupidly devoted to the cause. You weren’t going to slip down that slope, or at least that’s what you’d thought, but…

Someone interloped into the meetings and pulled out a gun. It was a bad day for Tomura, he was already snappy and heavily bandaged, so it was your first time getting to defend him. And you hadn’t even hesitated.

You caught a bullet in your shoulder, but managed to look the guy in the eyes, and he dropped like a fly. Four villains were on him instantly, but your breath was still ragged, clutching your shoulder and eyes darting around wildly. Assessing threats, putting yourself in front of your boss.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“My job. Sit down.” You were surprised to hear your own voice come out so stern. “We need to get you out of here.”

“I can-”

“What, fight? You can barely walk today, and I was hired for a reason. Let me do my job, sir.”

He actually shut up- you were amazed.

You got him to the med bay, both of you slow, him because he was covered in bandages, and you because there was a bullet in your arm.

“I want you to look at me.”

“You know I can’t-”

“It just can’t be eye contact, right? I’m not looking at you, so…”

You looked at him, and you didn’t find the cold eyes of a villain, but warm red eyes that were full of concern, pointed firmly at the wall. He was beautiful. You, selfishly, didn’t want to stop looking, even if it meant him fainting and you bleeding out.

“I wanted to look at you, too.” You let your eyes drift back to your lap. “So what’re we going to do about your quirk? I can’t be the only one hating my quirk right now,” You let your hand drift to his, resting it right on top of it. You had your suspicions, but you wanted to hear it from him; you wanted to know he was going as crazy as you were.

“You have a bullet wound.” He said in a deadpan voice, and you were laughing again.

________________________________________________________________

So you’d healed up nicely, a few weeks had past…

And you hadn’t heard from Tomura. You’d shown up one day, and the doctor had waved you off, saying Shigaraki would ‘be under’ for a few weeks. You had demanded to know what that meant, and the doctor had asked in a very condescending tone if you had clearance to know that.

Hmfph. You should have if you didn’t already!

So you loitered around. The paychecks hadn’t stopped, even if you weren’t really doing anything important. Sometimes you’d wander to the loading docks where the trucks dropped off supplies and would help unload, just to keep busy with something, anything to distract you.

Then, one day, you got a notice you were to be at your post the next day and actually made a very loud, high pitched noise. You could’ve sworn it set off a nearby pack of dogs.

You didn’t even wait until the next day, you practically sprinted to the med bay.

“Tomura!”

“Don’t come in here yelling, Medusa.”

“I wanted to see you.” You whined. You wanted to see above his arms, actually; they looked more rough than usual; he was still in a medical gown, barefoot on the medical bed.

“Well, I want to touch you.” He snapped.

Oh. You sucked in a breath.

He finally admitted it.

“Are you on drugs?”

“What?”

“Like, uh, hospital drugs- like- the ones that make you loopy-”

“I’m coming off them,” He admitted. “But I’m not lying.”

“Sure, okay.” You took a breath. “So how about this? You- you look at me all you want since I can’t look at you, and I’ll touch you since you can’t touch me. I’ll be your touch if you’ll be my sight?”

Was that too forward? No taking it back now, but-

“Deal, starting now.” He didn’t even hesitate.

“Now…?”

“Yeah. I’ve been unconscious for weeks, I’m pretty cramped up.”

Oh, of course. Yeah. Obviously.

You settled behind him, letting your fingers drift over his shoulders. His bare shoulders. You started to untie the gown, letting it drop to his lap. Modesty was out the window along with that professionalism.

“To be honest, I’ve been looking at you since you got hired. So I’ve already got a head start on this ‘deal’, you owe me a lot of touches.”

“Is that so?” You kneaded your fingers into his back, letting one hand roam to his neck and drift over it, brushing his hair over his neck as you went, slowly. He actually shivered.

“I don’t let a lot of people this close.” He admitted. “I hate pretty much everyone, but you…”

“You seem pretty sweet on your league. Not that paranormal whatever, but the guys who always bug you and hang around.”

“It’s different.” He leaned into your touch. “Different with you…”

“You’re so high right now.”

“I’m so sore. You have no idea what I’ve been through lately.” He sighed. “It’s done, though.”

“Hm? What is?”

“The operation was a success. Once I recover, I won’t need a bodyguard.” You paused only for a moment before twisting your thumb into his spine, and he let out a hiss.

“Don’t fire me, I got shot for you.”

“Well I know you’re no good at massages; what could I keep you around for?”

“Oh, you poor thing.” You leaned forward, letting your lips linger at his ear. “You think massages are the only type of ‘touch’?”

“...I’m giving you a raise.” He declared, and you laughed. Maybe you’d stick around regardless of money; you were having fun, and Tomura Shigaraki, yeah, that Tomura Shigaraki? The one that had totally seduced you into a cult? Well...

“Okay, I guess I don’t hate you either.” You confirmed, and his hum told you that was the right answer.

#anyone else .......miss the lov.....and Him...#i dont want to see ugly endeav*r anymore can i see my babies.....lmao #sorry for typos! i typed literally 90% of this on mobile on my lunch break JASKFHKJ #i dont have friends 2 sit with so i sit with my fanfics. ok #sanchoyowrites #bnha fic #this mc is More Spicy than watergun mc from warm healer......for the sake of this not being a 20 chapter fic dsfsadf #sanchoyoanswersasks #Anonymous

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radreactions · 6 years ago

Text

Companions Getting Caught Writing Fanfics

Written by a guy who can dance better than Star Lord himself, @saintlyguy!

Ada: Accidentally playing one of Ada’s personal holotape journals led to quite the discovery; Ada likes stories. A particular favorite seems to be Frankenstein’s Monster, as evident in her own self insert. Wait, what?

“Forlorn after the death of their lover, the estranged Mr/Mrs. Freeze of the abandoned Vault 111 creates an automaton to care for them and maybe even grow to love.”

ADA WHAT?!

Cait: She’s scrappy and hasn’t exactly had a taste of the good life (albeit the nuclear apocalypse makes that nearly impossible). But that’s probably why she has a soft spot for that radio play on WRVR that came on about that street girl who gets taken in by some gentleman to be educated into some Fair Lady. Cait would often be seen singing and dancing all night about how the rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain; singing as if she were the punk taken in by Professor Sole-

“CLOSE THE DOOR! KNOCK NEXT TIME! Did you see anything?”

No Cait. The Sole Survivor definitely didn’t see you singing and dancing then shoving your fan script into your mouth to dispose of the evidence.

Codsworth: He can’t exactly write, but Codsworth can be found daydreaming his fantasy of being a titular sitcom butler. Because he already is living out his dream of serving his Sole Survivor! Accompanying them out in the wastes and tidying them as well as their house is perfect for a bot such as himself. Although he will put those Old World sitcom jokes to use.

“Hey Codsworth, could you make me a sandwich?”

The butler places his master’s head between two slices of bread.

“There, I’ve made you a sandwich.”

Curie: How in the world does a scientist develop a taste for sci-fi? Hanging around MacCready and Kent. If you go through Curie’s notes, you’ll see doodles and short stories of her and her Sole Survivor in many situations where motley romances could blossom. Like there’s one where she’s a hologram assistant to vigilante Sole in the year 2099. Hell there’s even one where she’s a doctor who develops feelings for a cyborg ninja.

Danse: A man who’s situated to the influence of knighthood and chivalry, you would guess right that you’d find some fantasy AUs in his room. One where he’s a paladin (of course); in fact one of five who must venture into the Castle of Lions to find the Legendary Defender. There’s even one where he’s a Templar who falls for runaway mage Sole, the very target he was sent to capture.

Deacon: Ok who gave Deacon those old sitcom holotapes? It’s bad enough that him being a pathological liar makes hime good at telling stories, but it’s worse when he puts his friends in them:

(SING ALONG)

“Here’s the story, of a single parent. who was gearing up to form some sort of crew.”

“There’s an android detective.”

“A robot butler.”

“Even a ghoulish mayor.”

“It’s the story, of a secret agent. One of the greatest to ever walk the wastes.”

“And a reporter.”

“An android doctor.”

“Ad Victorium!”

“So then one day all these people were assembled. To find the child who was stolen from the vault. And this crew was labeled The Companions. That’s how we all became the Fallout Bunch!”

Dogmeat: He can’t write, not that he needs to! His dreams are reality because he has YOU!

Gage: Pirates?! Oh come on! Is it cuz of the eyepatch? Or was it those stories Longfellow told? Well... I guess the idea of being the scourge of the seas does has it’s appeal. For the bootlicker Gage is, it wasn’t surprising that in most of his poorly written stories he was the Sole Survivor’s first mate. What was surprising and even off putting was that one fic where he was the prisoner of a siren and was made to... do things for his freedom.

Hancock: The mayor had always wanted to be in a rock band (he probably is one in another life), to the point of playing air guitar and even writing stories. Whenever Sole tries to see what he’s writing, Hancock lights it on fire and throws it. That’s because Sole was always in his rockstar fantasies; whether as his number one fan or manager. Sole got a peek at his stories when they found Hancock asleep in the middle of writing! And would you look at that, he even started writing a song.

Longfellow: A rugged man in a place like Far Harbor wouldn’t know where to find someone after Hannah. However stories of survivalists and men of the land making city girls swoon did have some appeal to him. His favorite being about a reporter falling for a guy who can commune with animals and survived a crocodile attack. He has written a story or two for fun; often there’s a damsel in distress who needs rescuing from the mediocrity of urban life.

Maxson: “What the hell is this?!” Sole thought to themself as they read Maxson’s fantasy of recruiting girls with cat ears into the Brotherhood, all of which have feelings for their Elder.

“Y’know. Like nya?”

................................

“Arthur. I don’t want your garbage.”

Nick: While Nick wasn’t a detective, he was an adventurer! At least on paper he was. He still had a fedora, but instead of a nightstick, Tomb Raider Nick had a whip! He’d go to exotic places and uncover the secrets of lost civilizations. Often he’d run into the mysterious stranger Sole who’s often after the same treasure as he is. Sometimes he wins, sometimes they win, and sometimes they both win...in bed.

“Nick, what are you typing?”

CTRL Z!

MacCready: You couldn’t have survived Little Lamplight without having some fun. Mac’s escape was comic books and writing his own stories, some of which insert him into The Unstoppables. Mac’s longest fanfic is where he is admitted into UA High School, Unstoppables Academy. There he trains to become ALL MAC, the symbol of peace!

“It’s fine now. Why? BECAUSE I’M HERE!”

The most recent chapter shows All Mac recruiting the anti-hero, Survivor on a mission and on a date.

Piper: She’s a reporter on and off the record. Someone as articulate in writing as Piper uses it as a past time as well. She writes bedtime stories for Nat as well as scribe her daydreams. Lately she’s been writing about a Boston Bugle reporter attempting to get an exclusive with the city’s super powered defender clad in a blue jumpsuit and red cape. Coincidentally this started a bit after she started traveling with the Sole Survivor.

Preston: He’s got a thing for diners. Yes diners. He’s seen many old ads that show the vibrant environment, delicious non irradiated food, and pretty waitresses. You can sometimes see him hanging in the old diners after establishing a perimeters to have a lunch and do paperwork. Wait, paperwork? What the hell is he writing?

“The strapping general sat down awaiting for his favorite waiter/waitress to take his order.

‘Want something sweet?’ They ask.

He responds ‘How about you?’”

Yep. Nope. It’s paperwork, definitely nothing else.

Strong: Sometimes Strong can be found using raider and glowing one blood to draw on the concrete in Sanctuary.

“Hey Strong, what are you drawing?”

“Us.”

On the pavement, there are two super mutants. One of them is drawn with synth coolant to have blue.

“Strong wishes you were super mutant. Humans are losers.”

Gee thanks Strong.

“Strong is loser too.”

“But together, we take back what we lose!”

Huh, that was actually sweet.

X6-88: This guy knows nothing outside of recapturing synths. Although in the Institute he has seen many old films that the scientists enjoy during their downtime. His favorite being the one where the singer and her bodyguard fall in love. He especially liked the song in that movie. When he was asked to write something for a maintenance test, X6 wrote a story of the bodyguard named X who’s hired to protect Boston’s favorite singer. And from that story, the Institute programmed a synth to sing. Although no one knows what happened to her. When charged with guarding the director’s parent, X6 was asked what he could do. Besides shooting.

“I can write.”

What have you written.

X6 pulled out a binder labeled Work in Progress.

It’s as heavy as a dumbbell.

294 notes · View notes

gohyuck · 7 years ago

Text

into it - m.l.

some of the lowest parts of your senior year with mark, and one of the highest

warnings, a/n, etc. under the cut <3

wc: 6.3k

warnings: school, misuse of prescription medicine, windrawal, angst (dw it ends fairly happy i would say), uhhh some smutty themes. maybe. there’s no actual smut in this it just gets close ig

a/n: this is literally just me projecting onto mark mixed with some other stories from other competitive schools from around me - if anyone wants to talk about how shitty school is with me they’re free too! i’m a slave to gpa. yeet. i think i might’ve projected onto the reader too please don’t @ me...

description should’ve been “in which mark is the author and the reader is the author and the author is barely a person”

idk this fic seems kinda pointless but . anyways

anyways enjoy <3

song: into it - chase atlantic

Yeah I've been catching planes for the fun of it Then I'll be watching fame turn to punishment The weather's only sunny when I'm under it And I haven't really changed, yeah I'm just confident

33 school days until Graduation

Living fire begets cold, impotent ash.

Mark can’t help but reread the line once. Twice. Thrice.

He’s studying to distract himself. That, and he’s studying because he needs to, but mostly, it’s a distraction.

From what?

He’s trying not to think about it.

A small part of Mark wonders why he’s rereading Things Fall Apart. While it’s definitely one of the better school-assigned books he’s been forced to dissect - Chinua Achebe knows how to make a point - its attractiveness diminishes every time he opens it again to page one.

The first time he’d read it, Mark had been captivated without his special little boost. The main character, while terrible, was too relatable - Mark isn’t a fan of failure, either.

The second time was to study for the 60 question test on the novel. It was less interesting this time around, but Mark still diligently annotated it, spending three days with his eyes glued to the page and fingers cramping around his lucky pencil. Every time he closed his eyes, Achebe’s land of Umuofia appeared. It was there when he opened his eyes, too.

The third time was to find evidence to use in his analysis essay on what type of hero Okonkwo is. At this point, all that Mark was sure of was that Okonkwo sure as hell wasn’t his hero. Still, Mark typed until his fingers felt raw.

The 97 scrawled across the top of his printed copy, returned a week later with a slightly smeared red smiley face alongside it, had made it worth it. The knowledge his teacher disclosed to him after class while gushing over his word choice - that nobody in the grade had scored higher than him - doubled his (short-lived) satisfaction.

Now, Mark’s eyes are laser-focused on the novel in front of him. Their teacher had mentioned in passing that there would be a couple of questions pulled from the book on the last test of the marking period, and he can’t afford to miss anything on the test. He’s got a 98 in the class, and the idea of it dropping makes him squirm.

It’s nearing 3 am, and he’s desperately wishing that he’d opted to stay at home and study rather than go skateboarding with Jeno and Jisung right after school. He chides himself on not considering the opportunity cost (God, he’s even thinking in economics now. Economics. Fuck.) before going out. Reaping rewards before sowing them has never worked before - there’s no reason it would’ve today, either.

There are about four bags of Cheez-Its, a half gallon of water, and 20 milligrams of Adderall lying at the bottom of his stomach. He’s kind of hungry, but he can’t be made to give two shits. Mark tells himself that he can eat later. He hasn’t had dinner yet. It’ll be a reward for finishing the book.

Mark’s phone buzzes. Once. Twice. Thrice. He pays it no mind. He’s getting nearer and nearer to the end of the novel, and once he finishes he can let himself go for the night. Calculus is done, as well as French, Physics, and Economics (fucking Economics). There’s nothing in his other classes. He’s got swim practice after school, but there’s no way for him to prepare for that. At least - he hasn’t found one yet.

I'm just fucking lucky I was born with it A hundred million people couldn't deal with this I've been tryna grow cause people kill for it This mental pressure got me popping pills and shit

“Have you considered sleeping early and waking up early to study?”

You don’t answer with a hello when he calls you back - you never have and never will. It’s 4:14 in the morning and you know that Mark’s calling you back now because he’s finished everything. There’s probably Adderall still in his system and a crease in his forehead from worrying that it still isn’t enough studying or time devoted.

“Good morning to you, too.” Mark’s voice is low, lower than usual. It’s the lack off sleep, you know this. You shouldn’t find the huskiness in it attractive, but you do. It’s one of the less fucked up side-effects of the stress both him and you put yourselves through.

“Would be if I wasn’t up at ass o’clock in the morning.”

“Hey - be proud of me. At least I have it in me to work hard like this. The way we’re both going, if we don’t die before college, we can get full rides to the fucking Ivies and end up some crazy millionaire couple on the front of Time magazine. Making 40 million before 40.”

“I love it when you maladaptive daydream to me, babe. Really gets me going.”

Mark chuckles at this, and you hear a rustling sound in the background on his end. He’s putting all of his things into his backpack for tomorrow, you guess. You’re right.

“And I am proud of you.” You continue, knowing that he’s listening, probably with his phone tucked between his shoulder and ear as he tidies up his desk. He can’t put you on speaker - both of you shudder to think what will happen if either of your parents find out that you’re up at dawn, talking to the significant other neither of you are allowed to have. They think you’re both just best friends - two kids too wrapped up in school to have the time to date, anyways. “But, I think you’re nuts. I think I’m nuts. You’re worse, but... anyways. I’m proud of you, but you never call me back this late. It’s usually a “ttyl” text, or some shit. What’s wrong?”

The line goes silent. He’s stopped moving altogether on his end.

He sighs. It’s heavy, and kind of empty, and you immediately know that he’s already cried this out. You wait.

This is what he’d been trying to distract himself from with Things Fall Apart.

“My rank dropped.”

On impulse, you wince in response. The first semester ranks your school had given out not a week earlier are your and Mark’s second to last ranks as seniors - there’s only one semester left to redeem yourself if you fuck up. Even though college applications have been submitted for months and acceptances are about to start coming out, you know that falling still aches.

Top 10% of your class get recognized. Top 10 get special honors and get to walk first. Valedictorian and Salutatorian get to give speeches, five minute pieces that will be forgotten by everyone but them the next day. You’ll all be free for three months before starting the best and worst years of your lives.

Graduation day is the focus now, as it has been since the first day of ninth grade. You’ve managed to stay well within the top 5%, to your own merit, but Mark’s always been in the top 10 - with walking honors.

At least, up until last week.

He’d been 10th at the end of Sophomore year, and now, apparently, he isn’t.

You can’t begin to imagine how he feels.

“How much?”

“Two. My GPA went up a wholeass .1, though.” He’s looking for the bright side by himself, now. It’s progress from last year. A part of you is glad. The other half of your heart aches.

Before you can convey this, or even begin to formulate a response, Mark continues speaking. “I’ve been trying to remind myself that other people would kill to be 12th.” He inhales sharply. “Fuck.”

“And you’d kill to not. You’re killing yourself to not.”

“I -”

“Mark.”

“I’m fine, baby.” His petname sounds forced, as if he can’t believe his own words. “I’m lucky, I have a good memory. You know this. I don’t work myself nearly as hard as you think I do, or as I should be.”

“So you don’t pop pills all the damn time so you can study a week’s worth of material in a night?”

Your voice is tight - you’re no stranger to work and overwork, but Mark is on another plane. It feels like he’s so far gone, sometimes, that you can’t touch him. He’s on the other end of the line, but he’s a million miles away.

He lets a puff of air pass through his lips. Seconds tick by.

Mark breaks the silence.

“It’s getting late. We have class in a few hours. I’ll pick you up at 8?”

You blink. Your anger at him, at the system, and, for almost no reason you yourself can discern, at yourself, wanes just slightly. It really is late - early - and, as if your body realizes this only after Mark says it, you yawn. Mark hears it clearly, letting a small smile grace his features for a split second because of it.

“Night.” It’s short and sweet, but he’s always been able to tell how much you love him. At this point, it doesn’t matter how much or how little you say.

“Night.” His response is just as succinct. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

He called, so he hangs up - it’s been your system since the eighth grade. It’s worked surprisingly well for four years.

You wish everything was as easy as who gets to hang up.

After plugging your phone into its charger and turning into your blanket, you stifle another yawn. Before sleep finds you, you can’t help but whisper it into existence, your words muttered into your pillow for whatever higher power finds them-

Let him Be. He deserves it. Let him Be. He works so, so fucking hard. Let him Be.

Your thoughts are muddled, but that’s because it’s nearing 4:45 in the morning. You aren’t even entirely sure of what you’re saying. For what feels like the millionth time, you wonder how you’ll be able to get up in time for school within 3 hours. You wonder how Mark will do it. A part of you hopes that he forgets to set his alarm and gets the sleep he so desperately needs and deserves.

He’s leaning against his car, scrolling through something on his phone when you open your door. You don’t bother checking the time. It’s about 7:54. You’d checked your grades about five minutes ago at 7:48. You’re wearing his favorite sweatshirt - the blue swim team one that’s too small on him and too big on you (it’s his damn shoulders, and that’s the only reason why). He appreciates your outfit, checking to make sure that your parents aren’t outside and leaning across the center console to slip his cold hands under the sweatshirt while finding your lips with his own to show you the extent of this appreciation.

It isn’t until you pull away from him to see that it’s 8:02 that he shifts to Drive, though not before sending you a smirk while buckling his seat-belt and checking his mirrors.

You check your calendar.

32 school days ‘til Graduation.

But I'm into it, I'm into it Say she wanna fuck me later Girl I'm into it, I'm into it, I'm into it This mental pressure got me popping pills and shit But I'm into it, I'm into it

25 school days until Graduation

You see it as a well-deserved break. You aren’t quite sure what Mark thinks. A distraction? You hope not. You’re more than just a distraction. You should be, at least.

There’s not much time to mull this unpleasant thought over, though, as he teasingly nips at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. One of your hands flies to his hair, while the other keeps you sitting up in his bed while you’re still leaning back. One of his hands is on your thigh, while the other is splayed across your stomach, hiking your camisole up. His shirt is off - it has been for a while. There’s hickeys dotting his collarbone.

If your mind was working, you’d be admiring your handiwork.

“Your underwear’s still on,” He moves back slightly so his eyes meet yours, your fingers still entangled in strands of dark brown hair. His lips are red from kissing you earlier. You know for sure that your pupils are blown as wide as his are. “Can I change that?” Mark’s fingers are running over the elastic waistband that separates him from your skin.

You blink. You swallow.

A voice in the back of your mind begs you to say yes, begs you to guide his head back to where you want his mouth. You haven’t fucked him in weeks, it whispers. If you don’t now, it’ll be even longer.

“Mark,” His name comes out as more of a whine that you expect. He dips his head down, pressing a chaste kiss on your knee.

“Hm?”

You’re this close - this close - to begging him. You can practically feel him on top of you - inside you - already.

Until, of course, your logic prevails.

“Mark,” You say his name again, without the rawness this time. His gaze bores into yours, awaiting your response.

“Calc.”

Mark stays on his knees for a moment, and in that moment he seems hesitant to move. That’s dangerous - if he stays down any longer, you’ll beg him to continue.

Thankfully, he presses one last, reverent kiss over your underwear before pushing himself up off of the floor. You’re still holding your breath.

“I can’t believe I just got cock-blocked by math.” He grins at you, not perturbed. Mark’s nothing if not respectful. He tosses you your shorts before beckoning you back over to the floor beside his desk.

Mark sits down, cross-legged, in front of you, but not before handing you your math notebook and grabbing his own. Your calculus textbook goes between the two of you.

“We can rain check.” You say. He quirks an eyebrow.

It’s hot. He’s hot.

You imperceptibly shake your head - you’re still flustered, and would give anything to be underneath your boyfriend. The only reason you aren’t is because your math grade depends on you acing tomorrow’s calculus test.

“Come again?” Mark knows what you said - his teasing ass just wants to hear it again. You know what he wants to hear.

“I want you to fuck me later.” You look him in the eyes, pleased to see a hint of a blush. Sometimes you miss the early stages of your relationship - where Mark had been constantly tripping over his own feet and as red as a fire hydrant. You’d been the smoother one, then.

One corner of Mark’s mouth turns up, and he leans over the textbook to give you a short kiss.

“I’m into that.”

I'm getting way too deep I'm fucking into it I'm into it, yeah I'm into it I wouldn't change it for the world I'm fucking into it

He pulls a pill bottle from a box he keeps in the bottom right drawer of his desk. It’s where he stores everything important to him - polaroids of him and you together, his calendar, the swim team schedule and his list of swim times, his phone charger, his planner... and his Adderall.

Mark takes his typical dosage into the palm of his hand, swallowing the pills dry. He moves to put the pill bottle back. It’ll be some time before it kicks in, but the rest of the day is ahead of both of you.

He always takes some before studying, but never asks you to. It’s not something he wants for you. You’ve never asked, too - it’s not something you want for yourself.

Your tongue feels like sandpaper, though, and every breath you take makes it feel as if there’s more lead in your lungs than air. Your math grade flashes through your mind. You need to ace the test for your grade and, by extension, your sanity.

“Babe.” Without being fully aware of yourself, you place your hand on top of his. Neither of you will move from the floor in...hours. You’re sure of this. You may as well make the absolute most of it.

“Give me some.”

I’ve been on the road since I was sixteen They don’t really notice I how I see things These girls they come and go between my bedsheets And I’ve been doing blue and causing big scenes, yeah

17 school days until Graduation

"Remember when we were sixteen?”

“Like... last year? Yeah.”

You turn over onto your side to face your boyfriend, only to find your nose in his bare chest. Mark chuckles. He moves back, allowing you to shift so that you’re face to face with him.

“Fifteen and sixteen, at least. For sophomore year. Do you remember any of sophomore year?”

“Less depression.” His hard words come out soft, paired with an even softer smile. Mark wraps an arm around your waist, pulling your body into his. Skin on skin. “Less getting laid, too.”

“Shut up,” You’re smiling now, too. The melancholy presses against your thoughts.

“I was talking about the less depression part, actually.”

“What about it?” Mark seems and sounds slightly antsier, all of a sudden.

As he always does when you bring up things he might not want to hear.

“Nothing big, just like... don’t you miss it? Going out sometimes and actually feeling like highschoolers?”

“We went to libraries, babe, and to the mall like every couple of months. It wasn’t anything special.”

“It was easier, though.” You bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in. His skin is warm - you aren’t surprised. “No drugs and shit.”

Mark pulls away from you, very, very slightly.

“Adderall isn’t a drug.” His voice is adamant. The speed of his switch from soft to rough is almost alarming. “You’ve had it once. You aren’t addicted.”

You sigh, choosing not to respond. You’re too fucked out to fight him. Instead, you run the pads of your fingers over his collarbone.

“No, but I’m addicted to you.”

Pull up and I’m higher than the big trees, yeah She don’t really like it but she needs me, yeah She saying she don’t really miss me But fuck it, now I’m faded after all things, yeah

12 school days until Graduation

“I can’t fucking believe you.”

He pauses his notes to look up at you, taking in how your eyes are flashing. Your voice is controlled, but the fire in your eyes is unrivaled. The pill bottle is on its side - empty. The last time you’d seen it, which had been the last time you’d thought you’d ever see it, there had been one dosage left. A dosage that you’d been led to believe had ended up being flushed.

You aren’t mad that he lied - at least, you think you aren’t. You’re mad that he, for the first time in years, broke a promise.

Mark is unbothered by your tone. You’ll calm down eventually - whether its sooner or later makes no difference to him. Your boyfriend isn’t actually hearing you, anyways. It’s another reason as to why he isn’t really responding. His silence isn’t an invitation for you to continue, but it’s something nonetheless.

You take it.

“Ranks came out three days ago. You’re back in the top 10, Mark. You’re graduating in the top 10. We’re about to graduate, and you’re spending your time still fucking studying even when there’s only two weeks left of our senior year. You’re still on those goddamn pills when you promised me-”

“Just because I reached one goal doesn’t mean that everything else doesn’t matter anymore.” Short. You expected nothing else.

“What’s everything else? What else is more important than your health? School? We’re pretty much done for three months. We don’t even have any fucking grades left to go in the grade book. We’re done, Mark. Senior year is over.”

He doesn’t respond for a beat of silence - two, three, four beats - fully focused on whatever is in front of him. It isn’t until you cease your pacing to stand directly behind him, hands on the back of his chair, that he even considers gracing you with a comment.

“I’m looking over my times, trying to make a better workout regime so I can shed milliseconds.” Mark is straight with his words - he wants you to stop talking so he can politely ignore you. His shoulders are hunched into himself, his glasses digging into the bridge of his nose. The way he’s staring at the slightly crumpled time sheet in front of him makes you wonder if it’s possible to re-kill dead trees.

“Your times are your lock screen.”

“So?”

“So- so? You always have them with you and you’re always looking at them, you don’t need Adderall to work on a workout schedule. You don’t need it at all, if I’m being fucking honest, and-”

He cuts you off for the second time in less than five minutes, his voice as sharp as a knife.

“You have no damn clue what I need.”

Your hands release his chair on reflex as you step back, everything about your body screaming that you’re offended. Mark pays this no heed, turning back to his desk.

It’s just one sentence, eight words, and part of you wants to argue. Part of you wants to bring up all of the times he’s leaned on you, the times you yourself have been exactly what he needs, but you know that that wouldn’t be playing fair.

He’s gotten like this before, where he’s frozen everyone - frozen you - out without not so much as a thought. You’ve fought before, too, out of inevitability.

He’s never, however, been so blatant or blunt. Nothing he’s ever said before has hurt this much, for some reason. It’s jarring, and, before you know it, your throat is heavy. There are no tears pooling, but you know that they’ll come to you later.

Without a word, you pick up your belongings. You’d worn one of his sweatshirts to his house, but opt to go home without it.

Being petty can be subtle, after all. Mark deserves it, you think, anyways.

You call a goodbye to his mother as you walk out the front door to your car. You make it to the end of his street before having to pull over and park, resting your forehead against the top of the steering wheel. A stray tear finds itself tracing a wellworn track down your face, leaving you to sigh.

God, crying over a boy? Pathetic.

Your intrusive thoughts are screaming - laughing, hysterically, at your state. You dismiss them, willing yourself to think straight.

Not just a boy, I’m crying over Mark.

Sniffling, you beg yourself to get it together. Staying still can only lead to reminiscing over elementary school Mark, who promised you that he’d never leave your side (after, of course, you accidentally eating a worm and bursting into tears out of a fear of dying from it), to 8th grade Mark confessing his feelings for you in PE, moments before getting hit in the face by a particularly well-thrown dodgeball from Yukhei. Mark is as much a boyfriend as he is and almost always has been the most comforting and reliable presence in your life. With him so firmly, without a second thought, dismissing you...

You breathe in. Sharply.

It’s either drive home to avoid the reality of how much of a stronghold Mark has over your feelings or stay parked and traipse down memory lane, like, as you remind yourself, a goddamn pansy. A voice of reason tells yourself not to be harsh on yourself - you’ve known Mark for what? 12? 13? years and it’s normal to be hurt by him brushing you aside. A louder voice tells you to quit pitying yourself.

If Mark hurts himself mentally, you hurt yourself emotionally.

Blinking away forming tears, you sit back and turn the ignition.

5:53 pm

mark...us zusak

>>did you get home safely

maybe<<

>>im glad

cool<<

6:12 pm

>>picking you up tmrw?

sure<<

>>ok

>>i’m really sorry

read 7:09 pm

But I’m into it, I’m into it Say she wanna fuck me later Girl I’m into it, I’m into it, I’m into it This mental pressure got me popping pills and shit

5 days until Graduation

You have to give him credit - after a somewhat teary but controlled argument in his car on the way to school, focused on why Mark really doesn’t need Adderall in his life, and on why he really doesn’t need to carry it with him to college, he really has tried giving it up. All seemed to be going well, even, for a couple of days.

You hadn’t realized how fast withdrawal would hit him.

It isn’t as if either of you are wholly unprepared - you’ve both seen it happen to others. Adderall withdrawal can be dangerous, heightening both depression and anxiety. Even a slight dip in Mark’s mood has the inside of your mouth drying up.

You can’t imagine what it feels like for him.

After all, neither of you are strangers to mental illness, but withdrawal is somewhere you can’t say you’ve been.

Currently, Mark’s tongue is down your throat. The back of your mind screams at you that this is his way of dealing with withdrawal - by getting himself addicted to you. You know that this is the truth - that whatever he’s doing can end up being unhealthy for him - but you don’t have it in you to deny him as his fingers dip beneath the waistband of your jeans and his other hand makes its way under your shirt and bra.

You can’t help the moans that escape you.

The pads of his fingers are rough against the skin of your back as he unclasps your bra, pulling it off of you along with your shirt. In the same arc, you hastily pull his shirt over his head, unzipping his jeans not long after.

It isn’t until you’re splayed out on your bed, eyes already fucked out before he’s even touched you, that Mark breathily asks if you’re sure. As he always does.

A part of you wants to deny him - for his own good, you tell yourself. Maybe for your own. (Is it possible to get addicted to a person when you aren’t running away from something else?)

The other, larger part of you wants you to pull his head to yours - his lips to yours - by his neck with one hand, taking the condom out of his grip with the other and telling him that you can put it on him yourself. The other, larger part of you wants Mark everywhere, engraved into your skin and lingering on your body.

The other, larger part of you wants - needs - to say yes.

Majority rules.

But I’m into it, I’m into it I’m getting way too deep I’m fucking into it I’m into it, yeah I’m into it I wouldn’t change it for the world I’m fucking into it

12 hours until Graduation

You find your head against Mark’s shoulder as the two of you recline on the patio’s couch, watching the two of your families interact your joint graduation party. There’ll be a bigger celebration after tomorrow’s ceremony with a bigger crowd, so you cherish the small gathering in your backyard for tonight. Graduation is tomorrow - it almost feels too damn good to be true. The stars are all out, fairy lights have been strung overhead to add to the festivities, there’s laughter rising up from every direction, Mark’s arm is welcome around your shoulders, and you find yourself thinking that you could get used to this.

“You know, I’m glad that we’re going to college together.”

Mark’s voice brings you out of your thoughts, causing you to look up at him - albeit slightly sideways. You nod, unsure of what to say in response. You’re in agreement with him, of course - even though you’ve both had your ups and downs, a life without as much Mark in it as now is one that you don’t want to imagine.

He’s been such a constant presence for so long that you’re almost incapable of remembering a time without him. The thought scares you as much as it fills you with love.

Wow.

You really are starting another chapter in your life. In your lives.

A fresh start - Mark’s still going through withdrawal, and you’re well aware, and just because your high school education is over doesn’t mean that life is automatically easier, now. Still - the next three months and four years after that are something to look forward to, not fear.

You aren’t sure how to voice all of this just yet, opting instead to repeat your awe at high school having ended.

“High school’s really all over, now. We never have to step back in that building again.”

Mark chuckles at your revelation, running his fingers through your hair absentmindedly.

“What about reunions?”

You roll your eyes at this, resting a hand on his chest momentarily before remembering that your parents aren’t aware of your relationship. Wriggling out of Mark’s grasp before inclining your head towards all four parents, you remain within a comfortable distance to him. He radiates warmth.

“I’ll only go to them if you and our other friends do. Maybe.”

Mark grins. “Maybe I’ll drag you to them.”

“You wouldn’t.”

He smiles. “I wouldn’t. You’re all I need, anyways.”

“Hyuck? Renjun? Yeri? Jeno?”

“...You’re the one I need the most.”

“Glad to know that you’re an honest man, Mark Lee.” Your teasing tone makes your boyfriend laugh, and you’re hyperaware of how you could get used to this - smiley, lighthearted Mark.

“Your roommate’s going to have fun with you.” He responds, nudging your shoulder with his.

“Hey! I’m not the only one who’s a handful. Lucas? That’s your soon-to-be roommate’s name, right? Lucas has his work cut out for him. For his sake I hope you spend time outside of your dorm room.”

Mark grins as he presses his lips to your temple, simultaneously making sure that everyone else’s attention is elsewhere. He moves away as quickly as he’d kissed you, much to your mental chagrin.

“What? You worried that I’ll leave you for him?”

It’s your turn to nudge your boyfriend. Before you can respond, Mark’s mother’s voice cuts through the air.

“Mark? (Name)? It’s time for the cake!”

Mark gets up first, reaching his hand out to pull you up.

“We’re coming!” You call, before turning to Mark with a half-grin on your face. “This isn’t over yet.”

Mark squeezes your hand before letting go of it.

“Can’t be over if you never started it.”

“Mark Lee!”

Girl I’m into it, I’m into it Say she wanna fuck me later Girl I’m into it I am into it, I am into it

conGRADs, Mark and (Name)!

The sign is both massive and incredibly cheesy, but the amount of happiness it gives you is immeasurable. It hangs over Mark’s front porch, visible from the other end of the street, and as you and Mark pass by them, any neighbors that are out make sure to congratulate you.

You aren’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

The two of you’d escaped the clutches of your overexcited parents a little bit over an hour prior, around 11, under the guise of taking a walk around the neighborhood to talk about your upcoming collegiate futures. That was how you’d ended the night, of course, but before that you’d both beelined to your house, wanting to sit and talk in your bedroom for the time being.

Discussion of your coming lives had sputtered out after a while - after all, it’s all you’d both been talking about for years, now - and you’d wound up situated in Mark’s lap, laughing against his lips.

“We should have graduation night sex.”

His tone is matter-of-fact, so much so that you roll your eyes at his bluntness. “We’re going to have to get back eventually.”

“We have time!”

His laugh against your collarbone is enough to tell you that nothing’ll happen tonight, that time together will just be time together. Still, you can’t help but respond.

“Yeah, time enough at college. We’ll be out of the house in 3 months, baby.”

Mark wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you impossibly closer, pressing a chaste kiss to the junction of your jaw and neck. It tickles.

“We won’t have to sneak around and shit, either.” You continue, lightly running your hand through his hair.

“We didn’t sneak around much this year, anyways. Our parents are just oblivious as fuck.”

“True-” You feel your phone vibrate, causing you to squirm around to reach it for a moment before Mark pulls it from your back pocket and hands it to you, mirth in his eyes. You scrunch up your nose at him before answering - its your mom.

“Where are you?” She sounds slightly worried, so you’re quick to mention that you’re with Mark and near your house, both safe and sound.

“Come back quickly - Mark’s cousins are planning on sleeping soon because they start their four hour drive back at 6 in the morning, and we don’t want them to miss their chance to say good night to him.”

You reply with a quick “I’ll tell him - love you.” before she hangs up. Sliding off of Mark’s lap, you help him up.

“Did you hear what she said, or?”

“Yeah. Your call volume’s always been too loud.”

“I, for one, like to think that it’s just loud enough, thanks.”

Mark grins, choosing to loop an arm around your waist instead of replying.

The moment the two of you step inside, careful not to stand too close to each other, you’re bombarded by exclaims from family and friends and family friends alike. It’s getting late, and people are starting to gather up their belongings. You yourself are staying the night, however - otherwise, Mrs. Lee would riot.

You don’t mind.

You close the front door behind you, being pulled into the group of people the moment that you do.

As Mark is dragged into the ending remarks of a conversation with his aunts about something that you can’t quite hear, your mother’s friend’s young daughter tugs you down to her level to congratulate you, shyly placing a pipe-cleaner flower - clearly made by her - behind your ear.

You kiss her cheek before she runs away out of shyness, far quicker than you expect her to be able to. Laughing, you stand up, only to be pulled into a discussion about your plans for college with your parents and one of your uncles.

You briefly make eye contact with Mark - who’s also been given a pipe-cleaner flower - once, winking at him discreetly before turning back to nod along to your uncle’s rant over how you shouldn’t push your passions under the rug for your profession. You don’t see your boyfriend make his way through the throng of people gathered in his foyer - most have started filtering out, leaving by foot or by car - until you feel his hand against the small of your back for a quick moment.

He shakes your father’s hand and hugs your mother before introducing himself to your uncle, who knows of him but doesn’t know him. Time passes quicker with Mark by your side, and, before you know it, it’s 2 am and the only people left in Mark’s how are both of your direct families and your uncle, who’s staying at your house for the night.

“You have everything? Toothbrush? Pajamas?”

You sigh, looking pointedly at your father.

“I’m a college student!”

“Doesn’t mean that you’re responsible.”

You and your dad grin together before you shake your head. Both of your parents and your uncle bid you and the Lees goodnight before Mark’s parents follow them outside, probably to continue talking for a little bit more.

Mark closes the door behind them, turning to you immediately after only to find that you’re already halfway upstairs. He shakes his head affectionately before following you up to his room.

“(Name), you did remember a toothbrush, right?”

“Yeah, but I forgot clothes.”

“I guess you’ll just have to sleep naked - ow!” Mark rubs the skin on his arm where you’d lightly smacked him. It doesn’t erase the playful grin from his face. “Fuck you, fine. You can borrow some pajamas, or something.”

You laugh as you flop down onto his bed before humming inquisitively to yourself for a moment over a question you’ve been mulling over in your head for a short while. You know that summer’s just started, but you can’t help but wonder how it’ll go.

“What’s your plan for this summer? Other than getting ready for our courses and stuff.”

Mark furrows his brows at this while he strips, changing into shorts and a shirt before throwing you one of his longest shirts. You change as well, folding your clothes neatly and placing them on his desk chair to take home tomorrow.

“I haven’t thought about it, honestly. Why?” Mark turns off the hallway lights and opens his door halfway - a rule his parents have for his bedroom door whenever you sleep over. It’s fair, you suppose, even if they don’t know that you’re together. Maybe it’s especially because they don’t know that you’re together.

Mark turns off the light after laying his sleeping bag down on the floor, giving you the bed as always.

Tomorrow, you’ll wake up on the floor next to him, also as always.

“I was thinking...”

“Yeah?”

You turn on your side to face your boyfriend in the dark.

“I was thinking that we could take a road trip.”

A long silence follows your statement, and you begin thinking that you’ve made a mistake asking until, in the dark, you can see the faint outline of Mark’s smile.

“I’m free all summer, babe. Just tell me where and when.”

“For real?”

The excitement in your voice is almost tangible, and you’re half embarrassed at how childish you must sound. Mark, to his merit, just nods while smiling.

He looks up at you, and, even in the dark, you can see the softness in his eyes.

“Yeah,” He pauses, grinning at you.

“I’m into it.”

fin... for now?

im shit at endings but also this has been like...a month coming...i’m gonna come back and rewrite this someday but yeet enjoy.... i should’ve reread before posting but w/e

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clairelutra · 6 years ago

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self fic rec

rules: when you get this, reply with your favourite five fics that you’ve written, then pass on to at least five other writers. do multiple fandoms if you want!

tagged by @isadorator (😘♥♥♥♥♥)

tagging: @sixsaltysweets @miracufic @metawohoo @baneismydragon @667-darkavenue + anyone and everyone else

1. one does not simply walk into the closet (ffxv, lunoct)

On the run from court training and eager to avoid capture, Noctis drags Luna into a closet to hide. Things... escalate from there.

i’m not really sure i can pin down why i like this one so much, except that it has all the tropes i like and a killer punchline that still makes me laugh whenever i think about it.

2. touch fluffy tail (okami, ushiama)

Reasons why Amaterasu hates being human: - Fingers are weird and thumbs are weirder. Chopsticks are the devil. - People expect her to pay attention when they talk. - It's very uncomfortable to just lie down and take a nap wherever and whenever you want to. - Clothes are inconvenient and being beholden to them for warmth and protection when fur works just fine is undignified. - She can't pee on her enemies.

Reasons why Amaterasu is willing to try this 'human' business: - Waka

okay so technically the writing makes me cringe whenever i think about it—i was borderline comatose while i wrote this. it was written entirely on my phone, often only a sentence or two at a time when i woke up from the eternal nap i was taking, and it shows.

hhhhhowever. it was the first fic in a long, long, long time that i’d written purely because the idea pleased me. it was right after i’d joined pillowfort and could finally start to shake the terror of writing something that was not “tumblr approved.” it was also the first time in a long time that i actually almost stopped worrying about how it would be received—it’s pseudo-furry and written for a tiny fandom, and this was the first time i truly said fuck it. i want to, so why the hell not?

3. knowledge is power; power corrupts (vld, lotor&pidge)

Study hard, Katie. Study hard and be evil.

Lotor needs pocket money, the Holts need a babysitter for their troublemaking daughter, and Katie needs someone to keep her from dying of boredom in the long hours her family spends away from home. The solution is obvious.

Unfortunately for the rest of the world, Lotor and Katie get along like a house afire.

(Written for the Lotor Big Bang on tumblr with the lovely Ruxi~)

i dunno. this was one of the first real genfics i’ve ever written, and it was more fun than i expected. skittish/pessimistic/paranoid lotor meets a baby pidge with too much moxie for her own good, and they get to be kids together.

4. hope, love, and other 4-letter words (vld, klance)

Keith didn't ask to be hauled out of bed at this ungodly hour of the morning for something like a trip to a beach, but sometimes Lance is just impossible to say 'no' to.

bad summary is bad, but this was one of my contemplations on what ‘love’ is, and what it means when someone makes you want to be better. shiro and keith were soulmates, then shiro went off and died, and lance became keith’s second soulmate.

the point of their relationship here is that keith was drowning in depression until lance came along. and it’s not like lance magically kissed everything better, but that he was loud and grating and cheerful and gave keith a reason to try. i think that’s really important, especially when the battle with depression is often (if not always) a battle with apathy.

this was me testing the waters with the concept, and i like the result.

5. daydream (ml, love square)

you're my daydream you know that i've been thinking about you lately

In which Adrien finds out Ladybug is Marinette, and beats the 'this is fine' dog at his own game.

honestly the only “popular” fic of mine that i don’t look at and think, but... why?

it’s sappy and romantic and has actual payoff and quite a few good lines, and it’s something i worked hard on and still enjoy from time to time. (less now than before because old writing, but still.) i’m... more or less comfortable recommending it.

#hallie speaks #hallie memes

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mini-min-yoongi · 7 years ago

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April AO3 Yoonmin readings:

Hi~ This month I read mostly Yoonmin fics, but there are a few other pairings, I specify which ones so that nobody gets confused. I’m posting this super late, it’s already June, but I do these mostly for myself so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ However, if there are people who find these useful or like them then that’s even better! Enjoy~

1) The Red Light Sector (All Dressed-Up)

Yoongi’s been through robberies, kidnappings, murders, torture, set-ups and betrayals without feeling a thing. Not even in his worst nightmares had he ever expected to be finally broken down, so swiftly, by a stunning boy with a hot silver tongue and diamond smile.

Yoongi’s dangerous, but Park Jimin is fatal.

Gangsters au in which Yoongi is a mafia boss (and Jungkook’s older brother, I love this dynamic) and Jimin is a hooker. It has angst but also fluff. All of BTS is part of Yoongi’s gang.

2) half feral, but just right (Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics)

What is an alpha supposed to do? Keep their head down, ignore the jabs and jeers, stay out of jail for being born different.

Feral, as they like to call it.

Yoongi knows the status quo.

3) didn’t sign up for this

when jin tells him about jimin, he imagines a tall, lanky, university stud who showers maximum twice a week. one can say yoongi has a poor sense of imagination.

College au. Yoongi and Jimin are roommates. Very cute and funny.

4) It's The Most Wonderful Time (Of The Year) (*)

Park Jimin is only three years old when he meets cooler, older, and smarter Min Yoongi for the first time, and is immediately enamoured.

For the first time in his entire life, Jimin feels an emotion he never thought he would feel: infatuation.

Not that he even understands what that feeling means.

All he knows is that there’s a small, pale boy at the front door of his home, right under the hanging mistletoe, firmly gripping his father’s hand and his mother’s skirt as he stares unabashedly into Jimin’s eyes, rendering him absolutely speechless.

childhood best friends yoonmin growing up together and experiencing the complexities of love & relationships, as well as, the harsh realities of growing older over the years, on Christmas day

I really like fics that focus on the struggles of growing up and how things change over the years and this one does that. There are very cute moments, especially when they are kids. There’s also angst and misunderstandings which I really enjoyed.

5) I'm Glad You're My First (First for Everything) (contains smut)

Jimin wasn’t a prude, he just liked saving his firsts for everything for someone special. And, that special someone was Min Yoongi.

A compilation of their first times. I liked the angst in this one.

6) be mine (be my baby, my one and only) Series

Yoongi is the master of badassery. He has a car, a bad habit (or a few), piercings, and tattoos galore. He's also severely whipped for Park Jimin.

(Same goes for Jimin, but at least he's not so shameless about it.)

6.1 Leave Before the Lights Come On

Yoongi calls Jimin his sweetheart and Jimin really loves that.

6.2 James Dean, You're my Daydream

Jimin and Yoongi share a milkshake.

7) A Universal Language Meant Only for You (contains smut) (*)

Being deaf, Jimin lives his life in complete silence, alienated by people who can't understand his language until he meets Yoongi, who showers him with love, not by words but through little things:

Yoongi proposes with one piece of elusive street art a day for five days leading up to Valentine's Day.

I’m a sucker for these stories. Jimin is deaf and Yoongi is an artist and the sweetest boyfriend who showers him with love.

8) Pretty in Pink (not ym - Namjoon/Seokjin, contains smut)

On the Internet, college senior Kim Seokjin is known as the Pink Princess: a blogger that inspires his thousands of followers by not being afraid to accept and be himself. In real life, he is known as "that weirdo wearing girly clothes."

Seokjin is aware that he is not the type of person you’d expect to wear pastel fashion. He's not short. He doesn’t have a feminine face. He's not tiny and frail, his broad shoulders attesting to that. People look at him strangely, some going as far as to call him names. Despite this, Seokjin doesn’t allow the judgment from others to stop him from liking what he likes (including people of the same sex).

However, Seokjin's confidence and acceptance of who he is will be tested when he falls for an underground rapper who is more troubled than he lets on.

College AU. Pastel!Jin and Underground!Namjoon

9) No Ordinary Life (*)

The thing about falling in love is that it's not always convenient. The thing about falling in love is that sometimes it's impossible, especially when it's with your groupmate.

("How long?" Hoseok asks, and Yoongi doesn't have to prod to know what he means. How long have you been in love with him?

"I dunno," he murmurs. "Forever, maybe.")

BTS/Canon universe. Angst, angst, angst! I really liked this fic. It depicts the struggles that Jimin and Yoongi go through. They are in love but don’t want to damage the group or people finding out about their relationship. Even though I’ve read other stories where this also happens, I really enjoyed the author‘s take on this issue and the way in which they developed it.

10) A Dance of Poppies (Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, contains smut) (*)

When Jimin's family is killed, Yoongi's pack takes him in, and they fall in love over the years.

This story was AWESOME. I’m really into angst but only to a certain extent and this story has that angsty background, but the story is also super cute and fluffy. Seeing Yoongi and Jimin growing up, falling in love, getting jealous, going through hardships until they finally get their happy ending was amazing. I really liked it.

11) The Professor’s Family Series

(not ym - Namjoon/Seokjin, Jungkook/Taehyung)

Professor Kim Namjoon is married.

He doesn't have a wife.

They have a sort-of son.

And Jeon Jungkook just crossed paths with them.

Notes:

A new universe I've been thinking about lately. Family!Bangtan, Married!Namjin, and Kid!Taehyung with Jungkook is my jam. Will be updated when inspiration strikes.

11.1. The Professor’s Wife

Everybody knew Professor Kim was already married. It was actually the first thing they asked the man during the first day of classes, with one brave student asking the question out loud for everyone to hear. The older man responded with deep dimples and a raised left hand, letting everyone see the plain, silver band glittering on his ring finger.

But, as one Jeon Jungkook found out, they were all completely, terribly wrong.

What? The Professor didn't say he had a wife.

11.2. The Professors Son

Math was often misunderstood, Taehyung said, on one of their dates along the Han River. People were always so afraid of it and refused to know more about it, dismissed it as something hard and unreachable and it made Taehyung upset. If people only tried to understand, he insisted, if only people approached it with an open mind and didn’t give up, then maybe a lot more people would love Math and would want to learn about it like he did.

Jungkook didn’t understand at first, but after knowing Taehyung, he now did.

Before he realized what was happening, thinking about Taehyung made his heart turn, dance a kind of waltz, then suddenly fell.

Before he knew it, Jungkook was totally, completely in love with him.

12) Tattooed Heart (*)

Five times Yoongi tattoos himself with small things he loves about his boyfriend, and one time Jimin does the same.

This was too cute and heartwarming. And Yoongi with tattoos, what else can I say??

13) My Darling Venus (contains smut) (*)

“'It’s me – Jimin! Dear fuck, I can't believe this,' okay maybe Yoongi is still asleep and dreaming. Yes, that must be it. Why else would he see his best friend standing in front of him as a girl if this wasn't a dream.

Yoongi doesn’t really want to question why he’s dreaming of his best friend being a girl. A smoking hot girl at that. It’d just shatter his world view if he thought too much about it.

So he answers in the only possible way he can think of and just snorts.”

Jimin wakes up as a girl and chaos enfolds.

First time reading a genderbend fic and I really enjoyed it! I feel like this can be very tricky to write, but I thought that the author did a good job with the way in which she resolved everything.

14) Behind Inked Bricks (*)

(Yoongi/Jimin, Namjoon/Seokjin, baby brothers Tae & Koo)

After spending time with his twin nephews, Jimin starts picturing a future he's pining for - where he's cooking up in the kitchen, the dogs are running around and Yoongi's sitting on the couch with their child snuggled up in his lap, reading a book. And after having an epiphany with the help of a six-year-old, Yoongi too starts seeing his future differently.

Or a fluffy, sweet fic with parents!Namjin, twins!Taekook, uncles!Hoseok&Jimin, tatted up!Yoonmin and all its glorious chaos.

So cute so cute so cute so cuteeeeeeee. Yoongi with tattoos and Yoonmin with kids (even if they aren��t their own) are my weaknesses for real. This was seriously adorable and I want to pinch baby Jungkook and Taehyung’s cheeks so much!! I also really love how all of BTS are literally family in this one :’)

(*) My favourite ones

#mr #yoonmin #yoonmin fic rec #ao3 #bts smut #namjin #taekook

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claritinpopsicle · 4 years ago

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January 3rd, 2021

Sunday // 8:42 p.m

I woke up at 12:40 ish today which is honestly horrible since i sleep sometimes in the morning between 7:20 a.m and 7:50 a.m. I am going to sleep earlier today since I have to wake up at 8:30 for online school. The idea of going backl to school exhausts me, especially since the next two weeks should be jammed packed leading to the end of my 2nd marking period. I am going to do my self-test in 10 minutes before I eat dinner and finish it up afterwards. It’s only 10 questions anyway and they should be directly from my chemistry textbook. That is due tomorrow at midnight but I should just finish it today anyways. Then tomorrow I will start my stoichiometry lab report. Something I’ve realized is that my teacher just cares about page count and lots of details/explanations of concepts. Like, it’s difficult to get 100s on her lab reports but I have gotten one and mostly higher 90s just by excessively elaborating on concepts. They’re easy anyway and if I get the purpose, procedure, data sheet, and conclusion done tomorrow (those take like 2 hours max, in total), I can do my concept elaboration throughout the week. The report is due on Friday. Other than that, I have to do a summary of a video and article (also for chemistry) which is due on Friday and I can finish if I can give myself 3-4 hours for it this week. I am also going to review the current chapter we are on in my Dynamics of Health Care in Society class because I have it tomorrow and the only way to raise my grade in the class is if I can do well on a quiz. I am praying that she’ll give at least 2 quizzes before the marking period ends so I can raise the grade to a B (I failed a quiz because the rules were only lower case which ruined my grade). Other than that, I am sad that I wasn’t more productive with my break. I expected to begiun studying for my HOSA event since it is at the end of January for me but I’ll be starting today + tomorrow.

I spent today mostly in my room, on my phone, doing my nails, and just not doing much at all. I have been awake for 8 hours but I’ll probably sleep in 3 or 4. I just did my nails but they look pretty ugly, I like how I usually do them but tried some black french? tips... they suck. Me and my friend are going to get acrylics next weekend anyway so it should be okay anyways. I have also been thinking of shifting again, I’ve been on a break for 4-5 days now and I have been too focused on my dr. I’ll probably get back into affirming and chilling out. Also, I really need to take a bath soon because I got these lavender epsom slats from my friend as part of my late Christmas present. She also got me this engraved ring that says “you’re my person” on this chain and it honestly does not look cheesy so I love it. I’ve been chilling though. I have been trying to figure out if I going to write a wattpad though; I have been having maladaptive daydreams since I was a child and I was thinking of turning one into a wattpad book (royalty, light house and dark house, powers, the king and queen have wings, enemies because i don’t think you take your power seriously and i think you take this too seriously to tolerant friends for the better of the people to lovers type dynamic, family betrayal, and a lot of other stuff but i’m seriously considering it). The problem is I have never tried to write one of my universes down so I don’t understand how I would even start and like idk. I have been trying to find some cool wattpad original stories today though; I haven’t really been on wattpad for a few months since I have basically switched to archive of our own, livejournal, and fanfiction.net for most of my fic reading. However, I remembered I had a lot of original stories that have been on my TBR for a very long time so I am planning on making a dent in that. I started reading Forever August which has been beautiful and cheesy (I’m only a few chapters in but I love that the MFC is Indian since I’m Indian and we get like 0 rep) but it also reminded me why I got bored of wattpad stories so easily. idk. I really want to read some dark academia/royalty/spy/government-involved/academy type (not all thats just a jist) original stories which actual good characters... I might just try to find a marauders era fic that fits that (I read kitchens by lumosinlove and some other royalty au marauders stuff recently and they were so good) tbh. That reminds me that I have been meaning to make a fic recs list for harry potter and some other fandoms... that would be long but so worth it honestly. Okay, I’m gonna start my work, eat dinner while watching Bridgerton (I’m on episode 5 or 6 and it’s amazing like I am in love with the diversity and plot lines) and the finish the work, do some review, wind down and sleep.

- V

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fleurdeneuf · 7 years ago

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10 things about me

I was tagged by @onthedriftinthetardis approximately an age ago, but am finally doing the thing now! Thank you. :D (I hope you don’t mind if I take your lead on some sorts of facts to impart...I never know what to say in these things.)

1. I’m an INFP (who occasionally tests as INFJ), which is one of the rare MBTI types (about 4% of the population), and is referred to as the Healer or the Mediator. It means I’m an introvert, loyal, creative, daydream a lot, have deeply held values, and am too damn sensitive for my own good. If you’re familiar with the Enneagram personality types, I’m a 4, which is referred to as The Individualist or The Artist, and is much the same. Apparently I’m supposed to be a super creative type, which I’m not...but that’s because I get in the way of myself more than anything, I think.

2. More types? OK, let’s do it: I’ve never taken the super long Pottermore test, but I have taken some shorter ones, and am either Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. I choose to be both (Huffleclaw/Ravenpuff) rather than choosing one over the other.

3. I don’t have any “first job” horror stories, like a lot of people do. I was very lucky in that my first jobs were shelving books at a library and leading tours at a local museum, both of which fit into my personal and academic interests.

4. You may have noticed that I knit...but I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve had to relearn it. My mom tried to teach me, a college friend tried to teach me, a book tried to teach me, I’d put it aside for years and then reteach myself...if you’re someone who’s had trouble getting the hang of it, I am proof that practice makes perfect (or, well, practice makes competence, anyway).

5. Despite learning to knit (for the first time) 15 years ago, I have exactly one hat that I have knit myself. I am always knitting things for other people (it’s so much more fun), and so...one hat. I have a list a mile long of stuff I want to make for me, but doubt I’ll have/take the time to get much of it done.

6. You may have also noticed that I am fond of the color pink. I know I’ve rambled about this in tags a couple of times, but I’ll restate it here: I also went through a phase of “not being allowed” to like pink as I got older. Pink was my favorite when I was little. When I hit the tween years, I discovered that it wasn’t cool, and switched to purple for a while, then blue for many years. I started allowing myself to like certain shades of pink again in college, but not too much - nothing TOO girly or TOO feminine (because those are such awful cliched things, right?) But now? Pink is my fave again, and I am unapologetic. There’s nothing wrong with being girly. There’s nothing wrong with not being girly. Just let girls like what they like and don’t attack them for it. This has been a PSA by your aunt fleur. :)

7. I love cats, but I’ve never had one. I did, however, have a roommate for a while who had two cats, and I still miss one of them desperately. (What can you do when a cat claims you for their own?)

8. I am pretty sure that I have the best brownie recipe ever. It came about through looking up substitutions for ingredients I didn’t have, so it was an accident, like many good things. I’m happy to share it if anyone wants it, but...you probably don’t want to know how much butter is in them.

9. I started watching DW in 2007-2008, and was up to speed by the time season 4 aired in the US. I started reading fic right away, looking for episode/post-episode/in-between fics as I watched, then fixits, then other canon verse stories, then finally AUs. There have been a few times when I’ve stopped reading, but I’ve always come back to it, and now that I’m on tumblr and interacting with fandom, that has kept me more engaged. I lurked for years, too shy to talk to anyone or leave comments on fic (except for literally a handful), but decided when I joined tumblr in 2014 that I’d take the leap into engaging. Tumblr can be exhausting and annoying, but I don’t regret joining fandom in the least. :)

10. I would love to live abroad someday and be able to get a job in my chosen field (museum work). It’s probably just a pipe dream, but anything is possible.

11. (Because I split the knitting stuff into two, and didn’t realize I then had an extra): I am a very liberal Christian (Catholic, if you’re wondering which flavor), which is usually seen as a contradiction in terms…sometimes it feels that way, too.

I think I’ll take @onthedriftinthetardis‘s lead here too, and tag my last ten messaged mutuals: @deathlyfandoms, @asthewheelwills, @chiaroscuroverse, @fadewithfury, @tinyconfusion, @goingtothetardis, @redthreads, @acreasy1, @paigenotblank, @ruebella-b

No pressure, of course!

#onthedriftinthetardis #thanks for tagging me #and for giving me a few ideas #:)#fleur does the meme #about fleur

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marvel-daydreamers · 8 years ago

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Stop Looking at Him

Peter Parker X Reader

Word Count: 2135

Author: The one who is completely obsess with Peter, Kate

Warnings: Um... Kissing? There’s a fight scene...

A/N: HECK YES GUYS!!! First, THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU to ‘anonymous’ for the PROMPT and requesting this fic! It’s my favorite one that I’ve written. Anyways... Guys! Can’t you tell how much better my writing is when I have a prompt? AND it’s not so fluffy that you’re suffocating in all the fluff... Okay, sorry, sorry go ahead and read the fic now...

“Y/N!” Peter whispered. You were both in History class, in the computer lab, working on a research project that you had paired up with your best friend, Peter Parker for. Well, you were supposed to be working on the project, anyway.

“What?” You breathed back through the pen that you were subconsciously chewing on, your eyes still focused on Daniel through the monitors. This was the only class you could secretly spy on your semi-crush without anyone catching your gaze. Unfortunately, Peter knew you better than anyone, sometimes even your self. And, he was also slightly jealous that Daniel was getting more of your attention than he was. A few months ago, he had started developing feelings for you, but then he got bit by that spider, and he couldn’t tell you. He just couldn’t put you in that danger of being in a relationship with a superhero.

“You’re doing it again!” Peter said, looking at you exasperatedly. You looked at him, biting your lip. You could stay on track most of the time, but you had completed today’s work yesterday, while Peter was out of class, for some reason.

“Doing what?” You asked guiltily, knowing perfectly well what Peter was accusing you of.

“Y/N, you’re staring at Daniel! And we’re supposed to be working!” Peter looked at you with round eyes. You bit your lip harder, trying to contain a blush. You didn’t think that Peter would be watching you.

“I’m not looking at him!” You insisted, cringing at your high-pitched voice. It always was higher when you were lying or mad. Peter titled his head to the side, laying on his unbelief very heavily. You huffed, and went back to your computer, checking that all your deadlines for the project were set. Finding nothing to do, you opened up the school newspaper online. Your article came up first under the title New York’s Very Own Masked Hero. Peter looked at your screen disinterestedly. ‘Another one?’ he thought. For weeks, he had been trying to dissuade you from following Spider-Man so closely, seeing as he loved you too much to put you in that danger of knowing that your best friend was the one under the mask. He wished he could tell you, but he wouldn’t until it put you in more danger to not know.

Growing bored with your article drafts, you started zoning out, taking a peak around your monitor every once in a while to sneak another look at Daniel. Peter noticed your frequent head movements, and grew more frustrated with your behavior.

“Stop looking at him!” His tone caught your attention right away, it was full of annoyance at you, and it was quite obvious you were daydreaming, as normal.

“Peter, we’ve already finished our wor-”

“You like him, don’t you?” He asked, accusingly. You stuck your tongue out at him. Peter cracked, and a smile shone through his annoyance. You turned back to your computer, trying to focus and actually get this survey up online. Slowly, so you wouldn’t notice, Peter slipped a black notebook from your backpack. Though he wasn’t supposed to know what it was, Peter knew it was full of all your writing prompts and fanfics. On more than one occasion, he had found stories of Spider-Man saving you, and it had always helped him focus during long nights of stopping crime. He just wanted to check one thing. If you were having difficulty analyzing a situation, or you were very emotional about something, you would often write stories from multiple different viewpoints to help you calm down and remember exact details. He opened to the last entry he had read, and flipped through a few more of the pages. Just skimming the pages, he saw titles for ‘Daniel and the Dinosaurs’ which was apparently another one of your nightmares that “dream” Daniel had saved you from. There were also imagines about movie nights, and just becoming closer to Daniel. Peter mocked the name in his head, feeling more down by the second. He wasn’t included in any of these stories, where as before, he normally had a 1:3 ratio.

‘Maybe she would like me better than him if she knew I was Spider-Man.’ Thought Peter, as he saw yet another Spider-Man fan page. He slipped the notebook back, and rested his jaw on his crossed arms, trying to ignore his thoughts of revealing his secret.

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Finally, school was out for the day, and History class had been moved to the black depths of your memory. You skipped up to Peter’s locker, a pencil behind your ear, and your notebook in your arms.

“Hey, Peter! Guess what!” You laughed ecstatically. He looked up from his backpack, which always seemed to be stuffed, even on the days you didn’t have homework, and smiled. Your conscious noticed the smile didn’t nearly reach his eyes, like they normally do, but you shook it off.

“What’s up?” He asked, focusing back on his locker.

“I totally nailed our Algebra test!” You grinned. “Guess all that tutoring paid off, huh, Parker?” He smiled an answer, and this one was sad, too. You were about to ask what was wrong when your phone beeped an alert from your police scanner app.

“Armed robbery on 13th.” You read out loud. MIdtown wasn’t far from there, and if your hurried, you might be able to get some pictures of Spider-Man in action.

“I’ve got... I’ve got to go.” Peter sputtered, pulling on his backpack quickly.

“Yeah, me too.” You clicked your phone off.

“Y/N, don’t go to the robbery.” Peter said quickly.

“And why not? What if Spider-Man is there? I can get some great pic-”

“Just... don’t. It’s dangerous. What if you get hurt?” You didn’t get to answer; Peter was already gone.

“Spider-Man will make sure I won’t.” You smiled, pulling a battered camera out of your backpack. You tried to run fast through the streets, bumping into multiple people who threw dirty looks at your back. Slowly and cautiously, you rounded the corner of 13th, and snapped a few shots of the police barricades. You continued round the mob of people, and surreptitiously slipped through the police. The bank came into view, and you heard a loud voice echoing through the building. You silently slunk through the doors, and squatted, your camera at the ready.

“So, Spidey, looks like your all webbed up.” A coarse voice laughed. Again, you moved silently closer to the action. You expected to see the burglars stuck in webs, as was normal. Instead you saw your hero plastered to the wall in a net of webs that looked significantly different from the formula that you had spent months memorizing. Spider-Man was stuck. You gasped, and 3 men wielding guns and daggers turned at the sound. The eyes on Spider-Man’s mask widened with the proportion of his actual eyes.

“NO! Y/N GET OUT OF HERE!” Peter yelled, his chest rising rapidly. You turned to run, but the biggest man with a dagger caught your arm, and twisted it painfully behind your back. Your eyes filled with terror as you felt the cold metal of the dagger push your throat. Peter was going berserk. He twisted back and forth through the web, trying anything to get to you, to save you.

“Look at that, boys. Spider-kid has a girlfriend!” The robber laughed, pressing the dagger even tighter against your throat. Your breathing was uneven and shallow as you felt the skin break underneath the pressure.

“Please, please don’t hurt h-her. Do whatever you want-t to me, but don’t hurt her.” Spider-Man pleaded as he saw a bead of crimson blood roll down your snow white neck. Peter searched his mind frantically for anything, anything that would help. If he tried to cut open the web, you would die. If he tried to web the dagger, you would die. An idea came to him as he saw a tear roll out of your crystal blue eyes. He had installed that frequency emitter next to his web shooters. It would emit a sound frequency that would shock the villains into a neurological stupor until the police came, and he could reach it the button. He looked at you again, and realized it would affect you too. And he had never tested it before to see if the effect was permanent.

“WHY YOU LITTLE BRAT!” The villain holding Y/N screamed. You had twisted your head to bite his arm, and you also stepped on his foot to try and release his grip. He loosened his grip slightly, and you twisted out of his arm, but his dagger caught the flesh underneath your shoulder deep. You tripped, and one of the other robbers caught you, pressing his gun into your cut. Tears filled your eyes as the gun rubbed the wound. The man you had bitten pulled out a pistol, and aimed in straight at your forehead.

“Hope you don’t mind, Spidey, but I’m going to have to kill the girl.” He said, cocking the gun. Peter slammed the frequency button, hoping against hope it would do something. Time seemed to slow as Peter watched the trigger being pulled, and then everyone collapsed in their spots. Peter cut the web, and fell on the floor, terrified to see what state you were in. You were sprawled on the ground, a tear still midway down your cheek. Peter anxiously held you to his chest, checking your forehead for any wounds. The trajectory of the bullet had been messed up when the robber fell, and had grazed the skin just above your right eye, but it wasn’t deep. Peter breathed for the first time in a minute, and picked you up like a baby.

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You woke up suddenly on a small bed. Your heavily bandaged arm ached from the muscle spasm of regaining consciousness, and you felt extremely dizzy sitting up. You fell back onto the bed.

“Y/N. You’re awake. Thank goodness you’re awake.” A blurry version of Spider-Man’s mask swam into your eyesight. You mouthed a question, but no noise came out.

“Y/N. Y/N. Do you remember me?” Spider-Man asked in a very familiar voice.

“How-how do you know my name?” You asked, your head throbbing. That was Peter’s voice, but he couldn’t be Spider-Man. You were just hallucinating.

“I-uh. I’ve read your articles about me.” The hero obviously lied, turning his head down just like Peter normally does. You looked around as your vision cleared. Peter’s room. You were in Peter’s room on his bed. Why would Spider-Man be in Peter’s room? You reached up to the mask with shaky fingers. Peter instantly froze at your touch. It felt like a zap of electricity through the mask. You bit your lip, and pulled the mask off. Your hand fell back to your side as Peter’s face was unveiled. A thousand, no a million questions raced through your mind as gibberish stumbled out of your mouth. Peter’s eyebrows knit together in guilt.

“Peter? You’re Spider-Man?” You croaked. He nodded solemnly. You started laughing as it all came together. The missed classes, the sad smiles, the dog-eared Spider-Man fics in your notebook, the secrecy...

“Y/N? Are you okay?” Peter was very concerned at your abrupt laughter.

“Ugh. I feel so stupid! Please tell me you weren’t the one that was reading my Spider-Man stories! Peter!” You giggled at his smile.

“You, you’re not mad that I didn’t tell you?”

“Peter, I’m so mad that I could kill you, but can we save that for later when I have full use of my arms?” He smiled, and your melted at the sight of your protector. Your Spider-Man. Your Peter. Your best friend. All the same person, the boy that stole your heart.

Neither of you could say exactly what happened in that moment, but your hearts started beating as one.

“Peter, I think I love you.” You whispered. Slowly, Peter leaned closer to you, until his breath tickled your lips, his arms supporting his weight of either side of you. You tilted your head up until your lips connected. Peter melted into your touch. His arms wrapped under your back, and you felt his biceps flex as he sighed against your neck.

“So, do you like me better than Daniel?” He mumbled. You didn’t answer until he lifted his head to look into your eyes. You sighed at the sight of his warm brown eyes so close to yours.

“Remember when you told me to stop looking at him?” You asked him, and he smiled, awaiting your response. “Well, I guess you were right, because I like looking at you a lot more.” He leaned in for another kiss, and your lips smiled against his.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #marvel fic #Spider-Man #tom holland

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