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sassy-ahsoka-tano · 2 years

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DADDY ISSUES - Part Two: Guys My Age

Character/Fandom: Elvis - ELVIS (2022)

Prompt: When Steve and Jerry ask you to try and convince EP to make a statement after Bobby Kennedy's death, you're not sure you're the right person for the job. But life has other plans. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: Some mentions of death, but other than that nothing!

Rating: Pg-13 || Word Count: 4197

A/N: I wanna take a quick moment to sincerely thank @fangirl-imagines with all of my heart bc this fic would NOT EXIST without her. seriously kenz you have my undying gratitude and love for helping me outline + inspiring me with your gorgeous moodboards 💖

also, i know i promised y'all smut but i hope you'll accept a bit of a slow burn instead jsjsjs

FINALLY, thank you to my bewbies for helping me + this one is for all the polk salad annies out there ❤️‍🔥

Song Rec: guys my age - hey violet

This is Part 2 of Daddy Issues. Find the rest of the series here!

[ masterlist | taglist ]

🦋 mila

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As you hurriedly follow Steve into a small room, you hear nothing but silence and the very quiet sound of the television in the background. The square space is stuffed with about as many people as it could possibly hold, all from the show, as they gather in a circle to huddle around the tv. Steve pushes his way to the front and leans so close to the tv that you wonder if he’ll get sucked into the screen.

You hover at the back of the room, placing a hand over your mouth to still your quivering lips. The voice of a reporter is explaining what’s happened, how Bobby Kennedy got shot and what will happen next. It’s like watching a sports game, except the play-by-play is explaining how someone is dying right in front of your eyes and the eyes of a million Americans alongside you. Your wide eyes track the tiny screen as it flashes with doctors, police officers, and people from the street trying to figure out what to do with themselves.

“We’re ready on set,” one of the crew members shouts from behind you. You glance over your shoulder with an irritated expression, but your attention is jerked back to the front of the room when you hear the sound of a familiar southern drawl.

“Oh my god,” Elvis mutters, and you suck in a nervous breath. You hadn’t even realized he was in the room with everyone else. Your whole body grows stiff, and you begin to feel sweat gathering on your palms.

“Steve, we gotta get back to work,” the crew member repeats, and your eyes readjust to land on your cousin.

“Work…” Steve breathes out quietly. “Listen I, uh, I just wanna say that this nation is hurting. It’s lost, you know, it needs a voice right now to help it. We have to say something. You have to make a statement, EP.”

“Mr. Presley does not make statements.”

You whirl around to see the fat manager from earlier bounding into the room.

“He sings here Here Comes Santa Claus and wishes everyone a Merry Christmas and good night,” the manager says harshly. He jerks the knob on the tv and it flashes to a black screen.

“Now, we will take the rest of the day off but everyone will be back here tomorrow morning and ready to make it snow,” he says gruffly.

After a moment of awkward silence, the room begins to stir. Crew and cast members alike begin to file out of the room, some of them murmuring while others just express a chorus of sighs. You stand to the side and let people leave, waiting for Steve. You know what a big admirer of Bobby Kennedy’s he is, and you share that sentiment. Even though you might not be the closest of cousins, you still want to be there to support Steve. Not just as a family member but as a friend, as well.

You awkwardly cross your arms across your chest as you watch Steve move slowly past Elvis. Your cousin lays his hand on the singer’s shoulder for a quick moment, and Elvis’ wife, Priscilla, stands. You’re taken aback by how beautiful she is in person, with a perfect figure and a gorgeous face. She hugs Steve tightly before dropping her face into a hand. She offers a small curt smile as she passes you, bringing a chilled air of sweet perfume with her. You return the expression, although you can see the tears silently streaming down her cheeks.

Finally, Steve approaches you with glistening eyes. You hold your arms out for him to walk into and squeeze him tightly, biting your lip to keep your own tears at bay. You’re used to this by now, after so many years on your own, being the strong one. Being the one who never cries. The shoulder that everyone else cries onto.

From behind Steve’s back, you make eye contact with the rotund manager who gives you a flick of his hand, signaling that he wants you to leave the room. You sigh deeply and rub Steve’s back as you glance over to another man, the same one you’d seen Elvis speaking with after the show. He glances between you and Elvis and then approaches you.

“Let’s leave Mr. Presley and the Colonel alone,” the man says quietly.

You nod, gently steering Steve toward the door as he presses his fingers into his eyes to dry the tears. You quietly shut the door behind you and guide your cousin to a pair of chairs in the hallway. He crashes down onto the seat without much control, and you sit alongside him to take his hand. The other man stands above you, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Oh, Steve, I’m so sorry,” you say quietly. “I know how much Bobby Kennedy meant to you. I understand how much this must hurt. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Steve sniffs hard, wiping tears from his cheeks. He shakes his head.

“No but thanks anyway,” he says just as quietly. Silence settles. After a few moments, Steve glances up at the other man, and they share an expression you can’t decipher.

“Actually…no, nevermind.”

“What? Let me help, please. You’re my cousin. It’s part of my familial duty.”

You offer a small smile as your eyes flick between the two men. You hope your joke will help soften the blow of the news and lighten the mood a tad. Plus, you feel awkward because you don’t understand the relationship between your cousin and this random man. But Steve offers you no indication that your joke had any effect.

“Well, like I said in there,” he responds, “I think EP really needs to make a statement. I mean the whole point of this show is to inspire people and get them talking about him again. With such a big platform as the one he has, I just feel that he should use it to advocate for what we need in the world right now. I think people might listen a little harder if it came from someone like him, you know?”

“Sure, absolutely,” you nod, agreeing wholeheartedly. “But what could I possibly do?”

“I wonder if you might go talk to him? Try to convince him? I know you don’t know each other, but maybe if it came from a fan he’d find it more convincing. He’d be more inspired if he felt like it was wanted. Needed.”

You heave out a deep breath as your heart begins to pound in your chest. You shake your head frantically.

“No, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I, uh…no…”

“I think he’ll take it more seriously if she’s the one to say it,” the man chimes in. You glance up at him in disbelief, offended that he would even speak up when you have literally no idea who he is.

“Why not?” Steve’s voice recaptures your attention. You’re starting to feel a little whiplash from the confusion of the conversation. “Listen, I know I’ve already used up my cousin’s familial duty favor by asking you to star front and center in the special even when you clearly didn’t want to. But this is bigger than us. This is the whole country we’re talking about, Y/N. Would you just consider it?”

“I…I guess, but I’d sort of like some answers first, if that’s reasonable?” you ask, glancing back over at the man. “Because, no offense or anything, but who are you? And how do you two know each other? And why me, specifically? You know, I was sitting next to a girl in the crowd who’s way prettier and a much bigger fan than I am.”

“I’m Jerry Schilling, Elvis’ producer,” the man replies automatically. You nod. Makes sense. “And the reason we’ve chosen you…well, do you want to tell her, Steve, or should I?”

“Tell me what?” you ask and a tense silence grows between all three of you. Your head jerks from one man to the other like you’re watching a tennis match. In actuality, you feel more like the ball itself, being smashed back and forth between opposing players, than a spectator.

“After the show,” Steve starts and then pauses, glancing up at Jerry as if he’s asking permission to continue. You throw up a hand, gesturing for him to explain. “After the show, Elvis asked Jerry if he could track you down. He…he wants to meet you.”

Within a matter of seconds, you officially reach a point beyond any form of physically expressable anxiety. While your heart would normally be thudding against your chest, it now feels like it’s stopped. Actually stopped beating completely. You can’t bring yourself to do anything other than stare at the cringing expression plastered on Steve’s face. You slowly and deeply breathe in.

“What?!” you shout, louder than you mean to. “I…I-I…I…”

Those are pretty much the only words you can choke out, too shocked to even comprehend fully what’s happening. No version of you in any universe could ever have predicted the events of this day.

“Listen, I know this is a lot, but we can tell you exactly what to say,” Steve jumps in.

“I can give you some insider’s advice on how to convince him. I know what he likes, what he responds to,” Jerry adds.

There goes your head again, snapping back and forth like the tennis ball. Steve takes a gentle grasp on your hands.

“Please do this. I promise, no I swear, that it’ll be the last favor I ever ask you to do for me,” Steve pleads.

You heave a sigh and shake your head. There is no way you could do this. Unless…

“Alright, boys,” you start, holding a finger up to each of them, “since doing that little favor for you earlier got me fired from my job at Chadneys, as of now, I am unemployed and broke. I will do this for you if I get paid for it. In money. Real money.”

“That can be arranged,” Jerry responds immediately, much too quickly for your liking. Knowing nothing about show business, you let it go. It seems to make sense that money is the way to get what you want in the business.

“Alright fine. So, what am I supposed to say, exactly?” you ask, shifting uncomfortably on the chair.

You try to take mental notes once again as Steve and Jerry go through advice with you, telling you what points to make and how to phrase certain things to grab his attention and get him to listen to you. By the end of the conversation, your brain is so fuzzy and stuffed full of words that you’re pretty sure the whole conversation was a waste of time anyway.

“Great, thanks. Do I go now, or…?”

“Wait until the Colonel leaves and go right after,” Jerry replies. “It’s probably best if the Colonel doesn’t see you at all, actually. He’ll want Elvis to be isolated after their conversation. It’s sort of a manipulation technique to make EP feel like he’s alone. But that also gives you the perfect time to slip in. Remember, the most important thing you can do is follow his directions. Oh, and tell him Jerry said satnin knows.”

“Okay, whatever,” you reply. “Well, wish me luck, I guess.”

You turn on your heel, ready to go stakeout Elvis’ dressing room, but Steve’s hand catches your wrist. You glance over your shoulder as he takes a step closer and speaks in a low voice.

“Be careful in there, okay?”

You snort.

“Okay, Steve. He may be a rockstar, but he’s harmless. What’s he gonna do, sing me to death?”

“I’m serious,” Steve replies, and you can tell by his expression that he is, indeed, very serious. “He’s been known to be a little…unfaithful. Just don’t get into a bad situation with him, please.”

“I won’t, Steve, I promise,” you reply shaking your head. You don’t sleep with married men.

With half of the lights turned off for the night, the hallway is darkened as you slink up next to the wall. You hear voices coming from the dressing room and step very slowly and quietly toward the square of light shining onto the floor.

“Poor Mrs. Kennedy,” the Colonel’s voice sounds, and you freeze before pressing yourself back against the shadows. “It is a tragedy, but it has nothing to do with us.”

You carefully peek around the corner, being as subtle as you possibly can. Your fingers curl around the side of the doorframe as you peer into the room to spy.

“It has everything to do with us,” Elvis says.

You watch silently as he wanders into the room from his closet. Your eyes immediately notice the fact that he’s only in a robe, and your eyebrows raise as you sneak a glance at his open chest. You don’t mean to, but your brain concocts a very thorough image of what he must look like underneath the dark red silk fabric.

“I just do not think that we should be making speeches about politics and religion,” the Colonel responds, sounding irritated.

“Dr. King was shot eight miles from Graceland while I was out here singing to turtles,” Elvis responds, picking up the metal dome from a food tray and popping a piece of food into his mouth. “And now this. And all you can think about is how many goddamn sweaters I can sell.”

“I am the promoter. That is what I do.”

“And I’m Elvis Presley. That’s what I do.”

You jump further back into the shadows as Elvis slams down a glass bottle of Pepsi. His force is so strong that the liquid splashes up from the neck of the bottle and onto the mirror he’s staring back at the Colonel through.

“Mr. Bindle has really gotten inside your head with all of his hippie friends. You really think that singing your old songs dressed in black leather, sweating, mumbling incoherently to the audience is a good show?”

“Colonel, I know when I’ve excited an audience.”

You can’t help but bite your lip through a smile as you think about the few times you’ve been able to experience his ability to excite an audience. He definitely has a gift for exciting something.

“That was not a real audience, my boy. There was a sign flashing applaud, telling them when to clap for you. This entire jamboree is an embarrassment. You have embarrassed the sponsors, you have embarrassed yourself, you have embarrassed me. You can sing whatever songs you and Mr. Bindle choose for 55 minutes, but at the end of the show, there will be a Christmas song. Or else we will be sued….no,” the Colonel snaps harshly. “No, you will be sued. Because I will no longer be the promoter of your career. I will have to leave you.”

The Colonel is standing so incredibly close to Elvis now, staring up into his eyes. But Elvis is giving the same energy back, staring down at the penguin-shaped man in front of him with uncaring eyes. He hums his response in such a low tone that you barely even hear it at all.

“Mm….mhm.”

A moment of tension passes as Elvis stares down the Colonel, clicks his tongue, and grabs his Pepsi before turning around to go back to watching tv.

“Now I have convinced our friends at Singer Sewing Machines to come back tomorrow for Here Comes Santa Claus,” he says, beginning to slowly make his way toward you, leaning heavily onto his cane. “I will see you in the morning.”

Your heart begins to pound, realizing that he’s going to see you if he passes through the door. You frantically shuffle backward, running into a bucket and mop behind you in the process. Both objects crash to the floor with a metallic banging noise, and you wince hard as soapy water begins to flood out all over the floor. As you glance up like a deer in headlights with the broom laying in your fingers, you make eye contact with the Colonel. You freeze, not knowing what to do with yourself. He just quirks an eyebrow and then leans back into the room.

“Oh, and as I recall, Dr. King said rock’n’roll music contributed to juvenile delinquency.”

And with that, he stalks out of the room. He briefly pauses by you, on your knees on the floor attempting to gather up as much of the spill as you can with a towel you’d found tied around the handle of the mop.

“Clean this up,” he says dryly as he passes.

You just watch him go, waiting until you’re sure he can’t see to hold up your middle finger as he waddles around the corner. When you swivel your head around to face front again, your breath catches as you gaze up directly into the eyes of Elvis Presley, himself. He’s leaning against the door frame, one arm supporting his weight against the wood. You can barely see him in the shadows of the hallway, but there’s just enough light for you to notice his eyebrow quirked up. You clear your throat and stand, glancing quickly down at your knees to see two round circles of stained fabric by your kneecaps, accented with tiny little soap bubbles. Well, that’s humiliating. He just stares at you, waiting for you to probably explain who you are and why you’re on your hands and knees outside of his dressing room.

“Jerry said uh…that satnin knows?” you blurt out, unable to tear your eyes away from his face, his open chest, his disheveled hair.

You hope you’ve said it right, whatever it means. And you must have because the realization visibly washes over his face almost immediately. He nods, gesturing for you to come into the room. You follow him inside, nervously wringing out your fingers, and stop awkwardly in the doorway with a gulp.

“How are you doing, Mr. Presley?” you ask, starting the conversation out slowly like Jerry had advised. Elvis glances up at you.

“You got soap and water on ya dress, sugar,” he says, gesturing toward your knees.

You just glance down at your work uniform, feeling incredibly embarrassed. You don’t know how to respond, so you just stay quiet. Your mind is blank. You have forgotten what Jerry and Steve told you. Everything, all of it. Gone.

“Yeah, I had a bit of an accident in the hall,” you finally reply with an awkward laugh.

You wince, gripping onto the hem of your uniform. Oh! That was something Jerry had said. Refocus the conversation. But he speaks again before you have a chance to say anything else.

“Ya gonna have to buy a new dress, now,” he says, his eyes slowly tracking up and down your figure. You shrug into yourself, wanting to cover your body up as much as possible. You feel scrutinized by his eyes. Like he’s sizing you up the way he’d size up a car or a suit.

“Yeah,” you mutter quietly. “If I can afford it…”

“What’s that, baby?”

“Oh, I…um…just lost my job today. When I left work to come be in the audience, I got fired, actually. So, I’m sort of broke right now. Everything’s gonna be fine, though. You know, I’ll get another job. I always have in the past.”

He hums quietly, the same way he had when speaking with the Colonel. Again, you catch his eyes dragging down your body, hanging on every piece of skin, as he runs his tongue over his top lip.

“Maybe we could come to some kinda arrangement,” Elvis says, leaning against the table below the mirror and crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes drop down to the tanned skin immediately, desperately latching onto the tufts of dark hair on his chest.

“What…do you mean?” you ask, shaking your head.

“Jus that I could help ya pay your bills and replace that dress. For a price, uh course,” he responds in a voice like velvet, impossibly deep and soft. So smooth that it feels warm when it enters your ears.

You’ve heard of things like this. These kind of arrangements. He raises his hand to his chin, dragging his finger over his lips. Your eyes lock onto his plump, pink lips. They fit him so perfectly and they look delicious. You feel your heart thump in an unsettling mixture of fear and excitement. The hair on your arms starts to stand up and a shiver ricochets through your spine.

“What is the price…exactly?”

He doesn’t reply, but you can’t ignore the left side of his mouth as it curls up into a sinister smirk. His black eyes — aren’t they supposed to be blue? — are trained on yours, refusing to let up. Your heart is slamming so fast in your chest that you can hear its pounding clouding your eardrums. Elvis pushes himself to stand and reaches for the bottle of Pepsi, still resting on top of the table.

“Ya know…at one of my concerts back in, oh it woulda been bout 1956 I think, I remember this lil girl there. She was jus beautiful and she was standin in the front row,” he says, sticking his finger out to point as if he could see this girl standing right in front of him now. He drops his head down as a quiet laugh gently wracks his shoulders and then turns with his back facing you.

“I won’t never forget her cause jus after I wrapped my fingers round her jaw…” he flexes his long slender fingers, curling them the same way he had when they’d wrapped around your face so many years ago. Your fingers tingle as they consider reaching up to touch the skin on your jaw, desperate for that feeling just one more time. “She slid these onto the stage.”

Your eyes travel from the side of his face all the way down his nose and lips and onto his shoulder, traveling along his arm toward his outstretched finger. And hanging off the edge of his pointer finger, dangling dangerously, is a pair of deep red lace panties.

Suddenly, you’re thrown back to the summer of 1956. It’s like it was yesterday, the sounds of the crowd screaming, the buzz of the bass and guitars that vibrated through the stage and into your fingers. You must have buried that memory. Of what you’d done. You feel heat rise to your cheeks in that moment as you think about what your parents would have said if they’d known. For god’s sake, you were only 16 at the time…but you’d been so overtaken with desire and passion that you’d slid your panties onto the stage as he held your face hostage. The crushing weight of the memory settles in your chest. Yes, you remember now, watching him snatch them up. Despite the fact that so many other girls had tossed their panties up there, in a wide array of colors and patterns, he’d taken yours. He’d held them up to his eyes, looked right at you, and then tucked them into his pocket with the same smirk pasted on his face right now.

But now you can’t ignore it, pretend like you hadn’t done it. The evidence is right there in front of you. You’d remember those panties anywhere, they used to be your favorite. You would never have thought, never dreamed that he would have kept them.

Your heart is pulsing a thousand beats per minute, slamming against your chest like a hammer on a nail. You gulp hard, swallowing dry air. He steps toward you with his long legs, running his fingers agonizingly along the fabric of the lace panties. Your eyes track his every movement, somehow all at once. You take in everything. The way his fingers move, the way the robe flaps open on his chest, the way you figure he’s not wearing anything underneath. Within a matter of seconds, he’s right in front of you, staring down at you, so close that you can smell him. Like sweat and something spicy, musky, warm. So close that you could touch him, and your fingers ache to feel the warmth of his skin. You start to notice the tightness building in your heat, the swollen tenderness, the need. You avoid eye contact at all costs, but you can’t resist when his finger curls under your chin, tilting your head up to his.

“You know, darlin, I been lookin for my Cinderella for a long time,” his eyes flick up and capture yours. You stare back at him with wide eyes, like a deer in headlights for the second time that night. A prisoner under his gaze.

“I…” you say quietly, trailing off when you don’t know how to proceed.

“So how bout it, Y/N,” he hums, rubbing your chin with his thumb. His eyes bear into yours, clouded with desperation. His fingers squeeze the bones of your jaw. “Do the shoes, or should I say panties, fit?”

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mysilentnightshipping · 2 years

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so, uh. here’s something i’ve been working on a hot minute; the timeline of myself in parks and rec, and how i fit into the story! and it’s only part one.... strap yourselves in folks. it’s a ride! but i’ve loved writing this while watching the show!

> i start my new job at the city hall right after the government shutdown. the camera crew decided that they’d start to film me as well, as they want to see what i can bring into the show and how i fit into the work community after mark’s departure. i catch chris for the first time while they film me and im like ”huh? who’s that? interesting…”. leslie finds me almost immediately afterwards, because of course she’s curious to see who took mark’s job. and fortunately for both of us, we hit it off really well so she invites me to visit the parks and rec department as often as possible. aka starting from tomorrow because she will make me cookies as a welcome present and she will show me around the city hall as well as take me to eat the best waffles and–

> i also point out to the crew that i really want to mingle with people because at my previous job nobody really wanted to be friends because it was a private firm, there was a lot of competition between everyone and it was… just not a good workplace. plus i don’t have that many friends anyways because all my old friends live in finland. so i’m more than happy that leslie came along and i already like her.

> i guide the twilight fanatic to the correct department so i kind of make it my fault. and start hanging out there, at first to see the mess unfold, and because i also love twilight. also me n chris meet by the pretzel stand at the end of the episode because duh. i love a good pretzel. and when he leaves… i might be a liddol bit sad.

> me and ben bond over not understanding the lil sebastian hype. and throughout the harvest festival i’m seen eaten cotton candy. like. in all the scenes. even before the festival has started. i fucking love cotton candy.

> then chris comes back and im like Oh. HELLO. good day sir. perhaps we stumble upon each other at work when everyone else is on the camping trip, so it’s casual and easy. also he is starting to catch some feelings towards me….. subconsciously at least.

> also i bring a good cake to april and andy’s wedding instead of what i was assigned (napkins) because i, unlike everyone else, foresaw chris’ inability to bring an actual cake. nobody is impressed by it, though. mostly just mad i didn’t get the napkins.

> leslie tells about the stuff that went down with tom and chris’ reaction to it. it throws me off but i try to play it casually and then for a while things get a bit awkward with him. but he doesn’t notice it, someone else has to point it out. maybe andy, without realizing? so that makes chris think...

> also ben would actually move to my place because i have a spare room and he prefers more… adult-like company. and we’d bond a bit more and he’d tell me about his thing with leslie because i am “the kind of person you just want to tell your darkest secrets to without being prompted” (his words, not mine). and we’d help andy and april be grown ups together. besties energy!!!

> the snake juice episode is more me and chris bonding in the bar because i don’t drink very often either. but me and april have an argument, her blackout drunk in spanish and me just… being me, in finnish. nobody knows why we started but we just keep doing it and somehow understanding one another. i swear it would be pretty funny. and of course, haul some of the gang home, it wont be just donna’s job!

> after the road trip episode i get sick, i don’t show up to work so chris gets worried and ben my roomie tells chris what’s up. he appears to my apartment with food he recalled me liking (aka things he’d never eat) and i get SO happy, very touched.

> after that? it’s all a blur. perhaps we get together during the season finale? kind of discreetly, out of nowhere, he’s having his ”i could die anyday now” spiral and i show up and he’s having a realization along the lines of ”if i died before i got to kiss her this life would’ve been a WASTE”. ok it’s a little bit dramatic but in a way that fits us. so.

> oh yes season finale he actually talks to ME about his problem and anxiety and i actually help him with it and make him feel more at ease and it shows really well how similar we are about health anxiety and just the general outlook in life. and a kiss happens kind of unexpectedly.

> nobody knows about it at first, just because... it would be a bit too much.

> also, ben’s the first to find out. and it’d be a very big surprise for him. he doesn’t internalize it for a while. it would be so funny. also we’re just going to ignore the rules about office relationships entirely because i cannot be bothered.

> so i come along to the lunch date as previously discussed and then this scene happens instead IT JUST WORKS aaaand after his treat yourself day ben wears the batman costume at my place bc duh he lives there. but it ends up with me also bringing out my OWN costume. what costume? i don’t know. but i’d have one, whatever it’d be. i don’t have all the details.

> aaaand because ben lives with me he doesnt get into a fight with andy but instead comes to the halloween party in his batman suit encouraged by me but nobody really recognises him/everyone ignores him so he walks around very offended especially after he spots me and chris making out. also i teach chris to dance because he sucks at it (affectionate).

> and of course, we go hang out to the end of the world AND go to the tom and jean ralphio’s party. duh.

> i’d totally hype up andy for being finland in the model UN. FINLAND REP. but also what the fuck are these events. what is the american school system. what is america. i miss finland. without all the lions.

> so. i’ve been a little bit aloof lately and chris wonders why because we’ve been doing so well but now i’m “so busy” and kind of avoiding him, so thats why he launches the investigations. and in the end everyone comes to the conclusion that maybe… he should ASK ME.

> so in the smallest park episode he finally manages to ask me about it and i tell him that i miss finland. so he suggests that i should go back for a few weeks. also we say i love you…. cute…

> i totally help leslie with the campaign as well for i volunteer to be the design and advertisement manager !!

> and when ben’s depression hits… i’m stuck with him at our place and i call chris for help because i have no idea how to handle a depressed ben and it’s been 5 days and he just keeps getting worse. i mean, he is relatable, but chris help your girl and your bestie out.

> after that i head to finland for a few weeks. chris’ pretty down for most of the time, so everyone else is trying to cheer him up. he still ends up being the dj for the valentine’s dance and making everyone miserable. UNTIL BOOM BOW I SURPRISE HIM and arrive a bit early. our reunion is very cute and wholesome. that’s why he disappears and leslie thinks he’s cheating on me with ann lmao.

aaaand that’s how far i’ve gotten. we’ll see when/if i manage to continue this. anyways if you got this far you’re a real champ. me and chris are cheering for you xoxo have a great day

#self ship #self shipping #self insert #plan and action #DAYS. WEEKS. YEARS. PUT INTO THIS. i love it!!!#part two soon i hope??

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brywrites · 3 years

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Lock and Key I

Summary: In which Spencer Reid stumbles upon a GED class at Millburn and feels something like hope for the first time in weeks.

[Series Masterlist]

....

The prison library is a haven, for the few minutes he’s allowed to visit twice a week. It’s quiet, secluded, and full of his favorite things – books. The selection is nowhere near as nice as his personal collection at home, or the public library, but it’s better than nothing. Without words, he’d go mad. He needs stories to keep him sane, to give him a route he can escape by.

Today though, he’s startled to walk into the small space and find twelve other prisoners inside – accompanied by a face he’s never seen before. A woman. What’s even more surprising is that she doesn’t wear the uniform of a guard or an employee. Instead she’s in Converse sneakers and a lavender polka-dotted dress. It’s been so long since he saw that color – any bright color, really. But it’s his favorite and it isn’t until that moment that the realizes how much he’s missed the simplest of things. The sight of his favorite color. Bright images in dull spaces. Things that look hopeful.

Reid isn’t sure what’s going on, but the other prisoners seem to be too absorbed in the books to notice him. Just as he’s thinking he can back away quietly and return tomorrow, she turns around, smiling at the sight of him.

“Well hello there!” she says. “Are you Luis?”

Reid tilts his head, confused. How does this stranger know his friend? “Uh, no, no I’m not. I’m sorry, who are you?”

Her smile drops, though she doesn’t seem annoyed. Merely disappointed. “Oh. They told me Luis would be joining us today, but he never showed up. I’m Y/N. I’m one of the teachers here.”

This is the first he’s heard of such a thing. “You teach?”

She nods. “That’s right! I teach a couple of different groups – a few college classes here and there, a resume workshop. This is my GED class. We’re starting a unit on British Literature so they’ve all come to pick out a novel. You must be new here,” she notes, looking him over. He can feel himself flush under her gaze. It’s been a while since someone looked at him just to see him and not to evaluate his potential as a threat or a tool. “If you’d like, you can join the class. I’ve got plenty of open seats.”

“Oh no, I don’t need a GED.”

“It’s never too late to graduate,” she says. Then, considering him, “But that’s not what you meant is it?”

The way she’s studying him makes him nervous, though he’s certain it’s the same way he’s studied suspects and victims, trying to see beyond the obvious and understand what lies beneath. How strange, to be on the other side of that stare. “I’ve graduated high school already,” he informs her, hoping he doesn’t sound aloof. “And college. Actually, I hold three PhDs.”

“In what?”

“Mathematics, chemistry, and engineering.”

Y/N holds his gaze, taking this in. It’s as though she’s trying to decide whether or not to believe him. He figures in this environment, perhaps it’s not unusual to be told blatant lies by some prisoners. Delusion and paranoia aren’t uncommon. To teach in a place like this, she would have to be insightful and observant. For whatever reason, she must decide to trust him, because she smiles again.

“Well that’s rather impressive. You’re more qualified than I am. Just a Master’s for me.”

Reid decides against commenting in the irony of the situation, that despite his qualifications he’s nothing but a prisoner here. The same category as every drug-dealer, murderer, petty thief, and gangbanger. No better. But the way she looks at him, it at least makes him feel normal again. She looks at him like he’s a human being, with no disdain or disgust in her gaze, and no air of superiority in her voice.

“What did you study?” he asks her.

“English literature in college, education in grad school. I specialized in literature and languages, though I’m not too shabby when it comes to history. If it’s the STEM field you’ll be wanting though, you’ll have to check in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, my colleague teaches those classes.”

Glancing down at her watch, her eyes widen. “Goodness, we’re almost out of time.” She turns to the other inmates and instructs them to make their choices before she has to dismiss class for the day. To him, she adds, “It was nice to meet you – um…”

“Doct-” he begins, before stopping himself. This isn’t a normal introduction. Here, he holds no title, no position of importance. “Er, Spencer. My name is Spencer.”

“Well, Doc –” He tries not to smile at her casual acknowledgment – “if you ever change your mind, we meet Mondays and Wednesdays in room W15 during the afternoon rec slot.”

Despite having no need to attend a GED class, and for reasons he cannot quite explain, he finds himself slipping into that very room on Wednesday afternoon. Y/N glances up from the whiteboard she writes on, faltering for only a brief moment when she catches sight of him slipping into an empty seat in the back row, but she carries on. They’re talking about common themes in Brit Lit, and she’s explaining the Canterbury Tales, which they’ll be reading parts of. From what Reid gathers, there aren’t enough copies of books for them to all read the same novel, but she’s printed out large sections of the Tales for them to read together. It’s familiar, and for someone whose life has largely revolved in academia, it’s soothing to be in an environment where learning is taking place and discussion is happening. Even though he sits silently in the back row, observing.

The other inmates have all picked out books to read on their own and report on, from King Lear to Brave New World. A few have even selected Bronte and Austen novels, which Y/N applauds them for. When she divides them into groups to read and discuss “The Knight’s Tale,” she slips over to join Reid in the back of the room.

“I didn’t think you’d make it, Doc,” she tells him.

He shrugs. “I – I’ve kind of missed the classroom. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to sit in. If you don’t mind, of course!”

“Not at all.” She smiles, dismissing his worry with a wave of her hand. “The more the merrier. Besides, it’s rare that I have students with such an extensive education beforehand. You’ll need to file an enrollment slip though, just for official records.”

She hands him a piece of paper and a commissary pen. While he doesn’t need the credit, he could use the normalcy. Discussions about books with other people in a space that feels a little safer – even if it doesn’t look like the classrooms he’s used to. The walls are stark white and bare save for three posters of famous writers and scientists. The two windows have thick bars on them. The desks are bolted to the floor. Every man in the room wears prison issued blues. But there is a whiteboard and a bookshelf and a clock. And Y/N, in a bright blue turtleneck. It makes him think of the sky, which he only gets a glimpse of for a few hours each week. Suddenly, she’s become the most vivid connection to the outside world.

“How long have you been teaching here?” he asks as he writes down answers to the form’s printed questions.

“Almost three years now. It started with just GED classes, but some volunteer programs have helped us bring new opportunities to the guys. It took me a while to convince the warden, but they’ve been a huge success. So are you coming from another facility? I know we had some transfers last week.”

He shakes his head. “I uh, I haven’t been sentenced yet. But there was overcrowding at the jail so they sent me here.” Reid pauses. “I assumed you would’ve known that.” The inmate records are publicly available. All she’d have to do is search his name or the number on his clothing and everything she needed to know would be right there – his charges, his admission date, his identifying information and that ID photo from his first day.

But she just shrugs. “I make a point not to look up what my students have been convicted of. I let them volunteer that information if they choose to, but I respect their privacy. Besides, I’d like to believe all of us are more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.”

He’s struck by her words. After all, for the last decade his job has been to see people precisely as the worst thing they’ve ever done. To delve deep into those actions and develop a profile of a person on that alone. He has an impulse to dismiss her statement as naïve, but it reminds him of Garcia, of her boundless optimism and her ability to see the best in the world even after looking at the worst of it. That memory and the smile Y/N looks at him with softens the heart he’s been carefully hardening since he arrived here. And so rather than dampen her spirit he asks, “Does it matter if I’ve read all of the books you’re discussing already?”

Her eyes widen ever so slightly with surprise. “All of them?”

“My mother was a literature professor,” he says. “And I just really like books.”

“Well, typically I’d encourage you to take the courses we offer for college credit but they’re full. Since you already have your GED, I suppose we could treat it like you’re auditing. It might help some of the guys to have someone with a little more academic experience…” She trails off and then gasps. “Oh wait! How would you feel about being the TA for the class? It’s been so long since I had one for the GED classes.”

“Like… grade papers and things?”

“No, not like that,” she says. “There are strict rules about who sees what here. Being a TA for me would be less typical TA duties and more of mentoring the other students, helping me clean up after class, re-shelving books, things like that. It’s not an official job so there’s no pay, but you would get good time credit.”

Though he doesn’t know what his sentence here will be, if he’s sentenced at all, he knows that any good time credit he can obtain to reduce the length of it is worth it. And so he says, “Okay.”

Y/N’s eyes light up. Her smile is the prettiest thing he’s seen since he got here. “Perfect! Oh, this is so exciting. I’m glad you joined us.” When he finishes the paperwork, she leads him to an empty seat at a group of tables.

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong, Porkchop. It’s a love story,” one of the men is saying to another.

“Come on now, Xavier, you know the rules,” Y/N interrupts. “Nicknames stay outside the classroom. We use first names here.”

“Sorry, Teach,” Xavier says. He tries again. “It’s a love story, Carl.”

“That’s more like it. Carl, I can’t wait to hear your response. But first, I’m going to have Spencer join your group, alright? He’s our newest student and our TA for the class. He’s read a lot of these books so if you’re having a hard time or want to talk to someone about the material outside of class time, he’s a great person to ask.”

The group welcomes him – Xavier, Carl, Richie, and Luis. Reid is grateful to be with Luis, the one person he knows he can consider a friend inside. They talk about Chaucer and “The Franklin’s Tale,” and he’s surprised by the critiques and connections his peers make. Their debate is certainly different than the conversation he’d expect to find at a university class, but their ideas are still insightful and interesting. They make connections to their own lives, to the sacrifices they have made and the power of love they have witnessed firsthand. Mothers who never stop fighting for their appeal cases. Friends who send money so they can afford commissary. The difficulty of skipping commissary so they can send money home to their own families outside.

When their discussion finally winds down, Reid asks, “What’s the rule with nicknames about?”

“It’s Miss Y/N’s way of humanizing people,” Xavier says. “She says when we use first names like that, we’re all equals. But it’s different outside of class. We stick to nicknames because that’s what you do, y’know?” Reid shakes his head. Xavier chuckles. “You’re fresh meat, huh. First time you been down? In here, COs turn you into just a number or a last name. So nicknames inside are a way to hold on to some of your identity. Beyond that, there’s some guys in here you don’t want knowing your name, you feel me?”

“Nicknames gotta be given to you by someone else. Can’t make your own. Course, that means they’re usually a little insulting. They call me Porkchop,” Carl says. “Xavier’s Hammerhead. Richie is Spiders. And Luis, he been christened Slim Jim yesterday at chow. But don’t worry, we’ll find one for you soon.” Reid isn’t sure how to feel about the assurance. He doesn’t want to belong here, doesn’t want to fit in or get comfortable. On the other hand, he may be here for a while. Maybe laying low and finding allies wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

He knows one thing for sure – as he walks out of class, Y/N flashes that bright smile at him again. And for some reason, it makes him feel hopeful. More hopeful than any session with lawyers or judges has made him feel. Monday can’t come soon enough.

[Next]

Tags: @calm-and-doctor @averyhotchner

#criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #prison reid #prison!reid

313 notes · View notes

renjunfromthestars · 4 years

Text

more than

Pairing: Mark + reader, Bestfriend! Mark, Childhood friend!Mark

Genre: Fluff, angst, honestly a little bit of crack LOL

Song recs: Best friend + Untitled + Waiting Room (Rex Orange County), Sofia (Clario)

Warnings: Mild swearing and mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 7.0k (my longest fic yet, wow!)

Summary: You’ve known Mark for all your life, and it only takes one drunken night (plus a little intervention with Haehcan) to think that you wouldn’t mind getting to know him a little better...

Notes: The fact that I actually had the patience to sit down and to write something above 3k words,,,,absolutely astounding, amazing, unique, never been seen before…. Mark is a little awk and always works so hard (poor bby), so imagining him as a super stressed pre-med major and oblivious best friend absolutely wrecks me thank you goodbye

----

When you first meet Mark, you’re eight years old, and it’s at church. He’s dressed in his Sunday best: a light blue button up, khakis, and shiny dress shoes. He looks stiff as your mother introduces you two, with his shirt buttoned all the way to the collar.

It’s not that you dislike him, but you think he might dislike you, with the way he avoids eye contact, eyes tracing the floor, your shoes—anywhere but your face.

You see panic flash through his eyes when his mom gently pushes him towards you, telling him to take you inside and reserve a spot in the pews while she catches up with your mom.

He shuffles awkwardly, and wordlessly, you follow him into the building.

The pews are almost empty, with the bulk of them being filled in the front by the old people that usually have nothing better to do on their Sunday mornings. Although your local church is on the smaller side, it feels unusually large with rows of empty pews, almost eerie. You shudder at shadows the walls make with the stained glass, and hurry to your usual spot towards the middle.

If Mark notices your apprehension, he doesn’t say anything. He’s oblivious, actually, not noticing your absence until he’s almost at the end of the rows. When you see him stop and search for you frantically, you stifle a laugh.

He eventually finds you, and after shuffling awkwardly between the pews, makes his way to you.

“This is kinda far, isn’t it?” he murmurs.

“Huh?”

“I mean,” he stammers. “I usually sit closer to the front. ”

You peer at him from the side. “You actually want to pay attention?”

He scratches the back of his head. “Well yeah, isn’t that the point?”

“I guess,” you say, looking at the ceiling. With the sprawling arches and patterns, the designs are pretty, you think.

“You should at least try, it’s kinda interesting,” when you turn your head to look at him he turns away. “Only if you want to, of course.” he adds, fidgeting with his hands.

When you tell him that maybe you will, you see him crack a small smile.

It becomes a routine, almost every Sunday, with you and Mark sitting next to each other. Whether it’s closer to the front or the back, it’s a whole debate. You usually give in, because when you walk in, Mark is already waiting for you in the front.

….

“Do you still go to Church?”

You’re laying on a green bean bag in Mark’s dorm room, procrastinating on the midterm paper you were supposed to get started on, well, a week ago.

You think for a second, hand raised to rub your chin, just to tease him. “What’s church?”

“C'mon dude, are you serious?”

“Barely,” you say, standing up to move to sit on his bed. “You should really get a new bean bag, it’s kinda deflated.”

Mark ignoring you, reaches over from his desk to fluff up the bean bag. “It’s because you sit on it so much.”

“Are you calling me fat?” and before he can defend himself you finally answer him, “I stopped going in like, middle school. It would be hard even if I wanted to, to find a whole new congregation, and I’m just busy. Also, it’s so boring, I could cry.”

Mark perks up. “Not if you go with me.”

You groan dramatically, and Mark chuckles.

“Good to know that you haven’t changed since you were eight.”

It’s just your view on church, that hasn’t changed since you were eight. First thing things first, you were 19 now, going on twenty. You’re in University now, your second year. It’s been a blur assignments, partying, coffee and term papers- you don’t have time to think about anything else right now. Except maybe actually starting your paper but-

Mark interrupts you midthought, breaking the silence. “Are you still with that guy?”

“Huh? Who? Yuta?”

“Yeah,” Mark responds sheepishly, avoiding eye contact.

You roll your eyes. “No, we haven’t been together for a while. It wasn’t that important so I forgot to tell you.”

You can tell he's surprised about how unusually calm you are for talking about your first serious breakup, but he doesn’t say anything, instead just scratching the back of his head awkwardly in typical Mark fashion. “He was an asshole anyway,” Mark murmurs.

“What did you say?” you ask, acting shocked. “Mark Lee? Talking shit?”

Mark, embarrassed, refuses to repeat it.

“I’m just saying, he wasn’t the right person for you.” he protests.

“As opposed to who? God himself?”

“I can think of a few,” he sighs, but you aren’t paying attention, instead laughing your ass off on his bed.

“You’re insufferable,” he says, standing up to open the door. “C’mon let’s go, I’m hungry. I know you’re not starting that paper anytime soon.”

…

It’s a routine, seeing Mark on Monday afternoons for lunch. Not Friday, because you were busy getting wasted, and consequently not Saturday, because you were too hungover. Not Sunday, because Mark had church, and you, well, were busy praying to God that you would be able to finish all the work you’d neglected over the weekend as a result.

“I still don’t understand why you choose the worst day of the week for this,” you say over your Kale caesar salad, pushing the leaves around aggressively. The University had a lot of healthy options, which you were grateful for. Grateful for you were not, were for the student loans you had to pay off every month, the exorbitant amount you partially owed to all the local and expensive organic produce the meal plan featured for the sake of being sustainable and health conscious.You could really give a rat’s ass about whether your salad was organic or not; if your weekends said anything about you, no amount of kale could help you (or your liver).

“It wasn’t really up to me,” Mark points out. “Maybe if you weren’t too busy being-”

“Ta ta ta,” you tsk, waving a finger around. “I, unlike you, actually have a social life.”

Mark frowns. “I have a social life.”

Mark definitely had a social life. He was popular, even. As popular as you can be, being a preoccupied Pre-med with perfect grades. Mark is likeable. It’s not like he doesn’t have the opportunity to go on weekends if wanted to, he just chooses not to, deciding to slave away at biological functions, orbitals, and lab results instead. Even now, as he takes his glasses off to clean them, you notice the imprint they leave on his face from how long they’ve been sitting on his face, and doesn’t take you long to find the dark circles that grace the skin under his eyes: he’s exhausted.

You frown too. “You should really get out more Mark. You seem stressed.”

Mark gives you a small smile after putting his glasses back on, and then resumes typing on his laptop. “I don’t know how going out would make me less stressed,” he says, distracted. “I would only be more stressed, knowing the work I have to do.”

“Yeah, but you're pretty organized.” You point your fork at him accusingly, kale falling to the side. “Don’t you usually finish things early too?”

“Yeah, I do.” he admits, and before you can press onwards you’re interrupted by a girl you recognize to be his lab partner.

Goggles in hand, you can see the marks they leave around her eye area, but she’s somehow still annoyingly beautiful, with her glossy straight hair and long eyelashes, but that’s not why you dislike her. She might be the most stuck up girl you’ve ever met.

“Did you do the calculations yet?” she says, turning to Mark. ignoring you. It’s only when you cough in your seat that she turns to you. “And hello, (y/n).” An afterthought.

“Hello Yebin,” You give her a wry smile. “How's the lab?”

“The usual.” she glances at Mark, who seems to be doing some finishing touches on said calculations. “How’s Chem 2?”

Boy, does she really grind your gears.

“It was fine, I actually placed out because I took it in high school.” Not to mention, it was a class for freshmen, and you were in fact, now a sophomore.

Before she can say anything back, Mark claps his hands in celebration. “Done! Sorry it took me so long, I just had to double check some things.”

“It’s no problem,” and with the way her voice drips with a sickly sweetness, you want to gag. It’s so painfully obvious. “Are you still down for tomorrow?”

Poor Mark, always oblivious, stops typing on his laptop and looks up in confusion. “Huh?”

You silently laugh at the expression Yebin makes when she realizes Mark has no idea what she’s talking about. “For our study session? The MCAT is just months away.”she reminds him.

Mark remembers. “Oh yeah, about that, I was thinking we could also invite-”

“Great!” she chirps, “See you tomorrow!” and with a flash of her white lab coat, she's gone.

Mark scratches the back of his head. “I guess she had somewhere to be.”

You roll your eyes for what it seems like the 100th time this week, anymore and they might be permanently stuck to the back of your head. “She definitely likes you.”

“Who? Yebin? No way.”

“Yes, Yebin, and yes way.” You fling a walnut from your salad over to his side, and he cringes.

“What is your problem?” he grumbles, and resumes typing on his laptop.

You drop the subject, because you know any talk on girls is completely lost on him. As you set aside your salad, you peer over at Mark, palm supporting your face. He’s focused, eyebrows slightly furrowed, with his lips mouthing over silently whatever science journal he was reading on his computer screen.

Mark has always been good looking, you think. You don’t know why you’ve never really noticed it before. His nose bridge gently slopes over his face, and his jawline is sharp, having lost his baby cheeks years ago. He works out often too, although he barely talks about it (maybe out of fear you’d tease him for being a gym bro). And with the way he’s so adorably awkward, It’s no surprise really, that every girl friend that you’ve met of his seems to be completely smitten.

Shaking your head, you snap out of it. It’s dangerous to think of Mark that way, you think. You’ve known him too long.

“My problem? I think you’re the one with the problem here. I’m surprised your hair isn't completely gray by now.”

Mark ignores you, probably mad at the fact you tried to start world food war three with him with a walnut.

“Hey.” you flick at his forehead to get his attention, and he flinches.

“There’s a party this weekend at Johnny’s fraternity, you should come.” Johnny, being both your long time mutual friend (who’s demeanor is way too nice to fit the stereotypical frat boy image, really) who has since stopped asking Mark out of respect for his “med school grind”.

“I’m already planning on it,” he responds, and you’re surprised.

“Since when do you actually accept party invitations?”

“Since yesterday, because I’m tired of Haechan bothering me about it.”

You silently cheer, of course, you expect nothing else from Haechan.

…

“I never knew it was so hard to get booze.”

“It’s not hard if you’re 21.”

Scoffing, you turn your head to face the boy across from you. As if he can feel the burn of your gaze on his forehead, Haechan stops typing on his Macbook and lifts his eyes to meet yours.

“No shit Sherlock, but last time I checked, we both weren’t 21.”

The sun had set a half an hour ago, and despite having spent the whole afternoon together, you and Haechan have had yet to come up with a way to secure the drinks you promised your friends for tonight’s pregame. With both of you being certified schemers representing your respective friends, you guess it wasn’t that big of surprise that the responsibility was left on both your shoulders. It beat scavenging alone, and spending time with Haechan wasn’t so bad either, when you two weren’t trying to kill each other.

It was already late, and Haechan had deemed Ubering to the nearest packer store that sold Soju (the sweet sweet liquid of choice) was too much work. You on the other hand, had dismissed that option for a completely different reason. The issue in question was the flimsy, borderline pathetic excuse for a fake ID Haechan planned to use at the packer store.

“Hey it works!” he protested. “You just act like you’re already legal and they don’t even card you. Easy.”

You roll your eyes as Haechan theatrically reenacts his last trip to the packer store.

“I asked him how he was doing, and he told me school sucks. I say to him, ‘Tell me about it, thank god this is my last year!” and as if to emphasize his next point, he flicks his wrist in the air, ID snuggled between his index and middle finger. “And I was on my way. No issue at all.”

“That’s because he didn’t even see your fake I.D stupid. He would’ve called you out on your bullshit in an instant.”

Out of all the different options available, you could not fathom why he chose his fake ID to show that from all the places in this world, he was from freaking Hong Kong. There were fifty states to choose from, other English speaking countries, and he chose to pose as an international student on a student visa. He could most definitely look the part, but after looking at the ID he proudly slaps on the common room lounge desk, you deadpan. The yellowish tint to the card was way too suspicious to be taken seriously.

“I wish we could just ask Mark,” you sigh, and Haechan looks at you like you’re stupid.

“He’s 20, ya dimwit.”

“I know, that’s why I said I wish. You have serious hearing problems.”

Haechan stops typing on his laptop to shoot you an especially heated glare, and you’re reminded again why he’s #2 on your fight list, right above Yebin. First place was taken by the girl you almost actually fought at that one University party a town over, wherever she is you hope she’s having a terrible day.

“If it were not for the rules of this land, you’d be dead right now Haechan.”

Haechan places his head in his palms, and flutters his eyelashes disgustingly.

“But you love me.”

“Yes, as much as Mark loves social events. Speaking of Mark, how on earth did you get him to leave his cave?”

“It didn’t take much,” and before you can call him out for lying, he shushes you.

“Okay, maybe a few days of nonstop begging.” Haechan says as his eyes dart across the laptop screen. You raise your eyebrow. “And I might have threatened to release pictures from the photoshoot his mom made him take when he was younger.”

“I expected nothing less from your evil, evil, mind.”

He scoffs. “Hardly. Just resourceful.”

Resourceful he is, because Haechan is the one who ends up finding a plug for the alcohol that night.

…

A can of four loko, a bottle of soju, and a few shots later, you should be hammered, wasted even. But after 14 months, 2 weeks, and 5 days into college, your tolerance is pretty high, so you’re really just plain drunk. Even so, you’re a little messy (no surprise). You’re not in a state to be trusted with any errands, so you don’t understand why Haechan asks you to pick up Mark along the way to Johnny’s fraternity.

“Why do I have to do it?” you whine, putting your hand over your forehead, and Haechan only laughs at your dramatic display of despair.

“Because Johnny messaged me that Mark isn’t there, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting him flake on me this time. ”

You point a finger at him, and he stifles a snort when you’re off by a couple inches. “Letting him flake on me, me, me as in you! It’s not my problem.”

But there’s no use in arguing with Haechan, and you know it. That’s why you find yourself stomping your way up the second floor of Mark’s dormitory like you’re in elementary school again, having just been scolded by your mom and being forced back into your room.

You knock at his door impatiently, and it feels like forever until you hear some shuffling, and see the door knob twist open. To be honest, it’s probably just a few seconds, but time is different when you’re intoxicated.

Before you even see him, it smells faintly of shampoo and detergent, so you’re not surprised when he opens the door and you see his hair is still half wet from the shower. He’s definitely party ready, and when you mean party ready, he’s wearing the same loose black tee and grey joggers he wears to sleep. His socks don’t match and you try not to laugh, because it would be a bad look for you, to show up intoxicated, and apparently crazy.

“Oh (y/n), what are you doing here? Oh shit is today Friday? I totally forgot, Haechan is going to kill me-'' He looks at you and then pauses, scrunching up his nose. “Have you been drinking?”

“No.” you say sarcastically, but it definitely falls short of Mark because he looks at you like he does not believe you. Good, because he shouldn’t.

He sighs, and ushers you in his room. It’s dark, with the only light emitting from the little steel lamp on his desk, which is covered with his notes, pencils, a textbook, and some highlighters. When you finally make your way to his bed (with difficulty) he sighs again, and you silently scold yourself for having that mini drinking contest with Haechan. If you thought you could handle your alcohol well, Haechan was an absolute monster.

You nearly screech when Mark flashes a mini flashlight in your face, and he tells you to calm down before someone thinks he’s committing murder. He holds your face still with his index finger resting on your cheek and his thumb lifting your chin. You try your best not to squint when he tells you to, instead focusing on his face. He’s so close, you can feel his warm breath on your face. If you weren’t already so flushed from drinking, you suspect you’d look beet red now.

“Well, your pupils still dilate normally, so I don’t think you have alcohol poisoning-”

The world is moving a little, so you plop backwards on his bed— albeit a little harder than expected because he rushes over to you and looks concerned.

“-but I don’t think that’s the problem here.” he finishes.

Your eyes are closed, mainly because his bed is really comfy. “I’m here to pick you up.” and as if to emphasize your point, you wildly start pointing in all directions, hoping it would land on him.

You open your eyes when you feel him grab your finger and turn it thirty degrees to the left, just stopping at his chest. Your sense of direction must be really bad, because it turns out you were pointing at nothing.

“I don’t think we’re going anywhere for awhile”

“Noooooo” you wail, and Mark lets go of your hand to sit back down on his desk, and unsurprisingly, begins reading his textbook again. How he is able to focus with you in the background, you don’t know, but it must have taken years of practice.

At this point, you decide to take matters into your own hands. You shove yourself off the bed and grab his arms from behind him. His roller chair scoots a few inches before he stops it.

“You’re not exactly making great case for yourself here”

“Stop making excuses!”

You aim straight towards the armpits, and you’re confused at the lack of reaction, so you reach over to squeeze his knee. Almost immediately, he crumples over, almost falling off the chair.

“Can you-” he says mid laugh, “please” he gasps, “Stop that!”

You respond by attacking his other knee, and it’s over. He falls off his chair and you go down with him. The difference is that he recovers quickly, and starts tickling you back in revenge.

You’re sensitive, so it feels like you’re dying. You try to use his arm as leverage to push yourself up, but next thing you know he’s toppeling over you. You close your eyes and wait for your head to kiss the cold hard floor but it never comes, because Mark's hand cradles your head, breaking the fall.

When you open your eyes, he’s closer than ever before, noses touching. Lips a mere centimetres away and in a weird embrace, you resist the urge to close the distance.

Mark has always been good looking, especially now, so close to you. You don’t know why you’ve never noticed it before.

When he pulls away he’s flustered, and for the first time, so are you.

It’s an awkward silence, with you still on the floor as he stands up, rubbing the dusk from his knees. He scratches the back of his head and offers you a hand

“Let’s head out,” he says.

“Yeah, let’s.” you echo.

…

Although Haechan berates you for being more than a little late to the party, he’s overjoyed that you somehow managed to show up with Mark. Not that he didn’t have faith in you anyways, he tells you. It’s just that Mark is married to his Biology textbook, and she runs a tight ship. By the time you reached the frat with Mark, you’ve sobered up enough to enjoy yourself normally,

It’s when you wake up in the morning, that you’re not okay. It’s not okay, because you dreamt of Mark, and that’s weird, because you and Mark were just friends, right? And you always will be.

It’s not a big deal because friends dream of friends. Dreams are a product of your own desires environment, you tell yourself, it’s perfectly normal because you spend so much time with him.

What is not normal, is when you see Mark the following Monday, and are worried about it. You’re nervous the whole time, and it gets worse when you slide the little watermelon filled tupperware container across the table in apology for last Friday. He likes his watermelon cut up into little cubes, you remembered (why do you remember?), and you avoid his eyes, pushing a stray piece of hair behind your face.

Mark, oblivious as usual, doesn’t really notice anything until 10 minutes in, as if your lack of rambling surprises him. Munching on the cubes, he asks if you’re okay.

“Yeah, I am.”

No you are not. You are utterly fucked.

…

“But you need to promise me you won’t judge or make fun of me for it”

“Just say it already, Jesus.”

“It’s just so embarrassing.”

“Oh my god, are you in love with me?”

“No!”

When placing your hands in your face, Haechan grants mercy on you, patting you on the back instead of teasing you further.

“I don’t know what else could be so important that you need to talk to me in person. Unless…. it’s about Mark?”

His hands stop soothingly rubbing your back and instead starts slapping it, waiting for you to laugh along with him. When he doesn’t get a response he gasps. Turning his head sideways to face you, he pries your fingers apart.

“No fucking way.”

“Right?” you moan.

“I was just joking, but I can’t say I didn’t expect it.”

You remove your hands from your face and look at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Like, you’ve known each other forever. You spend a lot of time together too. Someone was bound to catch feelings eventually.”

You don’t respond, instead choosing to sulk.

“You know I’m right. You just don’t want to admit it because you’re the loser in this situation.”

Right he is, because you’ve been avoiding Mark for the past few weeks like the plague. You’ve told him that you’ve been busy with your final term paper (you’re not, you’re an engineering major why would you have one?), and although he was a little confused, he was probably also a little thankful because the MCAT was only a month away.

As you tell him about your plight, Haechan listens thoughtfully, “mhming” and “ahh-ing” at all the right places.

“I don’t see how ignoring him helps you at all. I would say to just talk to him about it, but it’s Mark, he probably hasn’t thought about you that way at all.”

“Thanks,” you grumble. “So I’m basically one of the boys.”

“No really, mans might as well be the anemone from Nemo, I’ve never seen him interested in anyone.” Haechan sighs. “This is a tough one.”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something, but I might have to get creative.”

“I’d like to see you try Hyuck.”

…

It’s 9pm Sunday night, and there’s a knock on your door. It’s strange you think, because it’s a Sunday, and it’s a little late to be doing anything.

When you open the door, there he is, Mark Lee in all his 5’9’ glory, with a little bag in hand, in it your favorite milk tea.

“It’s Sunday.” you say, intelligently.

Mark just chuckles. “Yes it is, and your point?”

You step aside so he can walk in, and you’re embarrassed at your current state. For once, you’ve finished your assignments early, so you’ve spent the past four hours in your pajamas watching K-dramas and snacking on honey chips. You must look like a bum.

Mark on the other hand, always looks good, even in some old dress slacks, and an old t-shirt with some holes in it. He smells faintly of antiseptic, so he must have just come from a volunteering shift at the hospital.

“It’s nice of you to drop by,” you poke the straw into the bubble tea. “And thank you for the bubble tea.”

“You’ve been busy recently so I figured you’d need it for the caffeine content, but it’s not like you sleep anyway.” he jokes. “How’s the term paper going?”

“The term paper? Oh right, the term paper. It’s alright,” you lie. “Just a couple of pages left. Beats having to take the MCAT though.”

Mark looks tired, with his hair slightly overgrown and his dark circles hallower than usual. You feel bad—he has a habit of overworking himself; you’re usually there to check on him but lately you haven’t, and he’s kind and thoughtfull enough to bring you something because he thinks you’re stressed.

“Yeah tell me about it,” Mark takes a seat next to you on your bed, head hitting the wall with a soft thump. “It’s going to be all over next week though, I can’t wait. I’ve missed you though.”

Busy silently cursing at yourself for the way your heart flutters at his admission, you forget to respond. Mark frowns, places his hand on your thigh in an attempt to soothe you, and it has the opposite effect—you think you might go into cardiac arrest.

“Is something wrong?”

“N-no.” you stammer. “Just stressed. ”

Mark makes things worse by leaning in closer, gently placing the back of his hand on your forehead. “You’re kinda hot.”

“I am?”

“Yeah, like I think you may be running a fever.”

He hops off the bed, and rummages around in his little black bag, and pulls out a thermometer. He places a little sleeve on the end, and motions for you to open your mouth. When it beeps, he takes it out of your mouth and looks at the result.

“Your temperature is fine, but you should rest. I’ll see you soon okay?” He pats your head. “Take it easy, I know you’ll do great.”

…

You might not have a term paper, but what you do have is a physics final.

The desk area is littered with eraser dust, crumpled paper, and half filled styrofoam cups of coffee that have since gotten stale. You swear to god that Physics was a subject meant to torture, not enrich the lives of college students. At this rate, you were seriously debating dropping out to become a stripper.

Haechan, not sensing your dismay, disrupts your plans to drop out by telling you something that puts a damper on the rest of your day, as if Physics wasn’t doing that already.

“Have you noticed that Mark’s been hanging out a lot with that one girl lately? What’s her name? So-bin, Yee-ben, Ben 10, ”

“Yebin,” you snap. “And don’t ever disrespect Ben 10 like that again. ”

Haechan lifts his hands up, “ I agree she’s a total bitch, but man is she hot.”

“Aren’t you supposed to make me feel better, not worse?”

Haechan’s face softens and for once in his life, looks a little sorry. “All I’m saying is if you don’t do something soon, someone might do it for you. I overheard her saying something about her and Mark going to spring fling together.”

He’s not wrong, but Mark, at Spring fling? At a Darty? Willingly? His idea of a good time was studying.

“You’re kidding,” you scoff. “As if he’d be caught dead at something like that.”

“I don’t know (y/n). He doesn’t really have much else to do now that the MCAT is over.”

Right, the MCAT. He took it last week. You mentally slap yourself for not asking how it went.

“Speak of the devil.” Haechan says quietly, motioning behind you.

There she is through the glass, Yebin, pulling a seat next to Mark, not before sneaking up behind him and planting a fat kiss right on his cheek.

…

Maybe if this were a movie, you’d cry all weekend and he’d make it up to you; But this is real life, so you secretly cry for a week and sulk for the rest of the month, blaming your puffy eyes on seasonal allergies (In real life, Mark can’t make it up to you because he did nothing wrong. He’s also not even aware that you like him, but that’s besides the point).

Despite Haechan’s attempt to convince you that it could’ve been just a friendly kiss, a greeting kiss, a whatever kiss, you insist that you’re done with your little crush, that it had shriveled up and died. Although not so convinced, Haechan drops the subject all together and instead resorts to comforting you in his own way, which mainly just consists of making fun of you about other things.

Mark is a touchy subject, and you’re still avoiding him. Why? You don’t really know. You know it’s not fair to Mark, who is probably very hurt and confused at your lack of communication. Nonetheless, he doesn’t question it, and is so infuriatingly mature with his emotions that you suspect that he even respects it, because he stops texting you after a while.

You feel bad about stonewalling him, leaving him in the dark, but really, what would you say to him?

“Sorry-I-haven’t-been-talking-to-you-it’s-just-that-I’m-in-love-with-you-and-I’m-butthurt-that-you-have-a-girlfriend-of-course-it’s-not-really-your-fault-but-”

You shudder at the thought, because it’s just plain embarrassing.

But really, you’re not the best at expressing your emotions—you’ve never been. Frankly, you’re tired of expressing your emotions because it never got you anywhere. Not with your mom, not with your dad, and definitely not with Yuta, who you dated for a year and half a year just to dump you like you were nothing.

It’s not worth it, to put your emotions on the line for anyone, not anymore. You locked your heart away a long time ago, and you were a fool to let it come out last time, and you like to think you learn from your mistakes.

At least, that’s what you think, until you return home one Sunday night from the library and see a little cup of your favorite milk tea at the door, with a straw neatly balanced on the top.

…

When spring fling rolls around, you still haven’t spoken to Mark, and if your friends catch on, they don't mention it. They know by now that you prefer to deal with things alone, to digest them for what they are and then promptly moving on—you know, like processing a death.

It doesn’t really matter, you think. You and Mark have always been friends, and will always be friends. Nothing more, nothing less. And when you get over yourself, things will be fine.

But really, how can it be fine when your whole world stops every time Mark looks at you?

You try not to dwell on it, even now weeks later. You’re busy getting ready to go out, blotting your lipstick on some tissue paper in your friend Yuna’s bathroom.

“(y/n), you look amazing.”

When you turn to look at yourself in the mirror she’s right; The mascara you put on your lashes really brings out the color of your eyes, and your skin (thanks to Yuna’s highlighter compact) is literally glowing. You feel really pretty.

You turn to smile at her. “Thanks to you.” you tell her, and she gets bashful, pushing you out of the seat and ushering you out the door. You make it down stairs no problem, but she calls you as soon as you walk out the door.

“Yes, I have blotting papers with me, and no, I am not dating Haechan I’ve told you thousands of times-”

“What about me?”

You turn around to find Haechan leaning against the dormitory wall, already waiting.

Embarrassed, you tell her you need to go and hang up the phone.

“How long have you been standing here? Hopefully not too long.” You apologize, but he assures you it’s all right.

“Are you sure your friends are fine with you leaving them early to go with me?”

“Yes Haechan, they’re just happy that I have someone to go with.” you sigh. “Almost too happy.”

He laughs, after looking at you, he pauses. “You look nice.”

“You do too, Hyuck.”

If you didn’t know any better, you would say he seems embarrassed at your compliment.

When you walk into the venue, you’re not surprised at how spacious it is. You’re used to your school going all out, from the kale salads and now, spring fling. They might as well call it spring semi-formal, because everyone is dressed their best.

You see Johnny at the end of the punch table, and he waves, motioning for you two to join him.

“And my favorite couple,” he greets you two, and you almost smack him upside down the head.

“Relax, I’m just kidding.” and he leans in for a hug. “How are you (y/n), I haven’t seen you in a second.”

“I’m good, just been super busy. You were so right, Professor Kim has been really keeping me on my toes in Physics 430,” you laugh. “Every time I walk into the classroom I can feel my life flash through my very eyes.”

He laughs, and you all laugh with him. Johnny tends to have that kind of effect on people.

“How’s Mark?” he asks, and you cringe. “It’s been a while.”

You laugh nervously “ I haven’t seen him in a while either.”

“Oh really. Don’t you see each other every week?”

“Well we used to,” you panic. “Just not anymore because, you know, I-”

“Because you’ve been so busy,” Haechan finishes.

Johnny gives you two a strange look but continues talking anyway.

“Well that’s life. Poor boy’s been studying for the MCAT like his rent is due tomorrow.”

“More like everyday.” Haechan snickers.

Johnny doesn’t hesitate to flame Haechan for his insolence, and begins teasing him for almost failing Calc II (Calc II was kind of hard you admit but that is an admission that will die with you), meanwhile, you’re whisked away by Yuna and her entourage. You glance at Johnny and Haechan, who bid you farewell with a nod of their heads.

It’s fun, you’re having a great time dancing, and eating mini hot dogs on a toothpick (you guess your university had to cut corners somewhere). When Roxanne plays, you and Yuna go wild, nearly knocking over a waiter over with a silver tray. You have so much fun, that you forget that Mark Lee exists until you make eye contact across the floor.

It's no surprise that he’s with Yebin, who looks annoyingly prettier than usual, with her makeup all done and satin dress. She’s pulling him in the opposite direction, but Mark seems to pay no mind, instead staying in place, looking at you. A moment passes, and you see him excusing himself. When he begins to head your direction. You panic.

Before you can even react, you feel an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you close. When you finally turn to see who it is, you’re nose to nose with none other than Haechan.

“What are you doing?”

“Just go along with it,” Haechan whispers through his teeth. Your hands are pressed against his chest, and he grabs one of your arms, placing it around his neck.

“Go along with what? Have you lost your mind-”

Before you can finish your sentence, his lips press against yours and your mind goes blank. He tastes like peppermint and aftershave, with his lips soft in the center and just a little chapped around the edges.

When you two finally part, Mark is nowhere to be found, and you don’t know how to feel.

“Haechan I-” you stammer. “I need to go.”

You hurry off, and he doesn’t follow you.

…

When you’re outside, it’s cold; the air is brisk and definitely doesn’t help steady your breathing, it only makes it harder. It’s a lot to process, Mark, Yebin, Haechan. It’s a lot, and you feel like you’re in emotional overdrive, with all the feelings you’ve been trying to keep in for the past few months coming back to bite you.

You sit down at the edge of the fountain outside the venue, and you nearly get soaked. It misses you by mere inches, with the ceramic fish looking at you almost mockingly. You don’t care, with all the thoughts running through your head right now, you think you might go insane.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting there at the fountain when you feel something wrap around you, warm like it was just taken out of the dryer. It smells familiar, like cologne and faintly of antiseptic—it smells like Mark.

You don’t look at him when he sits down next to you, legs open, hands crossed. And he doesn’t look at you. It’s radio silent.

“So you and Haechan, huh.”

“So you and Yebin.” you echo.

Mark looks at you for the first time, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Oh that.” He shuffles awkwardly. “I don’t really like her like that.”

Your head raises in surprise, and you face each other for the first time in months.

“I thought you guys had a thing.”

Mark scratches the back of his head. “Well we do, but it’s just in her head” he says, and you can’t help but laugh. “She came onto me last week, so I finally set things straight.” Noticing your reaction, he just shakes his head.

“I don’t think it worked though,” he adds.

“I would think, you’ve always been too nice for your own good.”

“I just didn’t want to hurt her feelings, you know?” he murmurs. “I feel terrible.”

“You’re not a terrible person just because you don’t like someone back.”

“Maybe not, but I believe not wanting you and Haechan to be together does.”

It takes a moment for his words to register within you, and even after you process them, you’re not sure what to say.

“We don’t like each other like that.” you interrupt him.

Mark looks visibly confused. “Then you and Haechan aren’t??” his voice falters.

“No more than you and Yebin. I promise you it’s not what it seems like.” you tell him and it finally clicks. You’d have to thank the idiot later. Right after you slap him.

Mark doesn’t question it, not even when you start crying. You don’t question it either, unsure of why you’re crying.

“You’re so stupid,” you sniffle. “I’ve liked you for so fucking long.”

Mark pulls out his pocket square to gently wipe the tears from your face, and places his hand on top of yours.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that? You could have just said something.” his says softly

“I didn’t want to ruin anything. We’ve always just been friends.”

“I think we’ve always been just more than that.” he says, leaning in, hands cup your face gently.

“Just took some of us a little longer to realize.”

....

“That was very nice of you,” Johnny says.

“Yeah. Very nice.” Haechan echos.

“How long has it been, that you’ve liked her for? Three years?”

“Two going on three.”

Johnny lets out a low whistle, and looks down at the younger boy worriedly. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Haechan glances at you and Mark through the glass, outside the venue. With Mark whispering in your ear and you laughing, you seem so happy; happier than you’ve ever been with him.

“Yeah, I am. More than okay.”

345 notes · View notes

stark-tony · 3 years

Text

tododeku fic recs

* = incomplete

meet you again someday (after we take the long way ’round) by theroyalsavage

summary: Midoriya Izuku's life is saved by a boy with the strongest Quirk he has ever seen.

Eventually - inevitably - he falls in love.(An AU in which Todoroki never attends UA, they never clash at the sports festival, but they come together all the same.)

pairings: tododeku

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

that is just the way by celestialfics

summary: Shouto has his first sleepover.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff

warnings: none

what is right and what is easy by theroyalsavage

summary: Midoriya Izuku is not chosen to represent Hogwarts in the Triwizard Tournament. He does not slay a dragon, or rescue innocents, or brave a maze of dark magic. He does not win accolades, or fame, or glory.

Instead, Izuku meets the son of the greatest dark wizard of the age, a Durmstrang student with hair like a sunrise and eyes like a war. And maybe, he just might win something else.

pairings: tododeku, kiribaku, tsuchako

tags: fluff, angst

warnings: none

First Time For Everything by kazzarole

summary: Midoriya is the catalyst of many of the 'firsts' in Shouto's life--it just makes sense that Shouto should share his first kiss with him, too.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff

warnings: none

alone together by celestialfics

summary: Five times when other Class 1-A kids notice Todoroki and Midoriya in their own world.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff

warnings: none

A Simple Warmth by patster223

summary: “I’m trying to make Todoroki a sweater for his birthday, but…” Izuku pokes at the tangle of yarn. “It’s more complicated than I thought it would be.”

In which Izuku sucks at knitting, his classmates are eager to help out, Todoroki finally gets to be cozy, and knitting is a vector for romance.

pairings: tododeku

tags:

warnings: none

Conventional Taste by WowBoring

summary: He didn’t think it would matter if Midoriya were taking him to a sewer convention; it was probably still going to be the highlight of his Golden Week.

In order to avoid a visit from his unpleasant grandparents Todoroki attends a hero convention with Midoriya, and learns a few things along the way.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff

warnings: abuse

pls respond by Esselle

summary: 'Midoriya: UR SO CUTE

Shouto chokes on nothing. How is he supposed to respond to that? Is he supposed to respond at all?

Midoriya: Look at your big head aaaaaaaaaaaaah Midoriya: *Image Attached*

Oh, Shouto thinks. He was talking about Shouto's Nitotan, which is now smashed to one of Izuku's cheeks in the image Izuku just sent, as Izuku squeezes it joyfully. Even if Izuku wasn't talking to him directly, the butterflies in Shouto's stomach feel a bit joyful, too.

He types out: I wish I were that Nitotan right now. Then he snorts, and erases it.'

Izuku has a wide variety of special moves, but his Key Smash might be the most powerful of all.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

i can keep a secret, could you? by handcrusher (ameliafromafairytale)

summary: The last thing Todoroki wants is for his father to figure out that 1) he's gay and 2) he's dating the boy he's supposed to overcome as a hero. So, he and Midoriya devise a plan.

Just how long can they keep it up?

pairings: tododeku, tsuchako, momojirou

tags:

warnings:

hold on tight by lunalou

summary: "What are you doing?" Shouto asks.

"Hugging you." Midoriya returns in a patient voice. His arms tighten around Shouto's waist and he presses his forehead more firmly against his back. "You know it's a hug, Shouto-kun. Don't play dumb."

or, five times somebody from 1-a hugs todoroki and the one time he hugs them first

pairings: tododeku

tags:

warnings:

If I'm Being Honest.... by I_dont_know_man

summary: Midoriya scrunched up his nose in confusion. “Uh, Shouto, why are you glaring at me like that?”

“I-” Todoroki began to lie, until nausea slammed him like a door to any room that Bakugou entered. “I--” Todoroki grit his teeth, and glared daggers into the wall behind Midoriya. Goodbye, friendship. It had been absolutely divine while it lasted. “Because you’re very attractive.”

They say honesty is the best policy, but it sure as hell had a knack for Todoroki making a complete and utter fool of himself.

In which Todoroki is placed under a mysterious truth-telling quirk and suffers, Uraraka laughs at him, Midoriya is confused but smitten nonetheless, and Twitter is the thirstiest site on the planet.

pairings: tododeku, kiribaku

tags: humor, fluff

warnings:

Guiding Light by furihatachlookie

summary: It was his mother's idea to enroll him at the local elementary school. His father believed a private tutor was better, but nobody can argue with a mother who's made up her mind, and a balanced exposure to kids his own age sways his father's judgement enough to agree and sign the papers.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff, angst

warnings:

Todoroki and Yaoyorozu's Elite Study Club by hanwritesstuff (hannahkannao)

summary: “Well, as I see it, we have two options.” Shouto holds up two fingers. “We can either ignore this and pretend it never happened or... not.” He doesn't know which one he wants. “What does not entail, exactly?” Yaoyorozu asks. “...I don't know.”

In which Todoroki accidentally learns something about Yaoyorozu, Yaoyorozu accidentally learns something about Todoroki, and they spend a considerable portion of their study sessions... not studying.s

pairings: tododeku, momojirou

tags: fluff, humor

warnings:

Do What You Will, If That's What You Want by stanzas

summary: “What do you mean you’re retiring?” Bakugou asks nicely, or at least as nicely as someone like Bakugou can ask. The question is phrased more like a demand.“

Call it a mid-life crisis,” Shouto answers, like Bakugou asked him what the weather would be tomorrow, and takes a deep sip from his coffee. “I’m thinking of changing careers.”

The world of heroes is quick to adapt to surprises, but Pro Hero Entropy’s (very premature) retirement announcement throws almost everyone for a pretty impressive loop.

pairings: tododeku

tags: hurt/comfort, angst, humor

warnings:

extra, extra! by rythyme (pugglemuggle)

summary: Shouto & Creati: ACTUALLY Dating?! by Hitachi Hitomi at September 18, 2047 3:42 pm."Ever since heartthrob

Todoroki Shouto and the Everything Hero "Creati" made their official debuts, the two 22-year-old heroes have been nothing but professional towards each other. But was this all a sham to cover up the truth?"

Or: The media thinks Shouto and Creati are dating. Hint: they aren't. A multimedia TodoDeku & MomoJirou fanfic told through news articles, gossip columns, twitter, tumblr, text messages, and more.

pairings: tododeku, momojirou

tags: fluff, humor

warnings:

you broke the dark and my whole earth shook by aloneintherain

summary: Shouto had imagined himself as the country’s top hero for decades. Endeavour had put those images in his head when he was a child, and they had stayed there, growing like a fungus, until Shouto had reached adulthood. Even now, he was only just beginning to realise he didn’t have to live his life according to almost thirty-year-old decisions made by his abuser. He could do more. Be more. Outside of the hero community.

Izuku gets a job offer in America. Somehow, this brings Shouto and Izuku closer than ever before.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings:

count your blessings, not your flaws by PitViperOfDoom

summary: Midoriya Izuku has never been asked out, confessed to, or flirted with, except as a joke.

pairings: tododeku

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: bullying

call the fire department (i'm burning up with love) by Edgedancer

summary: An (abridged) list of things Todoroki Shouto did not have before U.A.: Loud neighbors. Fire alarms. Friends. Midoriya Izuku.

pairings: tododeku

tags:

warnings:

long nights and daydreams by dreamtowns

summary: According to the public, Pro Heroes Deku and Entropy are an amazing Hero Duo, best friends, and the most eligible bachelors in the world. According to their fans, they’re head over heels in love with one another yet oblivious to the others’ feelings. According to their friends and family, they’ve been in love with one another since high school, but, for reasons unknown to them, refuse to act upon said feelings.

According to said heroes, they have been (secretly) married for six years.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings:

extra-salty/twitter-verse series by SportsAnimeRuinedMyLife (KnightOfRage)

summary: In his third year at UA, Todoroki Shouto works in a burger place, catches on fire and falls in love. Only two of those things are on purpose.

Or...Todoroki Shouto's exciting adventures in customer service.

part one of the extra salty/twitter-verse

pairings: tododeku, kiribaku

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

More Than Skin-Deep by Emmeri

summary: It was a fact, really. That he was ugly. Having a scar which takes up half his face kind of does that, in Todoroki's eyes. So why does he overhear the girls call him the class pretty boy?

He'll just have to ask Midoriya about it; he has too little filter to tell anything but the truth.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff, angst

warnings:

Your Biggest Fan by Latios

summary: He opens the bag on the floor to see what could have been left in there-- and promptly freezes, staring at the contents inside.

“Midoriya.” He calls.

“Hm?”

“You bought our hero merch?”

Aka, Class 1-A starts to see themselves appear on merchandise in their local stores. Todoroki tries not to buy things, and fails.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff, humor

warnings:

Marry The Mole by Haurvatat

summary: “You're going to break up with him before he can propose.”

The hands went down and the steel wall of Midoriya's entire being went up. “...Excuse me?”

“And in return-” Enji gritted his teeth, “-I will deposit 20 million yen in your checking account.”

The gay drama fic based on a tumblr post absolutely zero people wanted to see but YOU'RE GETTING ANYWAY

pairings: tododeku

tags: humor

warnings:

ascended fanboy by aloneintherain

summary: “I want to honour them,” Izuku said softly. “When I cosplay, I just want people to see how amazing these heroes are.”

Shouto brushed a thumb over his cheek, careful not to smudge his makeup. “They do. I promise.”

Or: Izuku and Shouto attend HeroCon, five years post-graduation.

pairings: tododeku

tags:

warnings:

#bnha recs #my fic recs #abuse tw #bullying tw

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chainofclovers · 3 years

Text

Thinking some thoughts:

Yesterday we got bad news and then took one of those personality-altering sunny afternoon naps, where you wake up sweaty and dream-damaged and like a different person. I don't know if I love or hate that feeling. Mostly love, so long as it's still daylight when you wake up. And I definitely love the feeling of sleeping that hard—the vividness of dreaming in a bright room. I know it’s just perception, but it’s over 24 hours later and I swear I still feel different. Part human part slug.

Today we got free drinks for an unknown reason but I think it was for being lesbians. 💕 (And we got some outdoor time with dear friends and it was WONDERFUL.)

I signed my wife and me up for an honor system, complete-it-wherever-you-want-on-a-particular-weekend 5K next month to benefit a super awesome organization and we’re going to walk it. (It’s not even in my city—it’s virtual and centered in a different city in my state.) It’s very liberating to admit: I just don’t like running. I don’t like the way I feel when I run. It makes me feel exhausted and gross in a way that other physical activity doesn’t. I like exercise, I like playing a rec league sport (someday this pandemic will be over and I can do this again, right?), I like moving around and doing stuff, I like hiking, I like long walks...I hate running. In the past this might have put me off signing up for a race because I would either feel like I was “supposed” to train (even for a pretty short distance like a 5K) and wouldn’t because I hate running and would then feel unprepared. But whatever! This is going to be easy and fun and like any other walk except it’s for a particular cause, so instead of spending the next month in nervous anticipation I can just casually look forward to it. (And I do recognize that being able to walk for 3.1 miles is not something everyone can do, and that my description of something being easy is about my ability rather than a universal quality.)

I can nearly 100% attribute my chill-ness about planning to walk a race to the fact that I’m doing yoga every day this year. It’s made me feel so much more aware of what I want my body to be (strong, flexible, soul housing, happy) and what I don’t need it to be. In the past, a race would be “for other people” or “for me but only under certain conditions” and I would’ve ended up feeling inadequate. But doing daily yoga (and specifically, frankly, Yoga with Adriene videos) has helped me realize there are always available modifications and it should feel okay to take make those modifications. There are always options to make it work. Or not. And that is OK. :)

This is going to be a busy week and there’s nothing I’m dreading about it, but I desperately wish I could have one more day off tomorrow just to get more sleep. And to write.

All the tumblr prompts from this most recent round are boppin’ around in my brain. I have ideas for pretty much all the ones I haven’t completed yet, and I’ve got some other stuff I’m working on too, fic-wise, and I’ve got some original stuff that I’m having fun with as well. This year has contained almost no poetry whatsoever because I’m so in love with fiction right now. I’ve really got to try to get good sleep this week so I can get up early and write before work because there’s a massive amount of word-idea-energy slush happening in my brain and I just need the right physical conditions to sit down and write. Enough time to finish a sentence, you know?

#more emotions than livejournal dot com #do not reblog!#personal

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hasquetzorkukudoneanythingwrong · 3 years

Text

The (not so) lil master that could

Rex was sitting at a desk in an art studio. He was practicing his art with Da Vinci (caster) over looking his practice. He was practicing with human anatomy, with Cleopatra as the model. This wasn't the first time he'd tried this but he had an unfortunate habit of being over critical of himself. Da Vinci was well aware of this, many times when she tried to give him some criticism he'd take it way worse then she intended and end up dropping it for a long time.

Rex: uh... I might be close to being finished?

Da Vinci: are you sure? How do you feel about it?

Rex took a look at his sketch, the anatomy wasn't amazing and the clothing was a bit inaccurate.

Rex: no... it's crap.

Da Vinci: it's not that bad... I've told you before not to be over critical of your art.

Rex: but it's true. I shouldn't even try...

Da Vinci: hey! Stop giving up! You won't get anywhere doing that!

But Rex wasn't listening and he got up and left.

Cleo: what happened?

Da Vinci: he gave up. *sigh* he needs to stop dropping this stuff so quickly.

Cleo: well let me see the picture.

Da Vinci showed the picture to Cleopatra

Cleo: I mean... it's not so bad. I can see potential... he should keep going.

Da Vinci: that's what I've been trying to tell him...

Eventually Rex was in the writer's room this time trying his hand at writing a story. He was too disappointed in the art he tried so he hoped writing would be more his speed. Murasaki was there to help like Da Vinci with the art. Just like with the art and anything he tried, he was too critical of his own writing. Murasaki wanted to help him get better and to keep at it but she was too shy, the only reason she's helping instead of others is because folks like Shakespeare and Anderson annoyed him a bit too much so she's the better option.

Murasaki: how's the manuscript? Is it going well?

Rex: ...not sure... why don't you take a look?

Murasaki took a look at what he wrote.

Murasaki: it's pretty good so far... but this part seems a bit forced.

Rex: *sigh* so what do you think I should do instead?

Murasaki: stories need to flow naturally... try to take a bit of a realistic view on it.

Rex: hmmm...

As he reread the story, he became more and more dissatisfied with it. He noticed many errors and moments where the characters' dialog didn't seem right.

Rex: y'know what... maybe I shouldn't try...

Murasaki: wait! Please don't give up master!

Rex: why keep going? It's crap...

He got up and left, Murasaki just watched him as she wasn't very confrontational. Not that it would help as Da Vinci could tell you.

Murasaki: *sigh* not again...

Eventually Murasaki and Da Vinci met up in the hall and Da Vinci had a question for Murasaki.

Da Vinci: have you seen Rex?

Murasaki: no, he was writing earlier but he got over critical again and left.

Da Vinci: of course. He needs to work on his self esteem issues. I know you're always your own worst critic but he won't even let the ink dry before he burns the canvas.

Murasaki: did he go that far?!

Da Vinci: no... but it wouldn't surprise me. I'm going to keep looking, he needs to end this whole hyper critical crap!

Murasaki: alright, but don't be too abrasive with him, he may shut down entirely on the subject.

Da Vinci: *sigh* he needs a therapy session or something.

As she continued to look, she passes by the gym and hears his voice.

Rex: how was that?

???: your almost there! Let's try one more time!

Da Vinci: there he is!

She went into the gym, to see him in the wrestling wring. He was sparring with Quetzalcoatl, specifically lucha libre moves. This wasn't the first time he'd done this. In fact he'd been practicing with her for ages now.

Da Vinci, thinking: hey... how come he's never dropped this? When he first came in he had no interest in most physical activities. He was overweight and rarely left his room, but now look at him.

Da Vinci left the gym for now, but she planned to confront him about this later.

Later on Rex was walking back to his room, tired from the training he just endured. Then Da Vinci came in to question him.

Da Vinci: Rex!

Rex: ah!

Da Vinci: there you are!

Rex, nervously: what do you want?

Da Vinci: I've got some questions for you.

Rex: I dunno if I wanna answer

Da Vinci: too bad. Why do you keep dropping art and writing and such!? You have real potential for those things. But then I see you practicing hand to hand combat and you've stuck to it for so long! I've read your file, and have seen your behavior firsthand before all this and you never struck me as the athletic type.

Rex: ...well if you want the answer, then I've got a story to tell.

Da Vinci: by all means.

It was relatively far back, a while after Camelot was dealt with. Rex and Quetz were at the rec room watching Lucha matches. They had just finished one up, and you could see just how pumped Quetz got.

Quetz: wow! Wasn't that amazing master?!

Rex: it was pretty intense...

Quetz: I still can't believe you've never watched a match before. It's so increible!

Rex: I dunno... just never peaked my interest that much, but you make it way more interesting then I thought it'd be.

Quetz: gracias! When I first layed eyes on this amazing spectacle I couldn't help how awe struck I felt. I knew I had to master it.

Rex: ...I've noticed most of the time they have a partner. If you were ever in the ring for a serious match, who'd you want to be your partner?

Rex had asked simply out of curiosity, he expected her to say Martha or Scathach or some other powerful servant. But what she said surprised the hell out of him.

Quetz turned towards him, and before she said anything she held both of his hands in hers and gave him her answer.

Quetz: I actually think you'd be an amazing partner!

Rex couldn't believe what he heard. Him? Why?! He wasn't coordinated, he was a bit fat, and he was barely any good fighting without a weapon. If anyone that knew him from before chaldea was there, they'd expect him to give her a "no thanks" because that's the kind of person he was. But what he did say, would've surprised any of his family or former friends.

Rex: ...I'd love to!

Quetz: you would!?

Rex: yes! Anything for you!

Quetz: yay! Let's get started with your training!

Rex: now?!

Quetz: well.. it's actually getting late, how about tomorrow?

Rex: sure...

Back in the present day.

Da Vinci: of course, I knew it had to be her. You continue on to make her happy.

Rex: yeah... there's been many times where I was ready to quit training with her. It's painful, and just like with other things, I don't see what I do as good enough. But everytime I see her face beam with excitement for my training, I keep going. I do it for her, I want to be her perfect partner, she has high hopes and I can't disappoint her.

Da Vinci: but you can't put that effort for things you enjoy?

Rex: ...not really...

Da Vinci: ...why don't you show her your art or writing?

Rex: no! She'll think it's stupid.

Da Vinci: only you think that way... or at least that critically anyways. Regardless, I'm showing her!

As she said this she left to find Quetz and show her the picture he drew.

Rex: don't! It's too stupid!

Despite pleading with her he couldn't get her to budge on the subject, she was determined to do this. After a bit of the two walking and their back and fourth they finally ran into Quetz.

Quetz: Hola mi amor! Hola Da Vinci! What's going on?

Da Vinci: Quetzalcoatl, I've got something to show you!

Rex: pls don't look!

Quetz: why not mi amor?

Rex: it's crap!

Da Vinci: stop thinking that way!

As she says this she hands the paper to Quetz. She over looked it for a bit.

Quetz: mi amor, did you draw this?

Rex: yeah... it's crap I know

Quetz: no! It's actually pretty nice! I think you did a fine job!

Rex: huh?! You can't be serious!

Quetz: of course I am!

Rex: for real?!

Da Vinci: I've been trying to tell you!

Quetz: si! Don't look down at your art mi amor! It's really good!

Rex: ...you sure?

Quetz: si! You've got potential and I'd love to see you continue!

Rex was now filled more confidence then ever! He was ready to get back into it! Especially if it was for her!

Over time he'd get back into drawing and writing and even got into a bit of cooking. It was all for Quetzalcoatl of course! But he also never stopped training to be her lucha partner! He was ready for the day they'd have a match up together.

A/N: there ya go. Had this idea brewing most of work. Sometimes we're more willing to do things for others then ourselves, but that can still be a good motivator.

Tags

@hasishtardoneanythingwrong @hasereshdoneanythingwrong @haspaulbunyandoneanythingwrong @haskamadoneanythingwrong @hasabbydoneanythingwrong @hasspartacusdoneanythingwrong @castlecsejtespeakertechnician @hasbbdoneanythingwrong @hasnightingaledoneanythingwrong @nureenarts @kierakaz @valiantstrawberrymilk

#fate grand order #quetzalcoatl #wife #rexcoatl #rex #mastersona #leonardo da vinci #murasaki shikibu

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politicalmamaduck · 4 years

Text

Reylo Fic Recs: Canonverse

Across the Stars by @rapturousaurora

Hugging Rey close, desperate to feel something of her, her skin against his, a lingering tendril of their once vibrant Force bond—anything—Ben only felt cold silence. Her vacant gaze stared up at the ceiling of the Sith’s Exegol stronghold.And still he felt no anger. No hate. His emotions were dominated by the almost childlike desire to fix what his lifetime of mistakes had broken—Ben wanted to fix her.

With You by @politicalpadme

Ben Solo finds the will to rise.

the shadows are whispering (again) by @thewayofthetrashcompactor

The Force has always had it out for the Skywalkers. Ben feels like he knows that better than most. Why else would it have saddled him with another curse to add to his legacy? (From birth to death and back again.)

Phantasm by @forcebondedreylo

Rey thought that she was finished with Ben Solo after Crait. She was proven otherwise when she crash-landed on a strange and dangerous planet with no way to contact the Resistance. Now Ben Solo might be her only hope of survival, if the deadly inhabitants don't get her first.

The Weight of a Soul by @ceallaigheirinn

“If he is condemned, then his soul shall be cast into oblivion,” the Mother answered. “It will cease to be. Oblivion is beyond the veil that the Force encompasses. His soul would be consumed by nothingness, and Ben Solo would exist on neither the mortal plane or the World Beyond.”

linger in the doorway (of my field of paper flowers) by @mnemehoshiko

She can't tell if she got the better deal or not. Foolish. Did you truly want to waste away in this sand-ridden hell? a voice whispers, low and soft. No, she thinks, but it would be a familiar hell, at least.

destruction makes the world burn brighter by @cosmicforces

When he was nearly within reach, he extended the blade—or was it his hand?—but everything faded to black before she was certain. Panting, she bolted upright in her bed and wiped away the sweat clinging to her forehead. She’d dreamt of Jakku again.

A New Generation by @aionimica

Ben glances at Rey and quietly asks, “Do you want to spend the rest of your life with a twice-fallen former warlord who doesn’t know what place he has in this galaxy except as a porg-mother?”

In Our Silence, Volumes by @roamingbadger

When Rey senses through their Force Bond that Ben is in trouble, she'll stop at nothing to get to him. But what if he's not ready to be rescued - from himself?

I Choose You by @shelikespretties

In the throne room, Rey proposes a counter offer.

Breakout by @leofgyth

In which Rey, Finn, and Ben break Ransolm Casterfo out of prison... for reasons.

Oh the Glory of Tenderness by @ann3onymous

Leia Organa taught her little boy how to weave stories with hair. Years later, Ben Solo weaves Rey's hair with promises.

Slipping Off Course by @fingertipstrembling

Between the birth and death of every star stretches a wide expanse of space, a thirsty maw that drinks up all the light it sees and spits back darkness. In the bowels of a star destroyer deep in that darkness, they find each other—the Supreme Leader’s apprentice and a fledgling pilot recruit who outflies and outwits him at every opportunity. Though he fights the pull of the Force, Kylo Ren finds himself reaching for Rey with nothing to stop his fall.

Like This by @kylo-wouldnt-like-those-chips

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away... Peace reigns in the galaxy. Seriously. The Imperial Remnant fizzled out. There is no First Order. There is no Snoke. The worst thing Ben Solo's ever done was some light brawling. The kids are, as they say, more or less alright.Still, the Force has plans for Ben and Rey, which is how they find themselves working for the same civil rights firm, thrown together in a stakeout van.

temptations of grey by @lasthopesolo

Nightmares filled with the ghostly voice of a woman haunt Supreme Leader Kylo Ren; a constant reminder of the discord within. Terrifying dreams plague Rey, casting doubt on choices she’s made. Both find themselves stranded on a humid jungle planet in unknown territory, captured and forced to participate in a strange mystical ceremony. Rey and Kylo must work together in their journey through the jungle, facing themselves and each other in the pursuit of balance.

Wish Upon a Star by @shelikespretties

When Ben Solo exiles himself on a random planet in order to atone, he finds his mother packed him a calligraphy set. He keeps a diary of his existence, while Rey, cut off from him in the Force, tracks him down the only way she can.

Only If for a Night by @reylotrashcompactor and @southsidestory

The night the war ends is a time for victories and change. Maybe, if Rey is lucky, she can win where Ben Solo is concerned. There’s something between them, more than friendship or battle-forged camaraderie, a need that she’s felt threaded along their bond, and she’s tired of ignoring it.

Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations. by @shmisolo

Ben woke, but Luke’s saber wasn’t ignited. Instead, he saw a master who had shattered his trust, who thought he was a monster, and—worse—he was probably right.So he fled Yavin IV, to Skywalker’s dismay, and no one heard from him since.Years later, on a wasteland planet, a girl and a fugitive stormtrooper board a Corellian YT-1300 light freighter in desperation to find they are not the only ones trying to steal it.

In the Footsteps of Giants by @aionimica

Post-Sequel Trilogy; Ben Solo is off in exile, accompanied by Rey. In desperate need of fuel, they stop on Naboo, but their pit stop doesn’t quite go as planned.

build a ladder to the stars by @redbelles

Kylo Ren's heart is a desert.

these violent delights (have violent ends) by @luminoustico

The news runs like a wildfire through the galaxy.Kylo Ren found something, someone, else to believe in. He gutted his master for her life. In return, vestiges of Snoke's power delivered a punishment greater than anything either the fallen Knight or the last Jedi could imagine. Together forever, eternally apart.

Luminous Beings by @hauscrashburn

In order to become a Jedi, Rey must do one thing: Kill Kylo Ren. But how can she when her heart belongs--and has belonged to him--for years now?

Midsummer Night's Shared Dream by @shelikespretties

“We’re not on an approved airfield, but look,” she held out her datapad with the map of the crash location. “Xa-Tla City is on the other side of this forest. We can make it there on foot, and, if we start now, we’ll get there before the solstice celebration begins.” Kylo lifted a mocking eyebrow. “You’d risk the spirits of the forest?”Rey scoffed. “I don’t believe in ghosts. Let’s start walking.”

Spillikin by @ceallaigheirinn

“Forgiving yourself doesn’t mean you have to forget what happened, Ben,” his mother said. “It just means you can finally let go and move forward.”

The Way to Tomorrow by @the-reylo-void

Kylo Ren faces his sentence at the hands of the Resistance: a year of off-world solitary confinement, no communication with the outside world. But it's never that easy to leave old wounds behind. Or such deeply-forged bonds.

Porgs by @tehanufromearthsea

Porgs think of Luke Skywalker as the eccentric but harmless giant who lives on their island. Life on Ahch-To can be pretty dull, so at least Luke gives the Porgs something to watch. Then another of his kind arrives, with her friends, and life on Ahch-To gets a lot more entertaining for the porgs.Then comes the invader...

The Jedi Path by @southsidestory

She’s Ben's world: the only thing he cares about, the only thing he needs, the only one who matters. That interest used to be focused on Rey's power, her talent, her fierce, uncompromising will. Platonic, if not innocent, but now—now he still loves her like a protege, but he wants her too. He wants her, and he can’t keep lying to himself about it.

Yub Nub, and a Celebration Song by @luminoustico

It starts with a forest moon, a destined clash between a scavenger and a knight, and some Very Determined Ewoks.

The Visions That Connect Us by @lariren-shadow

They've seen each other for years before they even meet. Kylo Ren and Rey have visions of the other through out their lives.

Reflektor by @reylotrashcompactor

Kylo Ren isn’t fool enough to believe that her capture was a happy accident. He didn’t believe it was good fortune, and he believed least of all that it had anything to do with the reconnaissance skills of Hux’s half-wit stormtroopers. If they have The Girl Called Rey in custody, it is because she meant for it to happen. It was because she had a plan and this was a step in executing it.

Paper Minds by @kuresoto

At the age of five, Ben Solo built his first droid. At the age of ten, he manifested and started to see her everywhere. At the age of eleven, he was sent to train with Luke. He still saw her. When he was fifteen, she disappeared. He was twenty-three when he left Ben Solo behind and became someone who wouldn’t trust blindly ever again. He became Kylo Ren. He meets her for the first time when he’s on the cusp of turning thirty. These were the events that shaped Ben Solo and in turn, Kylo Ren.

Just A Little Crush by @lariren-shadow

Ben Solo has been away from the Jedi Academy for a few years. Now that he's back he's developed a little problem his brother is keen on goading him about.

Retrouvailles by @luminoustico

Six months ago, Ben Solo was removed from Rey's side and his uncle's Jedi Academy to take up his mother's mantle as Senator, and to act representative of the Resistance. He has already claimed the reputation of a troublemaker. After Han Solo requests Luke and Rey act as Ben's security intel at a ball in Coruscant, it is underneath the pressure of galactic politics that her world and his new world collide.

Convergence by @the-reylo-void

Whatever the next steps are, I want to take them with you.

let the silver arrow fly by @solikerez

Leia plays cupid, and fires a few misshots before getting it right.

What We Do in the Snow by @reylotrashcompactor

The first time she dreamed of Starkiller, not much was different.

The Gamble by @nightsofreylo

Whenever you gamble, eventually you lose...

Matchmaker by @lariren-shadow

Bored with being a Force Ghost Anakin decides that his grandson needs some help in the relationship department. Kylo Ren isn't too thrilled at the prospect but, then again, neither is Rey.

here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true by @the-reylo-void

Here is the place where I love you.

People Will Say by @reylotrashcompactor

In a ditch effort to coax the wary members of the Resistance into accepting the prodigal son Ben Solo back into their fold, General Leia Organa requests a hefty favor from Rey. "Behind every good man is a great woman" is how the saying goes, but the man formerly known as Kylo Ren isn't good, and Rey isn't sure that any manner of hand-holding is going to change people's minds about that.

crave my heart (it's bleeding in your hand) by @mnemehoshiko

She wakes with the taste of salt on her lips and screams in her head.

Dark Matter by @arcticelves

Rey is never really alone. Even on Ahch-To, beginning her training with Luke Skywalker, she is frequently interrupted by an uninvited visitor. But is he truly unwelcome?

kept in the dark (but you were there in front of me) by @mnemehoshiko

Ben Solo is nine when he dreams of sand and darkness.

Peace and Purpose by @the-reylo-void

Across the stars, Rey and Ben yearn for each other, neither able to move on, both facing the unending nights alone. But the Force longs for balance as surely as they long for each other.

Laid To Rest by @khaleesa

Ben wants to show Rey the galaxy, to see it with her. First, they have business on Naboo.

Endings and Beginnings by @shelikespretties

Rey’s hand cradles Ben’s head before it can hit the stone floor. He’s ridiculously heavy, all dead weight, and Rey’s entire body cramps in horror before she sees the faint rise and fall of his chest. He’s not dead. He hasn’t left her. Yet. She cradles his face with both hands and sobs in relief.

What Was Lost Is Now Found by @ceallaigheirinn

With no memories of the past, his mind was nothing more than a void of vast emptiness. He couldn’t remember how he got there. It sounded insane, but he even wondered if he was actually there the moment before. When he closed his eyes, fleeting images of a metallic mask, a world collapsing on itself, the touch of a weathered hand across his cheek and a beautiful woman dressed in white flickered from the dark recesses of his mind. But none of it made sense. He had no idea what those images represented or who that woman was. Did she mean something to him? Was she an enemy, friend or lover?

a million miles (cross the ocean) by @mnemehoshiko

in which the Force tries to pay back some of the debt it owes the Skywalkers.

gift to me forever by LonelyLavenderBones, @luminoustico, TazWren, @thewayofthetrashcompactor

Palpatine has remained dead. Ben Solo followed in his mother’s footsteps and became the Senator of Chandrila, his mother training him in the Force instead of sending him to Luke. And, instead of being left on Jakku, Rey has been trained in the Force from childhood to help redeem the Palpatine name in the eyes of the galaxy's highest social circles.Now the princess of the ultimate Sith is due to make her debut, on the arm of her betrothed, Armitage Hux. But, the Force still has plans for Rey Palpatine and Ben Solo.

My own canonverse Reylo fics:

Rise

Ben Solo and Rey fake their deaths after Exegol and live their lives.

It was not Death, for I stood up

Emperor Palpatine lied on Exegol; Rey is not his granddaughter. Rey sets off on a journey, led by Obi-Wan Kenobi, to bring Ben Solo back from the World Between Worlds.

luminous beings are we

Rey and Ben survive Exegol.

the healing balance

The battle was over; the war was won. The Finalizer was a smoking ruin; General Hux’s attempted mutiny had backfired as the Resistance attacked and finally incapacitated the First Order leadership. Kylo Ren was missing, presumed dead at the hands of the last Jedi, who must have succumbed to her own injuries. Neither body was found. So said the initial official report of the aftermath.

Aggressive Negotiations

It was a shame, really, that Rey did not want her new assignment, did not want to be tempted by Anakin Skywalker and Padme Amidala’s grandson.

Calligraphy and Atonement

Ben Solo spends his time in exile trying not to think of Rey and keeps failing.

beam that lights the way home

The star lit their path to each other, and lit their way home together.

food for the soul

Rey struggles with new food and the knowledge that Kylo Ren is her soulmate.

you burn with me

Rey's soulmark burns when she meets Kylo Ren for the first time.

light brings forth hidden truths

Light brings forth hidden truths, and demonstrates the Force's balance.

Falling Embers

Rey takes Kylo Ren's hand after they have killed Snoke and his Praetorian Guards.

Force of Light

After celebrating the end of the war and Wookiee Life Day on the Resistance base, Rey heads out into the snow to meditate. Kylo Ren goes out after her...and learns the true reason for the season.

Wanting

Kylo Ren has wanted things his whole life.

My other fic rec lists:

#reylo #rffa writers #canonverse #fan fiction #fic recs #my writing

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neocity-sarai · 4 years

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She’s Not You

+ mark lee x reader

+alerts: this is pretty sloppy, i’m sorry. I don’t have much inspo to write rn and this was sitting in my drafts. so here, an angst scene that’s a tad long. dedicated to THE best mark biased buddy ever: @regularhuhhh

+ song rec: hurts so good by astrid s

[8 PM] Everything feels like a blur. The familiar space of your home feels suffocating and the rain that makes the air cold doesn’t make you feel any better. Stumbling to your room, you shove a suitcase out of your shared closet as you dump miscellaneous belongings into it, clothes, money, anything that you might need. You don’t want to stay in the house any longer, let alone see Mark’s face when he comes home. Because, you know when he does, you’ll explode like a ticking time bomb. You pack up Max’s food and some of his toys as well, grabbing his leather leash that hangs by the key rack near the pantry. Max perks up, wagging his tail as he follows you, probably confused as to why you’re packing up his things. Tears brim your eyes, your nose red from it. And just as you’re about to leave, your front door opens to Mark. He holds his vest jacket over his head to shield himself from the rain, hair slightly wet anyway. You freeze where you stand, unsure of what you should say or do. His lips part, “Y/n.. what..?”

You snap out of your trance, hooking Max’s leash onto his collar before pushing past Mark in the doorway. An instant gust of wind hits your face, thunder roaring overhead like a fleet of dragons, black mist clouding the sky. Mark drops his jacket before following you out in the rain, not caring if his clothes get wet. Still, you yank your car door open as you fumble from trying to toss your suitcase into the back seat while you order Max to stay put. Mark grabs your wrist, his eyes clouded with concern, “Y/n- stop! What are you doing? Where are you going?”

You wrench your wrist out of his grip, tears spilling down your face, “Clearly, I’m leaving!”

Mark’s eyes are widened, wild with confusion, “Why?!”

Angry and bitter, you push him away from you, “I know where you’ve been! I can’t believe you’d do this to me!”

“Do what?!”

Incredulously, you scoff, “Are you kidding me? You’re going to play stupid still? I already know!”

Mark carefully treads towards you, “Is this about movie night? That I came home late?”

You glare at him, the rain soaking your hair and your clothes, “You’re unbelievable, Mark! You left me at home while you ran off drinking with your friends without saying anything! I didn’t want to bother you and then you were being distant! If you wanted to be with her, you should’ve told me instead of hiding it!”

Then he realizes it. Mark realizes it. He knows it all, how it looks. The way his friend would touch him, the way she spoke to him and told him she loved him all along. Yet, he had you. She was vulnerable, crying on his shoulder and he thought she needed a friend. She had the wrong idea. He remembers running into Seulgi, what she probably had told you when she saw another girl crying on his shoulder. He doesn’t blame Seulgi, she’s just a friend who’s trying to look out for you. He messed up. He really messed up.

He shakes himself out of it, teeth chattering from how cold it is. He grips you hard but not too hard that it hurts you, “Y/n. Let’s just go and talk inside, alright? I’ll explain everything. This isn’t what it looks like!”

But the problem is, you’re already so hurt. You shake your head violently, choking on your words as the rain comes down hard, “There’s nothing to explain! I’m going! You two can enjoy yourselves!”

You feel Max shake off the water from his fur behind you. Opening the door, he jumps into the back seat and you realize that you’ve forgotten your phone by the stove. Before you can make a beeline for the door, Mark grabs onto your waist, afraid that you’ll leave and never come back. He rests his chin on your shoulder, his grip strong. His voice softens, and you notice how it cracks, “Please. Let’s just talk. Please, don’t do this. Please, y/n.”

You tighten your fist, your nails digging into the skin of your palm. You shout above the thunder, “Give me one good reason!”

Mark’s words come out in stutters, “I- I love you! I don’t tell you enough but I do! I love you so much that it hurts and I can’t stand not having you here next to me!”

You sigh, trying to calm the rage in your heart. You turn around, facing Mark’s figure as he lets his arms fall to his sides. He stands in the rain in front of you, shoulders sagging as tears roll down his own cheeks. He looks up at you, eyes blurry, “Please, don’t go.”

Wide awake through the daylight

Would you hold me like we're running a yellow light?

Reach for you with my hands tied

Are we dancing like we're burning in paradise?

You sigh, your face is only centimeters away. And you have no idea how fast Mark’s heart beats whenever he looks at you. You can’t feel the way you make him feel. Whenever you laugh at his jokes or you run your hands through his hair, or the way you lean against him when he plays his guitar, you don’t know how much he treasures you. And he knows that he doesn’t tell you enough. He doesn’t know if you know how much he truly loves you.

You hold up one finger at him, a single finger up to his eyes, “One night. I’ll stay one night. I’ll be gone in the morning.”

Mark looks like he’s going to be sick. Though, he can’t argue because he doesn’t want you to change your mind and never come back. He couldn’t bear it, not feeling you around him. All he does is nod. You open your car door to let Max out, leading him back into the warm glow of your house. Quietly, without saying a word, you follow Mark to your bedroom. He begins to open his mouth, desperate to explain. But, you realize you’re both soaking and tired, there wouldn’t be a use in explaining and erupting in another fight. You grab a spare change of clothes in your closet before turning back to him where he stands a few feet away, “Let’s just sleep tonight. We can talk tomorrow morning. I’ll go after.”

“Okay.”

By the time Mark gets changed, you pretend like you’re asleep. You roll over on your side in the dark, your hand clutching the blanket that covers your body. Even the bedsheets smell like Mark. It makes you choke back your tears. When Mark comes out of the bathroom, you can feel his eyes on you and you know he’s trying to be careful by the way the bed dips lightly. Mark stares at the back of your head for a few minutes before turning back on his own side.

[3 AM] You can’t sleep. That’s something you’ve always had since you were a child, insomnia wracks your brain like a comb filing through hairs, surging every doubt, thought, and insecurity that forms in your thoughts. You can never sleep. That’s why Mark used to sing to you at night, hum against your skin so that you’d be able to drift off. You sit up, leaning your back on the headboard before gazing at Mark. He’s rolled over, facing you. His hair is soft, obsidian tufts curled in a pile. Even in the dark, Mark has his charms. The way his nose is shaped like small marble and the way his lips are pressed together, tear stains leaving trails down his sharply angled cheeks. You can’t help but feel bad. You can’t help but reach out and hold him. A lock of hair falls on Mark’s eyes, causing him to stir and mumble your name.

Cautiously, you fear it. You fear losing Mark. Still, something in you forces you to move closer to him like a magnet as you move the lock of hair out of his eyes. It scares you when his eyes flash open, black orbs staring right back at you. He’s wide awake, unblinking. You attempt to scoot back, afraid that you’ve been caught like a deer in headlights. Instead, Mark instantly catches your hand in his, molding your palm against his cheek. It’s warm to him. The air is cold, the remnants of the blue rain are cold but your aura is warm and he leans into it as he flutters his eyes shut. His voice sounds weak and raspy, “Please, stay.”

You don’t fight it. You stay as still as you can, searching him for some sort of sign. Mark opens his eyes again, beautiful eyes reflecting the stars that shine outside. It’s stopped raining and the silence is frightening. Mark drags your fingers to his lips, kissing the pads of your fingers and your inner palm, tears blurring his vision. You can’t do it. No matter how hard you try, you can’t. You can’t leave him. So, you hold out your arms for him. He wastes no time launching himself into your chest, his face nuzzling your stomach and your breasts. You’ve rarely seen Mark like this. He cries so hard like a toddler, sobs shaking his frame. You try hard to make out his apologies, his words that choke out.

“Shh.. it’s okay. It’s okay.”

Mark shakes his head, “I'm sorry. I-I’m so sorry.”

You hold him, legs tangled together and you stoke down his hair, occasionally kissing the crown of his head as you reassure him. Finally, when he’s done crying and explaining how everything was a misunderstanding, his eyes are rimmed with red and with worry. He raises his head to you, eyes boring into yours. When you think he’s about to stay something, he pauses. He waits. In his head, it’s almost like an instinct. He wants to show you how much he dreams of you, dreams of how our hand locks with his, and how he writes love songs during meetings because he’s daydreaming about where you are.

He sweeps a hair behind your ear before smashing his lips onto yours. He tastes like salt and mint and rain, his tears wetting your cheeks as you let him kiss you breathless. Your tongues meld together, Mark gripping your waist like he needs you to live. Your chests are heaving while you cup his jaw, Mark beginning to lift his shirt over his head and you know what he’s thinking. He falls back down to you, pressing your body against the mattress as he runs his teeth over the skin of your neck, nibbling slightly. Putting a hand on his toned, naked chest, you stop him, “Wait. I need to say something.”

There’s genuine fear in his eyes. He’s scared of what you’ll say. So, he goes back to kissing your lips, cutting your words off by extinguishing your breath away. He’s sensitive and vulnerable and yet all he wants to do is hold you for eternity. He grips your hand as if you’ll slip away. You squeeze his neck, causing him to stop as you tell him with everything in your soul, “I love you too. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so angry, so upset. I should’ve asked you about it-”

Mark’s eyes shift from a pang of fear to relief, his hand squeezing yours on the bed.

He shakes his head, biting his swollen lip, “I should’ve told you about it. I should’ve asked you what you thought.”

He looks sad, a feeling rising from the pit of his stomach, “I should’ve done more for you. I don’t deserve you. I’m a stupid idiot.”

You drag him next to you, letting his head rest on your chest as your palm rests on his ear, “Stop it, Mark. You’re everything to me. I can’t think straight when I’m with you. When I’m away, you’re in my head. Your jokes make me laugh, your music makes me sleep. I need you.”

Mark tightens his hold on your body, gripping the fabric of your pajama shirt. Taking in your scent, he nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, his whisper quieter as the dawn begins to rise, “I love you so much that it scares me sometimes.”

Golden light blinds you, orange rays and blush ribbons consume you and Mark like a blanket of fire. It paints his features, his eyes shut from the intensity. Somehow, the sun feels more comforting than it ever has.

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a-cai-jpg · 3 years

Text

this is the most honest i know how to be.

as we walk down the streets of boston at 5:30 am, the air is cool and sweet.

i breathe in, and i'm in indiana, at camp, dragging myself from my cabin to the main lodge and trying to hide my weariness from my campers. their laughter filters through the cotton grogginess of my mind. i lean towards it as we eat. on the train, the trees rush past my window. we didn't even notice when the train started moving, but then suddenly we were out of boston.

the last time i took ground transport to somewhere else, it was october, maybe. i was with hannah then, and we talked about traveling. it was 5 hours of conversation, and from that day, i knew i had to keep her. you were on my mind then too.

the early morning sunlight shifts through the trees. i'm reminded of rural england, 16 years old, something wild rearing its head in my chest, a shadow of which i still feel if i try hard to look for it. i'm writing a postcard to a friend. "the forest looks like a place for fae," i write. i received a letter from him last year and spent too long thinking of a reply.

so here it is--we are at the end. i was cooking at casi's stove yesterday night, and i said, "why can't we just rewind to orientation?" and the fear comes out as a whine. we are walking across a bridge towards brown university today, and i think about why humans are afraid of death.

"people are afraid of the unknown," i say as we wait for our starbucks drinks. "i think that's why we are scared of death."

i'm responding to her fear of unnaturally large things. i don't think this is what she meant.

but i'm thinking about how and why we are on this earth. to what do we become once we die? are we afraid of the unknown, or are we afraid to become no more? how many of us are remembered when we pass, how many of us are worth being remembered? for what do we live?

i think the questions in my head, but i don't speak them aloud. we walk past a canopied path that she says reminds her of haikyuu.

i am both weary and restless. i want to crawl out of my skin and take a nap somewhere for a few decades, but instead i'm trapped on a 6 hour flight back home. i'm scared of going home.

the plane is warm, i can't breathe, and i wait for my earbuds to charge so i can continue watching television. i think my thoughts in coherent sentences so they do not wander, and so here i am, writing this on my phone. i glance up at the map sometimes, and chuckle inwardly as i realize i can't actually recognize the states without labels. which one is arizona and which one is new mexico? it's a 4 hour drive to arizona so it must be closer to california, i think to myself. or did i make that up?

i think traveling will help, but i wander different cities and mountains and cliffs and lakes, and i want to go back home.

but it's weird, because home is a feeling. god i've written about this before, but home is a feeling. a route that i walk without thinking, feet moving to the beat of my music. shrieks of laughter as we watch television. the calm silence as we eat dinner. i can count back the hours and days to which i last felt at home.

when did you last feel like yourself? daniel asks.

sometime today, i think. not when we were driving up the north shore. probably the arboretum. it's familiar, and i am grounded. i was actually thinking about this today, i joke. i don't know when it was, but i thought, wow the crystal really worked.

but god, the last time i felt at home.

i ask daniel to put my cot in his room because i'm scared to sleep alone. i sit in casi's living room for as long as possible, and play with the idea of asking whether i can sleep over. she offers, but i decline, because how long can i push it off? for the first time, i'm annoyed that my basically-stepfather lives with us now, because i can no longer crawl into my mother's bed. i haven't done that in years.

ten, twenty, thirty minutes pass, and i allow myself two teardrops and tell daniel my most irrational fear. what the fuck? he says in reply. i know it's irrational, but if it happens, i'm going to be so fucking pissed. yeah, it's irrational. it's easier now that someone else holds it with me, even if he thinks i'm crazy for even having the thought.

a few years back, i wrote a piece about not finding your home in people. people change, your home crumbles. i wrote this after meeting an old friend in ginza. i got a new haircut that day, and he dyed his hair brown. i never found a home in him, but i did in others that we once shared. i thought about change and college and what comes next, and as i looked at him in wonder, i was nostalgic and wistful and hopeful.

i tell my therapist that i identify myself in relation to people. when they are gone, i am lost, or i spend too long looking for myself again, and when i find the self, i'm not sure i like her. she doesn't understand, because i smile and joke and talk about the theory of the reflexive self, but i'm so fucking scared.

i don't know, i muse. see, i think the problem is this. i'd created an expectation for who i wanted to become. but i don't think i became her, so now i've disappointed myself.

i'm watching a korean drama right now, but i keep thinking about a japanese movie i watched with my aunt in china. it's called hanamizuki, and i'm not too sure what about it stuck with me. 花水木. maybe the poignancy of loss? of the happy ending not working out?

i've written stories in my head all my life, and i'd tried to write a script for my own life. i would joke i'm the tragic greek hero, trying and failing to defy the gods, but if there is a god out there, he'd probably just smile sadly at me.

i'm not unhappy. i'm happy.

i keep asking the people around me this question, and everyone says, "i'm not unhappy, but i'm not happy."

i can definitively say i'm happy. i've had so much fun this past month, i don't know if i deserve it. it's just sometimes, i want more. life is an exercise in being content with what you have, but i'm still learning the steps towards that.

i don't expect all the days to be good. one day, i know i will be definitively unhappy. but i also (do i dare?) don't expect all the days to be bad. one day, i know i will be definitively happy again.

but at the same time, i don't know how to respond when people ask, "how are you? what's new? tell me what happened."

i realized i'm terrible at lying, because i want people to see me for my full self, but at the same time, i'm terrified of that.

jason pulls up a picture on my instagram and says, this doesn't look like you. i'm almost offended and laugh, until he says, you look too happy here. did i not look happy in the pictures you took of me today? i ask. no, you did. but you look genuinely happy here. i've never seen you look like that before.

i don't know how to respond, so i just shrug and say, it was a good day.

it was after an exam and the weather was warm. i could wear a dress and a light jacket. i really like that dress. i remember something about a watch. my ankle ached because of where i'd rolled it a few years back, but yeah, i guess i was happy.

people ask, how are you? i'm okay, i say after a pause, not reflexively. my professor says he's sure i am well, and i smile.

i'm okay. i began the year okay, and am ending the year okay. i'm happy, and life is good even if it's not ideal. i'm going to hawaii and going ziplining even though i my own lungs suffocate me when i'm high up. look, it will all be okay. the world loses its color, but gains some back.

the world does not end.

i'm sure i will go to bed melancholic. i will watch television until my eyelids grow heavy, and i'll reach over to lock my ipad and pray that i will fall asleep. i might wake up melancholic, probably from a dream that will seem childish in a few months time. but i have to wake early tomorrow, and have things to do and people to meet, so i will be okay.

non-daily song rec: 郭頂 - 水星记

0 notes

drawlfoy · 5 years

Text

Wonders of Ohio P.2

masterlist request guidelines jesus christ this story just flows off the fingertips

pairing: draco x muggle!reader

request: from 14 year old me

summary: instead of having a traditional senior year of high school, american y/n is roped into hosting a british exchange student who is...a bit strange.

warnings: cursing and draco being cold and sad :(

a/n: i’m doing it guys! i’m managing my time! and also i really like writing this for some reason...maybe because i can do shameless self insertion. also sorry for going on “hiatus” and then posting...when i said “hiatus” i really meant “i’m only going to write fics that are easy right now”

tags! @accio-rogers @eltanin-malfoy @geeksareunique

word count: 2,028

music recs: alright by supergrass, killer queen from queen

The Y/L/N household wasn’t tiny, but it wasn’t a mansion by any definition. There was a guest bed and bath right across from Y/N’s room and bathroom, but that was about it for visitors--no drawing room, no library, no large dining room, no parlor. Her family had hailed from a wealthier family, but after the stock market crash and subsequent policy changes, they had moved out to Ohio and settled down for a proper middle class lifestyle.

Draco Malfoy was clearly unimpressed by the spectacle, and he made his opinion entirely obvious as they moved from room to room of their home, his forest green cloak nearly sweeping the ground next to his dress shoes and his nose upturned.

“And this is your room,” Y/N said. She opened the door, standing by it in a desperate attempt to sell the idea. “I know it’s probably not as big as you’re used to, but you get your own bathroom, so that’s nice.”

Draco stared at her with nothing but disgust written across his face.

“I’ll leave you be,” said Y/N, noticing how hostile he was being. “If you need anything, I’m right across the hall. Don’t hesitate to ask. You’re not the first exchange student, and while I’ve never personally been one, I can understand more than you’d expect.”

He laughed at this, though there was no humor behind it. He seemed dead set on staying silent. Frustrated by his lack of response, Y/N snatched his arm and yanked him inside his room, shutting the door behind them and ignoring how violently he ripped himself away from her.

“Allow me to be honest,” she said softly, unable to meet him in the eyes. “I don’t really want an exchange sibling this year. It doesn’t seem like you want to be one, right?”

“Your point?” His voice was clipped and unenthused.

“My point is that I’m going to leave you completely alone unless you want to be friends, which I don’t think you’re interested in at all. If you want a, uh, friend, I’ll be here for you, but I’m not gonna push it.”

She looked at him, noting how he had backed himself into the corner, his jaw clenched tight.

“I have a feeling there’s a lot that my mom isn’t telling me about why you’re here, but I guess that’s alright. We’re happy to have you anyways. I’m gonna go now, have a nice nap. And, I, uh, I meant what I said. About being friends if you want us to. It’s probably lonely to be so far away from home, so if there’s anything I can do...” Y/N swallowed, cutting her ramble short. “See you later. I’m gonna go out for a bit.”

He simply nodded, walking over to his bed and sitting down on it awkwardly. Y/N curiously took notice of the fact that he hadn’t so much as touched a phone since they had met. But he was rich...so he had to have one.

She nodded back, exiting the door and making her way to the front door. She needed to get out.

<^>

“He kind of seems like your type though,” Lizzy said, propping her chin up on her palm. “Platinum blonde? Blue eyes? Broody and unapproachable?”

“Literally stop it,” Y/N retorted, rolling up to get another handful of popcorn. “He’s so sick of us already, I can feel it. This is just going to be a question of how long we can tolerate each other.”

“Whatever you say, girly,” she said. “When do we all get to meet him? Do you have to take him to orientation on Wednesday?”

“You might see him on the first day of school, or maybe you can come over before that. And, yeah, I think my mom wants me to go with him.” Y/N frowned, her nose crinkling. “Which totally sucks. I’m gonna have to get up early to hang around freshman.”

“That’s fair. I could come with you, if you’d like?”

“You don’t need to do that, I can handle him,” said Y/N. “But you should come over tomorrow, we can try and get him to go out on the town with us or something.”

“That sounds fun, but I can’t go, I’m sorry,” said Lizzy. “Tuesdays are bad for me. And plus, I have to finish the physics summer homework.”

“Ugh, me too,” Y/N groaned, flopping onto Lizzy’s bed. “I never should’ve gone in for a second year. Physics is gonna be the death of me.”

“Speaking of death...” Lizzy leaned over to look at the clock. “I feel like it right now. I had a bad night...I was up late talking to Jonathan again, you know. I’m really tired. Let’s plan to meet up this Thursday? Before school?”

“Oooh, Jonathan.” Y/N grinned at her, wiggling her eyebrows. “I expect a full update on that later. I’ll go home then and start on physics, then.”

They finished saying their goodbyes, and Y/N stepped out into the early September night, the air still warm with the last of summer.

<^>

When she arrived home, she was immediately met by her mother, who motioned for her to come into the kitchen, a finger poised to her lips.

“What is it, Mom?” Y/N asked, keeping her voice a hushed whisper. “Is he still sleeping or something?”

“No, I think he’s taking a shower right now. His luggage came just before you, so he told me he was going to unpack it.” Mrs. Y/L/N poured some leftover coffee into a mug, stirring half & half in the brown drink. “I just wanted to let you know something and check in. You can’t tell anyone about this, alright? Not even Lizzy. Do you promise?”

“Yes, of course I promise!”

“Shh. Okay.” Her mother took a sip from the mug and took a seat at the cheery yellow coffee table. “I was just given more information on Draco’s situation back home. It looks like it was much worse than we were originally told.”

“How bad?”

“Quiet, Y/N. But, yes, very bad. His father is imprisoned in some foreign facility where no familial contact is allowed.”

Y/N gasped. “What?”

“And it doesn’t look like he’s every getting out,” Mrs. Y/L/N finished, stirring her drink even though the milk was already evenly distributed. “He doesn’t seem very nice, and I suspect that that’s an accurate depiction of his character, but promise me that you’ll be nice to him. The boy has been through enough already, and that’s only concerning the things we know.”

“Is there more, do you think?”

“I know there’s more,” Mrs. Y/L/N answered darkly. “I’ve asked questions that they refuse to answer. But his personal experience back home is none of our concern. What matters now is that we give him a good place to stay while everything else is figured out.”

Y/N, speechless, fell into the chair next to her mother and reached out for the coffee mug.

“Ugh, I shouldn’t let you drink this at night,” her mother chastised.

“You sound like you’re talking about a dog,” Y/N said. She took a small sip, setting the cup back down and sliding it over before her mother could give her any more lip. In doing so, she caught a glimpse of movement in the doorway, just out of her line of sight. Curious, she turned her head and promptly met a pair of very stormy grey eyes.

“Oh...H-hey, Draco,” Y/N greeted, plastering a smile across her face. “How long have you, uh, been here?” Her mother lightly kicked her shin under the table.

The blonde was propped up against the doorway, his hair looking almost grey with the water it was dripping. “I was just coming down to ask for a glass of water.”

“Oh, of course!” Mrs. Y/L/N was on her feet before Y/N knew it, bustling towards the cabinets. “You don’t even need to ask next time. The glasses are in here, and the water’s in the fridge...and of course there’s Y/N’s cabinet of tea here...”

“Mom!” Y/N butted in, her cheeks flaming. “You can’t just stereotype him like that!”

“Hush, you have more than enough to go between the two of you.”

“That’s not the point!”

Draco was still leaned on the door, watching the interaction like one might watch a particularly boring color of paint dry.

“Would you like some tea, Draco?” asked Mrs. Y/L/N.

He turned to look Y/N right in the eyes, a smirk forming across his face. “Yes. Thank you for asking.”

Y/N glared at her mother and strode over to the drawer, motioning for Draco to come too. “Pick whatever you want. I’m relieved to know that my mother’s cultural insensitivity didn’t offend you.”

“Now, when did I say that?” Draco drawled, towering over her as he flicked through the various packages of loose leaf teas.

“Draco, I offer my most heartfelt apologies if I have,” her mother said, her voice becoming more distant as she walked out of the room. “If you two will excuse me, I’m going to call your father to arrange his pickup at the airport tomorrow. Goodnight!”

Y/N was left to awkwardly stand next to Draco as he was preoccupied with the selections available. It felt wrong to leave him alone--he didn’t even know where the kettle was kept--but at the same time, it was very uncomfortable to stand next to him in silence.

“I know about your father.”

The sentiment rushed out of her mouth before she could stop it, and the second she had done so, she knew it was a mistake. Draco’s entire body tensed up, his hands now frozen.

“What about my father?” His voice was harsh, but the beauty of his accent was not left on Y/N.

“I mean,” she rushed out, “I’m sorry to hear what happened. I only heard that he was being held in a facility without any contact to you or your mother...and I just wanted to say that I’m sorry that that had to happen to you.”

He frowned, plucking a bag of tea and throwing it on the counter.

“And I know that there are things that I’ll never understand,” she continued, “But I guess I kind of get what it’s like to not have a father. Mine’s gone all the time on business. But it’s not like he’s in pris--Yeah, you know what, nevermind. I don’t understand. But if you ever need someone to talk to...”

She trailed off, noticing how murderous his look was and swallowed. “Yeah, uh, if you ever want someone--”

“You’re here? I understood it the first time, thank you,” he clipped. “Where’s your kettle?”

Y/N pointed to the cabinet below the drawer. “Right below the tea, if it’s not being cleaned.” She thought she did a very good job at pretending like what he said didn’t hurt.

Draco snatched the kettle and filled it with water before puzzling over the stove.

“Don’t worry about that, it’s a little confusing for the first time,” Y/N said, darting next to him and demonstrating how to flick it on. She acted like she didn’t notice him flinch at the close proximity. “And mugs are by the glasses, but I’m sure you saw that..before. Uh, anyways.”

She gulped again, stepping away from him to lean nonchalantly on the table behind her. “Your parents let you get a tattoo?” Desperate to change the subject, she pointed to the tiny peek of ink on his left arm, exposed by his jumper riding up.

He stiffened up, and Y/N knew that she had once again made a mistake.

“No. They didn’t.”

“So you just did it on your own accord? That’s pretty metal.”

“I don’t have a tattoo,” he snapped, yanking his sleeve down. He seemed to take the time to collect himself again, drawing in a long and shaky breath. “And if I may be so bold to ask, can I enjoy my tea alone?”

“Uh..yeah, yeah, sure. Sorry about that.” Forget that Y/N didn’t know exactly what she was apologizing for (existing in her own kitchen?), she wanted to get out of that situation. “Goodnight, Draco.”

He sent her an irritated glance in return.

final a/n: ohhh gee i sprained my ankle really badly and now i literally can’t walk so you know what that means...more fic

#draco x reader #draco malfoy #draco #draco imagine #draco x y/n #draco x oc #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco x you #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x oc #harry potter imagine

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ahtohallan-calling · 4 years

Text

chapter 4 of don’t read the last page is here!

[kristanna / m / multichap / modern au with actress!anna and vetstudent!kristoff]

“Of course I understand. You’ve gotten the chance of a lifetime, and I’m so proud of you I’m going to actually get a Netflix subscription so I can watch you and cheer you on. Even though by then the hard part will be done, I think.”

For once she was speechless; she just stepped forward, flinging her arms around his waist and burying her face in his shoulder. He hugged her back, already knowing he was going to miss the feel of her in his arms.

“Thank you, Kristoff.”

“For what?”

“For just– for being, like, the best friend anyone could ever ask for. Well, friend and then some, I guess.”

chapter 4

“Oh! Kristoff!”

“Elsa, hey. Is Anna here?”

She stepped back from the door, waving him in. “She just ran out to 7-Eleven for snacks, I think. She was talking kind of fast, you know how she is.”

“Yeah,” he said with a little laugh, shoving his hands in his pockets as he stepped into their apartment.

It was nice– much nicer than his, with a sofa that still resembled something worth sitting on and lots of deep green, leafy plants in the corners. Elsa led him to the kitchen and motioned for him to sit on one of the stools at the counter.

“Your place– it’s really nice,” he said for want of something better to say, and she smiled.

“Thanks, lived here for, oh– two years now? Since I started working at a new place a couple of blocks away. Not new anymore, of course.”

“Of course.”

She looked as awkward as he felt; she turned away and started filling two glasses of water. “So– you and Anna are…”

“Um. Yeah.”

She waved a hand. “She explained to you?”

“Um– yeah. I think?”

God, this was a conversation he really did not want to have with his friend-but-much-more-but-not-girlfriend’s older sister, even if he had known her for years. Elsa slid a glass to him across the counter and leaned against it, watching him closely.

“She’s too hard on herself,” she said quietly, drumming her fingers against her own cup. “Worse than she used to be since she moved out here. And so when a good thing comes along, she tends to– what’s the word? When you ruin things for yourself?”

“Self-sabotage?”

“Yeah, that. So– well. She told me what happened. And I’m glad she apologized and you’re, you know, working it out.”

He nodded, feeling relieved that he was getting this instead of the “don’t you dare hurt her” conversation. He’d always appreciated that about Elsa; they’d never really been close, but throughout the years whenever she’d felt the need to talk to him about something important, she’d given it to him straight.

“I, um, thanks. I’m glad, too.”

She smiled. “And just so we’re clear, I’m counting you as one of those good things. She’s missed you. I have too, actually, nice to know you’re around in case we break something around here. You do still remember how to fix a sink, right?”

Kristoff laughed. “I missed you guys, too. And yeah, unless there’s something different about the water in L.A.”

“There has to be, honestly, considering how much higher my utilities bill is every month.”

They both laughed at that, then sat in an only semi-awkward silence for a minute, sipping their water and looking at everything but each other. Suddenly the door slammed open, followed by Anna’s somewhat panicked voice saying, “Oh! Kris! You’re here already!”

He turned to see Anna standing in the doorway, her arms laden with plastic shopping bags. She was wearing an oversized college t-shirt over a pair of running shorts, her hair thrown up into another bun, and judging by her face she was somewhere between embarrassed, excited, and terrified.

“I, um, yeah, I am. I told you I’d come as soon as I could but– um, is this too soon?”

“Oh, fuck, no, that’s not what I meant, I just– I guess I lost track of time, I was like, definitely going to change out of this and then, like, actually, you know, clean my room and shit but–”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, “you’re fine, you look great, and I’m sure your room does too.”

Elsa snorted into her glass of water. “Spoken too soon,” she muttered, making her way to a door on the far side of the living room. “Anyway, you two have fun. I’ve got some work to do, but just yell if you need me, yeah?”

Before they could respond, she was already in her room, the door closing behind her. Kristoff could have sworn he heard a sigh of relief.

Anna was still standing in the front door, the panic in her face slowly turning to a smile. “You really, like, just got up and came over?”

“I mean, yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s my day off, and honestly I was just going to go to the gym and then veg out watching Parks and Rec or something, but given the choice between that and hearing about you getting this part– well. Not really a choice. Um– want help with the bags?”

She blinked and looked down as if she’d forgotten she was holding them. “Oh! Oh, yeah, that would be great.”

He took an armful from her; he would have taken them all, but she shook her head and said “No, you’re a guest! Anyway– come on, I’ve got to pack, but we can talk in my room, okay? And I have snacks for you– that’s what all this is. Well, most of it, anyway.”

She started walking to another door, turning back over her shoulder to look at him as she chattered away. “I remembered you liked Pringles, but not what flavor, so I got a few different ones, and then bottled Sprite since that’s your favorite, remember all the times we argued about it? And then candy for me because I’ve still got the worst sweet tooth, I’m going to have to cut back if I’m going to be in this movie but for now I can still go wild, and anyway– shit, I’m really sorry about the mess.”

It looked like a bomb had gone off in her room. Two suitcases were flung open on the floor, both of them completely empty, while piles of makeup and toiletries and clothing were scattered over every available surface. Kristoff tried and failed not to blush when he saw a row of lacy panties hung to dry on the back of a chair.

Anna looked up at him, biting her lower lip. “Sorry, um– I literally got the call at like, seven this morning, and I have to go to meetings this afternoon at like, two, to finalize everything, and then tomorrow there’s script readings all day, and then Thursday we fly out. Something about– about how this is the best time of year, and how the castle they’re filming in is always booked up, so this is. Um. Kind of the only chance I have to pack.”

Kristoff struggled to come up with something useful to say. “Wow. Kinda fast, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, apparently this movie wasn’t going to get made, and then someone did something and now it is again, and they’d fired the first actress who was going to do this part and picked me so I’m like, the last one cast. Even though I think I’m the main character.”

“Anna, that’s awesome.”

She looked up at him, surprise in her eyes. “I– you think so?”

“I mean, yeah! This is why you moved to L.A., right? To be a movie star, right? And now you’re going to be one!”

His excitement had only been growing since she had told him that morning; he felt such an overwhelming sense of pride he wanted to run up and down the streets of the city yelling at everyone that she’d done it, that Anna was going to be the next big thing. But for some reason, as he looked at her now, her eyebrows were pinching together in a little frown.

“But I’m going to have to leave,” she said softly, and Kristoff swallowed hard.

“Well– yeah,” he said, setting the bags he was holding into one of the suitcases and stepping closer to her. “But you’ll come back.”

Anna set her bags down, too, her expression unreadable. “And I meant, like, Romania the country. Not– not like some other city in California or something.”

“Anna, I’m not quite as stupid as I look,” he said dryly, and she forced a laugh.

“Just– making sure you understand.”

“Thank you, Kristoff.”

“For what?”

“For just– for being, like, the best friend anyone could ever ask for. Well, friend and then some, I guess.”

And then some might have been the most beautiful words he’d ever heard. “Of course, Anna, anytime. I seriously am so, so proud of you.”

She pulled back a little to peek up at him. “I would be more than happy to keep just hugging you all day, but I seriously do have to pack.”

He brushed a stray lock of hair off her cheek. “That’s fine. Let me help you, and you can tell me all about the auditions and the part and everything else, okay?”

“You don’t have to help, really, you can just eat your Pringles.”

“I want to help.”

“But–”

“So I’m helping,” he said firmly, and at last she smiled at him, so brightly it took his breath away.

She had him sit on the edge of her bed and put him to work folding piles of t-shirts and jeans, handing him new ones as she sorted through the piles. “It’s like, a private jet, I think, or maybe we’re doing first class or something– I know, yeah, insane. So I think I can take whatever I need but I don’t want to be, like, a huge diva or something, so I’m only trying to do two suitcases and then my backpack, but I’ve never really done something like this, so I don’t even know what I’ll need.”

“Wait,” he asked, carefully folding one of her Buchanan High shirts and feeling a little swoop in his chest at the memories that came with it, “have you left the country before? Have you got a passport or anything?”

“Oh, yeah, I went to Vancouver once on a dare.”

“Um, okay, let’s table that story for later,” he said, and she laughed and bumped her shoulder against his knee from where she was sitting on the floor sorting through lipstick. “Do you know what the weather will be like there?”

“Yeah, I looked at it on my phone. It gets pretty hot there, but I don’t think they really do AC, so fuck me, I guess.”

“Worth it, though. Do you think you’ll get a chance to go sightseeing or anything?”

“Ooh, I hadn’t thought of that! I hope so. Maybe I’ll see Dracula or something.”

“I hope not. What am I supposed to do if you come back here and start trying to suck my blood?”

“Let me do it, duh. Then we can be undead together forever.”

“Sure, that sounds fun now, but just wait til you get annoyed with me.”

“I’ve never gotten annoyed before with you, actually,” she said absentmindedly. “Take that purple shirt out of the pile, actually, will you? I don’t have any lipstick to match it.”

He did, trying to ignore another little swoop in his chest. For several minutes after that, he just watched her and waited for his next thing to fold, hoping she didn’t notice him staring. He just couldn’t bring himself to look away; it wasn’t that he’d been hung up on her for the last seven years, exactly, more that he found himself still thinking of her fairly often, wondering what she was up to, if there was a way to get in touch with her. In moments of weakness he’d looked up her social media profiles, or at least what he could see of them without having an account of his own, but he’d always talked himself down from trying to message her on there; she was clearly plenty busy, probably didn’t even remember him.

He was kicking himself now for not doing a better job of getting back in touch, especially now that he knew she definitely hadn’t forgotten him, either, but at the same time he was sort of glad for the time apart if it meant they were getting this second chance together now. Maybe it was all sort of– what had she called it? Something about how it was always going to happen this way, maybe–

“Holy shit!”

He jumped, startled out of his reverie. “What’s wrong?”

“Not wrong, just–”

Anna shoved her phone in his face; he squinted at the lines of text. “What am I looking at, exactly?”

“My contract my agent just negotiated for me. Look at the big bold numbers at the bottom.”

He did; then he blinked and looked again. “Is that like, the budget for the movie, or–”

“That’s how much they’re fucking paying me, Kris, holy shit.”

“That’s like– damn, Anna.”

“I know,” she said, but she looked more nauseated than excited. “Jesus Christ, they’re really expecting good shit from me, aren’t they?”

“And you’ll do good shit,” he said, trying his best to sound reassuring. “Otherwise they wouldn’t have cast you.”

She scooted back to lean against the bed, letting her head rest on his knee. “This is, like, so much bigger than a stupid commercial. Like, this is IMDb shit. There’s going to be people watching and reviews and– oh, fuck, what have I gotten myself into?”

“You’re going to be amazing, Anna, seriously.”

“How do you know that?”

“You’re always amazing.”

She huffed out a laugh and looked up at him. “You’re just saying that because you like me.”

“Do you want me to tell you you’ll ruin everything and singlehandedly bankrupt Netflix?”

Anna was quiet for a long moment. “I…honestly, actually, that just helped. Like…the world is going to go on even if I fuck this up.”

“Exactly.”

“Will you still like me if I do?”

“Anna, I’ll always like you.”

She got to her feet and turned to face him, cupping his face in her hands and letting her thumbs run over his cheekbones. “You mean it?” she asked, sounding suddenly vulnerable.

“Of course.”

She leaned down and kissed his cheek. “I’ll always like you, too.”

He fought the urge to turn and catch her lips with his own and instead patted her hip, trying to ignore the fact that she was still wearing very short shorts that revealed a glorious expanse of freckled thigh. “Come on, no more of this sappy stuff. You’re not done packing.”

She laughed and went back over to her piles, already tossing him more stuff. “Anyway, I feel like we’ve talked, like, way too much about me. We’re supposed to be getting to know each other more, right? So tell me what you’ve been up to.”

“Just, you know. School, more school. Working at Starbucks.”

“Tell me all the dirty details, Kris. Like…like what was college like? How did you meet Sven?”

“Are you sure you want to know the answer to that question? It involves beer pong and possible lawnchair theft. And a lot of running from campus police.”

“Now you have to tell me.”

He did, and by the end of it they were both doubled over with laughter. “He seriously– it was still in his hair?” Anna gasped.

“Yeah. And his shoes.”

“Oh my god, I’m going to ask him about that next time we hang out. Which we’re doing, by the way, like, as soon as I’m back. Well– after I’m done saying hello to you again, of course.”

“Of course,” Kristoff echoed, feeling a sudden stuttering in his chest. He looked around for something else to fold, but suddenly he realized that her room was nearly clean again, that both suitcases were full, and that Anna was looking up at him, having clearly just come to that realization herself.

“Guess that’s it,” she said, her voice suddenly tremulous. “All ready to go.”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks for– for helping me.”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Her lower lip started to wobble. “I’m sorry, Kris.”

“Hey, hey, you already apologized yesterday, no–”

“Not for that. For leaving when we just agreed we’d, you know, try to like, make this work. I– um–”

She ducked her head, and he frowned. “Anna–”

“I understand if you don’t want to do this anymore. Like, seriously. Don’t feel bad.”

“Anna, look at me.”

She did, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. He held out his arms wordlessly, and she came to him, straddling his lap and curling down to bury her face in his shoulder. He set his hands on her back, holding her carefully. “Anna, I’ve already spent the last seven years wishing I could get another chance with you. What’s another six weeks?”

She pulled back from him, her eyes hopeful as they met his. “You mean it?”

“Yeah. I mean, that’s what FaceTime and stuff is for, right?”

Her hands fluttered up, stroking his hair gently back from his temples. He smiled up at her, feeling his heart begin to pound. “It’s like, a really big time difference,” she said nervously. “Like ten hours or something.”

“Okay, so I’ll call you when I get off work at night and tell you good morning.”

“Will you call in the morning and tell me good night, too?”

“I’ll call you whenever you want. And text in between.”

“And Snapchat?”

“If you tell me what that is, sure.”

Anna laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

He waggled his eyebrows, and she gasped in mock horror. “You’re not? Oh, Jesus Christ, Kristoff, we’ve got so much work to do…”

—-

The production company had offered to send a private car over to take her to the airport Thursday morning, but Kristoff had volunteered to drive her anyway. “I don’t work until two, so there’s plenty of time,” he’d reassured her, and she’d felt an immense sense of relief at the fact that she’d at least be able to give him a real goodbye.

He was there right when he’d said he’d be, and came up and chatted to Elsa over coffee while Anna finished shoving a few last things in her carryon. He carried the suitcases downstairs for her, too, one in each hand as if it were nothing.

“You’re just showing off for me,” she’d teased– not that she’d minded, considering the way his biceps flexed under his t-shirt as he hefted them into the trunk of the car.

“So what if I am?” he’d teased back, and she’d felt a thrill of excitement run through her. God, she was really regretting suggesting the no-kissing thing.

She turned in her seat the moment she was buckled, determined to make the most of the next forty minutes. “So I know we’re going to talk on the phone, like, every day, but that’s not the same, so I have a list of questions to ask you.”

He huffed out a laugh as he turned the keys in the ignition. “Okay. Shoot.”

“Which of the Pringles flavors was your favorite?”

“Pizza, like always.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Still green.”

“How many girlfriends have you had?”

He raised an eyebrow, not looking away from the road. “Going for the heavy hitters right away, I see.”

“I’ve had six boyfriends and dated like…a bunch of others,” she said, trying not to blush. “Does that bother you?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“And that I’m not a virgin?”

“Neither am I. Three girlfriends, by the way.”

“Will you tell me the story of how that happened?”

“How I managed to get a girlfriend, or–”

“No,” she said, and she was definitely blushing now. “The other thing.”

“I was a freshman, and her name was Marie, and we’d been together for six months, so we did it because it seemed like the thing to do, and then we realized we didn’t actually like each other and broke it off while we were getting dressed.”

“Jesus, that’s cold!”

“Nah, it really wasn’t. Or, well, it was mutually cold. So it’s fine, really.”

“Want to know mine?”

“If you want to tell me.”

“Sophomore year. I went on like, five dates with this guy on the baseball team just because I liked the way his ass looked in the pants. But he was so boring I just couldn’t actually date him. The sex was okay, though, at least after the first time. That time was shitty. It was on his dorm bed, and they had those suite-style rooms with the bathroom in the middle, and we realized his roommate had been in there taking a shit the whole time.”

“You’re kidding.”

“God, I wish.”

Kristoff laughed as he pulled onto the highway. “Jesus. Not sure which of ours is worse.”

“Your ass is better than that guy’s, though, for sure.”

His cheeks flushed brilliantly scarlet. “I don’t know, I’ve heard baseball players have, you know, good ones.”

“Not as good as yours,” she said airily, and then suddenly her cheeks felt warm, too, and so did the rest of her as she thought about how good his ass had looked when he’d bent over to shove her suitcases in the car, and then she turned the radio on up as loud as it could go and started singing at the top of her lungs.

Kristoff just laughed, stealing glances at her at every chance he got. Once they were off the interstate again, he held out his hand, and she took it gladly, memorizing the warmth of it wrapped around her fingers. Six weeks– just six weeks. She could do this.

All too soon, he pulled up at the short term parking lot and got out to unload her suitcases. She followed close behind him, overwhelmed by the sudden roaring in her ears and blurring in her eyes. He started pulling both suitcases by himself, but she took one handle and pulled back. He raised an eyebrow, and she said softly, “Let me roll one. So– so then we can hold hands a little longer.”

He didn’t argue after that, just let go of the handle. She linked her fingers gratefully with his as they walked in together.

A production assistant was waiting just inside the doors. “Miss Arendelle, thanks for being so prompt. No need to go through security, just follow me right this way if you will.”

The woman started walking off right away. Panic seized Anna’s chest as she turned to look up at Kristoff, but he just smiled down at her, his eyes steady. “Text me when you land, okay?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. He let go of the suitcase and pulled her into a tight hug; she wrapped her arms around him just as tightly, memorizing the feel of his hands on her back and his shoulder against her cheek.

“Six weeks,” he whispered, and she nodded against him before pulling regretfully away.

She took a suitcase in each hand and followed after the woman, who had finally stopped and was now pretending not to be annoyed. They started down a long hallway; just as they were about to turn a corner, she glanced back and saw Kristoff still standing there, still watching, still with that sweet, encouraging smile on his face.

She dropped the handles of both suitcases and sprinted back towards him. His arms went out just in time to catch her as she launched herself towards him, wrapping her legs around his waist as he lifted her off the ground, and then she was kissing him, her mouth insistent against his as her hands tangled in his hair.

She pulled away with a gasp to catch her breath. “Sorry,” she said, panting, “I– I just–”

“Inevitable, right?” he breathed, and she leaned down with a grin to kiss him just one more time.

#ya welcome #drtlp #my fics

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stetervault · 5 years

Note

Has there been a "Stiles rescues Peter" rec list yet? I'm looking for anything from monster of the week to Eichen House to the Wild Hunt. The idea that I've already read them all is too terrible to contemplate. (Thanks for running an amazing blog!

Not specifically as far as I can remember. But it’s always a genre I can get behind :) Here are some I think fit that category, either as the whole fic or part of it. And thanks for following my blog!

A Moment, Then Silence by Therapeutic_Steter

anonymous asked: Stiles takes care of a heavy injured Peter, who has permanent damage since then. The pack doesn’t care, but Derek and Cora realise that he is family.

Scale Tales by Therapeutic_Steter

Connected drabbles revolving around Dragon!Stiles and his werewolf Mate, Peter.

Rhythm of the War Drums by HyperLittleNori (Shiguresan) (this one’s more them taking care of each other and saving each other)

The foreboding song of the drums rumbled through the stands above, made his heart, his blood pound with their increasing rhythm. He’d seen this so many times now, heard the sickening, morbid excitement of the rabble. He readied himself for the carnage, but even nearly a year after he’d first stood in this spot, it still filled him with dread.

As always, he watched the sandy arena through the barred steel gates. They vibrated with the movement, with the almost deafening sounds of the crowd and the drums. A sea of guards stood at his back, but they were not there for him…

Hooverville by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

Town to town, train to train, tent to tent.

By 1932, the dust had begun to blow and the jobs were gone.

Anonymity was a byproduct of looking for work, which made it both necessary and convenient.

Stiles had enough secrets of his own to know to look the other way when he saw something that shouldn’t be possible.

The ghost of a tail giving enough balance to disembark a moving train.

Near silent Latin whispered on the edge of a tent encampment.

A flash of burning eyes.

He had more than enough to worry about without adding the oddities of others, and besides- having unusually sharp teeth certainly didn’t make a man worse than the ones running from the wife and kids they couldn’t feed.

So Stiles kept his observations to himself. He kept his everything to himself.

Until he met a man. One with eyes so blue they seemed to glow- and then they did.

Stiles tried to look away, but for the first time he was stopped.

“Don’t be like that sweetheart. Aren’t you curious?”

If I Could Kiss You Again by Triangulum

“Summer plans?” Peter asks, eyes on where Isaac is now trying to inch along the ceiling beam toward the wall where he can slide down a pipe.

“Leaving for Stanford in September. Saving the world and working in between now and then,” Stiles says. “Why, gonna miss me?”

“Considering I’ll be left alone with Derek? Yes,” Peter says.

“You’ll have Cora,” Stiles says. “And Isaac will be here to make up a few high school credits.”

There’s a shriek and a thud as Isaac loses his grip, falling on top of Erica and Boyd, sending them all to the ground in a heap.

“Yes,” Peter says flatly. “Thank god for that.”

Five times Stiles kisses Peter and one time Peter kisses him.

Stravinsky by rightsidethru

Duke Orsino:If music be the food of love, play on,Give me excess of it; that surfeiting,The appetite may sicken, and so die.

Twelfth Night; Act 1, scene 1, 1–3

Wolf Within by wynnebat

Instead of convincing Scott to regain his humanity by killing the Alpha, Derek offers another possible solution.

Fashion. Police. by Bunnywest

In which Stiles is a cop with an interest in menswear, Peter’s the owner of a menswear store with a definite interest in Stiles, and why is there always some maniac running around throwing tins of red paint and making death threats?

Fashion, baby.

Under the Songbird’s Wing by mia6363

Captivity easily destroys the will of escape. It can break the fiercest of animal. It can strip the most regal man and woman down to nothing but animal needs.

Captivity can, if met with unwavering determination, shape a person into something unimaginable.

Stiles is sixteen when he’s captured. Stiles’s first thought is, “I won’t die here.”

The Promises Of Yesterday, The Pledges Of Tomorrow by ShippersList

Stiles is a kid with serious concentration issues and definitely not a guide—let alone a guide strong enough to calm down a feral Sentinel wolf. It’s just not possible.

Keep You (Safe) Within my Shadow by lavenderlotion

Stiles has never been scared of the dark. The shadows are his friends.

Dance Under the Moonlight by Therapeutic_Steter

Anonymous asked: Fae!Stiles saving Peter from Pack’s stupidity and washing his hands of them. Please?

Through Space and Time by MaroonDragon

When Stiles pulls the body of Peter Hale into his ship, he doesn’t expect him to be alive. He also doesn’t realise he might have gotten more than he bargained for.

Promises We Never Made by Green

Peter runs off to wreak havoc without telling Stiles where he’s going. Then Stiles has to rescue him.

Rainwater, Morning Dew, Ozone. by lavenderlotion

When Peter is kidnapped, Stiles is left to come to the rescue.

Peter ends up hard.

Fear (Doesn’t Mean I Can’t Fight) by azerblazer

Peter is the damsel in distress, the Sheriff is the hostage, random unnamed hunters are the bad guys.

Stiles has a bat, a hoodie and a willingness to do anything to protect those he’s loyal to.

Bring it on.

Bone Rot by neglectedtuesday

Stiles watches Peter from across the room, although he feels like he shouldn’t. Like he shouldn’t try to insert himself, even by proxy, into the moments Peter is experiencing. Autumn spills into the living room through the open doors, lighting Peter from behind. He is bathed in soft light and Stiles lingers in the shadows, ignoring the symbolism of that. He’s bored of all the different metaphors for longing.

Slice by syriala

Blood magic was dangerous magic, but Stiles’ teacher was one of the best, and Stiles wasn’t too worried that it wouldn’t work out. It would cost him, dearly even if his teacher was to be believed, but Stiles had learned all about the sacrifices for this and he couldn’t care less.

Not This Again by RebaK1tten

There’s a rumor that the last episode of the show will have Peter getting killed, again. Perhaps to give him a redemption arc or something.

So this is a fix it fic. I decided Stiles has finished one year of college. And Peter’s back again!

Cleanse My Soul by Mysenia

cywscross asked: “We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?” + Steter? Thanks:)

Call My Name by KouriArashi

After moving to Beacon Hills, Stiles starts having recurring dreams of a man in some kind of prison, who needs his help. Things get so bad that he ends up in Eichen House, where he finds out that the man is real.

Shelter by ShippersList (more hurt/comfort than straight-up saving Peter)

A magical attack leaves Peter vulnerable and in agony, and it reminds him way too much of his time in a coma.

love me lights out by veterization

Stiles and Peter get snowed in together. (Or: what happens when you accept phone calls from people you haven’t spoken to in over five years.)

labyrinth by sinequanon

Stiles prefers goblins to werewolves. Except maybe Peter.

Til Death by Bunnywest

“How long do we have to find him someone?” Stiles asks.“Two weeks,” says Derek, eyebrows pulling down even further. The fierceness of his expression tells Stiles just how concerned he is.“He marries, or he goes to the camps. And you know what your father told us,” Scott reminds her.The camps……aren’t camps.Peter either finds a wife, or he dies.

Bigfoot Told Me You Were Coming by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids) (Stetopher)

Peter and Chris are on the run when they stumble across Stiles’ home in the woods.

You Got Me Now by syriala

Stiles stormed into the warehouse, eyes roaming around, desperate to find Peter. The pack was close behind Stiles, but he didn’t pay them any mind when his eyes fell on Peter.

He was on the floor, not even shackled, like someone had just discarded him without a second thought.

Peter was naked except for his pants, and Stiles could see the wounds that marred his skin. He decided not to think about why they weren’t healed.

Bittersweet Creek by Guede

When Stiles finally steps off the westward trail to California, he’s the last of his pack. He starts building a den, but then he finds a dying man next to a burnt-down house and it turns out he’s not really much of a settler, after all.

The Alpha by Therapeutic_Steter

An Alpha always protects what’s theirs.

…..

“Has anyone seen Peter?” Stiles asked at the next Pack meeting, trying to play his concern off as his typical curiosity. It wasn’t like he and Peter had been trying to keep…whatever it was that was developing between them a secret, but most of the Pack was notoriously self-absorbed and hadn’t noticed yet. As it stood, Stiles was only sure that Lydia and Derek knew about it; Lydia because she put it together and warned Peter off hurting Stiles and Derek because he came back to the loft to find them snuggled on the couch looking through an old tome and he’d also warned Peter about hurting Stiles.

Why did they not think Stiles could hurt Peter? Stiles could totally hurt him. If he wanted. Which he didn’t, but that was beside the point.

Let Me Run Away With You by Whispering_Sumire (Steterek)

“So,” Peter says, after an hour or so of driving in tense silence, “I assume we’re going back to your beloved Beacon Hills?”

“No,” Stiles tells him, without even looking up from the restorative paste he’s administering to Derek’s wounds. And isn’t that surprising?

“No?”

“I took the GPS out of Roscoe and I hacked into some of your accounts to get him travel-ready. I don’t care where we go Peter, but I don’t want to go back to Beacon Hills,” there’s a desperation in his voice that makes Peter’s skin crawl, though he has no idea why, “please.”

“Okay,” Peter agrees softly.

[Or: The one where Stiles is in a very bad place, and Peter and Derek manage to unwittingly save him from himself while he saves them from themselves.]

Hostile Takeover by kiranightshade

Alternate season 4 where Peter gains a new roommate in Eichen…for about five minutes. Then all hell breaks loose.

For Great Justice! by Green

Stiles is a vengeance demon, drawn to Peter just as he’s waking from his catatonia.

“Whoever did this? We will make those fuckers suffer. I promise you.”

Enemy Action by pprfaith

Once is chance, twice is coincidence and three times is far too many bodies on the ground.

Whiskey is My Kind of Lullaby by taylorpotato

Peter is a simple saloon owner on one of the outer planets between the Aaru Belt and the Olympus Galaxy. He’s done with trouble. Done with adventure. So fucking done with rustlers. That is, until a cute young outlaw named Stiles wanders into his bar. Peter has this problem where he can’t seem to resist charming narcissists (perhaps because they remind him of himself). And when said narcissists turn his life upside-down, the worst part is he’s not even that upset about it.

#teen wolf #steter #fanfic rec #bamf stiles #hurt peter #awyeahitssam #ask #rec list

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manggojooz · 5 years

Text

Take My Hands Now (Part 11)

pairing: Jungkook x reader

word count: 2,342

genre: drama, angst, romance, fluff(!!!)

summary: You were born with a condition that allowed you to feel the pain someone else was going through when you touched them. Jungkook, on the other hand, looked like he could not be any less bothered with other people’s feelings and was a well known playboy of the school. One night, at a party, while he attempted to turn you into his toy for the night, he grabbed your hand and pain crashed through you, making you wonder whether behind the facade of this pleasure seeker, he could also be hiding something.

warnings: none

Song rec: Only One - by UNB

He reminded himself over and over again that he is not allowed to get used to this, he cannot possibly have anyone, he should not start getting attached. To accept you now is to have someone to lose again.

But here you were... holding him again and again, even after he pushes you away, again and again. Why did you believe that he was not the part he played? The character that he portrayed just so that he can lie to himself that even if everyone leaves him, they were right anyway?

“Even if it hurts, I’m not leaving”, was all you said.

He recalls all the instances you offered up yourself to share his pain... Even in this moment, you held him steadfast in your arms as though you were not afraid of that awful feeling resonating from within him. He should at least let you in, no, he wants to let you in.

He starts to cower a little inside your arms, and he raises his hands to return your embrace. You felt his hands on your back, jolts of pain spread across where he held onto you. Then he snuggles his face into the curve of your neck, you felt a tiny droplet of something. Now your heart hurt way more than your body ever could.

“It’s ok”, you whispered, to assure him that you were ok, and that he was going to be ok too.

He only pulls you in closer.

---

The moon shone bright as you walked with Jungkook back to the university. He wanted to send you back to your dorms but you insisted that he was the one who needed to be dropped off instead, so you both ended up heading to his practice room lair. On the way, he filled you in on what had happened.

“Do you hate them? Is that why you ran away?”, you asked.

He didn’t answer. Did he hate them?

---

“You’ve been sleeping here these few days?”, you were appalled as you walked into the messy room.

“Yeah, I've been spending the past few nights here, although there is hardly any sleeping involved...”, he moves to sit down on the couch, resting both elbows on his thighs, his hands soothing over his eyebrows.

You see a pillow strewn on the floor and you picked it and dropped it nearer to the head of the couch before plopping yourself onto it.

“Are you tired? You can sit here”, he flicked his head, gesturing the empty space next to him on the sofa.

Shaking your head, you replied as you sat cross-legged on the floor, “I’m not leaving tonight till I see you fall asleep.”

“But I can’t...”, he quipped.

“Then I’m not leaving this pillow”, you shrugged, “... let’s see... oh right I have a morning class tomorrow and then I gotta go to work after that. Guess I'll just be really tired out since you wouldn’t sleep.”

He doesn’t say anything, only just stares at you, knowing how relentlessly stubborn you can be. Almost begrudgingly, he lies down on the couch, resting his head on the side facing you.

His eyes lock with yours, just long enough for him to read all your features like a bedtime story. Then he closes his eyes in contentment, trying to lull himself to sleep so that you can get some rest too.

You mentally commended yourself for having formulated the tactic of dealing with this boy. He doesn’t care about himself, but he cares about you. You smiled to yourself.

---

Jungkook’s eyes flutter open, it was too bright at first and he resorted to squinting. When his vision finally came into focus, he thought he must still be in his dreams. Your face rested so close to him, leaning against the armrest of the sofa, having fallen asleep from watching over him last night.

A minute must have passed but he felt like time stopped as he continued to observe you. The room seemed to be filled with all of the world’s softest things – the morning sunlight, your sleeping face and the trembling feeling in his chest.

But the sharp ticking of the clock in the room reminded him. “Y/N”, he calls out quietly.

You slowly wake up. “Heol, it’s morning already...?”, you slurred.

“Aren’t you going to be late for class?”, he whispers.

You glance at the time on the clock. “Shit!”, you scrambled up, grabbing your bag and running off to class. He tosses himself over to face the ceiling. He inhales, and his heart swells. He exhales, and his lips curl up a little. This is new.

---

“Bye Mr Hwang, see you tomorrow”, you waved to your store manager as you left work.

You fumbled inside your bag for your phone while walking out of the bookstore and narrowly miss bumping into the human that jumped into your path.

“Were you late for class this morning?”, you looked up and to meet Jungkook’s eyes.

Was he waiting for you to get off work? No no, you reminded yourself not to be presumptuous like you were last time. He might be here for other reasons, his family owns this mall after all.

“What are you doing here?”

He shrinks back one inch in shock. “To pick you up of course, why else? Isn’t that a given, now that we are, you know, dating?”

“We are what?”, you gasped, without missing a beat, shocked by the suddenness of the assertion.

“You were the one who hugged me last night, are you just gonna pretend like it didn’t happen?”, he was in disbelief over your feign oblivious attitude.

“Wow for someone like you, I'd expect a hug to just be like shaking hands with a stranger”, you replied.

“Well between the two of us, the benchmark should probably be you. Unless you just go around hugging everybody?”, he gasps this time, raising his hands to cover his mouth dramatically.

You chuckle at his acting and he smiles too.

“Aren’t you hungry... I got so hungry waiting for you”, he grouses.

---

Over dinner, Jungkook realised how fascinated he was with the notion that he is just sitting across from you. He held his food in mid-air, eyes fixed on you. That same trembling feeling in his chest appears again. He feels like he’s about to get a heart attack from just doing the most mundane things with you, things like walking, waking up or eating.

“Why are you staring at me like this?”, it was making you uncomfortable.

Your question snaps him out of his trance. “I wasn’t staring...”, he rebuked while choking a little.

You gave him a ‘yeah-sure’ face until he resigned, “fine... maybe I was staring... a bit.” His confession making you smirk subtly. “But you were the one who hugged me first...”, and he just had to throw it in teasingly.

It was your turn to choke on the food and you could only side-eye the petty boy sitting across you.

“Did it hurt a lot?”, his tone suddenly flipped entirely, taking a downturn.

‘You always hurt a lot...’, you thought but did not say out loud. Avoiding the question, you asked him whether he was going to sleep in the practice room again that night. “You can’t keep staying in the practice room...”, you griped.

He nods, “I’m planning to stay in the hotel for a while and I need to go back and pack some stuff...”, he mutters uncertainly. “But...”, he continued, stuttering, “... can you maybe...”.

“I’ll go with you. Let's go together after we finish eating”, you answered him casually.

He was starting to believe that you really had superpowers.

---

This was the first time you entered Jungkook’s house, it was what you imagined a chaebol’s house would look like and a little more. You realised that what the dramas have taught you were indeed true, the house was grand, but it felt lifeless, it felt cold.

He walked up a flight of stairs, stopping midway to wait for you as you were still examining the magnificent structure around you. You quietly followed him up to his room and your heart was beating crazy fast because, well just because, you were in his room.

“I don’t have much to pack, it won’t take long, you can just sit over here and wait for me”, he pulls out the chair in front of his computer desk and rolled it over to you.

“It’s ok, I can help you.”

He smiled shyly, the first time you sensed bashfulness from him, “Alright, if you really want to, why not you help me put those textbooks into my backpack.”

You complied and turned to look at his table, a stack of textbooks piled up at one corner. While you were at it, you noticed his extensive collection of comic books on the bookshelf. There were also a few pieces of drawings on his table, most of them of comic book characters.

You were done with packing all his textbooks and you secretly threw in a few comics for him. He told you to take the backpack downstairs and wait for him in the living room, “I’ll be down in a minute”, he assured you as you left his room.

The grandness of the living room seemed to amplify the emptiness of the house. You stood alone, not feeling comfortable enough to sit down and wait.

“Hi... You must be Jungkook’s friend...”, a female voice made your head jolt in her direction.

“Hi Mrs Jeon...”

She was pleasantly surprised that you knew she was his mother, and she reaches out her hand in a welcoming gesture. You were about to reciprocate by shaking her hand, when Jungkook appears and grabs a corner of your sleeve, yanking you away from her.

Her face falls almost immediately, more concerned than anything else. “Jungkook-ah... where have you been the past few days, you didn’t come home and I was worried, are you alright? Can we talk...”, she stammers, her lips were raised in a cautious smile but her eyes were full of sorrow.

“I told Grandfather that I will be staying in the hotel for a while”, he said emotionlessly to her. “Let’s go”, and his voice takes a gentle turn as he gestures for you to leave with him.

She didn’t try to stop him or say another word, but the look on her face somehow reminded you of him.

---

“Do you really hate her that much?”, you asked as the two of you sat in the taxi heading towards the hotel.

“Why do you say that?”, he knew immediately what you were alluding to.

“I mean I have seen you run away from her at the hotel, and just now you didn’t even let me shake her hand”, you chose your words rather carefully.

“I’m indifferent. And it’s not that I didn’t want you to shake her hand... I just didn’t want her to hurt you, like how I do.”

You peered at him silently. Since when has he realised this? That perhaps she felt the same way he did. He was still lying though, to himself. He wasn’t indifferent, he wasn’t entirely emotionless when it came to his family. But it wasn’t your place to push him to recognise it, you knew he needed time. Just like how it must have taken a long time for him to become like this.

---

The hotel suite was stunningly furnished. He didn’t bring over many things, so you busied yourself making some tea while he unpacked his stuff. He steals a glance at you and stealthily takes something out from one of his bags before walking over to where you were.

“I got this for you”, his eyes were flickering in the light, like a nervous little boy gifting a present to his first crush in school. You stared at the thing he was holding out towards you – a furry porcupine toy, around the size of a rugby ball.

“What for?”, you asked.

You could swear he was blushing, “Uhh... just to commemorate... you know... us? Take it”, he was waving the toy into your face out of his embarrassment. Never did he think he would be doing such a cheesy thing for anyone. Truth be told he actually got the present for you some time ago, he just never had the opportunity, or maybe the courage, to give it to you.

“It’s cute, but why a porcupine? Do I look like a porcupine to you?”, you asked as you accepted the plushie.

“Somewhat, you gotta admit you were quite prickly to me at the start”, he replied with a visible pout. It astonishes you how things have changed, you actually thought he looked innocent and cute.

“Hey, that’s not fair! You had a reputation and I just...”, you were prepared to defend yourself.

“Yeah that I admit”, he extended a finger in a thoughtful way, “anyway... it's me. This porcupine is supposed to remind you of me...”, he tapped his fingers on the fluffy-looking porcupine in your hands, poking its soft belly a few times, “... because I always hurt you a lot... and you can’t even touch me because I’m prickly like him.”

“So... what are you going to do about it?”, you demanded after a slight pause, raising your eyebrows.

“About what?”, he was stunned.

“About these,”, you pointed at the pricks made of fluff on the porcupine’s back, “Like I said, I’m not going anywhere. If you don’t want to hurt me, you have to do something about these.”

His laughter lingers only in his throat, “Must be fun for you to use all my lines against me now.” You also let out a muffled giggle as you start to realise how much you like it when he smiles.

“I'll think about it... about what I should do about these...”, he murmurs as he looked at you fondly but not without dejection, “... so that I can finally hold your hand.”

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halfblood-fiend · 5 years

Text

Fictober 2019 - Day 8

From The Fictober 2019 event <3

Prompt 8 : “Can you stay?”

Fandom : Star Trek: Voyager

Words : 1,616

Warnings : more alcohol, and one dumbass character; companion piece to this

(WOOOO THIS MEANS I’VE FINALLY CAUGHT UP)

“Can you stay?” Vorik x Modern OC

I crested over that plateau of Party Enjoyment into the diminishing return of Fun pretty quickly after the game of beer pong. It was like suddenly hitting a wall at full speed and crashing into a hard stop. I was slurring, I was saying dumb things, I could barely walk straight, and my internal monologue became something of a chant of "I hate this. I hate this. I hate this." Though it somehow didn’t stop me from continuing to take shots with my crewmates.

As the night went on, trying to keep track of the threads of conversation got tedious but when I started zoning out more often than I listened, I called it. Pretty much just like that, I decided I was Absolutely Done and wanted to be in bed five minutes ago. I had no idea what time it was and people were leaving anyway so it seemed like a good time for me to skedaddle too. So I grabbed Vorik's arm and told him so.

Not that I was particularly complaining, with my stupid crush still gong in full force apparently, but my friend had hardly left my side ever since our beat down of Tom and B'Elanna. It would have been fine if I'd had even a sliver of more self-control. Vorik's quiet and calm made me all too aware of how fucking obnoxious drunk-Giana must have been. Not to mention that I'd been doing dumb shit to the poor guy all night. Not the least of which being exactly what I was doing now: touching him way more than necessary. All the casual physical contact was all well and good for an inebriated social Human, but I had always been under the impression it was pretty taboo for a Vulcan. He was just too nice to say so.

Which was why as I made my rounds to say goodnight to folks, the Vulcan was still at my shoulder.

"Aww. You guys are leaving already?"

Already, as if it wasn't hella late.

"Nice game! I won't forget the look on Tom's face any time soon."

You and me both, friendo.

"It was fun finally hanging out with you. I'll see you tomorrow!"

You might. If I didn't end up sleeping all day tomorrow. No shifts meant no alarms and there was no way in hell I was getting up any earlier than my body wanted to, even if that meant I missed every meal.

I went back to our table to pick up the jacket I'd abandoned hours ago, waved a final goodbye to my friends still sitting there, and turned to find Vorik still behind me, hovering a few paces behind, waiting patiently.

“You know, you don't have to leave just because I am. You should stay and enjoy yourself.” I kept extra busy making sure my jacket was draped over my arm just so. I told myself I wasn't holding my breath for any particular reason.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Vorik shake his head and clasp his hands behind his back. “If it hadn’t been for you asking me, I wouldn’t have come at all. Now, you are quite intoxicated. I would prefer to escort you to your quarters rather than staying, to ensure you make it there.”

I laughed, “As opposed to, what? Passing out in the hallway somewhere?”

“Or being taken advantage of. I have not known you to act out of self-preservation and I have often observed your inability to tell others ‘no.’”

Was I so easy for everyone else to read too, or was he the only one that paid attention?

“Okay, okay,” I sighed. “Since you chased off my date earlier, I guess that makes it your job to take me home anyway.”

God, why did I fucking say that?

Vorik arched an eyebrow and fell into step beside me as we left the rec room and turned down the hallway towards the crew quarters.

I couldn’t even keep quiet a minute before I had to open my stupid mouth.

“I’m glad you came, after all. Even if I did have to beg you.”

“As am I. I may not understand the Human obsession with loud music or dancing, but the conversations we had were just as enjoyable as on any other day. More so, perhaps.”

“Why more?”

“Only when they are drunk, are Humans finally honest,” he said. I sensed this could be a dangerous road for me so I tried to switch gears.

I reached out and caught the sleeve of his dark grey tunic and felt the strange crosshatching fabric. “I really like this on you,” I said with a smile.

Then suddenly: God, would you stop touching him, please?? As soon as I thought it, I released him and took to crumpling the light fabric of my dress in my fists instead.

Vorik raised his eyebrows and cast a somewhat amused look in my direction. “Thank you for proving my point.”

“Nuh-uh! I would’ve told you that even if I wasn’t so drunk! Vulcan fashion is to die for. I love it! I just…usually stop myself from giving out compliments is all.”

“Why?”

“Because…” I faltered. Because I am usually too shy? Because I never know how to react to compliments, so I don’t want to put others in that position? Because whenever I give out too many compliments, people accuse me of flirting and that makes me more uncomfortable? “I dunno. ‘M always worried they’ll come off awkward.”

Frowning, Vorik said, “Although many would likely hold the same opinion of me, you don’t strike me as awkward, Giana. I do appreciate your compliment. I, too, am fond of this overcoat.”

“It brings out your eyes,” I blurted before I snapped my teeth together so hard, I probably rattled my brain.

Vorik glanced at me and nodded. “I know. Though I am surprised you noticed. It is unusual for a Human to see the subtlety.”

I wasn’t sure if that was meant to be a compliment or not, but it sure did feel like one. So the smile I flash him is dopey and bright.

I had no idea why I kept doing this to myself. Why keep trailing along picking up the scraps of affection? There was no future here. Vorik wouldn’t—couldn’t possibly—return those feelings. It wasn’t in his nature, and that was okay…just not for me. That would never work out for someone who so desperately craved love. All I was doing was hurting myself. IN the short run. In the long run.

And, logically, I knew that most days.

But it was hard to see that when my head was so thick and my heart was giddy.

“Giana?”

“Hmm?”

I stopped and looked around to find him a meter behind me.

“Your quarters are here,” Vorik said, gesturing to the door to his left.

“Oh.” My face burned. “Y-yeah.”

I pressed my hand to the biometric reader and the doors hissed open. The computer greeted me as I walked over the threshold but I barely heard her. As soon as I walked inside, I was exhausted and felt ready to collapse.

“I would not recommend going to sleep immediately, though I am sure the urge is strong.” Vorik strode in behind me and went straight to my in-room replicator. “You should drink more water and remain alert for at least another ninety minutes.”

“Why?”

“To lower your blood-alcohol content.”

I wrinkled my nose at him. “Wha’? I didn’t know you were a doctor and an engineer.”

“I am not, but the amount of alcohol you consumed could easily lead to poisoning if you aren’t careful.”

My stomach twisted. “…oh?” It hadn’t been that much, had it?

The replicator dinged and Vorik approached me and offered out a glass of water.

I took it, still feeling rather confused and more than a little worried.

“You neglected to eat beforehand as well. It is a wonder you can still stand.” When I hadn’t moved, he reached out and nudged the bottom of the glass with his fingers until I raised it to my lips and took a long drink.

“Will I be okay?”

Vorik shook his head and shrugged halfheartedly. “If you listen, maybe.”

I laughed into the glass. “Don’t ever pursue a medical position. Your bedside manner is ass.”

He sighed. “Do as I say, and you will be fine. Now that my task is complete and you are safe, I will see you tomorrow.”

Vorik had made it all the way to the door before my anxiety won out over my self-consciousness.

“Um. Vorik?”

He paused with his fingers hovering over the keypad and looked over his shoulder.

“I. Um. C-can… Are you… Uh. W-were you planning on sleeping tonight or-or meditating?”

“Meditating.”

I nodded, and rolling the empty glass in my hands, I mustered all the courage from every corner of my being that I could possibly find. “Could…could you…? I-I mean, we don’t have to be in the same room or anything b-but if you’re only meditating, can you—I mean, if you don’t mind—can…can you, um, stay?” He was quiet, but my heart was loud in my ears. “To make sure I don’t die?” I clarified as if that would make the embarrassing request better.

“My mentioning it made you nervous.”

“Uh,” I said with a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, it definitely did. I had no idea I was that bad.”

“I can stay, if it will put you at ease.”

I smiled. “You’re too good to me.”

“You…are my friend. If my presence will soothe your anxiety, then I am glad to be here for you.”

#fictober19 #Star Trek: Voyager #Ensign Vorik #Vorik #Vorik x modern OC #I'm not quite happy with it #but I am so so tired #maybe I'll fix it tomorrow #Giana Moreno #OTP: Never Tear Us Apart #Voy #Star Trek

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