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97-liners · 2 years

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prince!coups x female!political aide!reader

modern royalty au | enemies to lovers | fluff, romance, comedy

words: 3k+

this isn't a full fic, this is mainly just an expansion on the text post i made a few nights ago (in the block quote below). as in, this is literally an abandoned wip that i’m just tossing onto tumblr to languish

a modern royalty au where seungcheol is the handsome and dutiful second prince, beloved by all and a certified Good Boy. and you’re an intern on his father’s ministry of interior affairs, a recent doctor of political science graduate whose thesis made waves in academic circles, and you’re everything he’s not— you’re loud, opinionated, brash, acidic. you have bold, radical ideas, and you don’t back down from your convictions. seungcheol meets you while he sits in on a cabinet meeting with his father one day and, though he’ll never admit it, becomes enamored by you.

when you’re assigned as one of his aides on his two week long tour of the nation, you find yourself butting heads with him. you had expected him to just be a vapid pretty boy with no real opinions of his own, but the two of you argue— about politics, about etiquette, about what dessert he orders, everything. and you’re convinced you hate him, this modern prince born with a silver spoon in his mouth, this rich boy who’s never had to stand up for anything in his life, but at the same time… you find yourself enjoying your arguments with him.

and seungcheol, he knows he’s in the public eye as one of the two princes. despite the custom of the title of crown prince being granted to the eldest, his parents haven’t named a successor between him and his brother yet, so he knows he’s bound by duty to act as if he could be king one day, and that responsibility weighs on him heavily, but you… you’re a spitfire, and you’re entrancing, and you make him feel alive. he knows you’re bad news. he knows he shouldn’t let himself be entangled with you. but these days, he finds that he increasingly doesn’t care. for the first time in his life, he wants. he wants, and wants, and wants.

“You should check your email,” Mingyu says when you get to your shared office on Monday morning. “A really interesting one just went out this morning.”

You groan and drop your bag to the ground as you collapse into your office chair. “Someone’s dog pooped on the train to work this morning, can’t you just summarize the email for me? Let me guess, they figured out who broke the coffee machine in the downstairs breakroom?”

“Nope,” Mingyu grins, popping the ‘p’, “you’re going with Prince Seungcheol on his tour of the nation, as an assistant speechwriter.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Do you think I was born yesterday? You need to come up with better lies.”

“It’s real,” Mingyu protests, pointing to his computer screen. “Check your email!”

“Okay, first of all, why would they send that email to you?”

“They sent it to the entire office–”

“Why would they send that email to the entire office, then?” Slouching in your chair, you press the power button on your laptop and wait for it to boot up.

“Because it’s an honor, or whatever,” Mingyu shrugs.

“What does he need an assistant speechwriter for, anyway? He doesn’t even have a job besides waving from a balcony a few times a year.”

“Didn’t you hear?” Mingyu raises an eyebrow. “They made him a ‘special envoy’ for the Ministry of Commerce, whatever that means. So now he needs a speechwriter and aides, because he’s meeting people, I guess. Check your email,” he motions toward your backpack, “all the details are there.”

You huff half heartedly and pull out your phone to check your email, eyes widening when you see a brand message at the top of your inbox.

Re: The Prince’s upcoming national tour. Sent by Seungcheol’s chief of staff.

“Oh my god,” you groan, digging your knuckles into the bridge of your nose to fend off an oncoming headache. “Why me?” You squint at the message text. “The flight is leaving this afternoon? God, I need to pack and hand off my projects, then. This means Jeonghan is my boss doesn’t it?”

Mingyu steeples his fingers. “I have a theory,” he says. “I think Prince Seungcheol requested you specifically.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” you slouch even further in your chair.

“Because he has a crush on you,” he continues, ignoring you.

You roll your eyes. “I thought we had dropped that dumb pet theory of yours. And anyways, that can’t be possible. Seungcheol and I hate each other.”

“First name basis, huh,” Mingyu grins triumphantly, as if he’s somehow proved a point.

“I’m not gonna call him by his title when he’s not here. I’m not a bootlicker.”

“Fine, you’re an anti-royalist leftist radical who works for the Crown,” Mingyu replies, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Do you not remember me and Seungcheol arguing for a full hour on media exemptions for antitrust laws? The world has changed since 1934, and our laws should have changed accordingly, and Seungcheol is a spoiled rich boy who has never had to stand up for anything in his life.”

“He’s nice,” Mingyu protests. “And anyways, I feel like there was a lot of unresolved sexual tension in the room while the two of you were yelling at each other. And let’s be real, the two of you were pretty much arguing the same point, you just think it’s fun to debate him.”

“Maybe so.” You scowl. “But the point still stands. We hate each other, and I bet, if anything, he requested me on his staff just so he could torment me with Jeonghan.”

“Yeah, good luck,” Mingyu sighs. “At least Jeonghan will be coming on the trip with you to subdue any murderous urges you have toward the prince.”

“What do you mean you’re not coming on the trip,” you hiss at Jeonghan. “Who’s going to subdue my murderous urges toward the prince, then?”

You cast a sidelong glance at the security agent sitting in the passenger seat of the car, but he seems unfazed.

“Exactly what I said, I’m not coming on the trip. That’s why I’m getting an assistant this month,” he says, unmoved. “I requested you specifically, mind you, so you should be thanking me for the raise.”

“So I’m… I’m moving up from being an aide in the office of the Minister of the Interior to basically being the sole speechwriter for Seungcheol,” you groan, massaging your temples.

“You’re welcome for the raise,” Jeonghan sniffs. “And, I have drafts of all his speeches. You’ll just need to keep an eye on public sentiment and what’s happening in the media and polish them up accordingly.”

“Can I quit?”

“We’re at the airport already,” Jeonghan grins. “Too late to quit. Have fun with Seungcheol.”

In that moment, you think you could smack that smug expression off his face, if only he weren’t your new temporary boss.

You don’t know why Jeonghan thought you’d be able to do this. You’re one day into the trip, and you and Seungcheol have somehow managed to start arguing about pancakes.

“Apricot jam, are you insane?”

You’re at breakfast with the prince in his hotel suite. It’s the kind of hotel suite that has crystal chandeliers and gilded furniture, the kind that isn’t even available to book unless you’re a head of state. Seungcheol is fully dressed in a suit, and you’re still in your bathrobe after having stayed up all night in your room just below, working frantically on a report for your actual boss while simultaneously putting together final details on a briefing for your temporary boss.

Seungcheol frowns and continues spreading his apricot jam on his pancakes. “Are you here to tell me about the diplomatic attache, or are you here to criticize my choice of toppings?”

“I can’t–” you pinch the bridge of your nose, dropping the thick binder down on the breakfast table. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“What, am I supposed to just magically know every single diplomat in the country or–”

“I have a doctorate in public policy, I have half of Minister Lee’s cabinet up my ass trying to pass a referendum next week, and I’m stuck here being your glorified servant,” you snap, finally losing your patience. You stand, which would probably be a lot more impactful if you weren’t wearing sweats and a hotel bathrobe. “I’m going downstairs to my room. My phone has been blowing up with emails all afternoon. Call me if you need any help getting through some names and faces,” you point at the binder.

Seungcheol blinks at you.

“I’m sorry,” you huff immediately, not sorry at all. “I’m just stressed and tired.”

“How long have you been up,” he frowns.

“Um.” You rack your brain. “I woke up yesterday at 6.”

Seungcheol’s brows furrow. “You mean, you haven’t slept?”

“Minister Lee is expecting an updated copy of my report by noon,” you sigh, “that’s when he’s meeting with Senator Hwang to discuss the referendum.”

“You can leave if you want,” he says quietly. “I’ll pay for your flight and say that it’s all because of me. It wouldn’t hurt your career.”

“What are you talking about,” you snap, “are you going to write your speeches and prepare for your meetings by yourself, or let the person who’s actually qualified for the job do it for you?”

You know you’re being mean, but you’re tired and stressed and frustrated. Seungcheol wears a strange expression on his face, somewhere between bewilderment and hurt, and you know you’re being unreasonable, but in the moment, anger feels better than being vulnerable.

“You have no idea,” you seethe, “how hard I’ve worked to get my job, how hard it is for me to get them to respect me, and you, you requested me on this trip, didn’t you?”

“I–” he looks surprised, “I did.”

You ball your hands into fists in your sleeves. “Of course, the beloved Second Prince wants a new speechwriter, so now I have to travel with you and act as your assistant, in the middle congress’s summer session.” You tilt your head and smile humorlessly. “Thanks for reminding me that a fucking doctorate means nothing in the face of familial wealth and power.”

And then, before you can really see the look on Seungcheol’s face, before you can really let the weight of your little outburst settle in, your phone rings in your pocket. You take it out and look down to see an incoming call from Minister Lee. Shooting one last glare at Seungcheol, you tell him “I have to take this call,” and leave.

( ... )

“This is my home town, you know,” you say quietly, shoving your hands deep in the pockets of your jacket as you lead Seungcheol through a narrow alley. He’s incognito today, with a casual bomber jacket zipped all the way up and a beanie pulled low over his head. You think you’d be able to recognize him anywhere, but this version of Seungcheol walks with a slouch, his face slack and unposed, his enunciation loose. He looks like he could be one of your old buddies from university, not Prince Seungcheol.

He pauses, then says, “I thought you were from the capital.”

“No,” you laugh bitterly, “a girl like me had to fight to get into the National University. I’m from here, originally, and not the nice part of town where our hotel is. This,” you round a corner and spot the familiar half-dilapidated corner pub, “is where I’m from.”

“Hm?”

“C’mon, your highness,” you grin. “This is the last dive bar left in town.”

He raises his eyebrows at you, a question on his tongue that he doesn’t vocalize. Instead, he lets you push the door open with your foot and follows you inside. It’s not until the two of you are settled in a corner with beers of questionable quality, nestled away from the pool tables and cigarette smoke, that he asks. “What do you mean, one of the last dive bars in town?”

You sigh and take a sip of your beer. “The rest got bought out by corporations. Now the former local pubs are owned by monolithic giants and the publicans are just tenants. They clean up the places and raise the prices. My old neighborhood is so gentrified, my dad can’t afford to drink at any of the neighborhood bars anymore. My mom can’t afford to shop at the fancy new grocery stores. They can’t afford to move out. Remember that time I argued with you about zoning restrictions a few months ago?”

Seungcheol’s face is mostly hidden in the shadows in this dimly lit bar, but you can still see the way his large eyes sparkle. You look down at your hands, avoiding eye contact for some reason. He doesn’t respond, but you can tell from the way he’s sitting, from the way he angles himself toward you, that he’s listening.

“I came into my political awareness when I was eleven,” you say quietly. “When they evicted my grandmother from the apartment she had lived in for the last forty years. They tore down that old apartment block and replaced it with million dollar condos, and my grandmother had to move to the outskirts of town, out of the neighborhood that she had been born in, where her parents lived and died their whole lives.”

“I entered politics for the survival of my family, my community. Sometimes I lose sight of that,” you sigh, “it’s easy to get distracted in this line of work.”

“I’m sorry for arguing so much with you,” Seungcheol says suddenly. “I… I don’t know what’s wrong with me sometimes. And I’m sorry for requesting you on this trip. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but clearly, I’m not that good at thinking things through.”

You frown. “What are you sorry about? Don’t apologize. You didn’t know. And, I’m smart,” you grin, “I can work two jobs at once.”

“I know you can, but you shouldn’t have to.”

The grin falls off your face. The pit of your stomach burns. “I’m sorry for being so cruel to you, Seungcheol. That day in the hotel. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Nah,” he shrugs, “I kind of did.”

You laugh and lean your cheek against your palm, propping yourself up by the elbow. “Well, at any rate, don’t apologize for requesting me on this trip either. I don’t think I would have had the chance to travel like this otherwise,” you smile at him, as soft and sincere as you can. “We’re both having fun, right?”

“Right,” Seungcheol nods, clinking his beer glass against yours. “This is fun.”

You have to laugh.

A ball. Like in the movies, like in a fairytale, you’re at a real ball, dressed in an expensive dress that Seungcheol had ordered for you, surrounded by rich people and diplomats, bathed in candlelight and classical music. And you’re working.

You have a notepad in your hand, squinting as you scribble notes in the dim light of your phone. Of course the news had to break just hours ago that leaked documents had implicated the Minister of Agriculture in a corruption scheme, and of course Seungcheol is supposed to give a speech on sustainable farming efforts tomorrow morning.

Groaning quietly, you tilt your neck to the side in an attempt to work out the tension settling in your muscles. Not even a real politician, you can hear yourself complaining to Mingyu, this is pointless, he doesn’t have to have a single opinion in his life. But it’s harder for you to feel that same disdain you used to feel for him. You remember that earnest look in his eyes when you told him about your neighborhood. You know he’s eager to learn, and you know he’s smart, and you know that deep down, he’s dutiful to his family, and to his people.

You sigh and puff a strand of hair from your face. Since when did you get so soft?

Shifting to lean against the wall, you flip back to the previous page in your notepad at the hastily scribbled outline of a revised introduction section. Your brain itches to write out a scathing indictment of the culture of corruption among senior government officials. Should we really be entrusting the approval of anti-corruption laws to the very legislators who are the most likely to be affected by them? You bite your lip and read over the moderate, wishy-washy sentences you’ve written.

“Are you working?” It’s Seungcheol, coming to join you at the dark corner. He’s dressed in full regalia tonight. You resist the urge to roll your eyes when you spot the ceremonial sword hanging at his side. “Why aren’t you enjoying the party?”

“Don’t you have socializing to do, your highness?”

Seungcheol frowns at the title. “Don’t call me that,” he says quietly.

“Fine, Seungcheol,” you sigh, “I’m working. Revising your speech for tomorrow morning. I’ll have the notes to you by the end of the night.”

“Why don’t you just leave and go work at the hotel room?”

“I’m your only staff here,” you sigh helplessly, pinching at the bridge of your nose, ignoring the feeling of makeup shifting under your fingertips. “I can’t leave this ballroom.”

For a moment, he just stands there, frowning at you.

“You’re still here,” you observe drily. “Are you about to ask me to dance or something?”

He raises his eyebrows, frown deepening. “Do you want me to?”

“God, no,” you snort. “Secretary Lee is going to be announced as the interim Minister of Agriculture tomorrow, and I need to send my notes over to my counterpart. After all, I was writing important reports for the Department of Agriculture before I got dragged here to be your speechwriter.”

“Come on,” Seungcheol takes your hand in his own gloved hand, tugging you away from the wall.

You stare at him, eyes wide as you let him lead you across the room, your notepad in hand, your dress fluttering around your ankles. If it weren’t for the frantically scribbled notes clutched in your hand and your phone blowing up with urgent emails, you might have believed for a split second that you were in a fairytale. You, a scrappy girl who clawed her way out of the gutters, being led by hand across the ballroom by the dashing second prince. “What are you doing?”

“You should sit at the tables,” he turns back to tell you, “not standing against the walls like you’re trying to hide.”

“The tables are for guests,” you try to protest, but Seungcheol levels a steely glare at you.

“You are a guest. You’re my guest. And I’m asking you to sit.”

You open and close your mouth wordlessly, undoubtedly looking rather stupid, as he pulls a chair out for you. Obediently, you sit down. Seungcheol takes a seat across from you.

“Why are you still here?” You wonder if he’s tired of the bewildered expression on your face yet. “Go socialize with some barons or whatever.”

“I’m keeping you company,” he replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “After all, you’re writing a speech for me. It’s the least I could do.”

You chew on your lower lip, feeling your heart swell. Why does he make you feel like you could float?

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow at you. “Didn’t you say you had work to do?”

Exhaling slowly through your nose, you purse your lips and look down at the open notepad set on the satin tablecloth in front of you. “Thank you, Seungcheol,” you tell him quietly.

“There’s no need to thank me.”

You pick up your pen again, and in a voice so quiet, you half-hope he doesn’t hear you, you ask, “why are you so good to me?”

If he does hear you, he doesn’t respond. Instead, he flags down a waiter and asks for a glass of water for you.

#97.writings #97.yn #tagging this as a drabble because i don't feel good tagging this as a full fic :/

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twilightofthe · 2 years

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More character prompts from this post!

Did Obi Wan’s here

What does your blorbo's phone/laptop/car/backpack look like?

Padmé

Phone:

Ok so Padmé isn’t stupid, Ani, she knows what planned obsolescence is, she knows the tech industry is predatory and stupid and Apple is some of the worst, but living in a capitalist society means you have to participate in capitalism and she likes the convenience of Apple software, so she always has the newest iPhone. She likes to get them in regular silver or white.

Her phone screen has a protector on it and you BET there is no crack to be seen because her phone is very much her baby. The case for the phone is a pretty marble/geometric/metallic design that’s got decent enough ratings online in terms of protection. Maybe it has one of those little built-in slots where you can put a spare credit card or ID, and if it does, she actually uses it lol

Her lockscreen is a screenshot of her weekly schedule because she is a neurotic type-A over planner and she needs that along with her twenty million alarms and reminders of everything all the time

Her homescreen is actually a cute picture of Anakin/Satine/Sabé/Obi Wan/whoever she’s in a relationship with, or if she has Luke and Leia it’s Luke and Leia. All her apps are meticulously organized into categorized boxes and everything is positioned on the screen so you can actually see the homescreen background and everything is accessible

She has no less than five different email apps. She checks all of them meticulously.

And this is just her personal phone, it’s not even the phone she keeps for work lmao

Laptop:

Pads also has the latest up to date MacBook Pro.

She’s like Obi Wan and she keeps a cleaning cloth for the screen because the dirty screen CONSTANTLY getting schmutz all over it drives her nuts

Her laptop background is some aesthetic floral background, but she actually has a screensaver slideshow of one of her photo albums with people she likes on it

She has a laptop case, it’s also very aesthetic and something with pretty abstract patterns in pastel colors, she has a matching colored rubber keyboard cover to keep yuck out of the keys.

Car:

Akshskdhk Padmé honey I’m so sorry I keep giving you literally every single one of the stereotypes for the rich liberal white women who were in my area growing up, but let’s be real that’s what you are 😂

So yeah Padmé has a new model shiny silver luxury electric sedan. She’s got a good job and rich parents

Not a Tesla because fffffuck Musk but one of those other brands. She feels like a BMW driver to me but idk if they come in electric.

Her license plate is specialized with her initials and has a special plate because she donates to the state wildlife society

She’s a faster driver; there isn’t really any wear and tear on the outside, like not in terms of dents, but there’s stress on the tires

Nice leather seats, seatwarmers, great sound system, the works. She’s always got a vanilla air freshener in it, it smells nice enough and she keeps the front area fairly clean, but do NOT open up the trunk or the glove compartment or pull down the sun visors, she’s got twenty million emergency first aid kits and spare outfits and boxes of pads and apocalypse prep boxes and three knives and four shopping bags of things she needs to return and bags of stuff she’s going to donate to the poor/soup kitchens

One of the check engine lights or something is constantly flickering on and off, Pads ignores it because “eh I need my car, I don’t have much time to get it fixed and nothing seems to be wrong with it, it should be fine”. Anakin’s eye twitches every time he sees it because not only is it something Broken he’s not currently Fixing(TM), he’s honestly not sure he CAN fix it because these new techy digital cars are extremely anti-self repair, and that just gets him and Padmé right back into the planned obsolescence argument again.

Backpack:

Bold of you to assume Padmé Amidala only has one (1) backpack

She has multiple high quality ones that suit her various needs

Two for school/work. They’re the same brand, small and one is plain leather and one is bougie-plaid and they depend on what outfit she’s wearing. They contain her laptop spare electronics and chargers, her emergency kit, umbrellas, and her purse

She’s got like three more for leisure. A bit more slouchy and aesthetic for just carrying random stuff when she doesn’t want a purse, still contain everything you could possibly need

Also one sports backpack

All in top quality shape

#we love my material girl yes we DO #thank y’all so much for still playing along with me when i’m absolutely balls at ask games nowadays #padmé amidala #star wars #sw #queen of my heart #ask #asks #anon

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purplesurveys · 1 year

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1640

Have you ever lied to a person of authority? What did you say? Erm yeah I guess, but I make it a point not to lie about big things because that shit has its own ways of getting found out in the end anyway. The lies are always just like, “Yes it’s clear, I have no questions,” “Yes, I’m okay,” “No I’m not doing much, what can I help you on?” lol.

What’s your favourite type of pie, either sweet or savoury? I don’t really have pie much...but let’s just go with chicken pot pie as I’ve never had a bad bite of it. Do you have a Netflix subscription? Yes, we have a family subscription. I’m not one for movies and TV shows these days, but I do use Netflix for my Friends and Twilight Saga rewatches and the rare times I want to explore a K-drama in its entirety.

Have you ever parked in a disabled parking space even if you aren’t disabled? I’ve never done that. How long does it usually take you to get ready in the morning? All of like, two minutes. All I do is get dressed, splash water on my face, brush my teeth, let the dogs out so they can roam around the whole day, and prepare my coffee. This entire routine is clockwork at this point which is why I take really quick to accomplish all of them.

What colour is your favourite shirt? I don’t have one at the moment.

When was the last time you saw a photo of yourself? Last night. A college professor I had recently passed away, so I posted a photo of myself and my orgmates with him back when we hosted a workshop for us in like 2018.

Does your laptop ever overheat? Not so much these days because all I do with it is literally take these surveys, lol. Occasionally the fan will turn itself on which is more a matter of the battery’s lifespan, but then again even that has never resulted in my laptop suddenly dying out on me.

Are you wearing a dress today? As a matter of fact I am, yeah! I have a black dress on, with slits on either side on the lower part.

Do you use your phone during class or at work? I do use it a lot at work but part of it is because there are some tasks I can do better through the phone, like texting or looking for influencers on Instagram and TikTok. The other reason is I’ve stopped give a fuck and I just want to go through social media and play In the Seom lol.

How many times a day do you check Facebook? More than 10 times, but it’s also because I check my feed for a grand total of 5 seconds and immediately close it after haha. Facebook continues to be super popular (and the main social media) in the Philippines so I’m on there a lot.

Do you hate it when people on airplanes recline the seat in front? If it gets to the point where it affects my personal comfort or like my legroom and all, yeah absolutely. I’m not confrontational though and I am more likely to suffer silently throughout the trip than call out the over-reclining person.

Are you the type of person to press a button just because? Nah, buttons are dangerous y’all. My mom once accidentally set off a fucking FIRE ALARM because her hands were wandering about too much, lol.

Would you ever volunteer in the case of a natural disaster? Probably not for a natural disaster, but I am likely to donate instead.

Do you check your emails daily? Only from Monday through Friday. My work email is absolutely personally off-limits on weekends.

Are you inside or outside at the moment? I’m inside a Starbucks outside of my home.

Why did you last have to see a doctor? Can’t remember. Might’ve been my UTI issue still. Have you ever been pulled aside for a random bag search at an airport? Nope.

Are you happy with how much you weigh? Sure. I’ve pretty much stayed the same weight since I was like 13 and it’s something I have little to no complaints about.

What’s your favourite flavour of Jell-O? I’ve never had Jell-O and it doesn’t sound appealing to me at all.

Do you pick your nose? C’mon, be honest. Yes.

What was the last thing you bought from a supermarket? Jin Ramen, for obvious reasons.

Do you know anyone who is highly allergic to anything? Angela’s entire face turns red and feels hot after like two sips of alcohol. I also have another friend allergic to egg and seafood.

When was the last time you had a nap? Last Sunday. Such a good nap, too – the kind where you wake up and think you’ve been transported to 2088 LOL.

Are you hot, cold, or just right at the moment? It’s a little cold. The aircon here is out to kill hahaha but at least I’ve got a thick jacket on. Do you have a Spotify Premium membership? If not, do you want one? I do, I’m listening to music from it right now as I take this.

What’s your boss’ name? Bea’s my immediate superior but I’m not sharing my higher bosses’ names.

Have you ever eaten caviar? Yeah, a few years ago. I could tell it was the super cheap kind though so I’ve never really count it as caviar lol.

Are you a nervous type of person? I can be, depending on the context, scenario, what I’ve found myself in the middle of, etc. For the most part though I try to hold my own.

Do/did you collect anything currently or in the past? I’ve collected before and I still collect now; the things I’ve collected have just changed over the years.

On average, how much money do you usually put into savings every week? I usually do it in one big transfer every time I get my pay, not weekly; and these days I try to transfer half of it to savings. Partly because I’m trying to save big for my upcoming Thailand trip but also because I’m in a position where I earn enough to be able to allocate half of it for savings.

Do you prefer sweet or savoury foods? Savory, any day and every day. I’m quick to turn down desserts.

Do you have any games on your computer? Which ones? Nope.

What are your three favourite fruits? Avocado, andddddd that’s it.

Have you ever received a speeding fine? No. I don’t think we have anything against speeding here actually? People in the Philippines will drive as if they’re the spawn of Satan and you’ll never hear anything about it from traffic enforcers/the police.

When was the last time you shaved any part of your body? This morning.

Have you ever had a cramp in an odd place? I ALWAYS get finger cramps when I use chopsticks.

Would you ever go overseas for cheap medical treatment? No, I don’t know if that’s an option. The amount I’d save for the treatment would get eaten up from the airfare anyway.

How many hours did you sleep last night? A good amount, around 7-8 hours.

Are you good at writing stories? I am terrible at writing stories and poems, but anything else I can most definitely take a shot at.

What have you eaten today? An omelette and rice; three donuts; and this unique takoyaki bun thing from Starbucks.

Do you watch House of Cards? Nah.

Did anything exciting or interesting happen to you today? Seeing one of my favorite K-pop idols have a vape on him was definitely a hilarious twist to today. I’m not saying who and from where I caught it so it doesn’t have to blow up more than it already has, but that was definitely a funny thing to catch. People need to calm down and realize idols are fucking just like us and can do whatever they want.

What’s your favourite type of fish to eat? Tuna sashimi.

Who else is in the building you’re in right now? Baristas and customers.

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thepiecesofcait · 2 years

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Important Things (TM)

My piece for the 2021 Enjoltaire Games!

The prompt I had was: 'You will never “find” time for anything. If you want time, you must make it.' (Charles Buxton)

Image IDs under the cut!

Image ID: A 14-panel comic strip

Panel 1: Top left reads 9:15pm. Enjolras is sat at a brown desk. He wears an oversized sweater that features a trans-flag coloured stripe across the chest and arms, and his blond hair is in a high bun. On the desk sits a purple mug, scattered loose papers, a laptop to one side and an open weekly planner that Enjolras is reading. In the empty space surrounding him is to-do items written in various colours. They read: "Permit requests: 487 (tick); 292 (tick); 14B (follow up)" "Funding application due Friday (Baz to check over budget)" "Finalise route for January march" "New ABC blog post? (it's been a minute" "Mrs Combeferre's birthday this weekend" "Sound kitchen roster (swap Thursdays)" In the bottom left corner is a small "R".

Panel 2: Top left reads 10:09pm. Enjolras's laptop is now in front of him - it has stickers on it that read "France France Revolution", "I Voted", and one of the LGBT flag. Enjolras looks more tired than the first panel, he is leant heavily on his left hand, his right hand sits on a red mug - a new addition to the cluttered desk. There are highlighters and a pen to his left. The words around him read: "Catering for Saturday (gluten free for Joly)" "Winter blanket drive (Talk to Ep re: shelter needs)" "Any leftovers in the fridge?" "Word count: 6,874. Word limit: 5k" "Check over meeting minutes" "LSF course 10am Thursday (crossed out to say 12 noon)" "Get Well Soon card for Bossuet" The "R" has gotten a little bigger, and is now by Enjolras's shoulder.

Panel 3: Top left reads 11:32pm. Enjolras is yawning and stretching, he now has a month-view calendar of November on the desk in front of him. The red and purple mugs are stacked to his right, there is a glass of water to his left. Around him reads: "Room 104 doesn't have ramp access (find new venue!)" "Les Amis holiday exchange (?? Pontmercy)" "Call Feuilly's union contact" "Delete Twitter (again)" "Check the fire alarm batteries" "Jehan offered to proof-read speech (email it!)" The "R" is larger again, and is now by Enjorlas's face.

Panel 4: Top left reads 11:33pm, the font is lighter than previous panels. Enjolras has noticed the "R" - which is now almost as big as his head.

Panel 5: Top left still reads 11:33pm, but it is so light it is almost not noticeable. Enjolras is checking his watch, his smartphone is in his right hand.

Panel 6: A close up of Enjorlas's phone screen, open to the Messenger app. It is showing a conversation with Grantaire. The previous message from Grantaire reads "...Courfeyrac is probably not flammable." The time stamp for the new conversation is Weds, Nov 3, 11:34pm. Enjolras has sent "You awake?" The three dots to represent the recipient typing are visible from Grantaire.

Panel 7: Enjolras is smiling down at his phone - viewed again from the perspective of earlier panels. To the left of the panel are two grey messenger bubbles. The first reads "Literally always." The second reads "Usual spot?"

Panel 8: Enjolras is now standing and walking towards the right side of the frame - he carries the two mugs and the unfinished water glass while still smiling down at the phone in his hand. Behind him is a green speech bubble that shows a colon and closed bracket smile " :) "

Panels 9, 10, 11 and 12 are grouped together

Panel 9: A smaller panel that features Enjolras putting on a red jacket.

Panel 10: Partners Panel 9 in size, and shows Enjolras pulling on a dull green beanie, the jacket now buttoned.

Panel 11: Sits underneath the previous two panels, and shows Enjolras walking down a purple hallway towards a set of stairs. He has passed two doors numbered '307' and '308'. On the wall behind him is a poster for the ABC.

Panel 12: A thin rectangular panel showing a close up of a sign on the purple hallway wall. It reads "To roof" and has an arrow pointing up-and-right - the direction Enjolras is walking in. There is a glimpse of Enjolras's red jacket leaving the panel to the right.

Panel 13: Two almost silhouetted figures against a night sky. Closer to the viewer is Enjorlas, visible from mid-waist up. He is looking through a doorway at the more distant figure of Grantaire, who is visible from the knees up, and is looking out at the stars. The colours have shifted cooler in tone.

Panel 14: Grantaire and Enjolras are leant on the balcony railing - both resting on loosely crossed arms, not quite touching each other but close enough that they could be with little effort. Behind them is a sprawling night skyline, with the light pollution that comes with city life - various windows are lit, and the streets give off a glow. Grantaire is closer to the viewer, wearing an oversized green hoodie and triangular maroon scarf. He is looking down at the street below them. Enjolras is looking at Grantaire with a soft smile. A speech bubble to the left of Grantaire says "Have you finished up all your important to-dos?" The response to the right of Enjolras reads "I have now."

#is this… the second ever comic I’ve ever made?#I am 87% sure that it is!#I overthought this prompt into oblivion and then was certain I’d missed the mark in a big way once I was doing final colour tweaks #but it exists now!#Enjoltaire #Enjolras #Grantaire #ExR #Enjoltaire Games 2021 #Les Miserables #modern era #comic #digital art #procreate #Cait makes

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illicitlimerence-writes · 3 years

Text

close friends | t. holland

pairing: tom holland x fem!reader word count: 3.1k warnings: some language, some angst if u squint. otherwise it's just fluff and tom being tom. didn't proofread this. a/n: so tumblr decided to be a little bitch and deleted this t w i c e. so i had to write this t h r e e times. this came up in my head after i got like three notifications that tom posted something on his ig story, and then it turned out he deleted them. as always, english isn't my first language so i'm sorry if this gets confusing bye. also, i was listening to cardigan by taylor swift as i wrote this.

my masterlist

so we all know tom sucks at instagram. that's a surprise to literally no one. no matter how many times you tried to teach him he still doesn't get it, and it was only a matter of time before he finally posted something he shouldn't have.

it was just one of those days, you missed him like hell. he was away filming the third spiderman, and you had to stay behind because of work.

naturally, you relied on face time and texts to survive and fill the void he left behind. you loved talking to him, listening as he rambled on and on about his adventures on set. a love-struck look on your face as you tried your hardest to stay awake despite the urge to close your eyes.

eventually, sleep took over you, and you drifted off with the sound of his voice lulling you to sleep. he stopped talking abruptly when he didn't hear your soft chuckling in reply to the story he was telling.

instead, he saw your sleeping figure, long steady breaths moving your chest up and down. and he cursed himself for making you stay up so late for him. he took one last look at you, taking a screenshot of your sleeping form.

he quickly hung up the video call and opened instagram instead, uploading the screenshot to his story,

'missing my favorite girl, thank you so much for everything you do for me. x @yourusername'

the next morning you woke up to the sound of your phone buzzing. at first, thought someone had died as one notification after another filled your screen. most of them came from instagram, so you opened that app first.

thousands upon thousands of mentions, tags and new followers. you frowned, and suddenly a text from your friend popped up at the top of your screen.

'omg just saw his story. so happy for u both'

who's story? what was going on?

you refreshed your timeline, and tom's icon appeared, a colorful circle around it. an odd feeling sank in your stomach. you tapped his icon and suddenly your screen was full of... you.

a picture of you, sleeping. tom's smiling form in a small rectangle on the bottom right corner.

oh god. you read the words he wrote, over and over again. your heart pounding in your chest, and a sudden wave of fear ran through your body. but then you read his words once more, and all you could feel was love. pure, unconditional affection.

sure, your families and closest friends knew about you, but you hadn't talked about making your relationship public yet, but there was nothing you could do now.

you sighed, leaning back on your pillows. a small chuckle left your throat.

you grabbed your phone once again, quickly facetiming tom. you knew he had an early call today, and you hoped you could catch him while he was still in his hotel.

it ran once, twice, and then you saw him, hair all over the place, bare chest. hands rubbing sleep off of his face.

"mornin', darling." he said, his raspy morning voice making you smile.

"hi, baby. did i wake you?" you asked, sitting up and crossing your legs.

"yeah but it's fine, princess. i did keep you up last night so it's only fair."

"i'm sorry about falling asleep on you, that was a really nice picture you took last night," you lifted one eyebrow, and watched as he smiled at you sheepishly.

"i thought you looked really pretty, you always look pretty," he said, grabbing the water bottle on his nightstand and taking a swing.

"thanks, i hope the whole world thinks so, too," you declared. leaning your chin on your fist, watching him expectantly.

he did not react like you had expected him to.

his breath hitched as he sipped his water, and suddenly all you could see was the cream-colored ceiling, as you heard him spitting out and coughing.

"tom! oh, my god! are you okay?" you asked, getting on your knees and holding your phone up to your face, "tommy?" you repeated when he finally stopped coughing, you could now hear his heavy breaths.

at last, you saw his curls appear from the bottom of the screen.

"wh-what did you just say?" his voice was rough, his chest heaving.

"are you okay?" you asked again.

"ye-yeah i'm fine. babe, what did you mean by 'the whole world'? did something happen?" he asked, frowning. you echoed his expression, watching him for a second.

“you posted a picture to your story,” you repeated, and he nodded.

“yeah, i posted it to my close friends, i-” he stopped mid-sentence, eyes growing comically wide. “oh shit, did i-” he caught himself off as he threw the phone to one side, you heard him fumbling around for his laptop and you snorted. “shit, baby, don’t tell me i posted it… fuck!” you couldn’t keep it in any longer, you broke out laughing.

“of course this is how the world finds out about us!” you continued giggling until your stomach hurt.

“fuck, princess i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to, i swear i- why are you laughing!?”

“tommy, tommy! it’s okay, baby, don’t worry. i’m not mad,” you stopped once you noticed his pouting. “it’s fine, my love, i don’t mind. sure it’s unexpected, and a little sudden but i wouldn’t have it any other way. i knew what i was getting into when we started dating,” you told him honestly, wishing you were there to give him a hug and kiss him all over.

“darling, i’m really, really sorry. i swear i thought i tapped the green button like you told me to” he continued his sulking, nervous eyes glancing back and forth from his laptop screen to you.

“i know, baby, i know this is not your forte, and i really appreciate the sweet gesture, honestly. i love you so much,” you told him as you bit your lip. folding your legs to your chest, wrapping one around them.

“god, i love you. i swear i’ll make it up to you,” he ran his hand through his hair, giving you a quick peek of his bare chest.

“i’ll hold you to it,” you chuckled, you glanced to the clock on your nightstand, sighing when you saw the time. “i’ve gotta go,” you said as you stood up and stretched. a wicked idea ran through you head. “i’ve got like five meetings today, so i’ll probably be busy most of the day. just in case i don’t reply or something,” you made up you lie quickly. grabbing your laptop and opening a new tab.

“oh, okay. i’ll be on set until like 1 am, so we’ll talk tomorrow?” he asked, eyes bright. you nodded, biting your lip.

“definitely. i love you,” you blew him a kiss. he smiled, and you felt your heart swelling.

“i love you, too. good luck today!” he said as you reluctantly hung up the call.

you immediately got to work, calling your assistant and telling her you were taking a few personal weeks, and to email you in case of emergencies. next, you texted harry, asking him to call you once tom was busy on set.

you waited for the page to load, and once you had bought your one-way ticket to atlanta you hurriedly threw some pre-planned outfits into two suitcases, just in case. your phone rang and harry’s face popped up on your screen. you quickly answered the call, and let him know of your out-of-the-blue plan. he agreed to meet you at the airport and drive you to set. and because of your recent and sudden rise to fame, he suggested you wear all black and a cap. you followed his advice, throwing on some sunglasses as well, as you had seen tom do many times before.

once you reached the airport and checked-in, you bought some coffee and breakfast, as well as some food for the flight. you opened instagram, seeing all the messages and comments. you had seen how the fans reacted when their favorite celebrities announced a relationship, and you knew to expect the meanest comments, and even death threats. for your own sake and peace of mind, you allowed yourself to scroll until you read three of those, and closed the app.

once the plane took off, you tried to catch some sleep, preparing for the inevitable jet lag, but your mind kept buzzing from one scenario to another. so you took out your book and tried to read some chapters, putting in your earbuds, music playing quietly.

when you finally, finally landed, you stretched your legs and grabbed your bags, putting on the cap and sunglasses again, you spotted a familiar head of wild curls. you quickly approached harry.

“what happened to all black and a cap to go unnoticed?” you asked as he took one of your bags in his hands.

“think about it, two kids wearing black, a cap and sunglasses? people would think we’re up to no good.” he gave you a tight hug, you’d missed him almost as much as you’d missed tom.

he caught you up on everything he and tom had been doing these past months, you shifted in your seat in excitement, the sleep that was slowly taking over you on the plane had now disappeared from your body.

in what was probably a 15 -but to you felt like five- minute drive, you got to the hotel to leave your bags and take a quick shower. harry left you alone in tom’s room, making his way to his own room next door. he said he’d order something for you to eat whilst you got ready to see tom.

you took the quickest shower ever known to humankind, and when you walked out of the bathroom after using tom’s shampoo and conditioner, -you’d missed his smell all over you. the few forgotten hoodies and shirts that were once drenched in the smell of his soap and cologne, were now very faint.- you wrapped a bathrobe around your body, rummaging through tom’s clothes until you found one of his shirts.

you pulled it close to your face, sighing at the familiar scent you’d missed so much. you got dressed quickly, grabbing your now fully-charged phone and the key to tom’s room that harry had left on a coffee table. you knocked on harry’s door and he let you in.

“i just texted tom, he says they’ve got like three hours left.” you sat next to him on the couch, the table in front of you filled with food waiting to be devoured.

“my poor baby, they overwork him,” you pouted, reaching for one of the plates.

“it was his idea, said he’ll do anything that helps finish filming sooner.” you stopped chewing your food.

“wait, really?” you asked in disbelief, you knew tom loved his job, and you found it odd that he wanted to cut his time on set short.

“yeah, it’s been rough for him. not having you around, i mean, after he spent months with you. he’s been pretty distracted lately. messing up lines, he’s been waking up late and missing early calls...” your heart sank at the words. you ate the rest of your food with a knot in your stomach, cursing yourself for not getting there sooner. soon enough, you were back in the car, your leg bouncing up and down. you fell asleep on your way to set, waking up when harry parked the car and nudged your shoulder.

you stepped out carefully, your head turning back every few steps you took, in fear that tom might catch you. once you reached the stage where tom was filming, you flashed the visitor badge harry had given you to the guard and he let you both in. you walked in as you leaned down, your forehead against harry’s back, shielding you from the curious stares. harry told you to hide behind a giant box where they kept some lights whilst he spoke to the director.

although the box was big and tall enough to cover you completely, you crouched down, straining your ears for nearing footsteps. you heard two sets of feet approaching, your heartbeat racing.

you were met with your accomplice, a friendly-looking man behind him. you stood up as they approached you.

“this the girl?” the man asked, and harry nodded, “nice to meetcha, i’m jon.” you shook his hand, “okay, so we’ve cleared tom’s schedule for one week, we’ll need him back fully recharged and ready to work like it’s his first day on set, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like, if it means he’ll work better if you’re here you can stay until we're done. i really don’t mind, i just need my guy back.” you blinked at his words, nodding slowly. “we’ve got a couple hours left tonight, i’m all up for some cheesy reunion, but it’ll have to be when we’re finished, i can barely keep him focused as it is.”

with that he left, and harry led you to tom’s trailer, where you caught some sleep while you waited. like that morning, you woke up to your phone buzzing. you reached for it, sleep leaving your body as you read the text.

‘just finished filming for the night, i’m exhausted. miss u, love you. x.’

all rational thoughts left your head, you opened the door to tom’s trailer and sprinted out of there until you reached the set. your eyes finally, finally met his figure, and tears filled your eyes.

your legs moved on their own accord, you mumbled apologies as you crashed into people, but you didn’t care. tom had his back to you, and even though he wasn’t wearing the spiderman costume, you’d recognize that ass anywhere.

“tom!” you called out, stopping a few feet away from him. you saw him whipping his head around, eyes scanning the sea of people. you made your way up to him, “tommy!” you repeated, and he finally turned around.

his mouth wide opened in disbelief, arms twitching, feet running towards you as you did the same. you crashed into each other, your legs wrapping around him, arms around his neck, fingers curling on his soft hair. his hands running all over your back, your hair. pulling you as close as humanly possible.

whispers of ‘i love you’, ‘god, i missed you’, ‘never leave me again’, and ‘i promise’ were exchanged. you tightened your hold on his hair, pulling back to look at him.

“hi,” you whispered, your nose brushing his.

“hey,” he replied, burying his face on your neck again, pressing small kisses anywhere he could reach. his hands settled on the back of your thighs as he spun you two. you giggled, sniffling as a few tears escaped your eyes.

you could not care less about the people around you, all you could think about was the boy wrapped all over you, your favorite boy. tom led you back to his trailer, where you finally untangled yourself from him. he settled you down and you immediately wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him close to you again.

you had been starved of his touch for so long, there was no way you were letting him go anytime soon.

after many kisses, touches, tears, promises and more kisses, you left for the hotel. harry had already left, getting a ride from another cast member to leave you two alone. at that moment you swore you’d make him godfather of your firstborn child.

as you waited for tom to step out of the shower -you would’ve joined him, but three showers in a day seemed kind of excessive-, you laid down on the bed, throwing the covers over your body, tom's scent engulfing you. you breathed in happily. you tapped on your phone, replying to some work emails when you received a text from harry.

‘i believe the ball is in your court. you’re welcome.’

next, you received a picture of you and tom. harry must’ve taken the picture when you and tom were too lost in each other to even notice anyone around you. in the picture, your legs are around tom, bodies pressed closed together, your noses touching as you stare lovingly into each other’s eyes. it was a beautiful picture. and the black and white filter harry had applied to it made it seem like one of those old pictures of wives reuniting with their spouses after the war.

you smiled, heart swelling with emotion as you contemplated your options. you hummed quietly, tapping the instagram logo and waiting for the app to load.

you quickly uploaded the picture harry sent you tagging both him and tom and adding a quick caption before you shut down your phone. you were drifting off to sleep when you felt familiar arms around you.

you leaned into tom’s touch, your back resting against his chest, legs tangling with his as he interlocked his fingers with your own.

“thank you so much for being here, my love. i love you,” tom whispered into your ear, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“i’ll be here whenever you need me. i’ll always come back to you.” you turned around, facing him. you kissed the corner of his lips, and he cupped your cheek, his lips meeting yours in a slow kiss, filled with emotion. your fingers played with his fingers as you moved to straddle his waist. “i love you,” you broke the kiss reluctantly. as much as you both wanted to make love that night, you’d made it your top priority that tom took his time off to rest as much as he could, and that included that first night.

you gave him one last kiss, going back to your previous position. the familiar and comfortable weight of his arms around you, the feeling of his lips on your neck, his chest rising and falling against your back, you couldn’t ask for anything better.

the peaceful environment you had created suddenly burst like a bubble as tom’s phone pinged over and over again. you heard him grunting, arms reluctantly leaving you.

tom chuckled, putting his phone on do-not-disturb and throwing it somewhere on the bed.

“you’re perfect for me, my favorite girl.” you smiled, leaning into his touch as he kissed you all over. sleep quickly taking over both of you.

tom swore his heart stopped when he’d seen the picture you posted. you’d never looked more beautiful than when you were staring up at him, your bottom lip between your teeth. the words you wrote as a caption were the last thing on his brain as he finally succumbed to sleep.

‘i said, “i bet you can’t keep this a secret for five months.” he said, “darling, i won’t make it past three.” @ tomholland2013 it’s been 10 months, who won?’

edit: i just saw henry cavill's ig post and omg what is my life. pls respect celebrities' privacy and relationships.

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfic #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic #marvel #mcu #avengers imagine

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quietlyimplode · 3 years

Text

I dont really have the words for this one, except to say this is a story that's really close to my heart. It's one that was written of experiences and fueled by the movie being released. I wasn't sure if i wanted to share it, but I think it's a story I would like to tell.

Please heed the tagged warnings, on posts - there is nothing particularly kind or gentle about this series. It will move between Clint and Natasha's point of views and doesn't pull any punches. To those who have supported me with this one, I owe you a one shot, collect at any time. Thanks so much for the encouragement.

As always, take care of yourself. <3

summon your courage

1/6 (2137 words)

The television is split into four screens, each with a different room in the sparse apartment. He stirs his yogurt and clicks the remote to zoom in on the room the Black Widow currently sits in. He’s been watching her for just under a week now, having put the cameras in, invading her privacy in order to gather information for his employers.

At times, he feels dirty; like a creep; which in all honesty he is; watching a woman when she thinks she’s in private, all the private and intimate moments. He didn’t expect her to stay here for so long but he’s been glad for it, it’s almost respite for him.

Watching.

Waiting.

There’s a lull in her work, obviously; and she seems almost human, doing regular human-like things. Not at all like the dossier that’s laid out like a map on his left. All the information he has on her is stuck in his head. Death and destruction follow in her wake and there’s been certain kills that even he’s had to fold the page on and forget.

This is different.

She’s reading a book in French, he can’t make out the authors name from his view point, but he can see the title; Arsène Lupin is written in block letters. Her knees are tucked to her chest and he can also make out how her foot taps, like she’s listening to music. He doesn’t think it’s a nervous tic and he can’t hear music; so, he assumes it’s in her head.

Sighing, Clint turns the sound up, and heads to the kitchen to make some coffee and dinner. Looking quickly at the clock, he marks the time as 9.15pm. She’s been reading since 7. If she follows her usual routine, she’ll be up in 15 minutes and get changed and go for a run, be back by ten and then get ready for bed. He’s assuming the run serves as a perimeter check, he often runs it backwards after she’s gone to bed, doubly making sure what she already must know.

The Russians are watching.

9 days in, she’s seemingly despondent. She hasn’t followed any of her usual routines, and has stayed in bed. He pulls his laptop closer and chews on fresh apple, watching as her eyes open and close and sleep. She has not moved once today. He wonders if what he’s been watching over the past eight days has been functional depression, she can do things, clearly. He has a bit of experience with that, according to his employer's psych team. She can take care of herself, but this, today, all together feels like giving up.

Maybe it’s a bad day, he rationalizes. She’s terrifying enough that the Russians have not made a move, suspects that they don't even know. He wonders if they’re hunting her, watching her or protecting her; it’s not something he’s made clear just yet; and to make matters worse on his run last night, he noted DRSD agents. Their walk as distinctive as their Russian counterparts. So, it seems that his presence here is not the only one. American, French, Russian, all vying for her attention and here she is, lying in bed. He focuses in, making sure she’s still breathing and marks the time. 1pm.

He loads the camera up on his phone and heads to the roof, craving the fresh air. He flips through the cameras he’s set up around his apartment to watch his own back, his own surveillance footage of his surrounding area. He’s satisfied enough that nothing is amiss and that his French is passable to not have alerted anyone, and then flicks back to watch her. She’s still not moved from the bed.

Day 12 hits and they’ve not had another day like Day 9. He doesn’t report that one to his seniors, reports it as a day in which nothing was amiss. French intelligence has moved on, but today, the Russians have made contact. It wasn’t anything big, a chalk mark on the pavement, a change in path on her run and dead drop of a post card from what he can make out when she came back. He writes it up, emails quickly and await orders on what happens next, wonders if he’ll be given clearance to wherever she goes next.

Some sick part of him hopes so, he wonders what that makes him.

He’s been pulled and sent to Barcelona with a fool of an agent that’s so far beneath his skill level, he sees it as agent training. Coulson must know. He makes it a point to be an asshole, he doesn’t want a partner and after this job, this man won’t want him to be partnered with him.

The whole time he thinks of her.

Wants to know what she’s doing, reading, if her routines changed or she’s completed her mission. He sighs hard on the plane home. He’s definitely a creep.

He can’t stop thinking about her.

Coulson is kind enough to put him back on surveillance. A reprimand of punishment for being a dick to the young agent. He’s gleeful as he heads to his apartment and bids Bonjour to the woman at the bottom of the stairs. He airs the room, and sets up the computers again, reactivates the cameras and waits for her return.

If she returns.

The apartment is lived in, still, her meager belongings scattered around the house.

He has hope.

He doesn’t have to wait long and within the day she’s back. He sucks in a breath at her appearance when he zooms in close. Black eye, split lip and he’s sure of unseen ailments by the hitch in her gait which she only allows inside her apartment. He watches her undress and walk around in her underwear; ribs are wrapped and he can see a stitched wound that goes from her neck to shoulder. At least she’s taken care of herself, enough to tend to her wounds.

He pays attention as she starts to punch her punching bag, her fighting style is clearly Russian, and there’s no clear compensation for her injuries. Her shoulder wound weeps blood down her arm, and still, she hits just as hard. It’s impressive if not masochistic. It’s almost 40 minutes before she stops, drops and then starts with her usual routine of push-ups, sits ups and squats. At least some things don’t change. He marks the time and settles in.

It’s nice to be back.

He runs the perimeter nightly now, focusing on his own routines, now he understands hers. Marks all the Russians easily. Babysitting he decides. They’re babysitting her. By the run she takes, she knows exactly where her handlers are, makes it a point to run near each of them as a check in. It’s smart, but feels contrived, like she wants them to know she knows. He believes she can run circles around them, and likes watching her do so.

It’s a bad day again. She’s not got out of bed. He wants to shake her, tell her to get up. Do something. Punch the bag, read a book, eat something. But she does none of it. He watches her closely and makes sure she’s breathing. Hopes that tomorrow is better.

The next day seems worse. He didn’t go to sleep, just in case.. He doesn’t think she’d do anything to herself, but didn’t want to take the chance. He wonders what he would have done if she'd taken the knife to her skin. He calculates the quickest way there and waits. She doesn’t get up. Her eyes are open and no one's home. He wonders if she’s wet the bed, because he hasn’t seen her move once in two days.

It’s panic inducing. One day was enough. He almost wants to break cover and knock on her door to see if she’d open up. Instead, he hacks her phone and calls it. She makes no move towards her phone; the only response is a slow blink and recognition of sound.

He keeps calling. She doesn’t move.

In desperation, he contacts Coulson and asks what he should do. Since the apparent end of the mission will end in her death or the makings of a double agent, Coulson is non-plussed.

Watch and wait is the official lines. The feeling of dread curls in his stomach and settles like a stone.

They must know something is amiss. Obviously, she's not run her checks and hasn't touched base in almost 2 days.

They come for her in the middle of the night. It’s not something Clint had anticipated.

They put a bag over her head and drag her out. She doesn’t fight, and allows the men to inject her with something. He loads the cameras quickly to his phone, and sprints to her apartment. He feels like he breaks all speed records getting there, but he’s not quick enough. They’re gone by the time he arrives.

Breathing heavily, Clint pushes his body to run to the locations of Russians, the ones he passes nightly. They’re gone, except, god, he’s a fucking idiot. He has all their number plates and can track them. He calls through to Shield and is patched to tech. He fucking loves those nerds. It’s nearly 4 hours later but he’s been given three locations where she might be, where 3 of the cars have stopped. He only hopes she’s in one of them. Coulson hasn’t said anything, and he’s not explicitly said no, so he takes it as a yes; go get her and bring her in.

The first address leads him to a dead end. Literally. The van is wiped down and abandoned. He holsters his gun and sits in the front seat. He feels ridiculous, his surveillance has led him to.. This. Chasing cars for a woman who when he catches up to her, if he catches up to her, he’ll have to recruit or kill. He 100% second guesses himself as he hot wires the van and heads for the next address. He just hopes she’s not dead when he finally gets to her.

And then wonders why he cares.

At the failure of the third address, he’s frustrated. He’s driven for over 10 hours and is tired. His back is hurting and he longs to lie down. Calling tech support again, he gets the location of the vans that were still on the move, they’ve all stopped now and he has another three leads to go on with. He’s got some choices to make. If he sleeps, he risks her being dead on his watch. If he stays awake, he risks becoming dead because of a stupid mistake.

He grunts and kicks the tires of the van, pulls open the back and unfolds the blanket from his backpack to create a makeshift bed. He sleeps on a 45 degree angle, gun in hand, legs out straight, relaxing his body and focusing on all parts of the blanket touching him. He goes through muscle relaxation and forces sleep to come. The three hours is definitely not long enough, but it makes him feel at least functional, as he lets caffeine and chewing gum do the rest. At least he gets to watch the sun rise.

The second to last address leads him to warehouse almost in Belgium and he rolls his eyes at the cliché of it. He’s strung on coffee and energy drinks, sugar keeping him going and he knows at some point he’s going to have to eat real food. He’s compartmentalising everything he does. It’s been 3 days and he hasn’t had a proper meal, barely any sleep. He just concentrated on the next thing. Fill up the car, drink coffee, next location, fill up the car.. it’s monotonous but serves a purpose, and got him here.

He knows this is where they’ve taken her. Knows it like the curves on his bow. It’s what he would do for wet work. Scouting the location, he tags five Russian’s pacing and one Black Widow tied to chair with a bag on her head. He can make out barbed wires not handcuffs holding her down, he closes his eyes to the barbaricness of it all but in the same moment the stones of despair in his stomach ease.

She’s not dead.

The little voice asks again, why is he so invested. It’s kill or recruit. Maybe he should shoot her from here and just divest them all of the responsibility of choice.

But he can’t.

He knows he can’t.

Knows that if she chooses death, it can’t be him.

He doesn’t want to wonder why.

Clint calls in, gives his location and an update, even if Coulson doesn’t want to know.

The reproach is significant, followed by a sigh and a be careful.

The rest of the series will be posted up on Ao3 with all my fic, maybe here, idk? As always any encouragement is lovely either here or Ao3. <3

#black widow #red room #black widow movie #natasha romanoff #clint barton #marvel fic #black widow fic #natasha romanoff fic #pre-shield #clintasha fic #eventually #my fic #series #tw depression #tw torture #whump fic #tw red room #ptsd

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i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend · 3 years

Text

Relationship Stahl ~ Charlie Conway x Adam Banks

A/N: Hi all, I'm on my Mighty Ducks bullshit, so sorry not sorry. This is just for fun. It's postcanon - could be canon with the show. I don't specifically go against anything. But yeah. Enjoy this fic for a movie that came out over 25 years ago. *Posts fic and runs away*

Summary: Charlie and Adam are idiots. And they finally figure that out thanks to Charlie's pen pal.

Characters/Pairings: Charlie Conway/Adam Banks, Charlie Conway, Adam Banks, Connie Moreau, Guy Germaine, Fulton Reed, Gunnar Stahl

Rating: T

Word Count: 2800

Warnings: Language ( I think that's it)

^True love if I ever saw it ;)

Charlie grinned at his laptop as he fired off his enthusiastic response to the latest email from his pen pal before flipping open his phone. Instead of scrolling through his contacts, he dialed the number he knew by heart.

“I literally just dropped you off,” his best friend laughed when he picked up on the third ring.

“And I couldn’t bear to be without you,” Charlie quipped back.

“What do you want, Charlie?”

Adam’s voice was undeniably fond and it made Charlie’s stomach flutter.

“How do you feel about going to the Wilds game on Saturday?”

“How’d you swing those tickets?”

Charlie shrugged even though Adam couldn’t see him. “I know a guy. So are you in? We can grab drinks with some of the ducks afterwards.”

He could practically hear Adam shaking his head and it made Charlie’s smile widen. He knew what his answer would be.

“Yeah, I’m in. Of course I’m in. I’ll pick you up at 5?”

“Sounds good.”

“Are the other ducks coming?

“I’m gonna see who’s around.”

“Alright. Can’t wait. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

Charlie smiled at the question in his voice.

“Of course. I’ll call you after work.”

“Good night, Charlie.”

“Night. Banksy. Text me when you get home, alright?”

“Will do.”

Adam was wearing a Minnesota Wilds Jersey and a pair of tight-fitting jeans, when he knocked on the door of Charlie’s house.

He checked his watch. He was early.

He was always early.

Charlie probably wouldn’t be ready for another half hour, so he was surprised when the door swung open – at least until he saw Casey Conway’s smiling face.

“Adam, honey, how are you?” she cooed as she pulled him inside and into a tight hug.

“I’m great, Mrs. Conway. You’re looking lovely this evening.”

She swatted at him, but he saw her genuine smile. “Always a charmer.”

“How are you? How’s the diner?”

“I’m great. The diner is doing well. Business has really increased since we reopened after the renovations. We still have our regulars, but we’re getting more of a younger crowd too.”

“That’s awesome. And so well deserved.”

Adam could still remember when Charlie had sprinted into their college dorm room talking a mile a minute. He’d gleaned that there was a long lost uncle who’d passed and left his mother a rather large inheritance, and she was going to use that to buy out the diner that she’d been helping run for years.

Charlie had been so excited he’d nearly fell over because he forgot to breathe. Adam had spent the summer helping to paint and decorate the newly renovated diner.

“It’s been way too long since you’ve come over for dinner. Are you free next week?”

“Would Tuesday work?”

“Perfect. That’s my early night. And I’ll make your favorite pot pie.”

Adam grinned at the ceiling as he rocked back on his heels.

“You’re the best, Mrs. C.”

“Well, I won’t hold you up. I’m afraid I’ve already made Charlie late. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

“See you then.”

She gave him another quick hug before scurrying out the door.

Adam sighed as he checked his watch.

“Hey, Spazaway. Hurry up or we’re gonna be late!” he yelled up the stairs.

“I’m coming! Relax, cake-eater!”

There were several thumps as Charlie hopped on one foot to get his shoe on and then a slam of his bedroom door, but by the time he made it downstairs he looked perfectly disheveled in a cool way instead of a sloppy way. Classic Charlie. It’d be irritating if it wasn’t so attractive.

“Hey, Banksy. See, 5:15 right on time.”

“I told you I’d pick you up at 5,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but we both know that at this point you tell me you’ll pick me up 30 minutes before we actually have to leave. So technically, I’m 15 minutes early,” Charlie grinned and slung an arm around his shoulder.

Adam huffed but couldn’t argue. Charlie was right. He’d learned a long time ago never to trust Charlie to be punctual, so he had started telling him earlier times in the hope that they’d actually arrive places before the events were over.

“It’s gonna be a great night.”

“Are any of the others coming?”

“Connie, Guy, and Fulton. Everyone else was busy.”

“That’ll be fun,” Adam admitted as he climbed into the car.

Secretly, he’d kind of been hoping that it would just be him and Charlie, but he shoved that thought away. It would be good to go out with some of his oldest friends.

“Yeah. It will.”

The five ducks were happily chatting and catching up, laden down with food as they waited for the game to start.

Guy was the first to notice the name after the national anthem.

“Do you think Stahl is the same one we faced from Iceland?”

“I don’t know,” Adam shrugged. “How common of a name do you think it is?”

“Remember when you had that massive crush on Gunnar, Charlie?” Connie teased before taking a sip of her soda.

“I didn’t have a crush on Gunnar.”

“You so did,” Fulton laughed, nudging. “How many hours did you spend watching tapes of his signature shot?”

“That was research,” Charlie insisted, though his cheeks were slightly pink.

“Yeah, you definitely needed to spend all that time on just Gunnar Stahl and not the rest of Iceland,” Guy faux agreed with an exaggerated wink.

Adam remained quiet. He remembered Charlie’s “not a crush” all too well. He wasn’t proud to admit it, but he’d been jealous at the time.

At first it had been, look at this shot. Or look at this play.

And then after the games it was, he’s so nice and cool. He called me ‘Captain Duck’.

Charlie hadn’t shut up about him until they were on the plane home and he promptly knocked out on Adam’s shoulder. Number ninety-nine didn’t have it in him to be jealous when he got to have a sleeping Charlie Conway on top of him.

Tuning back into the conversation after his quick jaunt down memory lane, Adam realized they were still ribbing Charlie.

“Okay, fine. I might have had a little crush on him. I was young. I was still figuring myself out,” Charlie admitted.

“Figures your first crush would be on a hockey player,” Fulton pointed out.

“Who said he was my first crush?”

Adam swore Charlie’s gaze darted to him, and he felt his cheeks heat up.

“Well you literally never talked about anybody else like that before him,” Guy said.

“Except Banks,” Fulton added.

The three of them looked at Adam and he knew he was bright red. They all knew he’d had a crush on Charlie when they were kids. And that he still sort of had a crush on him. He could kick Fulton right now, and he would have if Charlie wasn’t sitting in between them.

“I still talk about Banksy all the time.”

“I’m right here,” Adam finally managed to grumble.

Charlie grinned and nudged him with his shoulder, before throwing an arm around him.

“Are we really gonna sit here and argue over who I did or did not have a crush on twenty something years ago?”

“Yes.” The other three nodded emphatically.

Charlie rolled his eyes.

“Alright fine. Yes, I had a crush on him. But laugh all you want. You have that crush to thank for these seats,” Charlie reminded them smugly.

“What do you mean?” Adam choked out as the others gasped.

Charlie looked at the four flabbergasted ducks in confusion.

“Gunnar got me the tickets. I thought you guys knew.”

“We didn’t know that,” Guy nearly shouted.

“You kept in touch with him all these years?” Connie asked softly.

Their captain shrugged.

“We were pen pals. And now we email every few weeks.”

Adam’s heart clenched in something that felt a lot like jealousy – a lot like when he was 14. He turned his attention to the game, Stahl was on the ice. Adam couldn’t help but track his movements. It had been years since he moved like that. Another squeeze.

It was going to be a long night.

Charlie noticed the instant Adam went rigid, but he couldn’t understand why. After all, he was the one being teased for a 20 year old crush that only lasted for a minute.

He tried to nudge his best friend and get a response, but Adam’s eyes were glued to the game. That wouldn’t have worried Charlie, but the tight set of his jaw was nothing like his usual relaxed joy at the games. That was one of the reason Charlie had made it a point to go to as many hockey games with Adam as he could. He loved to observe him while he watched the game. But right now, his expression was stony.

When Gunnar managed a hat trick early in the third, Adam abruptly excused himself, saying he needed to go to the bathroom.

“What’s up with Banks?” Fulton voiced Charlie’s question aloud.

Charlie shrugged. “No clue.”

Connie rolled her eyes.

“Boys. He’s jealous.”

“Of what?”

“God, Charlie, are you that oblivious?”

His brow furrowed and he stared at her.

“What are you talking about?”

She huffed and shook her head.

“Nope. If you can’t figure it out after 25 years, you’re on your own.”

Adam was less grumpy, but still pretty sedate when he returned with only a few minutes left to go.

“You alright?” Charlie asked in a low voice as he settled back into his seat.

“Yeah. All good. Long line for the bathroom.”

Charlie didn’t believe him, but shrugged it off as the Wilds managed a late game comeback and beat the Anaheim Mighty Ducks and they were all on their feet cheering.

The five of them waited outside the side exit where the players would come out for Gunnar. The former Iceland captain signed a few autographs before he caught sight of Charlie and waved, flashing him a big smile.

“Good to see you, Captain Duck!” he shouted as he pulled Charlie into a tight hug.

“Good to see you too, Gunnar. Nice playing tonight.”

“Thank you.” Gunnar turned his attention to the rest of the Ducks. “It’s good to see you all too.”

There were various murmurs of agreement, before an awkward silence fell.

“Drinks?” Charlie finally suggested.

“Definitely.”

Drinks helped. Everyone loosened up by the second round. Even Adam, though he was not that talkative. He could see why Charlie would have kept in touch with the Icelander. He really was quite charming.

That did not help.

When Charlie stepped away from the table to get another pitcher, Gunnar slid into his vacated seat. Adam panicked for a moment. Guy and Connie were deep in conversation and Fulton had gone to the bathroom, it was just the two of them.

“You know, Captain Duck still never shuts up about you.”

“Still?” Adam asked, fixated on the word.

“At the Goodwill Games, when we spoke for the first time at the closing ceremony, Charlie wouldn’t stop raving about you. How he’d been worried about you being hurt. He even glared at Sanderson. And in his letters, he always talked about you. In every single one. I think I knew more about how you were doing than I did about him.”

“Sorry?”

Adam had no idea how to respond. Gunnar chuckled and shook his head.

“It’s sweet. I’m glad the two of you have made it this far. You’re a good pair.”

Adam’s jaw dropped and he floundered for an answer.

“Thanks?”

“Thanks what?”

Of course Guy chose that moment to resurface from his conversation.

“For saying I played well back in ’94,” Adam lied unconvincingly.

Charlie’s return halted the conversation, and Adam couldn’t help but think about what Gunnar had said. Why would Charlie be talking about him? Did Gunnar think they were together? Why did Gunnar think they were together?

His head was spinning. And it definitely wasn’t the alcohol. Per usual, it was all Charlie Conway’s fault.

Charlie was playing with the edge of his jersey when Adam pulled up to his house.

“Do you want to come in for a bit?” he offered.

“Yeah, sure,” Adam agreed.

“Oh. Okay. Cool.”

Charlie had been expecting him to bail. That was what Adam did when things got tense between them, so his easy agreement caught him off guard.

He pulled two beers from the fridge and took a moment to steel himself before rejoining Adam in the living room.

“It was a great game.”

“Yeah. Ducks were smart when they got Gunnar.”

“Definitely.”

“So, why didn’t you tell any of us that you were still talking to him?”

The former captain tried to gauge Adam’s mood, but he was surprisingly nonchalant.

“I didn’t really think about it. When we were writing actual letters, I’d get one maybe three times a year. So it just never came up. And then we started emailing and it was just something I did. It never seemed like a big deal.”

“So it’s not because you’ve been carrying a torch for him all these years?” Adam asked shyly.

The laughter that bubbled out of Charlie was loud and somewhat alarming.

“Of course not, Banksy. I mean, yes, I had a crush on him. For what seems like five seconds at this point in our lives. He’s just someone I liked to keep in touch with. Another person to talk hockey with. Honestly, I thought we’d last like two letters and then never talk again.”

“Have you seen him before?”

“No. Tonight’s the first time I’ve seen him since we left the games. This isn’t some big torrid affair I’ve been hiding. It’s a pen pal. Who got us tickets to a Wilds game.”

“That was pretty cool.”

“Are we good?”

Adam nodded. “We’re good. Sorry, it was just unexpected.”

“That’s fair. I really thought I had told you guys at some point over the years. Sorry I sprang it on you… unintentionally.”

“No worries.”

It was comfortable for a bit. Charlie put on ESPN and they caught the highlights from the other games that had been played. Somehow he ended up leaning heavily into Adam’s side.

“Was he your first?” He asked as the commentators went over the same play for the third time.

“Was who my first what?” Charlie asked, letting his head loll to the side so he could look at Adam without pulling away.

“Was Gunnar your first crush?”

It came out in a sigh.

“No. He wasn’t.”

“Who was it?”

“Guess.”

“Charlie.”

“I’m serious. Guess. I’ll even give you 5 questions to try and figure it out.”

Charlie wasn’t going to admit it without a fight, and Adam knew it. Curiosity got the better of him.

“Fine. Was your first crush a hockey player?”

“Yes.”

“Someone on our team?”

Charlie nodded, sitting up so he could watch him more closely.

“Boy or girl?”

“Boy.”

“Peewees or Goodwill Games?”

“Met him in Peewees. Realized I had a crush on him during the Goodwill Games.”

“Did he go to Eden Hall?”

“Yes. I even roomed with him at one point. That’s five. Time to guess.”

He was certain he’d know now.

“Fulton?” Adam asked innocently.

Charlie hung his head.

“You cannot possibly be this obtuse, Banksy.”

“What? You met him in Peewees, he was with us at the games and at Eden hall and you roomed with him sophomore year.”

“Christ,” he huffed. “It’s you, Banksy. Not Fulton. God, definitely not Fulton. He’s like my brother. It’s you.”

“Me? You had a crush on me?”

“I mean, can you call it a crush if it lasts 25 years?”

Adam’s jaw hit the floor.

“You still have a crush on me?” His voice was small, so much like that 10 year old who’d been forced to leave the Hawks. But there was hope.

Charlie, momentarily panicked before resigning himself to his fate. It had to come out.

“No, Adam. I don’t have a crush on you now.”

His best friend deflated slightly.

“I’m in love with you now. I have been for as long as I can remember. Even if I didn’t realize it. And I know you probably don’t feel the same way –“

“I do. Feel the same way. God, Charlie. I’ve been in love with you for ages.”

“Seriously?”

Adam nodded once, resolutely before Charlie’s lips were on his.

The kiss was quick and hungry and it left them both wanting more.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Charlie demanded in a whisper as he pulled back, touching their foreheads together.

“Why didn’t you?” Adam sniped back.

“Touche. God so much lost time.”

“We didn’t lose anything, Charlie. We were together. That’s never a loss.”

“I love you, Banksy.”

“I love you too, Charlie.”

A/N: Yeah so I love them. I hope you enjoyed this. I stand by my theory that Charlie had a brief infatuation with Gunnar Stahl. Thanks for reading!

#Charlie Conway x Adam Banks #Charlie Conway #Adam Banks #Chadam #Mighty Ducks #d2 the mighty ducks #d3 the mighty ducks #the mighty ducks

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emilyoftheshadows · 3 years

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Person A catches a bus home everyday, but today, they're so exhausted that they fall asleep, suddely they feel a light tap on their shoulder and open their eyes to see a cute guy/gal/person smiling at them. "Sorry to wake you, bit this is your stop, i hope you slept well"

So, this is the first piece I have written and posted here! This is a fluffy drabble loosely based on the prompt above as well as some tik tok ideas i've seen. I hope you enjoy and don't judge too hard :)

~~~~~~

Aelin never knew that she could feel such a wide range of emotions in such a short amount of time. The hectic events she had endured earlier in her day had left her drained and in dire need of sleep.

She started out her mornings as usual - brewing her coffee with the help of an overly excited Fleetfoot. On the subway ride to work, coffee in hand, she explicitly remembered checking her emails for any important notices regarding her job. As an advertising agent, she dealt with multiple clients at one time. With her meticulously organized calendar and the help of her overworked assistant Marion, she was usually able to keep everything in check. Today was not one of those days.

As she entered her office, Marion greeted her with her tablet in hand- Aelin’s schedule color coded, labeled and sorted by hour.

“Good morning Ms. Galathynius, ready to hear your schedule for today?” Aelin nodded, sipping her coffee as Marion listed her client meetings for the upcoming day. As they entered her office, Aelin paused.

“Marion, could you please repeat that first meeting again?”

“The Havilliard Scotch pitch at 12?” And that was when Aelin knew she was fucked. This pitch was meant for a well known drinking company in New York, fast on the come up. Havilliard Sr. was known to be picky about his branding, scrutinizing most agencies that had helped him before. She had barely gotten this client, practically begging Nehemia for the job. As she worked the branding, she had become worried about the content she was producing.

She was so worried about this pitch, that she had taken her laptop home last night in hopes of triple checking her work for mistakes and to fine tune some details. And that's where her laptop was at that moment. At her apartment, across town, sitting on her desk, collecting dust. Her mind raced at how to solve her predicament. The subway ride to and from her apartment was too long of a trip to make before the meeting and, like an amateur, she hadn’t saved her files anywhere else but her laptop. She was completely fucked.

Marion stood in the doorway, confused on what was going on in Aelin’s head. Aelin decided to finally release herself from her stupor. “Marion, could you please go find Aedion for me? And tell him it’s an emergency.”

With a determined look on her face, her assistant went as fast as her short legs could carry her to Aedion’s office on the adjacent part of the building floor she was on. Within minutes, Aedion was standing at her door, panting like he had just sprinted the fastest race of his life. The good thing about having her overbearing cousin work with her, is that she knew that in any problem he would help in an instant. And this was one hell of a fucking problem.

“What happened Aelin? Are you okay? Were you hurt? Do you need an ambulance?”

“You idiot I am physically fine, but still screwed and I need your help.” Aedion released the first breath Aelin had seen him take since entering her office.

“You know, when Marion power walked into my office saying you had an EMERGENCY and she didn’t know what was wrong with you, I definitely thought you would be passed out on your floor with blood on your face. But, you know, thanks for the heart attack. Really woke me up this morning.”

Aelin rolled her eyes at him. He was more dramatic than her, and that spoke volumes in itself.

“Aedion, please it really is an emergency. I have the big pitch for the Havilliard Scotch today and I left my laptop with the presentation at my apartment.” Aedion’s eyes widened in surprise. He knew that Aelin had been obsessed about this pitch and that mistakes like this only happened to her once in a blue moon. Aelin saw understanding dawn on his face and took that as a sign to continue.

“Now, I know a while back I sent you the rough drafts of the branding from when I first got the pitch. Is there any chance that you have the email or presentation saved still? If I have the basis of the presentation, I have an hour to build on it and hopefully fix this.”

Aedion’s face fell at the request. “We can go look, but you know I’m not the best at organizing my files Ace. It could be anywhere on my computer or not at all.” With those reaffirming words, Aelin and Aedion walked at a brisk pace back to his office. Combing through Aedion’s computer was an agonizing process. There were files saved from years ago that should’ve been deleted, and backtracking through all the contents of his computer made Aelin want to stab her eyes out. But it was all worth it, because hidden in the depths of this man’s terribly organized computer was the presentation. With a quick click of a button, she emailed the document to herself. She gave a half ass hug to Aedion, then practically ran to her office to start reworking her pitch on the computer there.

Aelin believed it was pure adrenaline that enabled her to finish her pitch in time for the Havilliard meeting. With a strong foundation laid out before her from her first draft, she had constructed almost her exact pitch that was left at home. Aelin waited for the Havilliards in the boardroom, smoothing out her clothes as she paced at the front. Far too soon, Marion escorted Havilliard Sr., Dorian Havilliard, and their close friend and partner Chaol Westfall into the room for her presentation. The three men had sat down in silence with no introduction, except for a small encouraging smile from the younger Havilliard. Taking that as her sign to start, Aelin cleared her throat.

“Hello gentlemen, today I want to present to you the future of Havilliard Scotch…”

---

As the men had exited the room single file, Aelin finally allowed herself to relax. That had felt like the longest pitch of her life. Going into the meeting, she had known the men were notorious for being extremely serious and critical of their agents. What she had not expected was the whispered words between the men after she had finished her presentation. As she looked on, Dorian Havilliard had finally broken away from their circle to address her.

“Miss Galathynius, thank you for your time. We will get back to you shortly about our decision to run with this branding or not.” With a quick nod and gesture to his companions, the trio had stood up and left the room. She was utterly shocked. Aelin had poured her sweat and tears into this pitch, quite literally, and they had just thanked her and left. No critiques, no opinions, no nothing.

Quite honestly, Aelin was exhausted. She had spent most of her brain power reworking that pitch in that 45 minutes before that meeting and she had nothing left to give today. Yet, she still had a full schedule left to woo clients and work on her other projects. By the time Aelin trudged back to the subway, she was ready for a nice dinner at home followed by a restorative night of sleep with Fleetfoot at her side.

Now, as she entered the subway, she immediately noticed the mystery man sitting down a few feet away from her. The man was moderately built, with muscles that were outlined by the fabric of his long sleeve t-shirt. His style was simple with a pair of nice jeans and Doc Marten boots, but that just allowed one's focus to settle on the beautiful creation that was his face. Mystery man had a strong jawline, lined with a bit of stubble and scruff. His eyes were a beautiful shade of green like none that she had seen before, his head topped with luscious silver hair. As the subway started, Mystery Man continued to sketch drawings into his book. Now, Aelin was never one to back down from an opportunity to flirt with one of the most attractive men she had ever seen. She was a single woman in a big city, why the hell not. But her day had taken a toll on her, and she just didn’t know if this was the right time or place. So, she opted to put in her headphones as she waited for her stop, listening to relaxing music to calm her anxieties regarding the failed Havilliard pitch.

Seeing that her stop was next, Aelin rose from her seat to wait in line for the doors to open. As she waited, she felt a light tap on her shoulder. Low and behold, there was the Mystery Man standing next to her with a piece of paper in hand. As she pulled her headphone out, the man silently handed her the paper. Looking down, she saw a pencil sketch of herself on the subway. The drawing was beautifully done with bold lines and harsh shading, contrasted by highlights created from the fluorescent lights of the subway. Her eyes welled up, immediately grateful for this thoughtful gift after such a horrible day. The Mystery Man saw her emotions, startled to see tears welling up in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude on your privacy. I just… I like to draw and when I saw you… I mean, it’s just you’re so stunning..” The man’s face flushed red as he tried to justify his beautiful art. Aelin laughed out loud for the first time today at his misunderstanding of her swell of emotions.

“Oh no, these are just tears of..uhmm.. happiness? I guess…” She started to flush at her own awkwardness, trying to explain her emotions this time.

“I just had a really rough day and feel like shit. But this drawing is beautiful and I really am grateful that such a talented artist like yourself chose me as your muse today.” Aelin watched as the Mystery Man reacted to such a lavish compliment, somehow developing an even deeper blush with a shy smile . Gaining confidence from his reaction, she decided to make her move before she exited for her upcoming stop.

“Hey, Mystery Man, why don’t I give you my number? Seeing that I am your muse and all, I would really like to learn more about your art.” It was a subpar pickup line at best, but hey, she had a long day and for the circumstance she thought it good enough. The man gave a deep timbered laugh at her pickup line, clearly enjoying their conversation now.

“I think I might be one step ahead of you actually. Flip the drawing over.” As she flipped the paper, she saw a messy scrawl with the name Rowan, and what she could only assume was his number. The sight of these two things brought her complete giddiness. Giddiness that made you want to jump in the air and pump your fist because you're so excited. She looked up at Rowan, smirking as she tucked the piece of paper into her purse.

As the subway doors opened and they were pushed apart by bypassers, she turned around one last time to look at the man who had brightened her day beyond belief. She winked at Rowan as she walked away, not missing the wide smile he gave in return as the subway doors closed and continued on to the next stop.

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obeymeluv · 4 years

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The Bros and School Headcanons

I have other stuff in mind but this is something short I can put out for now.

It’s my headcanon on the types of school/college people the bros are. I guess you can consider it college AU?

Lucifer

The Type-A asshole everyone probably hates

Doesn’t originally start out that way, doesn’t mean for people to hate him. Soon LIVES for it. Seriously, it’s like his coffee.

Prideful AF. MUST be top of the class!

His motto: “Do it right, do it once.”

Runs on an insane amount of coffee and just as insane (read: little) amount of sleep

The type to remind the teacher about assignments that were due in class if it seems like they’re going to forget about it

Asks about extra credit on day one

If people ask repeat questions that were LITERALLY just answered, he gets pissy and silently suffers

Ends up a little sad and burnt out, wondering if the grade was worth skipping out on other opportunities

Says he’s not going to do it next semester, but gets addicted to that grade high

The “friends” he makes in class are usually fellow rivals and they have a hot and cold relationship that somehow works really well

When he drops the grade-chaser stuff, he’s actually really nice to be around. He has really deep, interesting conversations that are between philosophical and educational (you just have to pull his head out of his ass first)

Mammon

Some people wonder how he got into the class, some people wonder how he’s passing it

Mammon is the dude who looks like he doesn’t know about the subject but is an absolute FOUNTAIN of knowledge

Always has sunglasses on and has some kind of drink within arm’s reach. Usually a very big coffee with lots of espresso

Constant bedhead (even if he says he fixed his hair)

Tried sitting in the front row the first week, kept getting sleepy. Now sits in the back row towards the doors.

He’s either early or late. Never on time.

The one that brings a notebook and a pen to class. Nothing extra.

Usually falls asleep or cat naps. Says he learns through osmosis

This asshole is really good at auditory learning and gets by recording the lectures

Blows through exams like they’re nothing. He’s a good BS’er and gets C’s, minimum. Usually low B’s.

This guy laughs at the Type-A stresser’s and enjoys his minimum studying

Can be suckered into group studying fairly easily but most people won’t study with him because he turns study sessions into anything BUT studying

Knows people who know people. Could probably get his hands on old tests and stuff. If he can, it’ll cost you. A lot.

Levi

This poor baby has testing anxiety hella bad when it comes to subjects he’s not super interested in or that he’s already struggling in

If he likes the subject and feels confident in it, there’s no testing anxiety.

Also brings a drink to class. It’s an energy drink.

Always comes to class early and is usually in a pair of wireless headphones, browsing on his phone

A great visual learner.

His notes are written sloppily and kind of sporadically but they’re decently organized with notes in the margin and things like that

Doesn’t like asking questions out loud. Will either email the teacher, ask after class, or make a friend that isn’t afraid to ask them for him.

If he’s having a good day, he’ll try to make jokes that only make a few people laugh. It’s usually bad timing and he’s a little sad.

MUCH BETTER AT DRAGGING PEOPLE! It’s not something he thinks about. It just slips out! Before his face can overheat, he realizes people are laughing and he kind of basks in it for a while.

Has coordinated stationary; is probably animes he’s into or colors he likes

If he has a laptop, it’s absolutely smothered in stickers

The BEST guy to have a study session with. Something about being in a library or quiet area ramps up his focus and he’s like a second-hand teacher.

Very different from his in-class persona, but is often spot on with ‘If I were the teacher, I’d put this on the exam.’

Want to be friends? Comment on his merch. He’ll start a conversation if he sees a shirt/pin/bag/pencil or anything he likes. It helps if you offer Starbucks or snacks in exchange for being tutored

Satan

Takes pride in his grades but doesn’t go out of his way to make people hate him

Will casually drop his grades when asked, but won’t own up to being the top grade. Very vague (”I did okay. Just like I expected.”)

He more or less enjoys the satisfaction of seeing a good grade come back to him after all that studying

Prone to over-thinking

Probably the first one done, but he’ll do 2 or 3 look overs to check everything before turning it in

Low-key exhausts his professors with written assignments because he gives them a fucking book. It’s all technical and correct but, really, it was only supposed to be three pages!

The one that will yell at the obnoxious people interrupting lecture. Will throw things at them if they’re in reach.

Super protective of his books and class materials. Has a hoarding/scooping reflex when messy people spread out their stuff or unwrap food. The books are not to be desecrated!

If an obnoxious eater/drinker is beside him, he thinks about strangling them to the point where it distracts him from lecture

Usually reads ahead and works ahead

If he gets points off of something, he’ll want an explanation. If he feels the points were taken away unnecessarily, there will be words

If he gets too overstimulated with noises or just hits a point of being fed up, he’ll leave lecture

Rarely brings food or drink to class but can be found at the Starbucks on campus before class. Maybe after. Some days it’s both.

Best notes around. Very technical and perfectly organized. Not colorful or anything, but definitely the envy of people.

Sells his notes/study guides each semester for money

Asmo

That guy who can slide into any friend group

Socially sharp. Can tell who the most prepared are and has an instinct for who the strongest class partners will be

Makes friends with the TA’s before the professors.

Totally convinces that TA to give him hints about the upcoming exams

People either love him or hate him. Most people love him, some people hate them because they can’t be him.

Almost always has a drink and it’s rarely the same. Usually a healthy smoothie or one of the cute juice drinks from Starbucks.

The type to bring in outside food and pick at it while he listens to lecture. Tries to listen, anyways.

Really easily distracted. Gets bored with monotonous voices and HATES teachers who just read off of a powerpoint.

His notes are very colorful and aesthetic but may not be the most informative

Does his best to stay on top of assignments but usually has 2 or 3 big screw ups a semester

Somehow always gets his ass saved. Boy has good karma in stock

This is the guy that things ALWAYS seem to work out for, and they fall in his lap

Proposes cute/semi-extravagant study dates. They are rare and exclusive. Extended to a few choice people (no, it’s not to sucker anyone into giving him class notes.)

Aim’s for C’s because anything more is just a bonus. D’s and F’s are unacceptable.

Will drag a bad partner in a heartbeat. If they didn’t help in the group project, their name isn’t going on it.

Beel

Also one of the types that doesn’t look like he belongs, but he does

Is a fountain of random knowledge

Very strong memory, but not perfect. The type that needs a little push before the absolute WALL of information comes out.

Really strong test taker

Brings tons of snacks to class

Once brought a whole-ass meal to class. He ate it one-handed and took notes with the other.

The guy that somehow gets roped into favors by other people. It’s usually quick stuff and he’s good about setting boundaries to make time for himself and his studies

Want him to study with you? Mention about splitting a pizza or something.

Your hype man. Good guy to reassure you before tests if you get test anxiety

Sick and skip class? He’ll check in on you AND send copies of his notes

Doesn’t always get assignments in on time. Only late once or twice a semester. Either eats the point difference or convinces the teacher to give him an extension.

Will take you out for post-test fun errands

Belphie

Does he exist? You won’t find out until it’s time to take an exam.

Belphie does a lot of research before he signs up for a class. Would like to go 100% online but knows that isn’t realistic, so he combs teacher reviews to get nice, easygoing professors

Has a photographic memory, so all he really needs are the powerpoints and to check out reference copies of the textbooks from the libraries

Tries to take the same classes as his brothers so he can swipe the textbook for a bit

If his only option is a morning class, he DEFINITELY picks the same one as one of his bros to make sure he gets up and goes

More of a night owl

The one that’s addicted to caffeine, stays up all night, and somehow gets 7 assignments done. Has periods of intense focus then it’s back to not knowing what day it is. He just wants sleep.

Usually seen with Beel or Satan. Tends to show up at events with free food.

Loves finals week when they bring in dogs and pets.

Has wireless earbuds and is always listening to a podcast, Tedtalk, or something soothing

Catnaps through class. Even if he’s woken up from a dead sleep, he can answer whatever snarky question someone asked

Takes advantage of the meditation classes and alternative therapy walk-ins promoted by the Mental Health Clinic. He really likes guided meditation with singing bowls.

#Obey me!#Obey me! x Reader #Lucifer x Reader #Mammon x Reader #Leviathan x Reader #Satan x Reader #Beelzebub x Reader #Belphegor x Reader

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extra-salt · 3 years

Text

Reset (Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader)

Title: Reset Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader Genre: Comfort? A bit of fluff. Summary: Sometimes, all we need is to breathe and move forward because everyday is a new opportunity. A/N: A very short story/scenario that I need to pull out of my brain or else I’ll lose it!! Based on a song called 0:00 (Zero O’Clock) by BTS a.k.a. my comfort song (lyrics here).

Posted this on my AO3 as well!

Masterlist

You let things sink in as you entered your apartment. You head to the kitchen and place your keys on the table.

“Babe?” Kuroo, who was currently chilling on the living room, heard the door opening and called out to check if it was you. He didn’t get any response so he decided to take a look for himself.

Standing up from the couch, he peeked from the living room door that lets him have a view to the main door and to the kitchen. He saw you walking in a daze to the kitchen. “Kitten?” He called again, but just like before, there’s no answer from you.

He walks towards the kitchen following you, but picked up his pace when he heard a glass broke. “Y/N?!”

You were sitting on the floor, about to clean up the broken glass when you heard Kuroo from the kitchen entrance. You looked up at him with a sad smile. “Sorry, it’s my fault. I wasn’t being careful…I’m sorry,” you apologised, voice shaking, and about to breakdown.

Kuroo rushed to your side and helped you up, carefully avoiding the broken pieces of glass as he secures you in his arms. “Hey, Kitten. Stop apologising. It’s not your fault,” he whispered as he held you close to him.

You can feel his hand softly caressing your back. It feels very comforting. To be in his arms. To feel his warmth. To hear his voice. It just overwhelmed you to the point when your finally let go of the tears that you’ve been holding back since this morning. You felt his arms tighten around your body and his comforting kisses on your head. “Tell me what happened when you’re ready, but for now, just cry it out.”

————

After crying your heart out in Kuroo’s arms, he told you to go to your shared bedroom and rest while he cleans the kitchen and runs you a bath. You did as you were told, and you have left with your thoughts again as you lie on the bed.

Tasks for you at work keep piling up as your deadlines are fast approaching. You wanted to be productive and get most of them done before the weekends, but today you weren’t feeling it at all. The least complicated tasks look overwhelming to you that you just want to go home even though you just literally settled down your work station. It’s been a tiring week, but few days ago, the feeling wasn’t this heavy. You see the some of your peers whizing through their workload like how you used to but that’s not the case for you today.

You’re the type of person who will only feel accomplished once you’re able to finish something at work by the end of the day. It’s a very rewarding feeling that you bask yourself into. But today, you weren’t able to finish anything. You jumped from one unfinished tasked to another, and a mishap follows. You felt so disappointed with yourself.

“Hey, Kitten,” Kuroo’s voice pulled you out of your train of thoughts. He noticed your already tired eyes starting to get teary again and he let out a sigh. “I told you to take a rest, right?” he said, holding your face in his warm hands. “Breathe, Kitten. Breathe. Empty your mind for little while.”

He looked at the clock on your bed side table. 11:30pm.

“It’s almost midnight. I’ve prepared your bath, let’s go.” He holds you up once again and you just lean on his body as you can’t find the strength to get up and stand up.

He led you to the bathroom, and the smell of lemon balm welcomed you. “I guess you can take it from here?” Kuroo said. “I’m gonna prepare some tea, and I might tire you more if I stay here with you while your bathing…you know what I mean.” He gives you that mischievous grin that made you smile and giggle for the first time today. He kisses you on the forehead before he went out of the bathroom.

When you went out of the bathroom wearing your comfy PJs that were also prepared by your boyfriend, you saw Kuroo on your shared bed with his eyeglasses on and a laptop on his lap. Judging on his furrowed eyebrows, it must be some work stuff.

“Sorry for making you do all of this, Tecchan.”

He looked up from his laptop screen to you, and he immediately put it away together with his eyeglasses. “Come here,” he said, patting the space beside him on the bed. Walking towards the bed, you noticed the cup of tea sitting beside the clock on your bedside table. 11:55pm. Kuroo handed you one cup as you settled beside him, smelling the relaxing aroma of chamomile tea. Kuroo kept his eye on you, leaning his head on his hand. “Kitten, there’s no need to say sorry. I love taking care of you.”

Kuroo opened his arms, and you happily accepted his offer to hold you in his arms. “I don’t know why, but today I feel very heavy. It’s like I can’t function like how I wanted to,” you said. Kuroo remained silent and just let you talk. You can feel his fingers softly massaging through your head and brushing through your hair.

“Things have been really tough at work these days. I’m given tasks left and right but I can’t seem to finish them at all. Just looking at them makes me feel tired, and you know how I hate it when I’m not able to finish anything at the end of the day. On top of that, today I accidentally sent test emails to actual customers while working on a task. What makes me feel the worst though is that it wasn’t just me who got scolded but also the entire team. It’s like I’m pulling everyone down instead of helping them.”

Kuroo reached out for the clock on the bedside table and held it in front of the two of you. 11:59pm. “When the minute and second hands overlap, the world holds its breath for a little while. No matter how tiring and exhausting our day has been, when the clock hits midnight, it’s a brand new opportunity.”

“If the world can hold its breath for a little while and prepare itself for the reset, why can't you?”

And as the second’s hand approaches the minute hand, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, giving yourself that much-needed break, even if its just for a little while.

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yoon-kooks · 4 years

Text

The Devil Writes Romance | myg

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: fluff, angst, college!AU, fuckboy!AU, fanficwriter!Yoongi

Summary: When you’re assigned to work with Min Yoongi on a final project for your Writing Fiction course, you stumble upon the fuck boy’s secret identity as a sappy fanfic writer. With the heart and soul of an aspiring editor, you’re somehow convinced by the boy himself to help make his fictional romance more realistic and heartfelt. Before you know it, you’ve made a not-so-innocent pinky promise with the devil.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: mentions of sex :-)

A/N: this is basically a pilot that sets up a lot of plot for a potential series so lmk if you like the idea and would continue reading it as a series! also special shoutout to @chewymoustachio for the love & support 💖

As spring semester comes to a close, your only goal is to make it through finals week unscathed. Like many of your fellow English majors, most of your finals are extensive papers rather than traditional exams. Normally this would not stress you out, but your Writing Fiction course has thrown a curveball your way: half of your grade is dependent on your partner, Min Yoongi.

Personally, you’ve never been a fan of partner or group projects because you always somehow end up with incompetent teammates who either do a half-assed job or ghost you until the day before it’s due. Either way, you’ve learned and become accustomed to relying only on yourself.

However, as your Writing Fiction class has taught you, a writer’s world is not built upon independence. Rather, it’s built upon the opposite. Writers depend on others for support, feedback, and revision. That’s where your final project comes on.

For your final project, everyone in your class signed up for the role of either a writer or editor, and you’ve been randomly paired up with someone who chose the opposite. It’s no secret to anyone that you dream of becoming an editor in the industry. You love the idea of reviewing other writers’ works and providing them with as much feedback and constructive criticism as possible. Naturally, you signed up to be an editor.

As fate would have it, you find yourself paired with the boy who’s pretty much slept with the entire class, including the TA, and allegedly the professor. The only person left unchecked on his list is you. Somehow, you’ve heard more gossip about his sex life than his skills as a writer, which is why you believe you’re fucked for this final.

“Hey, Partner,” Yoongi catches up with you in the hall after class. His signature cedarwood cologne is too heavy to ignore as he strides beside you. “Are you free tonight?”

“To brainstorm some story ideas?” You tilt your head and add an innocent tone to mask the skepticism. Truthfully, you know what he really wants. It’s not your first rodeo.

“I actually already have a story in mind,” he says. “But I was thinking you and I could-”

“What’s the story about?” Because you’d much rather hear about that than one of Yoongi’s many excuses to get in your pants.

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” he shrugs as the two of you walk out of the building and into the beaming afternoon sun. You lift an arm to block the light out of your face, only to realize the boy’s shadow blocks it for you. Apparently, there are perks to walking with a buddy after class. “I’ll send you the draft tonight.”

“The professor literally just assigned the project and it’s not due for another week,” you raise an eyebrow. Weird, you’ve never seen a college kid so proactive and eager to get a head start on their final project. Something tells you the boy is just spouting bullshit and telling you what you want to hear. “You don’t have to rush and write all ten thousand words in a single night…”

“Well I don’t have any other plans tonight,” he says. “Unless you want to-”

“Nice try, Yoongi.” You start walking further ahead of the boy. You’re forced to squint as to not be blinded by the sun. “I guess you can have fun writing your story, then.”

“You really know how to play hard to get, Y/N…” Yoongi whines in that raspy voice of his, eliciting the tiniest smirk on your face. You might not approve of his fuck boy tendencies, but you’re also not opposed to teasing him a bit.

“If you really want to impress me, keep your word and send the draft tonight.” You spin around and wave farewell as you battle the sun. “Your editor will be waiting.”

As soon as you arrive home, you realize Yoongi isn’t the only one without any Friday night plans. With nothing to do, a large part of you hopes your partner keeps his promise so you can at least try to be productive over the weekend. But ten thousand words is a lot to write in one night. It’s more than likely that he won’t be able to pull it off.

In an attempt to wind down, you scroll through the blog feeds of your favorite writers. Many of them, such as @suga-fix and @jk-seagull, are college students like you, so you can appreciate all the time and effort they put into their craft on top of their school work. While the fan in you loves to shower them with sweet and supportive messages, the editor in you hopes to one day be able to also provide feedback on a professional level.

At the very top of your feed is a short post from @suga-fix, a romance fanfic writer whom you recently found while scouring the #jiminscenarios tag for something free of smut.

“Does anyone else struggle to ask their crush out or is it just me? Asking for a friend.”

You giggle at the innocent question. In addition to writing the sappiest Jimin fanfics, Suga is known to post snippets of his own nonexistent love life on his blog. From what you understand, he’s a boy who’s never experienced true love firsthand. Recently, however, he’s been gushing over his pretty classmate. You’re waiting for the day when he builds up enough courage and finally lands a date.

Until then, you’re satisfied with reading his ongoing fictional love story featuring the popular idol, Park Jimin, as a struggling romance novelist who finds inspiration in a skeptical wedding photographer. You absolutely adore the story, the characters, and the underlying narrative, but the editor in you can point out an area for improvement: his romance game.

You notice the two main characters lack a certain level of chemistry to get the readers quaking and itching for more. Most of the time, the intimate scenes end with poor Jimin getting friendzoned, which certainly has its charm and humor. But truthfully, you expect a little more love from a romance fic.

You suspect that, to some extent, this is intentional as the characters are the type to dance around intimacy and have pessimistic views on romance overall. However, you also wouldn’t be surprised if Suga’s own personal inexperience with romantic scenarios is what holds him back the most.

After catching up on your socials, eating dinner, and hopping out of the shower, you sit in the darkness of your room and check one more thing before calling it a night. No email, no text, no draft from your partner. Not that you were actually expecting anything, but it would’ve been nice for the fuck boy to prove you wrong.

To be fair, you know how long and painful ten thousand words can be. If Yoongi is in fact sprinting through those ten thousand words and gets them to you by the time you wake up, you’ll consider him a man of his word.

[4:56AM] Yoongi💋 “I emailed you the thing”

[7:24AM] Y/N “Ooh, I’ll take a look 👁👁”

[7:25AM] Y/N “Btw I don’t appreciate you adding an emoji to your contact info on my phone”

After changing Yoongi’s contact name to something more appropriate, you go into your email and find the story draft that the boy had sent at exactly 4:55AM. The word count on the document says 10,382. Not too shabby, Min Yoongi.

You grab your morning caffeine and crack open your laptop to read your partner’s story on the big screen. Right away, you notice the document is titled “Untitled1” which is never a great sign, but you’re willing to forgive him if its content is stellar.

The first thing that puts a smile on your face is the main character, Jimothy. His name reminds you of your favorite idol, Jimin, with a playful touch. He’s the romance novelist who attends his friend’s wedding where he has a chance encounter with a pretty wedding photographer-

Wait. You’re pretty sure you’ve heard this story before. In fact, you know exactly where it came from. You pull up Suga’s Jimin fic and put it side-by-side against Yoongi’s version. While it’s not exactly a copy-and-paste situation, the romance novelist x wedding photographer premise is too similar for it to be a mere coincidence.

At first glance, you find it funny that Yoongi took the time to reword everything to not be caught by the plagiarism police. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume he did a quick search of Jimin fanfiction and picked one that was moderately popular but not viral enough for anyone to notice. Jimin fanfic just so happens to be your guilty pleasure, so there’s absolutely no way you’d let a plagiarist slip one past you.

But upon further review, after digesting the entirety of the fic, you find that Yoongi’s flow and choice of words are eerily similar to Suga’s style without recycling a single line. Likewise, you notice the same lack of chemistry in both versions of the story. You suppose this can only mean one thing, and you need to confront him about it in person. Because the last thing you want is for him to ghost you like everyone else you’ve ever worked with.

[8:42AM] Y/N “I just finished looking it over”

[8:43AM] Y/N “Wanna get coffee & discuss? ☕️📖”

[8:45AM] Yoongi🐍 “Oh? I thought you weren’t interested in a date with me 🥺”

[8:46AM] Y/N “Let’s meet in about an hour at the coffeehouse on campus?”

[8:46AM] Yoongi🐍 “See ya there, my editor”

As you stir the oat milk into your second dose of caffeine for the morning, you wonder how you can bring up your suspicions in an appropriate and professional way. Should you confront him about it immediately, gently coax him in that direction, or take a more passive approach to see if he’ll mention it on his own? Because if you’re going to be this boy’s editor, you want to do it right.

“Thoughts?” Yoongi enters the chat with slightly damp hair and an iced Americano in hand. Your only thought in that moment is about how fucking good he smells, even in the presence of the rich aromas of your favorite roasted coffee beans. But you’ll leave those thoughts to yourself.

“My first thought was that you sent me a document titled Untitled1,” you say.

“I have a working title,” he assures you. “But I’m curious to hear what clever titles my editor has come up with after reading through the whole thing.”

“Pink Cheek Syndrome sounds appropriate.” Because that’s the title of Suga’s original fic. It’s also the term coined by Jimothy to describe couples who aren’t as in love as they’d like to believe. It’s a facade to fool everyone, including themselves.

“Great minds think alike after all.” Yoongi leans in to give you a high-five, but you just throw a balled up napkin at his palm. Confess. Just confess already.

“Can I ask what inspired the concept?” You bite your lip. “You don’t strike me as the romantic type.”

“Don’t you ever feel like people get into relationships just for the sake of being in a relationship?”

“Yeah.” All the time, in fact.

“It’s pretty shallow if you ask me,” he says with a nonchalant chuckle, as if he’s not the shallowest person on campus when it comes to established relationships. “PCS is just a commentary on people like that vs people like you and me.”

You and him? You’re not sure you have anything in common with someone who breaks hearts and sleeps around so casually.

“Sounds like something a fanfic writer would come up with.” Because it is.

“Sounds like something a fanfic reader would say,” he throws back at you.

“In fact, there’s a Jimin fanfic I read once called Pink Cheek Syndrome,” you say. The dose of coffee moving up Yoongi’s straw suddenly freezes. “You’re the original writer, right?”

He swallows hard and raises an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“The writing style matches even though you didn’t copy and paste,” you scroll back through Yoongi’s version for reference. “And besides, scrambling to write ten thousand words in one night is typical fanfic writer behavior. A true plagiarist doesn’t know what it means to put those hours in.”

“Nothing gets past your sharp eyes, huh, Y/N…” Yoongi sighs, failing to hide behind his Americano. “I’m equally impressed as I am scared.”

“Wait, so you’re really Suga?” Your eyes widen. Suddenly you’re overcome by a wave of emotions. Excited, nervous, star-struck. But most of all? Confused. “How?”

“Just don’t tell anyone.” He picks up his phone and starts typing away at something.

“I won’t,” you say, also pulling out your phone to check up on the @suga-fix blog. Sure enough, there’s a stream of several new posts from a few seconds ago.

“fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK”

“I feel so exposed 😔”

“Quick, everyone act like this isn’t a fanfic blog.”

“We can pretend to be like a porn blog or smth”

“I can read everything you’re posting, you know.” You show your blog feed to Yoongi, who’s still busy keysmashing. When he finally glances up from his screen to yours, the look on his face is both flattered and distressed.

“You follow me, too?” The boy takes a long sip of his Americano, shifting his beady little eyes and plotting his next move. “What’s your URL?”

“You’re totally going to block me,” you frown. “I already told you, I’m not going to tell anyone…”

As you continue to scroll through Yoongi’s blog, you notice his post is gone from the day before. Perhaps that’s what the boy is desperately trying to hide.

“By the way, is it true that Min Yoongi, resident fuck boy, has a crush on someone?” You get excited because that’s not something you hear everyday. In regards to Yoongi, it’s always been sex, sex, and more sex. He’s notorious around campus for having one-night stands and breaking hearts the morning after. You’d never imagine a boy like him having an innocent crush on anyone.

“Where’d you hear that?” The boy across from you gradually sinks deeper and deeper into his seat every time you open your mouth to expose him further.

“You made a post yesterday about not being able to talk to your crush properly,” you giggle. “It was kind of cute.”

“I was talking about my friend.”

“You can’t fool me, Yoongi. I’m not that oblivious.” You take a sassy sip of your coffee and lean forward. “So who’s your crush? Is it someone in our class?”

“Don’t worry about it, Y/N,” he shoos you away and slides a hard copy of his draft in your direction. “Let’s not get distracted from why we’re really here.”

“Hold it, I’m not just being nosy for the gossip, you know,” you say. “From an editor’s perspective, I think the romance in your story could benefit from you interacting more with your crush.”

For a moment, Yoongi just gives you a look. You can see the wheels spinning in his head. “Well, that person doesn’t seem very interested in me, so…”

“Unrequited love?” you gasp. The plot thickens.

“Yeah,” he chuckles at your enthusiasm. “But you did give me an idea just now.”

You examine his handsome face for a hint of what’s to come. His signature Fuck Boy Smirk tells you he’s up to no good again. “I’m listening.”

“You’re my editor, right?” he asks. You nod. “And your main critique is that I should up my romance game, right?”

You nod again.

“What if you help me make the romance scenes more believable and realistic?” The boy watches as you blink your wide eyes, stunned at his suggestion. You know he doesn’t just mean that from an editorial standpoint. Surely there’s an ulterior motive here. “And before you jump to any conclusions, no, this does not include sex.”

Oh.

You’re reminded that Yoongi doesn’t write smut, despite how much of a fuck boy he is in real life. Because you’re sure he has the capability and personal experience to write some steamy and wild sex scenes. And yet, he chooses to focus on hardcore romance instead, something he himself is much less familiar with. It’s mind-blowing to think that a boy as experienced in bed as Yoongi could be so inexperienced elsewhere.

Why does he write the opposite of how he lives?

“I don’t think that’s how editors work,” you finally respond to Yoongi’s proposal, flipping through his draft and writing in the margins. You have to admit, the boy has a gift. His stories would no doubt skyrocket in popularity if the lovey-dovey scenes could draw out true, raw emotions as though you were there living in those moments. As a reader, you want him to pull at your heartstrings, smash your heart into a million pieces, and slowly put it back together. All of that can be achieved if the writer gets some hands-on experience in the love department. “But I get what you’re saying.”

“So is that a yes or a no?” He sips down the rest of his Americano as you continue to think your decision through.

Given what you know about Yoongi’s track record as a fuck boy, you’re hesitant. But at the same time, the ambitious editor in you knows what you want.

“It’s a yes,” you sigh. “But only if you promise me a few things.”

“Go on.”

“One, you’ll come to me if you’re struggling and need suggestions, advice, or someone to talk to.”

“Easy. You can be my editor-in-chief.”

“Two, if anyone asks, we aren’t dating.”

“Got it.”

“Three, help me study and prepare for the rest of my finals.”

“We can have study dates.”

“And lastly, please don’t sleep with anyone else while we’re doing this thing. Because that would be awkward.”

“Oh? I didn’t realize you were the possessive type, Y/N,” he smirks.

“Not trying to be That Controlling Bitch who forbids you from sleeping around, but I think it would defeat the purpose of what we’re trying to accomplish.”

“But what if this goes on for a while?” Yoongi strokes his imaginary Santa beard. “You expect me to practice abstinence forever?”

“It won’t go on forever, Yoongi,” you giggle at the boy’s silly remark. “Because eventually, you’ll find someone who can bring out those romantic feelings better than our faux intimacy ever will.”

“But you’ll still be my editor-in-chief?”

“If everything works out, then I don’t see why not.” You want to be optimistic about a long-term deal, but you can’t seem to rid yourself of the doubt stuck in the back of your mind. Because humans, not just fuck boys like Yoongi, seem to have a hard time keeping their promises. “I only ask that you don’t break my trust.”

Before responding, the boy meets his eyes with yours. You suppose tender eye contact is a skill he acquired from his flirty lifestyle. You, on the other hand, blink away. Eye contact longer than a glance has always made you feel vulnerable.

“I won’t, Y/N,” he says, coating his raspy voice with a layer of honey. It’s almost as intoxicating as his cedarwood cologne, but that’s another thought you’ll keep to yourself.

You watch as he slides his pinky into view, over the draft and coffees to make it official. After cracking a smile at his childish gesture, you wrap your pinky around his, thus marking the beginning of your deal with the devil.

#bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts imagines #yoongi x reader #btsboulangerie #bts fluff #bts angst #bts x reader #yoongi fanfic #bts college au #bts #bangtan #yoongi #suga #suga x reader #suga fanfic #the devil writes romance

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lightneverfades · 3 years

Text

That Damned Gazebo

Frostiron Holiday Wishes Challenge ❆ 🎅🎄 Prompt by @snarkyship Fic written by @worstloki Note: AH! So sorry this is a late post, tumblr messed up and I didn’t receive this on Xmas day! Ah! Thank you @worstloki for resending! TwT <3333

Wish (Prompt/Idea): Human/no powers AU. Sort-of-enemies to friends to lovers.Tony rents this house/bungalow by the sea for the summer, with a kind of private beach where there is also a cute gazebo. Only that the gazebo is exactly halfway with the other property (by some mistake?). And the tenant of the neighbour bungalow is Loki, who's not so keen on sharing. So Loki&Tony will start a "war" to gain possession of the gazebo, doing their worst using the excuse of "this is my half, I can use it as I want". ((Optional: there is a table right in the middle, so at the beginning they sit at their own side glaring at each other, before starting deploying more convoluted tactics)).Mischief after mischief, they will start to know each other and of course everything will end with one of them inviting the other to their half for a romantic dinner and they'll end up sharing more than the gazebo <3((I hope it's enough clear and but also not too detailed??))

Stupid cute bungalow. Stupid cute gazebo. Stupid cute neighbour.

All Tony wanted was a vacation; a break from running a business and having to argue for his ideas to get accepted by the marketing teams and just some time to lay low and relax.

All Loki wanted was a break from being upstaged in his section of the family business by his brother; some time off to cool down and de-stress and lay low and relax.

But instead only half their regular favourite beach house was available no matter how much cash they offered to throw at the real estate company renting it out. Could they have picked a different place to stay? Maybe. But none of the other decent rentables this far west have a gazebo, and they would have nowhere to sit alone and admire the waves from afar if they took a place without one.

And, of course, that’s where it all started— that gazebo.

That damned gazebo.

———

Day 1

Tony Stark, genius, entrepreneur, philanthropist, makes his way unsteadily down the sandy-grassy slope from the bungalow to the beach, arms filled with an excessive amount of floating supplies, a personalized towel, sunglasses only half on, a fun-sized bottle of the finest sun lotion, a laptop because he may leave the stock market but the stock market may not leave him, a black Prada shirt over khaki Hawaiian shorts, a speaker for music, hot-rod red flip flops, a bag of snacks, a thin multipurpose blanket, and a polaroid.

He almost slips a few times on his way down, and he thinks he sees a crab and swears, but he does make it down to the brilliant white-sand beach of Malibu unharmed.

His plan is simple: spend the day in the shade of the wooden gazebo, sneak a peek at how his business is holding up, check his emails, play some Tetris, sunbathe around noon when the sun is highest, back under the shelter till the sun starts going down, into the water for some splashing, drying off as the sun sets, listen to some tunes while laying under the stars for a while.

Just a regular day off at his favourite beach.

He walks to the shaded gazebo area and draws the curtain to enter, and dumps the entire contents within his arms over the table in the center. He turns to open up the curtains on all sides but is interrupted by an ahem.

Tony turns, and, in the curtained darkness, makes out the figure of a person.

He must be the one who booked out the other half of the house, Tony thinks, eying the stranger sitting at the opposite end of the table with only a book and bottle of water. Show-off minimalists, Tony thinks, saltily.

“I would prefer if you didn’t open those,” he says, and Tony doesn’t recognize the accent, but there definitely is one. Maybe it’s a blend?

“But what’s the point of sitting under a gazebo on a beach if you can’t see the view?” Tony asks, pulling one open, letting in some light.

The man practically hisses at Tony for doing it, which, okay, weird, but that’s normal when you’re assaulted with bright light and have been sitting in the dark.

“How were you reading in the dark anyway? Don’t you know it’s bad for your eyes?”

“I assure you I was able to read just fine.”

“Yeah… I’m opening the rest of these too…” Tony says, reaching for the curtain by the other side.

“Not if you wish to share this table, you won’t,” the man threatens.

“Are you… trying to bribe me?” Tony asks, shocked, because who does this guy think he is?

“Compromise with,” the man has the gall to say. “And with table space, yes,” and Tony sputters. What can he even say to this. He’s here for a vacation, not to argue with strangers who are taking up half the gazebo space that should be his!

“Half,” Tony suggests, because he will not sit in the dark all day and miss out on his beach-view just so he gets to use the table. “You get half of this space, and I get the other half, and we can do whatever we want on our sides.”

The man sighs. “Fine. That sounds fair.”

The two of them spend the entire rest of the day sitting at opposite sides of the table pretending they’re not intentionally glaring and making crazy faces and trying to telepathically get rid of the other when they’re not looking.

Tony doesn’t comment on how the man barely gets any reading done and the man in turn doesn’t comment on how much equipment Tony brought down that he doesn’t use at any point in favour of using the laptop to retain his spot under the gazebo.

Schedule be damned, Tony is going to enjoy his vacation, and that means enjoying his duplex bungalow, even if someone else is renting half, and enjoying his gazebo that may be in-between the properties and they both may be paying for but is 100% actually his.

They wait each other out, and both head up to their houses at the same time; around midnight.

———

Day 2

Loki wakes at his usual time, showers, pointedly gets dressed into anything but the black shirt he has that matches what the man had on yesterday, and grabs his book before he heads down to the beach.

Having to share the same table was, simply put, incredibly awkward, but Loki has faith in it not happening again. He’s just going to make his way down to the gazebo and spend the day relaxing and rereading his favourite series without a pretentious-bearded neighbour showing up and making things weird.

“YOU!” Loki hears, and turns to find the same man from yesterday rushing down the slope towards him, “WHY ARE YOU UP AT THIS TIME?!”

Loki takes in the sight of the man dressed in a half-buttoned-up hawaiian shirt and pajama pants, with only a laptop and towel in hand, hair clearly fresh from bed, and, before he thinks better of it, counters eloquently with, “why are you half dressed?”

The man waves his arms in frustration, “I was tired! And in a rush! You don’t get to judge me, you’re the other f*ck who woke up this early!”

“I… normally get up this early…” Loki informs him, backing away slowly.

He can’t believe he’s going to have to deal with this guy again.

At least his sweatshirt has a green hood so he can block the guy out of his sight, right? He won’t spend the entire day rereading paragraphs because the man at the other end of the table is making him feel anxious, right? Surely the man is bringing the towel to lay in the sand which means he won’t be needing the gazebo, right?

Loki literally booked this bungalow because it’s in Malibu, and no one pays for a place like this in Malibu when you can rent a lower quality place and spend the money on beach parties and drinks. The fact that it’s far enough from home to make him feel safer was a bonus, but he really just wanted to be alone for a few days.

Loki takes a seat, and crosses one leg over the other, getting comfy so he can lean the book on the table. He tries not to get annoyed that the curtains are still parted halfway. He wouldn’t mind if the ones on his side were open too, but at this point he’s not acquiescing a point to the stranger.

The man pulls the wooden chair out and sits down opposite him.

Of course he does.

Why wouldn’t he.

“So you’re really going to keep reading in the dark?” he says, flipping open his laptop.

“Yep, and that suits me just fine, thank you,” Loki answers neutrally.

“Does my no-light-reading-neighbour have a name?”

“Do you?”

“Tony.”

“Loki.”

“Nice to meet you, Loki,”

“Thank you.”

Loki uses his bookmark to flip to his page, and starts reading. He will not get distracted by this Tony. It’s totally normal to share this table. It’s not huge, but it’s built for at least six, so there’s space. Maybe not enough to lay on, but it’s enough distance to ignore the clicking of Tony’s keyboard as he frantically presses keys.

Loki is two hours into enjoying his reading time, and he thinks he was doing well.

He’d smiled every time Tony yawned because with eye-rubbing and deep sighs that man was not used to getting up early, but he’d actually gotten through nearly three chapters without incident.

Then, the infuriating man had plunked a speaker onto the table and started playing AC/DC.

Now he’s reread this one line at least fourteen times and still doesn’t know what the red-head was doing with Jon.

“Why?” Loki asks, “Why must you do this? You can see me reading, you’re blocking out the distant sound of waves hitting the shore, it’s not even at a decent volume, so, why?!”

“Sorry, what was that?” Tony answers, “Did you say something? Because I couldn’t hear you over the music, but it sounded like you had an issue with what I was doing on my side.”

“Your music is not staying on your side!” Loki argues, but only receives a shrug and an increase in volume.

He presses his lips together.

Fine. If you’re going to be petty about this, then I can too.

Under the table, Loki kicks Tony.

He hasn’t got shoes on, but he’s always had a knack for aiming very well, and Tony’s whimper (?) (it’s hard to tell with the music so loud) assures him he hit the shin bone well enough.

By the time Tony is done cradling his leg and looks up at Loki with a mix of anger/betrayal, Loki is already reading again, the perfect image of serenity.

Loki tries not to laugh as Tony discovers his legs are not long enough to kick back.

———

Day 3

Tony didn’t bother trying to wake up before Loki this time.

He went at his own pace, and remembered to change out of the pajamas, brushed his hair, had coffee, and took the time to make himself a few sandwiches to enjoy through the day.

Yesterday he even went for a quick swim around ten at night and headed straight back up to his side of the bungalow, because he’s a responsible adult who doesn’t need to out-do a stranger’s sleep-schedule. Or leg-length. Or laugh.

It isn’t a competition or anything.

By the time he makes it down to the beach, he finds Loki sitting under the gazebo, alone, with all the curtains tied open.

He’s also... wearing a black Prada shirt which matches the one Tony threw on this morning?? What?! Taking up half the space on his side of the table with 1 (one) bottle of water wasn’t enough, he also has to taunt him by wearing the exact same thing?!

He storms to his side of the gazebo and slams his palms down, taking satisfaction in the fact that Loki was startled and drops his book onto the table. Tony hopes he’s lost the page he was on.

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Hello, neighbour,” Loki greets, gingerly picking up his book again and giving a hesitant smile. “I didn’t realise you would be wearing the same shirt again, but I was hoping we could get off on a different foot today?”

Huh, well, would ya look at that, Tony thinks, I actually won. The sucker is gonna admit I’m too much and wave the white flag.

“That... actually sounds great,” Tony answers with his award-winning client-smile, sitting down opposite him. “This whole thing with splitting the table and curtains in half was a bit ridiculou—”

Tony yelps and stands up and starts frantically rubbing his hand over his butt which is stinging— he looks down at his seat and sees the culprit —a crab, menacing in all it’s crabby glory.

“Are you... okay?” Loki asks, far too confused, far too innocently, far too worried for it to be genuine, “what’s wrong?”

Tony, outraged, yells at Loki, “DID YOU FRICKIN PUT A CRAB IN MY SEAT?!”

“I— what?”

“WHO THE F*CK CALLS A PARLEY AND CRABS SOMEONE?!”

“No! I didn’t— are you okay??” Loki says, and he’s gotten up and rushing over and...okay, MAYBE he didn’t mastermind the crab.

“NO, I AM NOT, BUT THANK YOU FOR ASKING,” Tony screams, backing away from Loki, and running towards his bungalow.

Running in sand is hard, but Tony discovers it’s much harder when your butt is stinging.

———

Loki… did not put a crab on Tony’s seat.

He’d honestly wanted to draw up a truce, maybe have an actual conversation with Tony, and he even brought a towel and wore a change of clothes underneath in the event that the man wanted to go for a swim and wouldn’t mind if Loki joined.

He’d even brought snacks to share.

But now he feels bad.

Had kicking him under the table every time Tony had put the volume too loud or managed to slide low enough to kick him back or played We're Taking the Hobbits to Isengard been bad? Had it been too much? Why else would Tony assume he’d actually try and hurt him?

The glare-offs had just been fun, faces when they thought the other couldn’t see wasn’t bad-intentioned, the kicking hadn’t meant to injure. Loki had thought they were getting along. Perhaps he had misunderstood? Perhaps the other had not felt they were fun little pranks?

He owes Tony an apology.

———

Tony has been icing his butt for an hour. If he had any duct tape, he would’ve duct taped the peas to his butt.

Tony is thinking about how if he had any duct tape he would’ve duct taped the peas to his butt by now when someone bangs at his door.

Gee, I wonder who it could be, Tony thinks, as he goes to answer the door. Just so many people who visit this private beach residence. In all honesty it’s kind of sweet that Loki would turn up to check on him at all really.

Tony leaves the pea packet on the nearest counter and goes to answer the door. Good thing about this bungalow: it has many spare counters for things like dumping peas. An excessive amount of counters, even, and he questions what the designer had been thinking.

Tony swings the door open, “Hey there, crab-man.”

“I’m sorry,” Loki blurts.

“Hey, it’s okay, it doesn’t even hurt that much anymore, but at least you’re owning to it.”

“I didn’t set that up! I wouldn’t actually try to cause any lasting damage,” Loki explains.

Tony sighs.

“Yeah, I figured, I was just caught up in the moment and shouldn’t have blamed you.”

“Would’ve been a very Shakespearean betrayal too…” Loki muses.

“So… anything else you came to say?” Tony asks. Although he’s not sure why.

“Would you be feeling up to sharing the table like normal people?”

“Oh, come on, where would be the fun in that?” Tony jokes.

“You… weren’t hurt or offended when I kicked you or said your music taste is dumb?”

“Course not. We’ve all had wild college nights out, believe me, kick to the shins was nothing.”

“Crab grabs though…”

“If you want to share the table like normal people we will not be mentioning the crab grab.”

“Deal,” Loki says, and he’s beaming as if he’s won a prize. Which is really cute. Which is why Tony doesn’t regret slamming the door in his face.

Stupid cute neighbour.

He needs to change anyway.

———

Loki and Tony hang out under the gazebo, and they share the table.

Every so often Loki will read a line or two aloud and Tony will find himself snickering in response to Loki’s comments on the lines if not the lines themselves. Every now and then Tony tells Loki to look over at his screen as he invests in either the stock market or a round of Tetris.

Around noon Tony asks if Loki would like to sunbathe with him and Loki sees no reason not to join in. He doesn’t have any sunscreen of his own but Tony has plenty and is happy to share.

They talk about their work, and what they’re avoiding (family) in their little getaways from home, just things about life generally.

The sun is going to set soon when Loki asks if Tony would like to spend some time by the water with him.

The two of them spend a good thirty minutes hitting each other with floaties when they aren't sitting around in them, and, despite wading in till their knees, and flinging water at each other, they manage not to get too wet.

They sit in the sand watching the sun set in beautiful streaks of purples and orange as they dry off their feet.

Loki brought two towels in case of such a scenario (which Tony finds very endearing and sweet) and they lay on them as they watch the sky darken to reveal the stars. Loki tries to point out some constellations but Tony is convinced he’s making them up. Maybe he is.

The two of them share sandwiches and chips and chocolates and decide to head up early at around nine.

Tony invites Loki over for a movie, and how can Loki say no? He only just met him, but he’d rather be stuck sharing this bungalow and beach and gazebo with him than have to return home in a few days.

The house is huge, and there is plenty of room on the couch for them to be spaced out, but they choose to share a blanket and stay close because they want to.

Loki hadn’t planned on sleeping over, but he stays late and falls asleep in the middle of a movie and Tony doesn’t mind at all. It’s hard for him to mind when he’s also fallen asleep.

———

Day 4

Tony wakes early.

Not Loki-early, but earlier than usual, because he’s looking forward to spending time with Loki.

Hmm. Maybe it is technicallyyy still Loki-early. Whatever.

Except, Tony wakes up alone and walks down the slope to the gazebo, and finds it empty. A quick scan of the beach also yields no results. Which is concerning, but not overly so. Maybe he just has something else to do today?

Tony gets through a few hours by rotating through Tetris, League of Legends, and Galaga, before he gives in and walks up to Loki’s half of the duplex bungalow.

He bangs his fist on the door and waits.

About a minute later, Loki answers, in green-plaid pants and a vintagey AC/DC band shirt, hair looking only half brushed.

“Are you seriously wearing that kind of shirt as pajamas?”

“Yes. And good... morning?”

“Morning!” Tony cheerily greets in return, before his expression gets less so, “why aren’t you out today?”

“Good afternoon? I... just wasn’t feeling too well, a bad day I guess,” Loki explains, which Tony understands. “And I already over-lived my stay with you yesterday, so I thought you could have the gazebo all to yourself today, since I’m not really in a beach mood anyway.”

And that’s a big no in Tony’s book because no he didn’t go too far or over-stay anything and no he doesn’t owe him anything and no in general because Tony liked spending time with him! He’s fun and caring and Tony’s wondering where this guy was for every other vacation he spent here because Tony considers him a friend!

“That’s sweet,” Tony lies, “I’m not really in a beach mood either.”

“Ah. Would you… like to come in?” Loki asks, hesitant.

“Of course buddy, if my friend wants to stay home I’m sticking with him.”

Loki stands aside, letting Tony into the bungalow that he’s used to owning on his own, but, shockingly enough, doesn’t mind sharing anymore.

“Would it be bad to ask what kind of bad mood?” Tony questions, taking a seat by the TV. It’s off and he doesn’t see a remote.

“A bit, yes, but I value the thought,” Loki answers, checking the kitchen cupboards.

“So what were you doing in here all alone without me, beach buddy?”

“Reading.”

Hmm. Tony considers. They did do what he had wanted yesterday.

“Can I join?” Tony inquires, “if you have any spare books, that is.”

“I didn’t know you could read.” Loki says with half-hearted disgust, walking behind the couch to a small bookshelf.

“Harry Potter, you got me,” Tony states in the driest tone, “Ha ha.”

“I’ve got the second Game of Thrones—“

“There’s a book?!”

“And the series hasn’t updated in years.”

“Bummer, hate when they do that, but at least the show ended?”

“Yeah, badly,” Loki points out. “I’ve got the Lord of the Rings trilogy.”

“I thought you didn’t like the hobbits being taken to Isengard,” Tony pouts.

“Not when it’s on loop and happening the sixth time in a row,” Loki says, dropping the book into Tony’s lap roughly.

Yeah, okay, the man isn’t feeling well, maybe he should leave? But Tony doesn’t want to leave him alone if he’s feeling bad either!

Tony opens the book, skipping through the contents and prologue-y pages. He will enjoy the book and he’ll do it while sitting on the opposite side of the couch because if Loki doesn’t want to lay across and tangle their legs under a blanket that’s up to him. Besides, that’s more an afternoon activity, and Tony isn’t tired at all, so he’s sitting up properly. Which contrasts with Loki’s slouchy leaning-into-the-couch.

“You know, if it’s too quiet, or the book doesn’t interest you, you can just watch something, I won’t be offended.”

“Not so fast, crab-man, I’m doing this to have fun and try something you enjoy, because I like spending time with you, and think that’s fair,” Tony states, and oh sh*t Loki looks devastated. Quick, something fun, something fun, “So I will definitely be trying to read it... at least a bit, before I do anything else… because I may vehemently not-like reading, but I do enjoy your company.”

“Okay,” Loki verbosely replies.

Tony tries to figure out what he’s done wrong but Loki’s opened his book up already.

Tony manages to get through the book in about two hours. Which means he didn’t actually read through it, he just tried, and kept skipping to pages further along that looked more interesting. To be fair, there is a lot of exposition and world building that he knows doesn’t matter because it’s not in the movies.

Loki’s been shifting how he’s sitting at twenty minute intervals, but Tony hasn’t moved lest he come off as restless and not loving the book.

“You can put something on,” Loki suggests, having noticed that Tony is done.

“It won’t disturb you?”

“Not if you don’t have it unreasonably high.”

Tony looks around for the remote, and doesn’t see it. “Any idea where the remote is?”

“Eh, it’ll be lying around somewhere. Maybe check the kitchen?”

And so, Tony sets out on a quest to find the remote.

He doesn’t find it.

He looks through every inch of the couch and in every kitchen cupboard but all he finds are pop tarts and pennies.

At some point Loki puts his book aside and decides to watch him look. He’s even smiling a tiny bit which Tony takes for a good sign.

“Hey, so, I couldn’t find the remote.”

“That’s a shame,” Loki says, and he’s definitely smiling, “would be horrible if someone knows where it is.”

“YOU!” Tony says, rounding in on him, depression be damned, he’s been looking everywhere for an hour now! “Where is it?!”

“Wh— why do you think I would know?” Loki says, turning his face away, his arms crossed pretentiously.

“You’re laughing!” Tony says, pointing a finger at him. “I spend ages looking for this legendary remote and find out you’ve been playing me the entire time” —Tony pokes a finger in the center of his chest for emphasis— “and you’re laughing!”

And okay, it’s a little funny, and Loki’s having fun, so Tony huffs a laugh too.

“I’m not laughing,” Loki tries to say flatly, face turned away, as he clearly tries not to laugh.

Tony being Tony does the only respectable thing in this kind of scenario and jumps onto the couch, straddling Loki, so he can turn his face back towards him.

“Where’s the remote!” Tony yells, to no avail, not even a reaction to having sat on his legs. Is Loki even breathing? His smile is clearly becoming harder to hold…

“Tell me where the remote is” — Tony grabs the thick novel Loki had been reading — “or I’ll take out your bookmark!”

“No!!!” Loki says, trying to grab hold of his book. “Not the bookmark!!! That’s my one weakness! Please, no! Anything but the bookmark!!!”

“Don’t make me do it!! Because I will!!”

Loki chuckles.

“Fine, you win, here” —Loki reaches a hand under the pillow behind him, and holds up the remote.

Tony snatches it immediately, and gives Loki a peck on the cheek thanks before getting off and going back to his side of the couch.

If Loki looks a little confused about the quick kiss, it’s gone by the time Tony is done flicking through the channels and decides a nature documentary is something they could both enjoy. When Mr Attenborough mentions otters holding hands when they’re happy and Loki asks if he can hold Tony’s hand of course Tony says yes.

Later, when Loki insists on cooking for the two of them he throws together some instant noodles and adds in carrots and peas and egg and mushrooms, and he asks if Tony would like to share the meal down by the beach, he agrees.

“You sure you’re up for this? I don’t mind eating back in the bungalow, and if you’re feeling uncomfortable I’d rather just go back,” Tony makes clear.

“I don’t actually know why I thought staying home would make me feel any better,” Loki says lightly.

“Hey man, sometimes you’ve just gotta stay home, it happens, don’t worry about it,” Tony consoles, carefully going down the sandy grassy slope to the beach, his huge bowl of noodles held in both hands. It smells great. “Besides, focus on the date for now.”

“This isn’t a date, I just asked you out to the beach to eat some comfort food with me.”

“The very definition of my ideal date,” Tony says, listing, “I was invited, there’s comfort food, we’re both already in our sexy pjs, there’s a beach, I think you’re a great friend and we could be more if you wanted, I’ve got my speaker in case we want some romantic classical music, the sunset will happen soon, what more could I want?”

“We also held hands for ages earlier and you kissed my cheek.” Loki winces, “this is totally a date.”

“Sure is.”

“How did I miss that?”

“If it’s any consolation, I was kidding, but you seem on-board, so… it’s a date?”

“It’s a date,” Loki confirms.

“Noodles on a beach is actually one of my secret fantasies,” Tony says, deadpan.

“Well,” Loki suggests, also deadpan, “there’s plenty of space under the gazebo.”

“Table is kinda obstructive,” Tony points out.

“Only if you’re not creative,” Loki counters.

Tony wriggles his eyebrows, and they both laugh.

———

Loki twists the last of his noodles and stabs his last carrot on his fork and puts it in his mouth. He looks into Tony’s bowl, and finds he’s actually finished first.

“You’re an even slower eater than me,” Loki notes aloud.

“Am not!” Tony blubbers out through a mouthful of noodles, “I’m just taking my time to savour it.”

Loki hums, and puts an elbow on the table to watch him finish up.

“So, what do you want to do now?”

Tony slurps up the rest of his food. “Well, now that I’m done, kiss?”

“I was thinking we could stand by the shoreline and get our feet wet, maybe walk up and down the beach a bit…”

“I mean, I’d rather walk up and down you,” Tony says, making a show of looking over Loki, who in turn snickers.

“I’m sorry, that was terrible,” Tony laughs, “it’s just, walk on the beach, that’s so freakin romantic, yeah I’m up for that.”

And it’s nice knowing that they can still hang out as friends, even if Loki is admittedly also intent on the kissing part.

They leave their bowls and flip flops in a pile in the sand and walk to the shore together.

Tony’s hand is warm in his as they swing their arms gently and just take in the salty air and talk about things; just facts about themselves and stories about life and things they like.

Loki’s not sure how much time has passed but it’s dark and only the night sky and it’s reflection on the water provide any light when he presses a hand under Tony’s chin to tip his face up so he can kiss him. It’s slow and sweet, and Tony— even though Loki finds it hard to believe in the moment —kisses back.

They pull apart, and everything is irrelevant in the face of the happiness they feel in having found each other, even by chance.

They kiss again; slower, deeper, and with an urgency ill-befitting of the time and space they have available.

———

Day 5

All records of the final entry have been [REDACTED] until further notice to maintain the rating of this fic.

It can be recalled that the [REDACTED] information featured notable involvement of local gazebo space not limited to below, above, and/or against the table, various uses of the excessive counters both halves of the rented space, more than banging on doors, and future plans for the continued entanglement of [REDACTED] leg distribution underneath blankets.

The reader is warned not to attempt searching for and/or to develop any interest in a desire to search for [REDACTED] records in future placements.

(The End.)

#frostiron holiday wishes challenge #frostiron #OMGGGGGGAWD #SO CUTE #SOOOO CUTEEEEEEEE #prompt #fill

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tomhardysteeth · 4 years

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u wanna say anything for spn ending? Today's their last day of filming

Yeah sure! I love how you worded this ask, it makes me want to give a very serious answer. I’ve been rewatching random episodes the past few days and thinking about how much of my life was shaped by this random lil tv show, both positively and negatively, so here we go.

I started watching Supernatural during my junior year of college, when I was grappling with being gay and religious, and had a pseudo-girlfriend who was emotionally abusive. I remember I started watching the show because I had been on tumblr for a while and thought, well this is a popular show on tumblr and looks like something I’d enjoy, so I might as well try it. I remember barely paying attention to the first season and thinking it was kind of silly, and I distinctly remember making fun of it right up until the season 1 finale when that truck slammed into the Impala and I said oh.

I remember sitting in the dining hall between classes, hiding in a corner with my pink headphones and my laptop, watching one episode after the other, completely consumed by it. My personal life was a mess at the time and I was angry and sad and frustrated, but I could forget about everything for a little while when I watched spn. I remember falling in love with Dean Winchester, season 3, when Sam gave him the amulet.

Because I had already spent a lot of time on tumblr, I knew about Castiel. I couldn’t wait to get to season 4, the anticipation killed me. I didn’t really have a choice in shipping destiel, I literally shipped it before I even watched a single episode of the show lol. My first time watching seasons 4 and 5, I remember how mad I would feel every time the opening credits scrolled at the bottom of the screen and Misha Collins wasn’t listed. I cared about almost nothing but Dean and Cas interacting with each other. I was totally enamored by them, by their potential. At some point I got over that and watched the show because I liked the show, but boy did my heart and brain break for destiel.

I broke up with my abusive girlfriend. I started coming out to more people, including people involved in the Christian campus ministry I was heavily involved in, and it was very very hard. It was 2013. The first episode of Supernatural I watched live was the episode where Dean turns into a fucking dog.

I don’t remember when I started reading fanfic, and I had no idea how to read fanfic. A friend invited me to ao3, what is ao3? I didn’t know. I used my email address as my username. I read Twist and Shout and Pie Without Plot and other very popular fics that I knew about because everybody knew about them. I vividly remember the first fics I read because I was 21 years old and had never had an orgasm in my life and believed sex was sinful and so when the sex scenes in fics turned me on, I felt guilty about it.

I quickly got over that and started writing explicit destiel fanfic.

I still had no idea what I was doing. I know the very first fic I ever wrote was a mess, I’ve completely erased all traces of it, but other than that I began posting with abandon. Pretty much everything I’ve ever written for spn is still on tumblr and/or ao3. I was running a Hannibal blog at the time and started posting more Supernatural content than Hannibal content, so I created a sideblog, @deancasheadcanons, and things very quickly got out of hand after that.

I was depressed, I was confused, I was spending my last couple years of college trying to figure out my sexuality, trying to hold onto a religion that was rejecting who I was becoming, trying to find my identity while picking a career path and being sad and being pulled in a hundred different directions. Sometimes I was working three jobs at once, on top of 17-credit-hour semesters. I was getting a degree in a field I did not care about, and I spent every class reading and writing fanfic, scrolling through tumblr, making internet friends, letting my life be consumed by Supernatural. I projected myself completely onto Dean Winchester and partially onto Castiel and did not even realize it.

I started dressing like Dean, and my sister and brother-in-law noticed and assumed I was gay. They were extremely unsubtle in their attempts at getting me to come out by pointing out the flannel and army jackets, and I did not have it in me to admit to them that I was dressing like a fictional character, but I DID tell them I was bisexual.

I went to therapy every week during my senior year of college, and I was embarrassed about how often I talked about my “internet life,” as I called it. I remember having the arbitrary goal of getting 1,000 kudos on a fanfic, and I remember the day it happened for the first time and I remember going to therapy that week and saying that I didn’t feel any different, that I thought getting attention for my writing would make me feel better, somehow, but I still felt the same, and my therapist asked me if I would still be writing if I was the only one who got anything out of it and I said yes. But I was still obsessed with writing things that were meaningful, and despite the fact that I would receive 10 negative/mean anons per day, I never turned anon off because I desperately wanted people to tell me that my writing meant something to them, that it mattered to them. I was fighting with myself every day over my sexuality and my identity and my purpose, and I put all of that on the shoulders of Dean and Cas.

There was also chubby!dean. I had lived my entire life with this inexplicable thing, this shame that I knew I could not share, that I knew I would just have to suffer with for my whole life, and then I joined the spn fandom and found that there were others like me, others that had a fetish and had similar experiences as I did and were drawn to Dean Winchester because there’s no other character that could make eating and gaining weight be as enticing as he makes it (in fanfic). For the first time in my life I had a community of people that I could relate to about a thing that I never thought I would ever be able to talk about with anyone in my life. I don’t remember if I consciously chose to start posting publicly about it, but at some point I did, and I started writing kink fic, but I was still so uncomfortable with myself and so scared of the things I felt, and I tried so hard to temper myself and not offend anyone and not go “too far” and not be too weird and I was so sexually repressed and pent up and full of guilt and shame, and so now when I go back and reread some of the stuff I wrote it feels like reopening an old wound and letting myself bleed out.

I was constantly comparing myself to others and wondering why I wasn’t getting as much attention as so-and-so, and I always made excuses about how maybe my writing was too weird and I was too much and maybe I just wasn’t good enough and I hated myself and wanted to delete everything I ever wrote, but also I’m awesome and receive a lot of attention and get a lot of good feedback but maybe that means I’m just a narcissist! I acted like an asshole online and justified it by saying it wasn’t really me, that I could be someone totally different on tumblr than the person I was in “real life,” but in hindsight, now when I think back on my early 20s, I cannot separate what I was doing in “real life” from what I was doing in the spn fandom. I shared so much of myself with the spn fandom without even recognizing that that’s what I was doing.

And I made mistakes, god I made mistakes, and I tried to be so careful about everything I said but I was also presenting a certain version of myself to the spn fandom so that people would like me (for instance: running a destiel blog and trying my best to hide the fact that I also ship wincest) and still I got in trouble constantly, and I grew bitter and mean because you can only receive the “when are you posting the next chapter?” comment so many times before you want to bang your head into a wall. I became defensive and unkind, afraid to check my inbox because it was a nightmare, and yet unable to turn off anon because, like I said, I desperately needed that feedback, I needed people to tell me that they felt what I felt, that they understood what I was writing and why I was writing it.

I expected Supernatural to give me everything I needed. I fantasized about Dean Winchester being canonically bisexual because I thought it would confirm something in me, that it would somehow make my life a little bit easier. I didn’t want to watch other shows that could maybe help me, I wanted Supernatural to do things for me that it had never promised and would never deliver, and it’s because I was defined by it for so many years. Now that I’m back on tumblr, I’ve been going back through some of my old posts on deancasheadcanons and it’s like reading a stranger’s words. Even so, I find myself telling people “I was deancasheadcanons” instead of “I ran a sideblog called deancasheadcanons” because it really was such a huge part of my identity. What’s wild is that every time I’ve tried to explain it to someone in real life, they just look at me like I’m not making any sense.

It was easy to stop watching Supernatural. I didn’t have cable, and I had been driving to my dad and stepmom’s house each week and watching it on their tv after they had gone to bed. I was in a new relationship with a woman I nearly married, I was back in school for a new career, I was working full time and absolutely did not have time to continue writing fanfic as prolifically as I had done for so many years. I finally reached a breaking point in 2017 and haven’t watched any new episodes since then (I don’t remember the last episode I saw). But now, as I rewatch some old episodes, it is easy to feel the way I felt the first time I watched the show. It’s easy to see why this campy little heartfelt show was a lifeline during my formative adult years.

So it turns out I have never reckoned with any of this, have never written it down, hence the 2k jumble of words you see here. And it’s like, I know that a lot of this may seem silly, trivial, especially for a show that in itself is not very serious, but as it comes to an end I have to reflect on it as a person who put so much of my heart, my creativity, my pain and my floundering identity into it. I am somewhat embarrassed and wish I could respond to this ask with a joke instead, but we’re in a pandemic and I live alone and have had way too much time to think and reflect and become a lot more self-aware, and part of that reflection has definitely been about my time in the spn fandom. I remember thinking the show was never going to end, yet here we are at the end and I felt compelled to type all this out with a desire to, I don’t know, get some closure? Convince myself that I was a whole person, that I wasn’t just a faceless URL posting destiel fics into the void, that my real life was not at all disparate from the time I spent online? In any case, I’ll always think fondly of the time I devoted to Supernatural, and I’ll take the good and the bad and everything in between. Thanks for the nice ask, anon, apparently I needed to get some things off my chest.

#madd replies #long post #spn for ts #this is 2k words i am sorry lmao #wouldn't it be cool if i had any semblance of chill

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