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poe dameron x reader
summary: your position as resource agent isn't high on the christmas card list for most, but you take it seriously. As seriously as you can, while still having to scold grown men for their....antics.
@brighterthanlonelywords REMEMBER THIS THING WE TALKED ABOUT IDK IF YOU DO BUT I SWEAR I DIDN'T FORGET!! in my poe dameron post like three weeks ago lmao you gave me this idea
content: sexual innuendos, pining, flirting, banter, angst...it's a poe fic like you know why ur here
there is a brief scene where reader is harrassed, it isn't sexual or anything dw
reader is afab, described w braidable hair, texture not described/racially ambiguous
You'd taken the job for the scenery. Being from Kamino, you hadn't seen much farther than your window, let alone anything other than rain. Your parents had told you stories of the skies, promising to leave the soggy planet. In the end, you escaped on a ragtag Rebel ship recruiting pilots. Immediately upon landing at the lush landscape of D'Qar, you'd known it was the right choice. The view floored you every time.
But nothing could compensate for the amount of utter bullshit you experienced as a resource agent.
So...you decided to do barrel rolls in an unregistered X-Wing?
Uh, yeah.
Without a helmet or a pilot's license?
uhhh....
You were the epitome of a short fuse. Resource agents were essentially the Resistance's HR team. Strange, because absolutely nothing about the Resistance followed 'protocol', but you supposed there needed to be some kind of discipline in place.
No, your crew wasn't making many friends in the Res, nor were you the most celebrated, but somebody had to do it.
Though, you wished it was somebody else.
Mind melting to a thoughtless mush as you listened to a cadet stumble over excuses, you flicked through the remaining meetings scheduled.
Team training, team training, briefing with Organa....fuckkkk.
Your favorite piece of shit, Poe Dameron, had another protocol screening set for his next mission. You gotta be kidding me.
Normally, pilots had a protocol training at the beginning of their enlistment and then once every six months. It was long and tedious; going through safety maneuvers and briefing procedure to make sure everything was up to date. But, because Dameron was special and liked to play by his own rules, General Organa had started mandating his for every mission.
Which meant three hours out of your day because somebody didn't read the Terms and Conditions.
This is such bullshit.
Schooling your expression into neutrality as the bumbling cadet finished his story, you tried to stop your fingers from crushing the tablet in your hands.
Being the equivalent of a galactic HR meant that you weren't gonna be on anybody's Christmas list. Yeah, the job was tedious, but you weren't good enough at plying to be a pilot and couldn't fix a droid to save your life, so you used your skills to help in the way you could.
You were here to stop a war, not make friends.
You could feel Dameron before you saw him. The ego that shone like a halo around him was sparkling like a disco ball as he loudly bantered with his crewmates. General Organa had already arrived, and shot you an amused glance as you rubbed your temples.
Inside voice, Dameron, for the love of Hoth.
"Evening, Commander," you said briskly, gesturing towards the prep room doors, "you know where to start."
He made eye contact and grinned. "Right to business, I like it. Cute hair, sweetheart," he added smoothly. You bit back a frown and followed Organa into the small briefing station. Initially you'd been excited to wear your new braids, but his incessant flirting dampened your pride.
"Flirting with an HR officer is awfully brave of you," you fired back.
"I like a challenge." His smirk sparkled in the low light.
General Organa, used to your bickering, waved at the holo above the console.
"This mission is simple, Dameron, a recon on the Mid Rim. You'll be out there for around two standard days. You are required to check in every twelve hours, and return with the information here," she explained, highlighting a small map underneath the mission summary. Dameron leaned forward, brow set.
"A map....of Abelor? That's a spice trade port, General, why does the Resistance need to be involved?" His confusion mirrored your own. Organa held up a hand, continuing.
"There have been rumors that First Order informants are using the spice port to smuggle information planet-to-planet without needing to go through protocol checks. This is merely a recon to stake out the area. You'll be meeting with an ally, Rhett Mosley." A lanky man popped up next to the summary. He was mostly covered in tribal tattoos, and a pair of thick goggles hid most of his face.
Poe nodded, copying the info on his personal tablet.
"Any questions?"
At his subtle shake of the head, she gestured to you and bowed. "Continue with the protocol, ten hours until takeoff."
You both murmured a farewell and she left with a swish of her cloak. For a moment, Poe was suspended in his own head, gaze distant and stricken. Awkwardly, you shuffled around, hoping to rouse him.
He snapped out of it, and his trademark grin spread across his face. "Just you and me now, sweetheart," he said, bumping your shoulder.
"Just get in the fucking X-Wing."
You sat by, bored as Poe droned about the processes in his ship. He knew the steps, you knew he knew the steps, but because of this stupid loophole in the system, you both had to sit here for another hour.
"Maker- look, Dameron," you sighed, scrubbing your hand over your face, "I know that you're more than capable of doing this mission. I'll sign all your papers, I just want this to be over."
He paused in the middle of showing you the intricate seamwork on the inside of his security belt. A mock look of abhorrence crossed his face.
"What! You wound me, baby. I thought you loved our time together," he bemoaned, batting his dark lashes.
Your filter was slowly coming loose. "Yes, how could I forget, Dameron, how enjoyable it is to listen to your terrible pick-up lines while you bullshit your way through a protocol exam?"
This earned a small chuckle. To your dismay, a small part of your ego preened at the sound. You liked making people laugh. And if Commander Dameron happened to be the one laughing....well, that was okay too.
"No it's not," you snapped. You hated him. This was-
"What? Yes it is, I just showed you." Poe was looking at you, head tilted in confusion. You blushed, realizing you'd said that out loud.
"Right. Er...sorry, Commander, continue. I didn't...nevermind," you muttered, willing your cheeks to stop flaming. He wiggled his brows at you again.
"Feeling a little hot and bothered, Lieutenant?" Poe grinned, the pink tip of his tongue poking out. You scowled at your feet. Since childhood, your cheeks flamed like hell at the slightest embarrassment.
"That's alright," he continued his conversation, "I know I have that effect on people. Sorry to inconvenience you, honey, I know you still think you hate me."
You aggressively signed off on his report, shoving him the document and wiping the growing smile off your face.
"Good luck, Commander, you're cleared for takeoff."
"Can I get a goodbye kiss?" he called after you.
The mission, by all accounts, was a resounding success. You didn't care; still riding the high of being Dameron-free for at least a few days. The base had been, to nobody's surprise, remarkably calm and quiet for the weekend.
But, like clockwork, our favorite flyboy was marched into your office at 7 sharp, sporting a black eye and a toothy grin. His droid, a cute BB unit, was beeping frantically, occasionally rolling into his feet.
You looked up from your caf, unamused.
"Early bird gets the right hook, I see," you sighed, rubbing a hand over your face.
"Left, actually," he said sheepishly, rocking on his heels. The corrections officer that led him in rolled her eyes, snapping a salute and walking off.
"Dameron, we've had this conversation too many times for me to pretend like you didn't deserve it."
As if on cue, he threw himself across from your desk, hands folded. "No, no, listen," he wheedled, "look, it's a long story, and I wasn't trying to start anything, swear-"
"BB-8, recent log information, please," you asked crisply. Poe shot his friend a desperate look.
"Beebs," he hissed, "come on, stick with me on this one, dude!" BB-8 blinked, then rolled over to you and stuck out his little thumb drive.
You thanked him, kindly patting his tummy. Preening, the little droid circled his pilot friend tauntingly. Poe glared balefully. "I give you tummy rubs too," he grumbled.
A grainy camera feed pulled up. Dameron and another pilot, clearly drunk, were getting heated over something you couldn't make out. Truthfully, the other guy swung first, but Poe was not clear of fault.
"You slapped him with a plate," you deadpanned, rewinding to watch it again. Poe rubbed his neck.
"Well, yeah, but..." he trailed off, searching for a good excuse.
"I do recognize that he punched first, but you still antagonized him. I'll send you to my advisor and they'll do a case review for you." Eager to get on with your morning and shove Poe off your desk, you waved at him to leave.
His lower lip pushed out. Goddamn the puppy eyes, I swear to Maker.
"But why won't you clear it for me?" His voice was small, pleading. Beebs, clearly unamused, thumped against Poe's knee.
"I don't have the authority."
"But...wait, wait. I could take you by the cantina and you could ask the people that were there, and maybe...I'll buy you a drink, and we can chat for-"
"Dameron," you said again, tone gentler. "I'm sorry. But I'd lose my job."
"I've heard my company is worth it," he winked, then winced, for he'd winked with his bruised eye. BB-8 booped wearily. You felt for the little guy. Opening a desk drawer, you pulled out a small tube of varnish and gave the droid a shine for his efforts.
"Stop pampering my droid and pay attention to me," Poe complained, "he'll start picking favorites."
You sighed, looking at the pilot with a tired expression. Even though he gave you trouble, Poe was a good pilot and a good friend. He teased and flirted and drove you up the wall, but he was a good guy. You didn't want his record to be tainted, he wouldn't come around anymore.
Woah, where did that come from?
"Poe," you said slowly. He noticeably brightened at his name, putting as much into his smile as you'd ever seen. "I cannot clear you from this...event. However, if you write a written apology and an explanation I can...forget it."
He threw his arms around your shoulders and crowed in success. BB-8 whirred in surprise. You didn't lean into the embrace, too shocked to do anything. He smelled...nice. Like metal and cinnamon.
"Thanks, honey," he whispered, "I owe you one." Pulling away, he poked BB-8 in in the tummy and smirked.
"Told you she'd listen," he whispered smugly. As he whistled and strolled off, a faint blush dotted your cheeks.
He really was a sweetheart.
Night time was your favorite on base. It was quiet, solitary. Walking past the housing on your nightly check, you smiled at the sounds of muffled laughter coming from the bunks. It was like a family. Dysfunctional, yeah, but it was home.
It had been a long day. You had two hallways to go before you could collapse in your own bed. Tomorrow was your day off - you could finally sleep in.
You were playing with the zipper on your jacket as you rounded the corner.
A solid block of person collided with your cheek. Stumbling, you caught yourself on the wall.
"S-sorry, I didn't mean to-"
An unfamiliar scowl glowered down at you. Your apology trailed off. This guy was huge, probably six feet tall and heavyset. His face looked familiar, what with the sharp cut across the bridge of his nose.
Oh. This was the guy Poe had been tussling with.
"Sorry, sir, I need to get by," you said, shaken from the impact. He didn't move. Thompson was printed on his breast pocket, with a green insignia. Green Squadron.
"Heard you had something to do with this," he snarled, jabbing a thumb at his rank. Suspended.
"I..." a rush of panic swelled inside you. This is why you didn't play favorites. You buckled one time and now this guy was gonna wreck your shit. Fucking Dameron, shit shit shit-
"I..I didn't do your intake," you stammered, balking at his imposing figure. "It wasn't my case-"
"No, but pretty boy gets to fly tomorrow, and guess who took his?" Thompson was seething, eyes narrowed to slits. You were amazed that Poe had the balls to smash a plate on this guy. You wanted to curl up and cry.
Help. Help. Somebody help me oh my god I'm going to die.
There were rows of doors on either side of you. You could knock on any of them, but he'd surely grab you before you made it. If you screamed, maybe somebody would-
Stars and pain exploded and you were catapulted backwards, crumpling against the doorhandle. The wind had been knocked out of you so sharply not even a gasp had escaped your lips. Choking and heaving, you scrambled backwards. Pain was everywhere. You weren't sure where he'd hit you.
I'm going to die.
Thompson sneered down at you, making a grab for your collar. Desperately, you scratched at his face, tearing open his smashed nose. The reopened wound gushed, sticky red trickling down your fingers and into his raging mouth. You gagged, but quickly cowered as he swung again at your face.
His fist smashed against the door, and you mentally apologized to whoever was trying to sleep. Air was becoming harder to swallow, and you realized his hand was twisting your shirt too tight around your throat.
uh oh uh oh fuck you sputtered and gasped and tried to smack him off, but he grabbed your wrists
fuck-
You fell backwards; rolling out of his grasp and into a dark room. Something yanked your shoulders backwards and you were shoved into darkness. Finally able to suck in a breath, a bloodcurdling shriek ripped from your bruised throat.
A large hand clapped over your lips. You wailed louder, trying to escape the sweaty palm.
stop it stop it HELP stop stop SOMEBODY FUCKING HELP
A ringing in your ear, punctuated by a loud male voice.
"Stop it," he hissed, removing his hand from your mouth. You panted and struggled against the forearms bracing your stomach. The first punch had landed on your sternum, and the entirety of your torso was screaming in pain.
"Hurts," you whimpered, trying to shove away. The man let go and you collapsed forward, gagging from the pain. A small night light glowed in the corner of the room, highlighting a familiar mop of curls.
"Poe," you wheezed, sitting up against the door. A muffled commotion could be heard outside - likely your fellow officers finally detaining the rogue Green pilot.
He nodded, wiping his brow. Grabbing the light from his desk, he brought it over to look at you. The warm light added a softer glaze to his eyes. He looked bleary. You'd probably woken him up.
"Hey, sweetheart," he said, gently coming to sit next to you. You sniffled, still shaking.
"Don't move," he whispered, free hand coming up to carefully inspect your face. You didn't look at him, ashamed to be in this state. The light he was holding was for a child - shaped like a small cartoon Bantha. Cute, you thought listlessly.
Trembling, you could still feel Thompson's hands around your throat. You choked again, throat constricting around nothing. Fear still pierced your bones, and you folded forwards, sobbing into your knees.
Poe, surprised, swore and set the light down. His hands fluttered over your back, unsure of where it was okay to touch. He settled for your hair, petting the plaits gently as you cried.
The sounds outside had long quieted before you ran out of tears. A cold bottle was pressed into your hands. Cool water trickled down your throat. You swallowed gratefully. The room, still dark, brightened again as Poe flicked on another night-light.
Your lower lip was trembling, this time with embarrassment. You could feel Poe's concerned gaze tracing your face.
"You need to go to the medbay?" His gravelly, sleep-warm voice was quiet, hand still running over your hair.
You shook your head.
"Anything broken?"
Feeling around your ribs, you winced. Bruised, nothing broken. Again, you shook your head, clutching your water.
Poe nodded, scooting to sit next to you. You sat together, slowly coming down from the cortisol spike. Your limbs still shook, heartrate erratic against your aching chest.
"You're okay in here," Poe murmured, "Thompson may be strong, but he can't break through doors." You shivered, ducking your head into his shoulder. He understood, falling quiet again
Your throat was raw, and bruises pulsed under your skin. Eye contact was impossible, the embarrassment forcing your eyes down. You looked like a wreck - hair falling loose and bruises littering your body. The spot on the back of your head throbbed from the impact with the door.
Poe's fingers traced lightly, and you whimpered when they hit the sore spot. He retracted his hand quickly, apologizing rapidly.
"Hang on, hang on." His warm shoulder disappeared, and you sniffled at the loss. He returned a moment later with an ice pack, which he gently settled on the back of your head. The cold was soothing.
"I'm sorry," he said, gaze mournful. "This is kinda my fault, isn't it."
You squinted at him in the low light. "What?" Your voice was raspy.
"I made you get him in trouble, right? If I hadn't..." he gestured off towards your office, "y'know, then...well, you'd probably be on Thomspon's nice list."
You huffed a dejected laugh. "No, it's-" you cleared your throat, taking another sip of water. "it's okay." It wasn't, not really, but you didn't have the energy to be mad.
"I see why you don't play favorites," Poe said, smiling sadly. You gave him a half smile.
A soft beep came from your left and you turned. BB was tilted questioningly, large eye blinking.
"Hey, beebs," you whispered, reaching out to poke his antennae. He whirred and nudged your hand. "I'll be okay, it's just a couple bruises."
Your mind was still reeling. Poe scratched his friend's tummy then turned back to you.
"Why don't you stay here for tonight?" His eyes were genuine and concerned. You looked at him wearily. His hair was ruffled and cheeks flushed from sleep. Cute.
What?
"I won't try anything, promise," he reassured, hands raised placatingly. "I just don't want you walking around like this."
You swallowed and nodded. Poe took the water and the ice pack, setting them nearby. He hooked his arms under your shoulders and lifted you gently, stabilizing you when you swayed.
"You should really get checked out," he said, frowning."
"It's okay," you rushed, stumbling back. Poe grabbed your elbow to keep you from falling.
"It's okay to need help, you know. Nobody's gonna get mad." His eyes were gentle. Your lip trembled again, and you tried to pull away. Instead, Poe pulled you into a hug.
Your sob was muffled against his sleep shirt. He shushed you, hands tracing warm circles over your back. It's okay. It's okay. You'll be okay. Don't worry.
He really did smell good, you thought groggily. Cinnamon was comforting, and you started to sag in his arms. Poe carefully laid you on the lower bunk, pulling the blanket up to your chin.
"Which do you want?" He asked, pointing to the wall. Fighting to keep your eyes open, you blinked.
"Huh?"
"Which night light? I have a bantha and R2-D2."
At your blank stare, he blushed sheepishly. "I'm scared of the dark."
You snorted and pointed to the Bantha. Poe nodded, "a respectable choice," and placed the little light next to your pillow.
He sat at the foot of your bed, pulling out a tablet. You watched him, eyes growing heavy, as he pulled up a muted holovid, his hand stroking gently on your calf. Sleep came swiftly, and you drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
You woke at noon, shuffling under a thick warmth. A familiar warm smell curled around you like a blanket. Blinking blearily, a black mass of curly hair was crammed into your shoulder. Poe's head was three inches from your chin, and he was snoring like a bear. He was laying on top of the blanets, hand fisted over your chest. He reminded you of an infant, snuggled against any source of warmth.
Ignoring the ache in your chest, you petted his head and drifted back off.
join my taglist if you want, just comment or message me! it didn't mean to become so angsty lol idk what happened
xox bye bye
Merlin: I suppose you think you're very clever, don't you?
Arthur: I'll let you in to a little secret.
Arthur: I sometimes do.
Bestie: Drink water! Take your meds!
Me: I SURVIVE ONLY ON ROCK AND ROLL, FANFICTION AND TWINKS LEAVE ME ALONE-
snippet of a mariIuke fic i hope to finish by christmas
honestly speaking, if I am not your favorite account, you should unfollow
Overhead at the BAU
JJ, annoyed: "You aren't even that much taller than me!"
Emily: "It's alright little one, you don't have to be angry. They say short and feisty but you're save here!"
JJ: "...I am contemplating your murder but please go on"
Thatโs okay, I didnโt need my heart today
Robin (1993) #127
prompt #1
"You want to start a revolution? How are you planning to do that with a one-person show?"
thus begins the long list of prompts... if you like my prompts, buy me a ko-fi! ๐
soulmate prompts
romantic gesture prompts
current | next >>
@myhusbandsasemni
I have a hard time listing my favorites too! Impossible to choose from anything ๐
Also, literally scrolled through all my posts to find our bromance conversation but Soso (@writingonesdreams) !!! A BROMANCE WRITER.
FOUND FAMILY!!! STOP, THAT TROPE (?) IS SO GOOD
HOWL'S MOVING CASTLE ??? A MASTERPIECE
You have good taste ๐
HAHAHHAHA YOUR LINEEEEEE "Being emotionally constipated isn't something to be proud of."
STOP I'M DYING FROM LAUGHTER
me, desperate for some writer friends/mutuals
hi everyone!
this is just a post where writers get to know writers, and hopefully through reblogs/comments we can find more people who not only read/write our genre, but just people who have similarities with us.
it's kind of a simple "get to know me" post, and anyone can join <3
feel free to tag your mutuals and reblog !!
name: genres you like to write in: genres you like to read in + fav books/media: favorite line from your current wip:
name: ave
genres you like to write in: currently writing contemporary (ya/romcom/romance, give me them ALL), but I also like to dabble in fantasy!
genres you like to read in + fav books/media: i'll consume literally anything haha. Fantasy, mystery, historical fiction, romance, young adult, you name it. I'm awful with horror, though ;-;
percy jackson (MY CHILDHOOD), harry potter (OBVIOUSLY), Better Than the Movies, From Lukov with Love, The Love Hypothesis, These Violent Delights, the list goes on...
favorite or latest line from your current wip: [latest line, because what a mood- from Destination Seoul] Ha. Per usual, the universe hates me.
incorrect quotes
Thanks so much @talesofsorrowandofruin for tagging me! This is going to be hilarious, especially at 2 am when I'm cackling over quotes instead of finishing my assignment lmao
Rules: use this quote generator to create as many incorrect quotes for your OCs as you like.
One of them all together, cause why not:
*Everyone is standing around the broken coffee maker* Sohee: So. Who broke it? I'm not mad, I just wanna know. Everyone: Andrew: ...I did. I broke it. Sohee: No. No you didn't. Hyeri? Hyeri: Don't look at me. Look at Taeyoung. Taeyoung: What?! I didn't break it. Hyeri: Huh, that's weird. How'd you even know it was broken? Taeyoung: Because it's sitting right in front of us and it's broken. Hyeri: Suspicious. Taeyoung: No, it's not! Jiah: If it matters, probably not, but Dara was the last one to use it. Dara: Liar! I don't even drink that crap! Jiah: Oh really? Then what were you doing by the coffee cart earlier? Dara: I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles. Everyone knows that, Jiah! Andrew: Okay let's not fight. I broke it. Let me pay for it, Sohee. Sohee: No! Who broke it!? Everyone: Jiah: Sohee... Hyeri's been awfully quiet. Hyeri: rEALLY?! *Everyone starts arguing* Sohee, being interviewed: I broke it. I burned my hand so I punched it. Sohee: I predict 10 minutes from now they'll be at each other's throats with warpaint on their faces and a pig head on a stick. Sohee: Sohee: Good. It was getting a little chummy around here.
LMAOOO THE FACT THAT THIS DESCRIBES HOW I WROTE THEM (well, except Jiah because she's a sweetheart and would take the blame immediately) TO A TEE. ESPECIALLY SOHEE, SHE'S A BADASS BITCH PFFTT
AND THE BANTER BETWEEN TAEYOUNG AND HYERI IS SO TRUE
tagging: @hahaha-darn-it @mschvs @ferrariwrites @voidsteffy @catharticallysarcastic @bamboozled-boi @astridmayewrites @gwens-fiction
Fateful Beginnings
IX. โgoodbye, Gothamโ
parts: previous / next
plot: when the flooding recedes, Mr. Wayne helps you leave the cityโbut not before a sufficient olive branch.
pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader
cw: 18+, mention of chemo, playful banter/teasing
words: 2.9k
Bruce looked over with a heavy scoff, and you bristled. Before he could react you continued. "Alfred is kind, and thoughtful, and obviously helps you because you were calling out to him again and again." This elicited an immediate response.
"Don't tell me about Alfred." He spoke through gritted teeth, the color coming back to his face with red heat. You wanted to step away but swallowed the lump in your throat. Alfred says he's so compassionate, huh? Doesn't seem like it. "You don't have to keep up this tough guy facade, you know."
His sarcastic laugh boomed in the hallways and you could've sworn you heard Alfred wake up. "Facade. Big words."
"Dick!" You turned on your heel and stomped up the stairs, then heard a low sigh. "I'm sorry." He spoke. You didn't turn to look at him; it was triggering hearing a man mock you so openly, especially in his own home. Being a vigilante billionaire didn't absolve him from being a human being. "That's not fair fighting, and I didn't mean to implyโ"
"That I'm some mousey, stupid woman?" You whipped back around, all but hissing at him. He met your eyes carefully from the bottom of the stairwell. He gave a small nod, looking smaller now. "Nothing like that. I apologize." His swift recognition of wrongdoing did make it sting a bit less, and you had to remind yourself you were essentially camping out at his place. You leaned against the top railing, staring down at the masses of brown marble flooring. The moment felt just tender enough for honesty. "You can be scary, Bruce.... Wayne." You hovered on his last name, hoping it might act as an olive branch.
Bruce didn't want to be scary. Sure, to criminals he wanted to be, but hearing you say he brought it home hurt. It sank into his chest a bit like a branding iron. He didn't like hearing you say his last name; it already felt foreign in your voice. He looked over at the puddles of water he dragged in and shifted the convo. "The flooding seems to be letting up. You'll be able to get back to your apartment soon."
You took that more personally than was necessary. A thought glued to you. "Wait, will I be able to see Alfred again?" You felt ridiculous as soon as you said it, knowing you were about to graduate and move across the country permanently. You wanted out of this city more than anything in the entire world. Now you were concerned about missing a random old guy? You walked over to the top of the stairwell and sat crosslegged, putting your head in your hands. Bruce shifted uncomfortably, not knowing quite what to say to you, and wondering why the hell you'd decided to sit with him on the stairs. You assumed he wasn't going to respond to the Alfred comment, and you didn't really want him to. You thought about how Alfred had said Bruce was worried during your reaction and decided to pay it forward. It took a lot more effort to verbalize than you thought. "Do you want any pain meds or anything?"
It felt like a breeze shot through Bruce's stomach. A weird rippling sensation. His leg was burning in pain and he wanted to say no, he needed to say no, he wouldn't accept help from you... except seeing you with your guard down was... pleasant? If he forgot you were about to expose him, which he immediately remembered. His momentary lapse in annoyance ended with his next comment. "Are you still going to expose me?" You didn't say anything, and after about thirty seconds of silence he looked up at you. You slowly and discreetly shook your head. "No."
Bruce cleared his throat, trying to hide his relief. "I'm good on meds, yeah." He slowly rose from the stair and limped his way up. It was more bearable now that his body was lit up and electricโyou weren't going to tell anyone? He wanted to trust you, it sounded genuine, this felt genuine, and usually he could trust his read of a situation... but it was you. You were different than everyone else. You'd noticed him immediately. It didn't even take a full second for years of practiced concealment and tracking two separate identities to fall apart. You scared him, too.
You stepped aside as he rose to the top of the stairwell. He looked at you from his periphery and gave a small nod. "Night." His voice was raspy and quiet, and then the only other sounds were of boots against ground and your own heels as you padded back to Alfred's office. The next half hour you whizzed through the formatting, scheduling an email for a few hours later to Dr. Vry. You got ahead of her disappointment by writing:
Good morning Dr. Vry, I hope this email finds you well. Unfortunately Mr. Wayne rescinded his offer mid-interview, so I interviewed someone else. The paper is attached below. My sincerest apologies, and thank you again for getting me the journalism materials. They will be returned swiftly in the AM. If you would like confirmation that I did meet with Mr. Wayne I can put you in contact with his manager. Best, Y/N Y/L/N.
Sleep was hardly restful. You tossed and turned the next few hours, wired from finally turning in the last paper for your degree. You'd received an email back at 8:49am, where Dr. Vry expressed deep regret at your lack of follow-through on what would have been Bruce Wayne's first ever interview:
Ms. Y/L/N, thank you for turning in your paper. However, it would be remiss to not acknowledge my disappointment at what would have been such a spectacular frontier in journalism. I look forward to hearing from Wayne management to confirm your meeting. Regards, Dr. Janay Vry.
Fuck. Now you had to elicit Alfred to send a 'sorry' email. You sat up in bed, promptly hearing a strong knock. "Can I come in?" It was Bruce. You hurried your greasy hair back into a ponytail with a rubber band you'd found and sat expectantly on the edge of the bed. "Yes?" In walked Bruce, presumably fresh from a shower. He had your phone in-hand. Your brow furrowed. He nodded in anticipation. "You left it in Alfred's study. He's making breakfast now. No peaches." Bruce paused, avoiding eye contact. "Uh, and he wanted to tell you the flooding has died down enough to drive you back to your apartment." He tossed your phone to you and nodded before shutting the door. You sat, feeling the rage of hunger in your stomach. The first thing you did was look for flights back home: there was one from Gotham to Seattle at 11:45am, a five hour direct. With the time difference you might be able to make your mother's chemo appointment. Tentatively, you booked one of the last seats and bolted out to breakfast. It was 9:03. You needed to get home and shove all your belongings back into your luggage.
"Someone had a restful night!" Alfred was cheery, and placed an omelet in front of where you sat yesterday at the table. Bruce was already dished up and sidling into his chair across from you. "The ingredients are only egg, green and red bell pepper, spinach, olive oil, salt, and pepper. All good?" You gave him two thumbs up and thanked him, walking over to your side. You felt bad hurrying them. You waited for Alfred to dish himself up and sit down, tucking into a few bites before you broached the question. "I actually booked a flight today, back home. My mom has a uh, thing happening and I needed to be back. BruceโMr. Wayne said the flooding had gone down, and I was wondering if I could get a ride back to my apartment."
Bruce side-eyed you when you corrected his name. It still felt weird hearing you say his last name. It was weird hearing you say his first. It was weird that you knew he was Batman. It was just... weird. He finished chewing and gestured to you. "What time's your flight?"
It was unnerving to have such normal conversations with Bruce Wayne. After both your walls had begun to settle the night before, you felt the weight of his reputation. You blushed, and could tell he noticed. "Um, around eleven. Like two hours." Bruce's eyes nearly bulged out of his head "Couldn't have told us sooner?"
Alfred spoke, his face fallen, ignoring the man's antics. "I actually can't this morning, some men from accounting at Wayne Enterprises scheduled an emergency meeting. I'm so sorry. I'm sure Master Wayne can manage, however." He shot a glare at Bruce and Bruce rolled his eyes, starting to tear into his omelet with urgency. "Yeah fine, whatever."
You squeezed your eyes shut tight at feeling like such a burden. The next fifteen minutes you scarfed down as much food as you could, then went back upstairs to gather your shoes and phone. You noticed Bruce standing expectantly at the front door, wearing sunglasses as he peered at what you assumed to be a newly-delivered paper. He looked up when he heard your footsteps, making you hustle down the stairs.
Without a word he slid through the open door, but you reached your head around to see Alfred cleaning up the kitchen. You ran over to him and gave him a hug, quickly telling him about the email thing. He agreed to send the email shortly, and even offered to return your journalism supplies. Looking at the timeโ9:45โyou had no choice but to take him up on it. He told you not to be a stranger and sent you off on your way. Your heels ached the arches of your feet, but you weren't taking a chance with the sewage water still taking up an inch of real estate on the concrete. Bruce was already pulling out of a matte black Lamborghini, the passenger door opening automatically as you walked to it. You slid into the leather seat and tucked your feet in as he sped off.
You watched out the window as trees and grass turned to buildings whizzing by. The car was quick and steady; the tinting on the windows seemed a bit excessive, but you understood the need. After a few minutes of silence he startled you with a question. "Why didn't you write the exposรฉ?" He tried to make his voice strong, his tone nonconfrontational. You shrugged. You were still a bit bitter about the night before and his comments about your smarts, but if this was going to be your last time seeing him you figured there was no shame in being honest. "I didn't want to jeopardize the city. As much as I hate to admit it, you make it better." You let out a heavy sigh trying to rid of the tension. His hands stiffened on the wheel. It was the first kind thing you'd ever said to him; it was the first time someone other than Alfred had mentioned Batman to him... because you were the only one outside of him who knew. A small smile curled up his lips. Music to his insecure ears. Did he really make it better? Really? He wanted to. He really, really wanted to. Did you really mean it? Actually?
"STOP!" Your shout caused an immediate braking, and a worried mother clutched her kids as they rushed across the crosswalk. Bruce tensed, eyes wide. He'd never come close to hitting a pedestrian. His heart pounded as he glanced at you beside him. You stared with a tight-set jaw, your hands clenched together in your lap and eyes as wide as his own. He moved his attention back to the road and kept on, refusing to entertain any more potentially lethal thoughts.
It was 10am on the dot when you pulled up in front of your apartment complex. It had been such an awkward ride you hadn't questioned how he knew your address, but you didn't have time to pester him. Bruce got out just as you were jogging to the lobby doors, and your eyes nearly bulged out of your head as you hissed at him. "What are you doing?! Someone could see you!"
"Traffic is always bad around this time at the airport. We need all the time we can get, I'm helping." His tone was flat and he adjusted his sunglasses... as if they could distract from the Lambo in front of the complex screaming BRUCE WAYNE IS HERE! You pushed through the lobby and rushed to the elevator, Bruce calmly in tow. The doors opened and you both stepped inside. He sidled in next to you now, and you looked over at his outfit. Unlike the last elevator ride together, he was just wearing a black tee and trousers. He glanced at you from his periphery and you quickly moved your line of sight to the floor with a subtle blink. A subtle aroma of pink pepper and musk lingered in the air, mixed with a little bit of sweat. Your sweat. You hadn't showered in days, and did a little shift of your weight away from him. Embarrassment washed over you.
"What?" He turned his head, noticing your movement away. "Looking for more lint?"
No, I just smell bad. You thought. I probably smell like ass and I don't want that to be your last memory of me. It became apparent to you how terrible of an impression you would leave on the manโforcing your way into his home with blackmail, being forced to more than overstay your welcome, now he was helping you pack while you smelled like sweat and spit. It was embarrassing. Very embarrassing.
The DING of the elevator doors opening to your floor was like a call from heaven, and you rushed past him so he couldn't get a good sniff.ย You fumbled with the lock and thanked god how poor you'd been as a student; your apartment was small and minimalist, making it easy to throw everything into one or two luggage bags and move yourself back home in a jiffy. Trying your best to forget that a billionaire was standing in the middle of your studio, you went to your small closet and pulled out the large checked-luggage bag your dad had bought you two years prior. You hadn't been able to fill it then, but were grateful now for the extra real estate.
"What do you want me to do?"
You looked around the room, running through a short list of everything you'd have to do in the next half hour. The bedding needed to be removed, bathroom ransacked, kitchen food trashed, and clothes packed. Oh. And you needed to go down to the lobby and break the lease.
"Uh, can you clean out the fridge? I need to get to the lobby." You bit your lip hard, anxious as you grabbed your keys and rushed downstairs, ignoring the elevator in order to try and metabolize some of the stress. You only had about ten dollars left in your checking, and you'd forgotten that breaking a lease would mean an extra fee. When you made it to the receptionist, it was a new person you'd never seen before. She looked sour, and rolled her eyes when you walked up. "Hey uh, I need to break the lease."
"Name and unit number?" She smacked on gum as she sat up and started typing. You obliged, and after agonizing silence she shook her head. "Your lease ends this month anyway and you already paid the rent. We'll be sending a check to your permanent address after you have returned the keys with your deposit if everything is good."
Oh thank GOD. You thanked her profusely, somehow still out of breath, and went back up the stairs. Jesus. Thank god. If you had to ask Bruce Wayne for MONEY? You would've rather jumped off the Gotham bridge to your untimely demise. You put the key in your lock and opened the door to him standing with the bedding removed, fridge open and cleaned out, and half your clothes packed into the bag. Half of you wanted to be angry at him touching things without your consent, while the other was begrudgingly impressed. Almost like he read your mind, he spoke. "I didn't look at individual items, I just picked up armfuls and shoved them in."
Looking at your apartment now, the only thing left was the few toiletries in the closet (which could be recycled) and whatever was in your bathroom. You checked your watch: 10:20. "Thanks uh, can you wait in the car? I think I want to shower real quick."
He chuckled, plopping the last of your clothes into the bag. "I'm sure your seatmate will appreciate it.โ
You gasped under your breath. "Really?" It hurt. You didn't want it to, but it did. You wanted to shoot something back at him, like you were only trying to smell like him or some shit. But it stung. For some reason. He chuckled again, shaking his head with a sly grin turning up his cheeks. "Nah. But you believed it."
Speaking of character design, here is my character from Tiny Tina's Wonderlands, รrelรญus the graveborn and his grumpy lich companion Orville. ๐ And whereas I did design the character I have no control over their banter but I find it sounds quite eerily like a Gothic Homemaking script. ๐คฃ
โAre you trying to stop them from taking the platform down?โ
Bonus: little brother is not taking your lies, Casey!
Death insurance in the Eolasug nha Drynyra, itโs a rough time to be plagued.
Some glasses ๐ Gays also known as Logicality. Made for an art trade with @everything-is-rainbows which you should absolutely follow cause their art is flippin amazing.
๐๐ฃ๐ด๐ฐ๐ญ๐ถ๐ต๐ฆ๐ญ๐บ, ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ'๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ช๐ฏ๐ฆ
To anyone from the outside looking in, you and Naruto were the least compatible together. For anything.
The constant squabbling, the fighting, and the sheer annoyance the two of you exclude when together would easily make someone think: 'Dating? These two can't even be friends'
For instance, take last week for example; the two of you, one board game, and the rest of your mutual friends glancing nervously at the two of you. The end? You refused to give Naruto his monopoly money, and so you dumped his instant ramen all over him. Sasuke and Sakura both kicked you out onto the curb for that.
You washed his hair later that night at your house as he littered kisses over your bare stomach.
Anyways.
Or, let's talk about when the two of you had your mouths taped shut because you couldn't decide on a movie. Sitting in silence togther as the rest of your friends sprawled across the floor-for the entire movie.
Except you traced out 'I love you' on his thighs the entire time as well.
Regardless,
There is no regardless. No matter what instance is brought up, there is always something after that, just, makes no sense. Whatsoever.
When Sakura asks Naruto why he fights with you, he replies, "Because we like to. It makes her happy." Itโs safe to say everyone's jaw dropped, and probably dislocated afterwards when he looped his arm around you and dropped his head down to kiss your shoulder. You were seemingly unbothered.
When a guy asks you out, not thinking of the hulking blondie beside you, onlookers are shocked to see him pull you into his side.
But, you hate each other!
Do you?
Well, you can't hate him much when he whispers into your ear that you're his, he's yours, and that will hold true forever. Can't hate him when he brings you potted flowers instead of bouquets because "his girl" shouldn't have dead flowers. And you especially can't hate him when he doesn't take any of your insults seriously and returns them tenfold. Even if itโs to see the Cheshire grin on your face when he does.
So yeah, to any onlooker, you both are incompatible, but he says "my girl" and "pretty babe" and so many things when all you do is look at him, and, well, he's pretty compatible with you, so you don't care.
He's yours. And heโs cute. So who cares.
โ ๐๐ช๐ฌ๐ฆ๐ด, ๐ด๐ฉ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ๐ด, ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฃ๐ญ๐ฐ๐จ๐ด ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ฑ๐ฑ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ค๐ช๐ข๐ต๐ฆ๐ฅ! ๐๐ญ๐ฆ๐ข๐ด๐ฆ ๐ฅ๐ฐ๐ฏ'๐ต ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฅ๐ช๐ด๐ต๐ณ๐ช๐ฃ๐ถ๐ต๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐บ ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฌ ๐ธ๐ช๐ต๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ต ๐ฎ๐บ ๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฎ๐ช๐ด๐ด๐ช๐ฐ๐ฏ
did it hurt
when you were launched up from the depths of hell