#and then spent an even longer time editing as usual

[mrsmarinara]

“Can I sleep with you? with timo !!!

I’m All Yours || Timo Meier

Prompt: 29. “Can I sleep with you?”

Word count: 1.4k

A/N: I’m actively fist fighting writers block as I’m posting this. I also didn’t edit this so if my grammar is all over the place we should maybe focus on something else.

You were stubborn. You knew this and accepted it. Everyone had faults and some people refused to ever look in the mirror and face theirs. However, your stubbornness was not something you had to reflect on and learn about yourself. You had been a stubborn child, something that had gotten you into trouble often, and even now you were a stubborn adult.

Usually, it wasn’t a problem in your relationship.

Tonight was different, though.

Tonight was supposed to be your night together. The season had just ended and you finally had your boyfriend all to yourself. So when the two of you had gone out for dinner, just you and him in what felt like forever, you were delighted. When he looked at you with such admiration in his eyes or when he held your smaller hand within his own as he drove to the restaurant, it felt like a battle to not throw up the butterflies that were fluttering about in your stomach.

When the waitress had come to the table and made it abundantly clear that Timo was going to be at the sole focus of her attention. Every time she giggled or blushed, your heart had sunken deeper and the sips you had taken from your glass of wine had become longer. Timo hadn’t told a joke or shown any interest in her. In all the time the two of you had been together he had never done anything to make you feel as though he even thought of straying away from your relationship.

That wasn’t the point, though, and that was what he didn’t understand. He only looked at you with confusion as you slowly stopped contributing in the conversation. The confusion had turned to irritation when during the car ride back home you were quiet. Your cheeks were warm from the alcohol and there was an envious angry little monster in your chest that just wanted to rear its head.

Your boyfriend was charming, athletic and easy on the eyes. It wasn’t hard to understand the attention that he received and during the hockey season you were fine to step back and watch with a smile as people flocked to him. This was the off-season, though, and it was supposed to be your time with your boyfriend but it seemed as if you couldn’t even have that.

That was what he didn’t understand.

“I can’t control if someone decides to flirt with me,” he had said, annoyed that he even had to have this argument. He thought you would understood that and see that he never indulged those who batted their eyelashes at him.

“That’s not why I’m upset,” you scoffed, not looking at Timo. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at your boyfriend and be reminded how even though you felt as though you were entirely his, he was never fully yours.

You had made your way into your shared bedroom and were struggling to undo the straps of your heels when Timo walked through the bedroom door. It only took one glance at the man to know that he was slowly losing his patience. His neatly combed hair was all over the place, probably from running his hands through it.

You looked away. You knew if you really took him in and saw the confused frustration on his face your anger would seep out of your body and for just a little while you wanted to sit in your simmering anger.

“Why are you upset then?” He asked.

When you finally managed to pull your shoes off you sighed and kicked them to the side. Timo watched, noting how you didn’t pick them up and put them in their place in the closet like you usually did.

“Did you even realize that tonight was the first night that we were spending together, alone and to ourselves in months?”

“That’s not true.” Timo said immediately.

“Oh? When was the last time we actually spent time together? Just you and me?” Your voice cracked as you asked him. You knew when the last time was and you were even more certain that Timo didn’t.

“Schatz-,” Timo sighed and took a step closer to you only for you to shake your head and step further away.

“I’ve accepted that I have to share you with everyone but it would be nice if you could actually want to spend time with just me,” you said bitterly.

You grabbed a pillow from your side of the bed when you felt a lump start to form in your throat. You didn’t want to cry but more than that you didn’t want to cry in front of Timo.

“I’m gonna spend tonight in the living room, goodnight.” You dodged his arms as you left your bedroom with your pillow and pajamas in your arms.

He called out for you again but knew better than to come after you. Sometimes you needed a minute to yourself.

However, a few minutes had turned into a few hours and you were still sitting on the couch. At this point, the only thing keeping you in the living room was your own stubbornness. You were still upset but the anger you had felt earlier had slowly ebbed away and now you just wanted to crawl into your comfortable bed and fall asleep in Timo’s open arms. You didn’t want to appear like a misbehaved dog that was coming back to its master with its tail between its legs. You weren’t wrong and a part of you needed your boyfriend to know that too.

You pulled the throw blanket you had pulled from the end of the couch tighter around yourself as you watched the clock that hung on the wall. With each tick that moved the arms of the clock you grew more antsy and after thirty minutes you finally sat up.

Grabbing your pillow and standing up you decided that you would be annoyed with your actions tomorrow. Tonight you just needed to feel your boyfriends strong arms around you.

Padding softly to your bedroom you silently hoped that Timo had fallen asleep. That way you wouldn’t have to explain yourself.

You didn’t get so lucky. As you stood in the door way to your bedroom Timo blinked back at you from your large bed. He wasn’t small by any means but looking on it seemed as if the bed was trying to swallow him whole.

“Can I sleep with you?” It was almost a whisper. You felt childish but also wary asking if. What if he was angry with you for being so upset earlier? You didn’t have anything left in you to fight again tonight.

Without hesitating Timo opened his arms for you. You wasted no time in striding over and crawling into the bed. You dropped your pillow in its usual spot and then promptly ignored it as you laid your head on Timo’s muscular chest. His arms closed around you and the warmth that enveloped you was enough to make you set out a sigh of relief.

Your eyes started to flutter shut as Timo rubbed soothing circles on your warm. You thought you were going to fall asleep without either of you saying anything but Timo whispered in the darkness, “it was during the preseason. When we went on a walk through the park and you ate the entire pretzel we were meant to share.”

You stiffened, jolted into a more awake state by his words.

“What?”

“The last time we spent time together,” he said, quiet and slowly as if he was afraid you’d turn away from him. “Just the two of us.”

“Timo-,” you said, just as quietly. You thought he had forgotten. That once the season started up again the only thing that he thought about was the game he played and those he played with and for.

“You have every right to be angry. Tonight was supposed to be about the two of us and I’m sorry that I didn’t see that you were upset earlier.”

You took in what he was saying in silence. You could hear and feel how sorry he was in the way he spoke and how he held you. The two of you definitely needed to talk more about this but that could wait until the sun was shining and you were both clear minded and awake. Tonight you only needed one thing.

“You’re all mine?”

You asked him, hating how fragile and hopeful you sounded.

He turned his head to the side so his lips brushed against your forehead as he spoke softly, saying the words as though they were a promise, “all yours.”

#Timo Meier #timo meier x reader #timo meier imagine #nhl imagines #my writing

[woodelf68]

A Mother's Comfort

@lokijiro prompted "Baby Loki has a tendency to take more milk than he needs, which makes him throw up sometimes.

Frigga can’t help but wonder if this is a consequence of the days he spent in hunger. Also on AO3

After the first day, Frigga had a better idea of how much milk he could take at a time and had the kitchens send bottles with less milk to start with. It seemed to be a good amount, as Loki didn't cry for more when he'd finished his bottle, but he did still keep sucking at the rubber teat, and Frigga remembered that as a baby, Thor would keep sucking until she either unlatched him or he fell asleep at her breast, finding comfort in the action. And Thor, she thought darkly, had not been left alone to starve to death in the elements; who knew how long it would be before Loki forgot that experience? Who knew how long he had lain there, his cries unheard, before Odin had found him? Her little war child deserved all of the comfort that she could offer him. And though he seemed content enough...

She slipped a finger into the corner of Loki's mouth and broke the suction, pulling the bottle's teat out of his mouth. "Here, let me take that. No, shh, you can have it back if you want, but let's see if I can give you something better than an empty bottle." Loki made his displeasure known as she briefly set him back down in his basket but she made quick work of the laces on the front of her gown, glad she was wearing this style. As well as the herbal tea that she had started drinking to bring in her milk, Eir had given her an oil-based infusion to massage into her breasts as well, as often as convenient through the day, and that meant gowns that hooked or laced up the back and needed help to remove were no longer practical. She had just started wearing them again, too, having finally fully weaned Thor less than two months before Loki's arrival. Even when he'd stopped needing her for food, her usually rambunctious toddler had been reluctant to give up his naptime feeding, still wanting that closeness and cuddling when he was sleepy. And now she had a new hungry chick to feed. Ah well, those gowns would still be there when this one was grown into a strong and sturdy little boy like his brother was now, but she would only have this one chance of developing that kind of close bond that formed between a nursing mother and her child.

"I've no milk for you yet," she told Loki, settling him comfortably in the crook of her arm, her arm supported by the pillow in her lap. "But if you don't mind sucking on a dry breast, it'll help bring it in all the sooner." And it would help prevent him from getting so used to the bottle that he had trouble switching to feeding at her breasts when the time came. She wondered if she would need to place a few drops of milk or honey on her nipple to entice him into latching on, but it wasn't necessary. As soon as she guided his mouth to her breast his lips parted automatically and a moment later he had latched on securely and was once again sucking contentedly, seeming unconcerned when he didn't get the reward of milk for his efforts.

"Oh, that's it," Frigga crooned, her heart rejoicing that she could give this to him, at least she could offer him this comfort. "You're going to be a good nurser, aren't you?" She huffed out a laugh. "You know, if you had only come a little sooner, I would still have had milk for you." But nay, she thought, if he had been born sooner, perhaps Odin would not have been there to find him in time. She shivered at the thought of there having only been a dead body to find where a live child had been. It made her more certain than ever that the Norns had had a hand in this, that Loki had been meant to be her child, hers and Odin's. "Well, never mind," she told Loki softly. "Perhaps the milk will come back in more easily for having so recently stopped. And I suppose it was nice to have a little break, however short." It felt good, his sucking, and she felt herself slipping into that calm, quiet place where it was just herself and the child in her arms, inextricably linked. And it would feel even better when her breasts were heavy with milk, she knew, still able to clearly remember the rush of milk letting down in response to a child's demands and the relief as the pressure from a full breast eased. She nuzzled her new son's head, breathing in the sweet baby scent of him. "That's my good boy," she said softly. "I've got you. My new sweet son. I promise you'll not go hungry again nor have your cries go unanswered as long as I an here to come to you." She traced the curve of his soft cheek, his blue eyes open and fixed upon her. "You're safe now, you're home."

#ficwoodelf #a mother's comfort #thor and loki's childhood #tumbler prompt fics #loki #frigga #marvel fic #lokijiro #things that i wrote instead of sleeping #or working on the WIPs in my drafts #whoops #and then spent an even longer time editing as usual #but my muse belongs to kid thor and loki right now #and i had to get it as perfect as possible #my search history looks like that of an expectant mother lol #i had thought sucking on an empty bottle would give a baby gas but apparently not

[icewindandboringhorror]

I know this is just a silly bad quality random screencap of a screencap that I found on facebook lol, BUT it's a succinct enough image to easily describe the concept in a quick/accessible way hopefully :

-

(and of course, feel free to elaborate in tags, etc.! (especially elaborating about other senses as well.. can you "hear" in your mind just as well as you can "see"? taste? etc.) It's an interesting topic to me, as someone who's like a 4.5 at MOST lol. I'm curious what option will be the most common :0c )

#tumblr polls #hrmm... a little poll perhaps.. about a subject I find interesting.. since this image came across my facebook today #still really not feeling that well. no longer shaking violently and such but I still feel weird and weak much more than usual #They did say my markers for like infection or inflammation were elevated but that they werent sure of the cause so hopefully #it's nothing too serious. they did also say a lot of different things can cause that thing to be higher than normal but didn't go into spec #fics of what. maybe some of them are relatively benign or something. I still havent felt much back to normal since #I got really sick that one time though. I feel fine on and off but then little bouts of feeling weird and sick happen. hrmmm #ANYWAY.. looking for small ways to be productive. such as little doodles on evil ipad or editing game videos #or posting polls or cat pictures or some other like not very labor intensive things #I WISH I COULD FOCUS on writing HHRGGhh... I need to finish my game.. it would be so freeing.. a project that's been looming #over my head for like 5 years even though througouht that 5yrs I've probably spent a total of 3 months working on it lo.. ANYWAY #I still partially really cannot beleive that people CAN see stuff in their heads. There's always part of me that's thinking like. well mayb #e everyone DOES see the same exact thing but we just describe/conceptualize it so differently that we think we're talking about #different things when we're really not. But I have been assured by people I've talked to about it that they can GENUINELY really see #stuff in their heads like as vivid as an actual picture in real life or something. And the other senses are neat too. Like for exmaple I #can hear in my head much better than I can see imagery. I still CANNOT hear vividly like as if I were listening to actual music out loud.. #but I think it's developed more than my sight. AND interesting how this varies the creative process. a friend I was talking to on the phone #said they write by literally just watching stuff play before them like a movie. where my process is COMPLETELY different. AND that affects #the content/what details we focus on as well as our individual styles of writing have differences that can be traced back to that.. hrmm

[wonijinjin]

seventeen’s hiphop unit when their s/o falls asleep on them

author’s note: was feeling tired, wrote it quickly hehe. let me know if you guys want the other unit versions aswell! the vocal unit version of the fic is available here.

synopsis: what the title says

word count: 0.7k | genre: pure fluffiest fluff | pairings: hiphop unit x gn! reader | warnings: mention of food in wonwoo’s

you were laying in bed with cheol, pillowtalk being the routine of most of your nights, just casually discussing how you spent your day. “then i had to scold mingyu because he wasn’t listening and we couldn’t make progress regarding the lyrics.” he explained, voice low and quiet, waiting for your usual giggles about his members being silly as always, but silence was your only reply. he looked down at you on his chest, seeing your eyes closed, mouth slightly open, a bit of drool coming out of it, right onto his shirt. “seriously? man, my shirt is gonna get soaked.” he sulked jokingly, knowing fully well you couldn’t hear him, otherwise it would’ve earned a betrayed whine from you. “you are lucky you’re cute, i will let it slide this time.” he giggled while trying his best to keep his voice down as much a possible. he rubbed your back while looking head over heels at you, easing you to dreamland even more so, whispering. “good night my love, see you in the morning. i love you.”

wonwoo knew you were tired the moment he saw you when he arrived at home, so he figured that it would be a matter of time when you were gonna stop fighting sleep and let your eyelids get heavy. he was editing the photos he took on his walk earlier, you snuggled up into his side, watching him do his magic in different editing softvers on his laptop. “these pictures are so pretty wonwoo.” you said sleepily. he smiled softly while looking into your eyes. “thank you sweetheart, but you are way prettier.” his cheesy line normally would’ve made you burst out laughing, but as he expected you were already half asleep, eyes closing for longer amounts of time every minute. a moment later he sensed how your head felt heavier on his torso; he kissed your forehead and patted the crown of your hair, smiling sheepishly to himself seeing you rest at last. “my sweet baby.” he said while shutting his laptop down, holding you closer to him.

“wow, the special effects are amazing!” you commented to which mingyu hummed in agreement. you and mingyu were watching a movie, your head in his lap. you were invested in the plot, but it was a bit late in the evening. in fact it was so late that mingyu had actually kind of dozed off for a few minutes, resting his eyes after hours of work with woozi in his studio, the screen’s hue taking a turn on his optic nerves. when he opened his eyes he did not expect to find you asleep, especially since you chose the movie; it was one of your favourite director’s new films. he took a moment to just stare at your face shamelessly, feeling like he was falling in love all over again; your cheeks were squished into his thigh, nose scrunching up from time to time thanks to a few strands of hair tickling it. you were just so adorable in his eyes. he brushed the hair out of your face, stroking your cheeks gently. “i am so lucky to have you. i will always protect you, my darling.” he muttered, draping a blanket that was resting on the couch next to him over your slumbering form.

you were in the practice room with vernon since he had to work overtime with their newest comeback approaching, you offering to stay until the end so the two of you could go home together. he knew you were exhausted from all the exams you had to take, and even tried to talk you out of staying, but you insisted, getting into a comfortable position on the floor, head resting against the wall. he sat down next to you, drinking a bottle of water while you put your head on his shoulder. “i should’ve urged you to go home. look at you, so tired and in an uncomfortable room!” he whined, feeling extremely guilty about the situation. you didn’t reply to which he raised his head a little, upon doing so seeing your relaxed face, soft snores and breaths escaping your mouth. he slowly lowered your head into his lap, but not before putting his hoodie on it, making up for the lack of a soft pillow. “i should take a break anyways. sweet dreams, babe.” he smiled, gently kissing your lips.

#wonijinjin #caratsland #seventeen #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt imagines #seventeen fluff #fluff #scoups #svt mingyu #mingyu #kim mingyu #seventeen mingyu #svt wonwoo #svt wonu #svt scoups #enhypen #svt seungcheol #seventeen seungcheol #seventeen scoups #seventeen wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #jeon wonu #wonu #wonwoo #svt vernon #seventeen vernon #vernon #choi hansol

[caesium-55]

—seven days. [ ii ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: not beta-read. not edited. here's part 2 folks. part 3 is on the works now. did i write this fic instead of studying for my important quiz tomorrow? yes, yes i did. pls pray for my score.

masterlist.

For Christmas in 2019, Max has gotten you an apartment near his in Monaco. It is a loft apartment good for one on the 8th floor, a building away from where Daniel and Max lived. Originally, he wants to get you the unit a floor below his. You decline quickly, insisting that you are very fine with rooming with Julia and Kendall, who are both members of the Red Bull PR team whom you have gotten close with since your first year working with Red Bull. Max may have beef with the PR team for making him do a lot of embarrassing shit for the views but you're besties with most of them and actually thank them for making Max suffer through PR stuff because you cannot afford therapy and watching Max suffer through PR-related activities is a good form of free therapy. Also, Monaco apartments are fucking expensive. Red Bull might be paying you well but not well enough to afford an apartment in a country as expensive as Monaco.

“I want you close,” he tells you. If you did not know any better, you'd have butterflies fluttering in your intestines right about that moment. Sometimes, Max utter the most heart-fluttering of nonsense without meaning to. It causes your heart to stutter more times than you would like to admit.

“Well, I don't want you close.”

Max will never ever win an argument with you. He knows that. You know that. The best he can do is come to a compromise, a compromise that is usually tailored to suit whatever you want.

So you got that small loft apartment a building away, good for one person only. It's easy to clean and it's cheap, Max already said that, which makes you happy because you can set a payment plan for that. An apartment as a Christmas gift is already too much, borderline giving you a heart attack already. Rich people spending their money give you, a person of the middle class folks, heart attacks. Why can't Max be normal and give you a normal gift? A bracelet? A bag? You’ll even accept it if he gave you a slice of cheesecake. Not even your parents can buy you an apartment.

It has only been three years since the keys are passed on to your ownership and people say three years is enough time for a person to make a place home. But your apartment doesn't even feel like home, only a place you’ll sleep in if you happen to be in Monaco for the evening.

Home is that humble, two-storey house painted in red and yellow in Lynnwood Avenue, Vista Del Pueblo, Austin, a total picture of a picket fence dream. Home is Abuelo's old farmhouse in El Paso where you spent your childhood riding horses and driving ATVs across the dusty dry earth. Home is the retro milkshake place owned by the sweet old couple that has been in the neighborhood longer than your entire existence. Home is the tree-lined streets where you walked the family senior dog, Niko. Home is the Austin Fire House, your Dad’s workplace that you visited a handful of times back when you were a child to deliver cookies that your Abuela baked so your Dad could share it with his co-workers. Home is your mom’s clinic in the middle of downtown, always smelling like eugenol, disinfectant, formaldehyde, and her perfume. Home is not glitz and gold and glamor and cash cash cash. Home is not seeing wealthy people left and right. Home is not Monaco.

And it is not like you stayed long in your place either. You're always off traveling around the world with the Red Bull team and accompanying Max wherever he needs your presence. You don't even spend your breaks in that apartment because you immediately fly home to your family once a break is graciously given to you before flying off again to watch Max collect trophy after trophy.

Six days from now, you're going to be flying off to Texas. That means you have six days—less than six days actually—to pack all your crayons and go. Of course you're going to pack up the day before you leave. Doing shit last minute makes your life exciting, and it's not like you had a lot of shit to pack anyway. All your belongings can be tucked into a total of three suitcases. Three years worth of belongings in three suitcases.

you: you doin good there?

Max has been holing himself up in his penthouse since your arrival from Abu Dhabi, probably dealing with his breakup with Kelly. A shame, really. You thought the two looked good together. (Do they really? the asshole part of your brain thinks.)

And P. Thank God for that child’s existence. You hate children but P is an exception. P brings the best out of Max. Max has gotten the chance to act as the father he never had. It's heartwarming, to be honest.

him: not really no

him: can you bring me coffee

you: on it champ

Fifteen minutes later, you’re knocking on the gigantic double doors of his penthouse, a tall styro cup of espresso from that cute café two streets down and a slice of blueberry cheesecake because you’re thoughtful enough to buy him his favorite cake. You experienced a breakup before. A cake and an icecream work wonders when it came to healing broken hearts.

“You're fast,” he immediately says after opening the door. You kind of expect that he’d look worse, snotty and messy and looking like he ran from hell and back. But no, he looks……fine? His sweater and shorts look absolutely neat and comfortable and dry of snot. His hair is a little fluffy from lying on his bed but not too messy. He doesn't even look like he was crying. No red-rimmed eyes. No red nose.

You fake gasp, putting a hand on your chest for additional dramatic effect, “The fastest racer in F1 callin’ me fast. Truly honored.”

A smile plays on his lips, sidestepping and beckoning you in.

You frequently come by Max’s home, for work purposes of course, but you still cannot help but be amazed by the enormity of it every time you enter. Max’s penthouse is twenty times bigger than the apartment you currently live in. One man and a big house—it must be very lonely now that P and Kelly are no longer around. Now, you’re even more worried about what will happen the moment you go back to Texas.

Oh… You still haven't told him yet.

“Coffee,” you hand him the warm styro cup to which he accepts gratefully. He utters his thanks, taking a whiff before sipping, letting out a pleasured moan.

You make your way to his gigantic kitchen, navigating your way through his cabinets in search of a plate and a fork. You slide the cheesecake on the plate towards Max, who followed you to the kitchen and sat on the empty stool in the kitchen counter.

“Thank you,” he says, picking up the fork and taking a bite. He glances at your feet, eyes trained on your YSL. The obnoxious sound of the heels clicking against the floor as you walk probably is the one that caught his attention.

“You know, you've been wearing the same shoes since 2019.”

Points for Max for noticing. These YSL Opyum heels are the first luxury items you bought for yourself after saving for three years to buy one pair. You saw a rich international student wear it once back in university and you liked how sophisticated it looked compared to all the pairs of converse or platform boots you owned. So you made it your life’s goal to own one. In 2019, after doing tons of part time jobs in university and working with Red Bull for a whole year, you managed to buy yourself one on your birthday and you’d been wearing them to work ever since.

Your regular work uniform consists of a Red Bull polo shirt, a pencil or a slit skirt, and that specific pair of heels. Around 2021, you bought another pair to replace the old one because the old one broke. And 2022 again.

“What's wrong with ‘em?” you ask, brows furrowing as you followed his train of sight. Your heels might be a year old already but they still look fine.

Max blinks, “No, there's nothing wrong. Just…Do you think you would want to wear some other design?”

“No,” is your reply. “I like ‘em just the way they are.”

“Okay.”

Your conversation drifts into something else as Max finishes his coffee and cake. You spend the rest of the day in Max’s penthouse, lying on his plush couch while a slasher movie from the 2000s played on his wide TV. He has given you access on his Netflix account so you abused it to your heart’s content because you don't even have. a Netflix subscription. You can absolutely afford one, you just choose not to. You have opted in using your phone mid-movie because the movie is beginning to get real scary but you do not want Max to think you're a coward so you acted like you're disinterested instead.

“Oh look, Charles is also back in Monaco. Do you want to hang out together?” you nudge Max with your foot, who swats it away from him, face contorting in disgust. You show him the post on Charles private IG—yes, you were mutuals in each other's private IG because whoever is friends with Max was friends with you by extension—on your phone.

“Stop makin’ that face, my feet are nice.”

Your toenails are a glorious red now. Ferrari red actually and they suit you better than the Red Bull red. Huh, maybe you should have considered applying for Ferrari instead of Renault in 2018.

“No, it isn't.”

You roll your eyes, pulling it away from him and sitting up, “Do you want me to schedule you a dinner with Charles? You might need the bro time, you know? Dad said bro times are also important, but not as important as family time, of course. My bro broke up with his sweetheart back when I was still in uni and his best buds were the reason he was back up in tippy top shape by the end of the week.”

Max stares at you blankly, “I think I understand the words individually but not the sentence entirely. I don't know if it's the accent or you Americans just have a strange way of structuring your sentences.”

“Point is, hang out with a friend because a friend can help you move on from a pussy.”

Max hurls a throw pillow at your direction, which you luckily avoided thanks to your non-racer level but still considerably good reaction time, but unfortunately, this action causes your center of gravity to shift and before you know it, you're falling from the couch. Unconsciously, you grab Max but then Max doesn't expect that you’ll grab him so now, you’re both falling off the couch and onto the floor.

You groan.

“Fuckin’ ass, man. That was uncalled for.”

He flips you off.

Nevertheless, Max ends up following your advice though and calls Charles to hang out the next day. Lestappen fans should be thanking you on Twitter the next day for bringing those two together on an off-day in Monaco. Maybe they'll hang out and eat together in a restaurant? Maybe they'll go on a yacht picnic?

Except Max sends you a message at high noon.

him: sos

you: is your kitchen burning

him: no

him: but this is still an emergency and you need to come quick

him: he’s with his girlfriend and i don’t want to thirdwheel

you: succ it up

him: you can’t do this to me

him: i just got my heart broken in abu dhabi

you: where are you

him: home

him: i also need help in cooking

Charles is the one who answers the door when you knock. He looks genuinely surprised when he sees you and you deduce that Max hasn't told him that you're coming over.

“Babe, who’s that?” you hear Alex’s voice behind Charles and you light up immediately, quickly moving past Charles to throw your hands around the sweet young woman.

“Alex!” Alexandra laughs and hugs you back. The sound of her laughter is as pretty as she and God definitely has favorites because why did he sculpt this twenty-one year old like the daughter of the Aphrodite while you look like you were born from one of Hephaestus’ sperm that lost the gene pool contest? The world is unfair. You always get the short end of the stick, may it be career-wise or appearance-wise, and you can't even bring your personality to the table because normally, without the whole act of professionalism and sophistication you put on, you act like an extroverted American frat boy on a good day and a sassy drag queen slash war freak on a bad day so yeah, you guess that's the short end of the stick, too.

“Seriously?” you look up and saw Max holding a frying pan, staring at you unimpressed. You roll your eyes and slowly pull away from the hug, gaze returning to Alexandra.

“How’ve you been, sweetie? Been a while since I last saw you.”

You didn't get a chance to talk to her in Abu Dhabi and in Las Vegas.

“Good,” she replies, smiling sweetly and ugh, you want to pinch her cheeks so bad. But Charles is pulling you away from Alexandra before you can do so.

“No, no, she is mine, yours is right over there,” Charles says, pointing at Max, who's still standing there in the corner. “Go on. Shoo.”

You roll your eyes before walking up to Max, “‘Sup?”

Max raises a brow at you, “So Charles’ girlfriend gets a hug and I get a sup?”

“Well, she's Alexandra Saint Mleux and you’re just….” you look him up and down. “Nevermind, what you trynna cook?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“I thought you said you were cooking.”

“I said I needed help with cooking.”

Your eyes narrow into slits, “You’re going to let me do the cooking, aren't you?”

“You know that pasta you made in September that you said was your mother’s recipe?”

A sigh escapes your lips as you roll the sleeves of your button-up to your elbows and power-walked your way to the kitchen, the sound of your YSL heels clicking against the floor bouncing against the walls of Max’s kitchen.

Lunch goes great. Charles and Alexandra love your cooking. Max has even asked for seconds. Good to know that he's eating well. Somewhere down the line, champagne is served even though it’s mid-afternoon and the four of you're sitting in Max’s balcony, staring at Monaco scape below. Thankfully, it is a cloudy day in Monaco. The heat of the sun isn't too harsh on the skin. Despite that, you hand Max a sun screen.

“Sorry about Kelly, by the way,” Alexandra says. Your conversation has drifted towards Max’s failed relationship now.

“That is very nice of you to say,” replies Max, smiling slightly. “But I’m okay.”

You give him a look, clearly unconvinced. Admitting vulnerability gives him hives so he's definitely lying.

“You look too okay for a guy who ended a three-year relationship,” Charles muses and his words get you immediately thinking.

Oh? So they’ve been dating that long? You never noticed.

“Even [Name] looked worse when she broke up with that Williams mechanic two years ago and they dated for like what? Barely a year?”

“Unprovoked!” you exclaim. Alex and Max laugh.

But yeah, Charles is right. When you broke up with Leo in 2021, it was not the prettiest sight. He entered Williams mid-2020 as a mechanic and he immediately caught your attention. He's kind and handsome and a very sweet guy. You have similar interests—engineering—and a similar sense of humor and you just….work so well together, you know? You were sure he was your soulmate the moment he cracked up that Physics pickup line and you know it was the same with him. You swore to God that you’d run away from all the British charming assholes but Leo made you eat your own words and gave you a run for your money.

But alas, 2021 season came and Red Bull Racing became busier than ever because Max and Hamilton got crazily competitive and Max demanded your full attention, needing you as a support system to win.

And Leo. Well, he’s busy, too. Engineers are always busy. But he felt neglected because all your attention was on Max. He felt like he was competing with Max for your attention and it shouldn't even be a competition in the first because Leo was the boyfriend and Max was not. And you cannot even deny that you prioritized Max that year. You wanted Max to win. You needed Max to win, so he can finally ask Horner to move you to the engineering team.

Losing Leo is devastating but Max won the WDC title that year and while you spent nearly a month crying over Leo after the breakup, you're hoping that at least, in 2022, you’ll finally get that damned engineering position at the cost of losing your soulmate. That the tears you shed and the broken heart you carried inside your ribs will be worth it if it was in exchange for your dream. Then, it does not happen. The job isn't given to you and you spent the early months of the 2023 season wishing that you have chosen Leo instead of Max Verstappen.

“You’re still friends with him, right?” Charles turns to you.

“Of course,” you say honestly. You're still mutuals on IG and he still hearts your IG stories at times. You still talk, too, on the freer nights where there's a lot of time to waste. “We ended on good terms.”

“How about you, Max?”

“Can we not talk about this please?”

The four of you empty that bottle of champagne and once the sun has begun retiring for the night, Alex and Charles also left. You're soon to follow, fixing your tote bag and going through the mental checklist in your head so you will not forget anything and not waste energy returning here to pick it up.

“You can stay for dinner.”

Max’s offer surprises you.

“No.”

His face drops as quickly as your answer came.

“You're goin’ to let me cook again.”

“No, I’ll cook.”

You give him an unimpressed look. Clearly, you're not convinced.

“I swear, I’ll cook.”

“What if I get poisoned?”

“You won't get poisoned.”

When you continue staring at him, he sighs.

“Just stay please?”

Of course, you stayed. He asked after all.

You keep your eyes on him as he makes dinner with clumsy hands and a bit of unsureness behind his actions.

“You're goin’ to burn it, honey,” you point out.

“What honey? I didn't put any honey in it.”

You blink. He blinks back.

“You’re gonna give me aneurysm one day.”

Shaking your head, you walk into the bathroom at the end of the enormous hallway, lock the door behind you, lean your back against the door, and slowly slides down until your ass meets the cold bathroom floor. You slap a palm against your forehead and purse your lips to stop a scream from erupting.

God fucking dammit, Max is too adorable back there and this is not doing good things for your heart.

#max verstappen x you #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #manager!reader #fluff #formula one #formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #f1 fanfic #mv1 #mv1 x reader #mv33 #mv33 x reader

[2btheanswertothequestion]

(part 3 of November Paramedic; part 2 is here.)

When Gareth mentioned a plan to locate Eddie’s paramedic in shining armor, Eddie assumed it'd be him getting into various accidents all over Indianapolis. It's something the little shit would've found funny, okay! But, Gareth's plan is much less hazardous and slightly more logical: lurk around the university until they spot him. Like a pair of drug dealers trying to tempt the goody-two-shoes protagonist into addiction and sin on an 80s Saturday morning cartoon.

It's not the simplest task since they don't know when Steve might be there. Also, other responsibilities mean they can only spare so many hours loitering. So, thirteen days post-hatching plan and nineteen days post-meeting Steve (not that Eddie's been counting or anything), with nothing to show for their ethically questionable behavior, Eddie is ready to give up. Especially since both of them have a rare simultaneous day off. Usually, those are spent jamming, smoking, playing D&D… literally anything other than this.

"This is fucking stupid," he says, cigarette clenched between his teeth. "We're not gonna run into him."

"Sure we are," Gareth says. He drops his butt among the dozens they've chain-smoked and lights another without meeting Eddie's gaze. "We're getting closer. I can feel it."

"The only thing you're feeling is delusional. It's time to give up."

"Eddie, c'mon-"

"Nope." One last drag and Eddie stomps out his cig. "Fuck this; I'm out."

He stalks toward his van at the far end of the parking lot. Gareth curses before running after him.

"Dude!" he exclaims, jogging to keep up with Eddie's longer strides. "You can't just give up! What about what you said-"

"I was being stupid. What was I even imagining? We orchestrate another meeting and, what, I use my freakish wiles and seduce him? And then we'll live happily ever after…" Eddie shakes his head. "It doesn't work like that. He'd probably turn out to be a douche anyhow."

"No, listen!" Gareth seizes Eddie's arm and yanks him to a stop in the middle of the lot. "You always do this. Self-sabotage and cut things short, even when there's potential."

Eddie scoffs. "You know what else always happens? I end up liking them more than they like me. It's not fun."

"You don't know it'll be like that this time. You have to try."

"No."

Eddie takes a step back. He's done; he's out. Gareth reaches for his wrist to pull him back in. He jerks away, almost losing his footing and stumbling into the burgundy car behind him. Gareth's arms shoot out to help, but Eddie steadies himself before crashing. For a second, silence reigns as they assure everyone's on solid ground. Then Eddie opens his mouth to once and for all-

"Eddie? Gareth?"

Their heads snap to the side, eyes landing on… Max? Looking unusually dressy in high-waisted shorts and a fitted top under an oversized jacket, and her hair in a high ponytail. She's got her skateboard under her arm, a messenger bag with a textbook sticking out, and a confused furrow between her eyebrows.

"What are you doing here?" she asks.

Fuck. They can't tell her the truth – she'll never let him live it down. Fortunately, Gareth realizes this too, because he says:

"Uh, I go to school here? What are you doing here? The math building is way over there."

She rolls her eyes and leans on the burgundy car. It's a shiny BMW M5 – the limited anniversary edition. Jesus fucking Christ, Eddie almost dented that thing! It's worth more than his life. And Max is slouching against it like it's nothing. He could warn her not to scratch it, but she's unlikely to care; she's always been metal that way.

"Waiting for my friends," she says. "We have dinner on Tuesdays."

Eddie's ears ignite. Dinner? With friends? While wearing what's basically a date outfit?

"Ooohhh…" he says, sharing a grin with Gareth. "And do these friends include someone special?"

She shrugs, looking anywhere but at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"C'mon, Red! You're killing me! I need to know if he's good enough for you."

His fingers hover over her ponytail, as if to tug at it. She slaps his hand away.

"You're annoying."

He laughs. This terrible day just became infinitely better. He won't rest until he gets what he wants – or until she punches him, which'll probably come first. He's about to tell her so when a voice calls her name. Both turn to look, and…

It's a boy Max's age. He's beaming and waving, quickening his steps toward her. She smiles too, almost shyly, as she waves back. It's the perfect opportunity for teasing, if Eddie's day hadn't just become infinitely better.

His tongue is heavy, his skin is itching, his heart is bruising his ribs from the inside. Sweat is gathering in his pits and it's getting a little hard to breathe. Because walking half a pace behind the boy, carrying a huge duffel with such ease it might actually be stuffed with feathers, is… is…

"Yesssss!" Gareth hisses next to him. He may also be fist-pumping. Eddie isn't looking.

"Hey!" The boy stops in front of Max. "Sorry, practice ran late."

"It's okay," she says, cooler than ice, though her eyes are glittering. "I just got here."

She says something else, or maybe the boy does? It's all background noise, because Steve has caught up. Steve, in jeans and a polo that must've been tailored to his exact measurements because oooooooooohhhh boy. Steve, unshouldering the bag, muscles shifting and straining under his shirt with the movement. Steve, smiling, his golden eyes flying over Eddie.

"Hey! Eddie and Gareth, right?"

Eddie draws a sharp breath. He remembers!

"Y-Yeah!" he squeaks, hands fluttering to either wave or shake hands, ultimately doing neither. "Hi! You're here!"

"I am," Steve says, casual, as if inane conversations with former patients happen on the regular.

(It better not – Eddie doesn't do well in competitive settings.)

Max, keen eyes darting between them, asks, "You know each other?"

"Met at work," Steve says. "Or, I was working and he…"

"Ah." Max taps her temple. "That."

"How do you know them?" the boy asks her.

She points at Eddie. "Neighbor. And that's the guy who dumpster dives outside our apartment building."

Gareth flips her off. Eddie would laugh, but he's busy pretending he doesn't know what Steve looks like shirtless. It's hard (pun slowly growing more relevant) – his gaze keeps dropping to the polo's undone top button. Steve is just as gorgeous out of uniform, and now Eddie's thighs are tingling with want. He could stare at him forever…

Unfortunately, 'forever' is cut short by a woman arriving in a flurry. Wait, no. 'Flurry' implies some sort of graceful whimsy, while this person… she's a hurricane crashing into a house.

"Sorry I'm late! Nielsen wouldn't stop talking and got angry when people started leaving because it's an important lecture so this girl called him out for not keeping time because he goes on all these tangents and he said they're interesting tidbits and she said it's disrespecting our time and-" She pauses for breath. "You don't care, do you?"

Max, Steve, and the boy shake their heads.

"Right. Sorry." The woman turns to Eddie and Gareth. "Hi! I'm Robin. And you are?"

"My neighbor and his friend. Steve treated his concussion," Max rattles off, glaring at them. "You didn't answer my question: why are you here?"

Gareth frowns. "I told you," he says, pointing at the building. "School." He points at himself. "Student."

Max glares harder. "You don't have class on Tuesdays. And Eddie doesn't go here at all."

"I had stuff I needed to drop off."

"Is tagging along a crime? Jesus."

Max doesn't reply, though her glare remains.

Robin hums. "Okay, so this is super-enjoyable, I love just standing around, but I'm starving, so…" She looks at Steve, who nods.

"Yeah, we're going," he says, but neither moves. He glances at Eddie, which makes her glance at Eddie, and then they make a series of eyebrow-movements at each other, ending in a shared smile. Steve asks, "Have you guys eaten yet?"

Eddie shakes his head, pulse racing. Is this going where he thinks it is?

"D'you wanna come with? There's this diner we like…"

Holyshityesitis!

"Yeah!" Fuck, too eager. "I mean, uh, sure, sounds good."

"Cool." Grinning, Steve clicks a remote car key; the burgundy BMW beeps. What the fuck? How high is a paramedic's salary?! "Did you drive here?"

"I, uh…" Eddie falters. Shit, wasn't he supposed to? It's been three weeks and he feels fine – he thought he was in the green!

"Nope! I did!" Gareth says, 'proving' it by hauling his house keys from his pocket and jingling them.

Steve nods. "Should be safe for you to drive again, but the less strain you put on your brain, the better. Even a mild concussion isn't anything to sneeze at."

"Y-Yeah, I've been taking it easy. Basically done nothing. Until now."

Max snorts. Eddie is going to pour coffee through her mail slot.

They decide Eddie and Gareth will follow Steve's car to the diner, since Steve can't fit all of them (the real reason he asked if they drove here, duh). It's good because Eddie gets the chance to panic/gush/collect himself in the privacy of his van. It's bad because Gareth drives, lest their fib be revealed. Gareth spends the ten-minute journey gloating about driving Eddie's beloved girl, interspersed with 'I told you so!'s.

The diner is cozy, all wooden furniture and sepia photographs on the walls. A graying waitress who smells like tobacco directs them to a booth and takes their orders. An awkward silence then falls as they wait for someone to speak.

The boy clears his throat. "My name is Lucas, by the way. I don't think I said." After shaking his hand and introducing themselves, Lucas says to Eddie, "I think Max has mentioned you."

"Oh yeah? I've been dying for her to mention y- Ow!"

Eddie rubs where Max kicked his shin. Her glare is murderous. Lucas is blushing happily, though.

"So, what d'you guys do?" Robin asks.

Right. Time to small-talk like adults. Eddie gets his job as a mechanic out of the way, then gives the word to Gareth, who tells them he's a creative writing major. Robin turns out to be getting a masters in linguistics and Lucas studies biology.

"I don't actually know what I want to do, but biology feels broad enough to give me options, y'know? I can go to med school, or forensics, or, I don't know, paleontology?" he says. Max glows brighter with every word that comes out of his mouth. Cute.

This then segues into talking about their friends, who by the sound of it lead incredibly interesting lives.

"Dustin's at MIT, Mike's at Oxford, Will's in San Francisco…" Lucas says, counting on his fingers.

Max interjects, "El's in Africa building houses and teaching kids English."

"Erica is still at home, finishing high school and drowning in early acceptance letters to, like, every Ivy League there is," Steve says with a look of pure pride.

"Nancy and Jonathan – they're our age – are chasing scoops in Afghanistan… " Robin says.

"... and Argyle is also in California," Lucas finishes.

Eddie whistles. "And here we are, still in Indianapolis."

"Dude, I'm surprised I got this far," Steve says. "Wouldn't've managed without her."

He jerks a thumb in Robin's direction, who preens at the acknowledgment. Robin's cool, Eddie decides. Garrulous but fun and nice… and verrrrrrrrry close to Steve. The kind of close where they're always in each other's space. Where they wordlessly transfer food between their plates. Where Steve unceremoniously wipes a speck of ketchup off Robin's chin after she repeatedly fails to get it. They're comfortable, but not necessarily romantically affectionate. Like they're siblings rather than lovers.

(Dear God, if you are in heaven, let them be siblings.)

Conversation flows. They joke around, tell stories, swap opinions. Robin gets passionate about tonal shifts when stage shows are adapted to film, and Eddie tries not to stare at Steve's mouth as he eats. And then, once their plates are cleaned and they're waiting for dessert, Gareth leans his elbows on the table and fixes Steve with a purposeful look.

"I figured out where I've seen you before."

Eddie stiffens.

Steve blinks. "At campus, right?"

"Thought so, but no. I realized it's actually…" Gareth chuckles. "It's ridiculous, but uh, my mom had this calendar…"

Steve recoils, red flooding his face. Robin, Lucas, and Max shriek in delight, Robin grabbing Steve's arm and shaking it as he hides behind his hands.

"And my mom," Gareth says between bursts of laughter, "she's shameless, all right? She kept it in our kitchen. So during, what was it, November?"

"November," Steve confirms, muffled.

"For 30 days, if I wanted to check the date or make a notation… I saw you."

Tears stream down Robin's face, she's laughing so hard. She and Max have started chanting 'Slut! Slut! Slut!' at the still crimson Steve.

"You don't understand," Lucas says, gesturing for emphasis. "We've been waiting for someone to come up and say 'hey, weren't you…?' for years. Thank you so much!"

"Hey, thank my mom," Gareth says. Eddie's quite stunned he'd throw his own mother under the bus like that. She's a really nice person, too!

"Makes sense," Max says. "Moms love Steve."

"All parents do," Lucas says.

Cackling, Robin pinches Steve's cheek. "Gotta hide your mom and your dad around Steve!"

Steve bats her off, flushed but smiling. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. You got your wish, now shut it."

That only makes the three restart the chant to ridicule him for his harlotry. Steve's indignant squawk that 'it was for charity!' merely has everyone laugh more.

And Eddie? Well. As he sits beholding this man who works as a paramedic and drives a luxury car, who models for charity and allows his friends to mock him for it, who blushes and giggles when they lovingly call him a whore…

All Eddie can think is that he's in fucking trouble.

Afterward, it only makes sense for Eddie to drive Max home. Steve shakes his hand outside the diner, saying it was nice to see him again. Eddie, not knowing how to ask for Steve's contact info without seeming weird, agrees. He waits until the BMW drives off, then tells Gareth to get the fuck out of his seat. Gareth relocates to the backseat, whining since Max already called shotgun.

The initial minutes, they're quiet. Then Max turns to Gareth and says:

"When were you telling me Eddie is your mom?"

"Huh?"

"You said you knew about the calendar because of your mom. But that's not true."

The warmth drains from Eddie's face; his knuckles crack around the steering wheel. Gareth's expression is the epitome of 'oh shit' when he meets Eddie's gaze in the rear-view mirror.

"Yes, it is," Gareth says.

"It's not," Max says.

"It is!"

"It's not! The calendar was for 2021, and in November '21 you were a freshman and had already moved into the dorms! If your mom kept it in her kitchen, you wouldn't have seen it!"

She scowls at Gareth, mouth pinched and eyes flashing, daring him to contradict her.

Gareth swallows thickly. "It… wasn't for 2021."

"Yes, it was."

"How do you know?"

She puts her hands in her lap and lifts her chin, almost primly. Eddie gasps as the penny drops.

Gareth screams, "WHAT!"

"You have it?" Eddie cries. "Why do you have it?"

She scoffs. "You know why – you've seen his pecs."

"I don't- Okay, how're you so sure it's me?"

"Because you spent all of dinner looking like you wanted to crawl inside his mouth and live there." Her nose wrinkles. "At least I hope it was his mouth you want to crawl into-"

She's cut off by Gareth shouting "I can't hear you! Lalalalalalala-"

Eddie crumples in his seat. He's depleted of blood, air, life, everything. Behind, Gareth is grilling Max for information: are Steve and Robin together? Is Steve single? Is he queer?

Max replies: no, yes, and 'that's not for me to tell, moron'.

Gareth nods, satisfied. "That means he is. If he was straight, you'd say so." He slaps Eddie's arm. "You got a shot, man!"

"You… don't know that…" Eddie wheezes.

Max tuts, shaking her head. "You actually want to hit on my chauffeur."

"He prefers the term 'seduce'," Gareth says.

Eddie smacks his face into the steering wheel at the next red light.

------------------------------

Tag list: @rougenancy, @raisedbylibrarians, @yourebuckingkiddingme, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @emma77645, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @eddielives1986, @stevesbipanic, @the-redthread, @fandemonium-takes-its-toll, @henderdads, @gay-little-bitch, @lordofthepointygerbils, @lenore1232, @imzadidragonfly, @zerokrox-blog, @eddiemunsonswife, @cherrycolas-things, @ediewentmissing, @princess-eddie, @atombombbibunny, @ajamlessbaby, @dogswithforks, @grimmfitzz, @cutiecusp, @cuips-not-cute, @manicallydepressedrobot, @messrs-weasley, @madaboutmunson, @mightbeasleep, @suikatto, @brassreign, @snapshotmaestro, @bea-sayan, @courtjestermunson, @csinnamon-fox, @steveisabicon, @spectrum-spectre, @spinmewriteround, @just-super-fucking-gay, @escapingthereality, @oneweirdcryptid, @deehellcat, @misticageri, @lovelyscot, @olivethenerd16, @linkydinky06, @rynnytintin, @anything-thats-rock-and-roll,

I won't be adding more to the tag list because there are already so many of you. Instead, I'll be tagging the four remaining parts (it'll definitely be seven in total, btw) as #steddie fic: november paramedic. Hopefully, they'll show up in the tags and you'll see them that way.

Thank you for reading 🖤

Part 4

#the entire conversation in the van - and the purpose of max's role - came to me late at night #and i was so excited i could barely sleep afterward #everything fell into place after that #steddie fic: november paramedic #steddie #steddie fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson #steve harrington #gareth stranger things #max mayfield #my writing #ok so about the car: #(first off i want to admit i know nothing about cars) #in the show steve drives a bmw 733i. the car is gorgeous imo. however while luxurious at the time it's not expensive today. #so i looked up modern luxury cars and found the 30 jahre m5 - the limited edition from when bmw m5 celebrated 30yrs in 2014 #only 300 got made and only 30 were sold in the us. they were as you might imagine expensive. #so the story here is that steve got one for his 16th birthday (would've been in 2015 in this fic) #probably from a doting grandparent since i doubt his parents would've given something so expensive to a teen #fun fact: every 30 jahre m5 is colored 'frozen dark silver' (gray. they're fucking gray.) #but since it's NOT steve's car if it's not burgundy and since i've already erased covid's existence... i don't think this change matters

[aethon-recs]

23 Tomarrymort Recs for 2023 (Longfic Edition)

Happy New Year! 🤍 Here is a round-up of some of the most engaging multi-chaptered works/longfics that I came across in this ship in 2023.

I found each of these fics, in their depiction of the ship, to be a fresh or surprising take on our familiar beloved characters of Harry and Tom|Voldemort, truly groundbreaking in some way in their approach to the ship. It's amazing to me that even after 20+ years of this ship existing, there's still new themes / tropes / dynamics to explore, and the authors are all so talented in making me think about the ship in some new way — just incredible examples of what it means to be a transformative work of fanfiction.

Criteria for this list: multi-chaptered, Tomarrymort-centric, with at least 1 update published in 2023. As with a previous longfic rec list, I tried to find longer fics that were relatively under-rated (which is hard to define, but below 2K kudos for the most part).

See here for Part 1 (2023 Tomarrymort one-shots), and hope you lose many many happy hours to the unbridled joy of immersing yourself in one or more of these incredibly addictive, lovely longer fics!

*

23 Tomarrymort Recs for 2023 — Multi-Chaptered Fics

A Darkness by Any Other Name by river_marrow (M, 30k, WIP) 

Decades after the war ends, Harry is thrown through the Veil, and finds himself in an alternate reality where the leader of the Muggleborn uprising is the Dark Lord Voldemort.

A Dead God's Faith by @selfishrot (M, 35k, WIP)

Blood and spittle rush to follow Riddle’s words that are dragged out through a wrecked throat. “I will consume you.” Harry felt a thrill run up his spine, along with the usual fear and anger that accompanied Voldemort's threats. “Be gentle, I can feel your soul ripping its stitches.”

And the Living Will Envy the Dead by @k-s-morgan (M, 81k, WIP)

When Harry looks at Tom, he feels overwhelmed. There is a spark that makes him hopeful, the fear that nothing he does will save Tom from himself, and the horror at what his lies might lead to. When Tom looks at Harry, he feels nothing. Until he does, and then Harry’s world starts drowning in blood.

At the expense of the world by @itsevanffs (E, 24k, WIP)

"He had a lover, you know," Jenkins says to Remus once Harry's behind a wall and out of sight again. "A boy, and a gorgeous one at that. Nobody really knew where he came from, and Tom didn't seem to favour him either, at first, but by the end, he was besotted."

Bitumen by @crowcrowcrowthing (E, 32k, WIP)

Harry finds out the hard way that Dementors can’t digest Horcruxes. Now separated from his body, his best option is to seek out a similar soul for help. A love story about immortals with too much time to kill.

Creatures of the Dark we are by @hikarimeroperiddle (M, 25k, WIP)

Banished to his cupboard at age 4, Harry learns to listen only to the Voice in his head. Its teachings wrap all around Harry until no more than dark magic and devotion remains, along with visions of a wraith with red eyes.

Exceeding Expectations by @mosiva (E, 56k, complete)

Harry Potter’s life ran along very different lines than Tom Riddle’s. He knew nothing more of the man than he read in the Daily Prophet. Then they get stuck in a lift together.

Exegesis by liquoricepantomime (M, 38k, WIP)

In exchange for peace, Voldemort asks for Harry Potter. And so, there is a new legacy that forms — of The-Boy-Who-Was-Sold, and his childhood spent in a castle, with a man who has killed his parents. A man who is mad, and whose ire reigns fiery hell. A man he will marry, and yet knows nothing about.

found by @honbug (E, 112k, WIP)

Tom knows from the beginning that he is destined for greatness. Nothing and no one will stop him from achieving his goals. (And then, of course, there are the dreams.)

hook, line, and sinker by @purplemineralwater (E, 21k, WIP)

Harry asks Professor Riddle for help in killing Voldemort. Riddle is endlessly amused.

if we were lovers by @reggieblk (E, 277k, complete)

When Harry arrives at the most prestigious theatrical school in the country, he doesn't have many expectations. The most unexpected thing he encounters is Tom Riddle, and subsequently, falling in love with the only other person who deals with feelings as well as him. But maybe, just maybe, he and Tom will find out that not all love stories have to end in tragedy.

Lover's Spit by @pinktom & @k3uuu (E, 123k, WIP)

Following his father's arrest on a dull hot Sunday in North Yorkshire, 10-year-old Tom Riddle becomes a dark internet sensation.  If Harry Potter listened to his father, he would never speak to Riddle again. But eight years after the arrest, an unexpected and painful encounter leads Harry to reconsider events — and arrive at a conclusion all his own. 

One Year In Every Ten by @saintsenara (E, 189k, WIP)

A decade after the final battle, a serial killer emerges, with a message that proclaims the Dark Lord has risen again. Harry is assigned to the case.

Oversight by @dividawrites (E, 21k, WIP)

Voldemort’s resurrection ritual doesn’t go as smoothly as he’d planned. He requires assistance and there’s only one person he can ask—the boy tied to his father’s gravestone.

Paved With the Best Intentions by @perhaps-sunlight (M, 113k, WIP)

Instead of dying during the Battle of Hogwarts, Voldemort de-ages into an infant. Until he becomes old enough to be legally executed, he will be magically bound to Harry.

Prison Blues by @metalomagnetic (E, 68k, WIP) 

Harry and Voldemort find themselves locked up in a mysterious prison in an A/B/O alternate universe setting.

Revolution of Configured Stars by @tollingreminiscentbells (E, 110k, WIP)

In a Voldemort Wins AU, Harry Potter was spared, and enters his seventh year at Hogwarts wanting to do Arithmancy research and keep his head down. However, after a chance encounter, it looks like it may not be so simple. Marvolo Gaunt seems to have his eye on Harry. The trouble is, Harry has no idea why. 

Tender Reigns Our Night by @noumena-writes (M, 93k, WIP)

Sent on a Ministry mission to fight for magic's survival, Harry goes back in time with two simple objectives: find and destroy any existing Horcruxes, and stop Tom Riddle ever evolving into Voldemort — using any means necessary. Harry thus finds himself working alongside Riddle at Borgin and Burke's, examining dark artefacts and desperately trying to fulfil his orders.

the demiurge, the leontoeides by @ramabear (E, 125k, WIP)

Thomas Gaunt reaches through the dimensions and plucks an eleven-year-old Harry Potter from his world and brings him home again.

the eternal flame by @duplicitywrites (E, 25k, WIP) 

There’s a well-dressed older man who enters the orphanage asking after Tom Riddle. The man’s green eyes fix on Tom’s face, searching and searching.  “My name is Harry Gaunt,” the man says, the tenor of his voice soft and faltering, a reflection of Tom's deepest, most secret anxieties, “and I’m here to adopt you.”

the righteous dead by @aspengray (T, 23k, WIP)

Harry is resurrected, sewn together with thread and magic. He remembers nothing except that he loves his savior, a man named Voldemort.

The Longing by @aglassroseneverfades (M, 33k, WIP)

Harry is not thinking of his parents right now as he trudges up to Voldemort’s eerie castle. He is thinking instead, as he often does, of a name that burns too brightly on his wrist in the pre-dawn light. He is wondering if somehow the fruitless tugging on his heart means that somewhere, some way, Tom is watching over him. 

With a resolute heart by Act_Naturally (M, 157k, WIP)

A Hunger Games-AU featuring Harry and Tom as competing champions.  Harry has a saving people thing. It’s not conducive to surviving a battle royale. He doesn’t fancy his chances. Especially against Tom Riddle.

*

#tomarry #harrymort #tomarrymort #tomarry recs #tomarrymort recs #hp fic recs #longfic recs #ao3 recs #fanfic recs #harrymort recs #2023 reads #2023 recs

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

I really really hate to be that person - especially because I know a lot of people are under the impression that fanfic authors are greedy and we should be grateful for any comments we get, even if those comments are full of unauthorized concrit, even if they're kind of rude, even if they're weirdly self-shaming (sometimes insinuating that people should feel bad over reading the dark or smutty content in the fics or that we should feel bad for writing it in the first place even though you're also reading it??).

But like, lately, I have been getting so many comments along the lines of "this fic should be longer!!" "I wish this was a series!!" "please turn this into a series!" "I would read endless sequels of this!!!" - today someone literally commented on one of my fics saying that it was a war crime that the fic was 30k instead of being 'a whole series'. And I totally understand the mindset that if something is good, you want more of it. If you enjoy something, you want more of it. But these comments are definitely not as flattering as people think they are.

When reading those comments - it doesn't always come off as a compliment. Most of my fics range from 5k to 30k on average, and they are usually oneshots or oneshots that I have split into multiple parts in order to be more readable - most of my longer, ongoing series are abandoned because I didn't have the steam to maintain them. (Most people don't know at all how hard it is to write a good, coherent, well-plotted 100k fic and actually keep up with it.) After I post the fic I have written later this week, I will have written over 400k this year alone, with my entire AO3 having over one million words split between 79 different fics.

So often, having people look at my fics and having their only comment be to 'write more' - feels like an insult. Because I do write more. I have written more. I write consistently. (It just sucks that people have almost nothing to say about what I have already written.)

Having people look at my fics - usually very long fics - and go "hey, this would be better if it was longer!!" or "hey, that was good, but the only productive thing I have to say about it is: make it longer" - it always feels very discouraging.

It doesn't make me want to rush to write more of that fic. In fact, most of the time, I actively avoid working on sequels to fics where the only comments are 'more please' because I know the only thing people will say about the sequel is 'when are you gonna make more?' - and oftentimes, I don't intend to make more.

I have said this in another post, but the ending to my fics are always intentional. I don't write fics with the mindset of turning them into a 100 part series. I write fics with the mindset of making them like a film or a short TV series - telling a capsule of a story with a very intentional beginning, middle, and end. And if I write a sequel, it's because I feel there is more to be told - but I will also cap off that sequel with a very intentional ending.

(Also, don't get me started on the complex of - if fics don't have the classic 'happy ending' people feel like every single thread needs to be resolved until it gets to a more classic happy ending, when I love writing intentional melancholic and thoughtful endings.)

Also - in general, I feel like people don't understand how much work goes into a fic. It might take you about 2 hours to read a fic that's 30k (and a lot of people who are avid readers probably read faster than that, reading it in an hour or less) - but concepting that fic, writing that fic, and meticulously editing that fic so that it can be readable and pleasant for people takes upwards of 20 hours of work. I would say realistically, upwards of 30 hours. And those are just working hours - hours sitting at the computer actively working. That doesn't include the time spent in between workshopping the ideas in my head while I am doing other mundane tasks in life.

It's very, very easy to consume a 30k oneshot in one sitting and then hold out your plate and go "more please!!" without putting any thought into how much work went into the original fic.

All of this just to say - please think about these things next time you are commenting on a fic (or even closing a fic without commenting at all), or doing something stupid like generating a fic with AI - which steals from everyday hard working fanfic writers. Fanfiction is hard work - it's a labour of love, and it shouldn't be about blind consumerism where you finish one and then rapidly start looking for the next one. You should appreciate each one like a good, hand pulled taffy instead of gobbling them all down like cheap candy mass made by factory machines.

Yeah - I think that's it.

-your local over worked (but still passionate) fanfic writer

#uuugh #either nobody will see this or everyone will and they will complain about it #sundrop speaks #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #ellie williams x reader #spencer reid x reader #abby anderson x reader #mike schmidt x reader #fanfiction #fandom #vanessa shelly x reader #gar logan x reader

[targaryenmarvel]

Fallin' All In You (Part 3) - Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: You’ve known Wanda Maximoff since you were children. She was the shy and exceptionally beautiful twin sister of your best friend, Pietro. For the most part, you two never interacted, but that changes when against your better judgment, you begin to develop feelings for the girl. 

Warnings: Cursing

Note: It's a bit late, but here's part three! It was initially longer, but I didn't want to make you guys wait too long. I hope you enjoy it, and I'll post the next part as soon as I finish editing it. Also, credit to the creator of the GIF.

Word count: 4,377

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

///////////////////////////////////////////////

Voices echoed through the halls as students lounged around before classes. Some were engaged in lively conversations, while others scrolled through their phones. 

The air remained charged with energy and excitement from the previous day's win, as proved by the many praises you received from students and teachers. The elating compliments usually made you smile in glee, feeding into your ego. Yet, today, you could only muster a mediocre half-smile. Fatigue overran your body as a result of a sleepless night. Thoughts of Wanda had invaded your mind with no plan of ever leaving.

How could they when you nearly kissed the girl? You had spent the night overanalyzing the situation. Initially, you thought Wanda wanted to kiss you, but you were unsure after her speedy escape. God, you were an idiot. You had ruined any possibility of her ever liking you. She probably thought you were a creep. The fact that Wanda couldn't even look at you throughout the day attested to your thoughts. Even now, as you were seated with your friends, you could sense the uncomfortable tension that had taken over before she left your car. You just wished your friends wouldn't notice anything, especially Pietro. 

"We should do something today." It was Natasha who saved you from your agonizing thoughts.

"What do you have in mind?" Steve asked, slinging his arm over her shoulder.

"Let's go to the movie theatre," she glared at you, "and you can't find an excuse not to go this time."

"I wasn't going to third wheel you and Steve," you defend yourself with a pout, crossing your arms.

"You wouldn't have to third wheel if you accepted a date from the many guys and girls who have asked you out," Natasha refuted. Wanda, who seemed to have been tuning out the conversation, instantly looked at you, causing you to feel more self-conscious.

"Ahh, you never told me this," accused Pietro, looking at you like you had just run over his cat.

Steve leaned on his elbows and playfully whispered, "She's quite the heartbreaker."

"I am not!" You snapped, feeling the heat in your upper body increase by the second. The three are stifling laughs, amused by your embarrassment. Wanda simply looked curious. "I am not, okay. I've never gone out with anyone-" you looked pointedly at Natasha, "-and you know I wasn't interested in dating."

"Are you interested now?" She provoked. When you didn't answer, she continued tormenting you. "Common Y/N, there's gotta be someone you like."

You rested your head on your arms, trying to hide from their analyzing gaze. You wanted to deny it but couldn't find it in yourself to lie, especially in front of the girl of your affections. Moreover, if the girl felt anything akin to your feelings, such denial would probably make her feel relieved you didn't kiss. So instead of answering her, all you said was a muffled, "Shut up."

Later that day, the five, along with Pietro's date, met at the movie theater and, after a majority consensus, bought tickets to the new Conjuring movie. The two couples sat together, leaving you to sit next to Wanda. You didn't know if it was a good or bad thing. However, one thing was for sure: it would be difficult to focus on the movie when there was an apparent superior sight.

You really tried to concentrate on the movie; you swear you did, but you couldn't stop yourself from noticing Wanda's discomfort throughout the film. At first, you thought you were the problem, that your presence caused her state. Then, you noticed her ragged breathing and clenched fists, or how she would seal her eyes shut during the frightening scenes. 

Despite your qualms about your relationship with Wanda, you made a bold decision. Shielded by the darkness of the theater room, you dared to slide your hand over until your pinky touched hers. Wanda's already irregular breathing stopped at the action, and you expected her to move her hand in rejection. When she didn't, you summoned the last of your courage to entirely place your hand over hers, feeling Wanda's turn intertwining with your own. 

You struggled to contain the smile that threatened to bloom on your lips, but there was no controlling your racing heart and the swirling happiness that erupted in your stomach. You held hands for the remainder of the movie, and least to say, you paid even less attention, finding more comfort in the soft feel of her silk skin. 

You again offered to drive Wanda home, considering Pietro had to drive his date home. You reasoned that it would be awkward for Wanda to third-wheel her brother. Unlike the previous day, only the sound of the radio filled the atmosphere—neither of you daring to say a word of last night's occurrence or the hand holding. Feeling the increasing tension, Wanda finally decided to break the silence. 

"Have you started the book?" She asked, fiddling with her hands, keeping her eyes on the road. 

"No." You internally cursed yourself, having already forgotten about the reading. You had been too preoccupied with preparing for the game. "I need to check if they have it at the library."

"I figured you hadn't started." She giggled, and your heart skipped at the sound, "I can lend you my copy, don't worry."

You raised an eyebrow at her, "You're already done?"

"Mhm, besides, I've read it so many times I know it by memory." Once again, you pulled over in front of her home. "Wait here," Wanda instructed, hastily exiting the car. 

You assumed she didn't want a repeat of last night. Yet, not even two minutes later did Wanda return, walking to your side of the car. 

You lowered the window, taking the book from her outstretched hand. "Thanks."

"No problem. Though I am warning you, if I see so much as a scratch or bent page, I will kill you," she threatened, menacingly pointing her finger at you.

You scoffed and chuckled amusedly, "Wanda Maximoff threatening me over a book."

She shrugged nonchalantly and justified, "My books are my babies."

"Fair enough."

You expected her to bid you farewell, but she fidgeted in place, lips opening and closing before finally whispering, "Thank you- what you did in the theatre." Then, she quickly leaned in, kissed your cheek, and took off before you could react. 

You were left flabbergasted as your fingers brushed the burning imprint her lips had left on your skin, a sigh of delight leaving your lips. Wanda certainly had a way of spicing your nights. 

You returned home, Wanda's copy of 'Pride & Prejudice' in hand, still feeling giddy and dazed enough for your mother to notice.

"You okay, honey?" You hummed distractedly before biting your lip to contain a grin. Your mother recognized the lovesick expression you wore. "What's their name?" You furrowed your eyebrows at her question, and she clarified, "The person who has you love-struck."

You froze in place. Were you really that obvious? No matter, it wasn't a conversation you wanted to have with your mother. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mom. I'll be in my room." You could hear her laughter as you went up the stairs and into your bedroom. You stayed up until your eyes could no longer stay open reading, trying to distract yourself from Wanda. 

The next out-of-school opportunity you get to spend time with Wanda is Friday. One of your teammates was throwing a victory party while her parents were traveling. You weren't much for partying, but knowing Wanda would be there was motivation enough to assist. Knowing Pietro would probably drink, you decided to pick up the twins.

The three of you decided to find Steve and Natasha upon arriving. Once you did, Natasha offered you alcoholic beverages. You only took a sip of yours since you were the designated driver, and you had work early in the morning the next day—an easy weekend job at a flower shop. You noticed Wanda was also not keen on drinking, so you got sodas for the both of you. 

The five of you remained together until Pietro's girl arrived. Then, Natasha and Steve left, leaving you and Wanda alone. 

Finally, you took the opportunity to admire Wanda fully, from the black combat boots and ripped jeans to her signature red leather jacket covering yet another band teeshirt. Though you loved her outfit, your favorite part was her bright green eyes brought out by a sexy black eyeliner. You were a gay mess, to say the least. 

"You don't seem happy to be here," you commented, noticing her pout. Damn, she had such pretty lips.

"That's because I'm not. I'm only here because Pietro bribed me with new books. Now that I'm here, I realize it's not worth it, considering he left me alone," Wanda whined, playing with her rings.

"Alone? Am I that bad of a company?" You teased, enjoying the slight panic in her eyes before bursting out in laughter. "Don't worry, I won't leave you alone."

Wanda felt grateful for your company as she wasn't one to party, especially since her friends weren't there. Shuri, Peter, and the rest of the science club had left on a trip. Monica had planned on coming until she came down with the flu. It was funny how things changed between you two. How, years before, she would have panicked at the thought of being so close to you. Now, she could only feel her chest flutter with butterflies as you rant about your thoughts on Pride & Prejudice.

Not long after, Peggy Carter interrupted you both, wanting you to meet someone. You reluctantly agreed after Wanda said it was fine, and you promised to return quickly. Peggy led you into the kitchen, where a muscular boy your age stood with a red solo cup. She introduced him as Sam Wilson, her friend from another school, before leaving you two with a mischievous smile. 

"I think she's trying to set us up." Although you appreciated the noble gesture, now more than ever, you wished to return to Wanda. 

He nodded and said, "Look, you're beautiful, but I have my eye on someone else." His eyes looked over your shoulder, and you followed his eyesight and came upon James Barnes, Steve's best friend.

"Don't worry, I do too. You should go talk to him."

"We don't even know eachother." He lowered his head, avoiding your eyes.

"I can help with that." You took his hand and led him towards Bucky. "Hey, Bucky. I wanted to introduce you to my friend, Sam."

Bucky immediately smirked as he eyed Sam. Pleased with your work, you dismissed yourself, ready to return to Wanda's side. But, much to your dread, the brunette was gone when you arrived. Maybe she was tired of waiting for you? Perhaps she had found Pietro? No, but what if it was something terrible had happened to her? 

Not willing to take your chances, you decided to search for her. You looked throughout the entire first floor and even outside with no success. You were going up the stairs to scour the second floor, your concern threatening to detonate at any moment. Then, you heard her voice.

"Get away from me!"

In a panic, you followed the voice, leading you into one of the more isolated corridors. Your sight immediately landed on Brock Rumlow, backing up Wanda against the wall. Your blood boiled at the sight, and you clenched your fist, ready to attack. Before you could interfere, Wanda raised her knee, striking him between his legs. Rumlow tumbled down as he groaned in pain.

"You bitch!" he cursed, attempting to reach her on all fours. You were sure she could handle him herself, but you were consumed with rage as you ran forward, slamming your foot into his stomach, causing him to curl into a fetal position. You were about to deliver another blow to his face, but a gentle touch on your arm pulled you away. You are met with Wanda's pleading eyes telling you it was enough. 

You lowered yourself, yanking Rumlow by the hair and saying, "No means no, you fucking piece of shit." Before succumbing to your desire to injure him further, you intertwined your hand with Wanda's and led her to the front porch. 

You sat on the porch swing, closing your eyes and resting your head on the wood. Your lips were pulled into a tight line, fists clenched, as you tried to control your labored breathing. Your mind had a different idea as it drifted about what could have happened if you hadn't been there. Wanda handled the situation well enough, but the knowledge didn't lessen the anger. For fucks sake, all you wanted was to go back in and rip him apart. 

"Are you okay?" her honey-sweet voice broke you from your thoughts, a dry chuckle falling from your lips.

"I should be the one asking you that." You glanced at her. "You're the one who that asshole was..." You had to stop to take a deep, shaky breath, "I just want to go back in there and-"

Wanda lifted her hands to your cheeks, gently turning your head so you would look at her. "I'm okay," she whispered, thumbs caressing the skin of your cheekbones. You were instantly entranced by her intense stare, soothing voice, and the addicting feel of her skin on your own. Her lips turned upward, causing you to glance at them briefly. "You know you're always saving me. First, Trent Griffin, and now this idiot." She lowered her hands, making you immediately miss her touch. 

"I won't take credit for Rumlow. You had him handled before I interfered." You smirked at her, "Perfect kick, by the way." Your compliment evoked laughter from you both, Wanda's hand falling on your own. This time, you took the liberty of interlacing your hands. 

"So, who'd you meet?"

"Huh, oh, one of Peggy's friends, Sam. She was trying to set us up."

Wanda's head whipped around so fast, you thought it would fall off. "What?" She questioned, all playfulness was gone from her tone. 

"Yeah," you responded, unwilling to look at the girl. "Total waste, though. He looked like a nice guy and all, but definitely not my type. Besides, he had his eye on someone else." Your answer quelled the uneasiness in the brunette. 

"Really? Who?" She asked, disinterested but trying to seem unaffected by your words earlier. 

"Bucky," you answered with a grin, thinking of the cute couple the two would make. You missed the double take Wanda made. 

"Really? Bucky?" She questioned, perplexed. Although she didn't know Buck that well, she was highly intimidated by the man. The way he appeared to scowl at anyone except Steve. 

You found her incredulity hilarious, but you loved teasing her even more. "Do you have something against Bucky?" 

"What? No," she hastily replied. "It's just," she sighed, looking down, embarrassed, "he's kind of scary."

You burst into laughter as Wanda pulled her hand away to cover her face. As your giggles quieted, you uncovered her face, lacing your hands again. "Wanda, don't let the mean face fool you. He just has one of those faces. Bucky is a literal teddy bear. He would dare hurt a fly unless you mess with Steve or Alpine."

"Alpine?"

"His cat. See, totally safe," you assured.

Wanda sighed. "Sorry. I'm not actually scared of him; it's just that he appears intimidating."

"He does, doesn't he," you agreed with a smile.

"Anyways, this Sam," she dragged out, playing with your fingers. "You said he wasn't your type," Wanda took a deep breath. It was now or never. She looked straight at you and asked, " Tell me, who is your type?"

You felt the wind knocked out of your lungs as you gasped for an answer. What were you supposed to say? That she was your type? That all you could think about day and night was her? Or how anyone paled in comparison to her? You didn't dare to say any of those things yet. 

Instead, you nervously laughed as you rubbed your neck. "I don't know.'

"Not, Natasha?" Wanda pressed.

Your eyes shot to her, looking at her as if she'd grown a second head. "No, no, no. That's not- No," you vehemently denied. "Nat, she's amazing, but no."

You took a deep breath, furrowing your eyebrows in thought. "Pietro, he's my best friend, and while you and I didn't speak much, I always appreciated your presence." Wanda listened quietly, yet still confused about what that had to do with the conversation. "So when the two constants in my life left, I felt lost. I didn't know what to do with my best friend. Then, Natasha came along. She's kind of been to me what you are to Pietro. Someone who grounds me and pushes me to do better. It's because of her I got into soccer, you know? She basically dragged me to tryouts."

Wanda nodded understandingly. The quiet remained for a moment.

"What about you, Maximoff?"

She shrugged, "I haven't dated either."

"Really?" You asked, surprised that the goddess before you had not dated either. However, it was cut short by her following words.

"Actually, I did go on a date with this guy in California. It didn't work out."

You weren't jealous, no. You were curious about who was the idiot who let her go. "Really? Why"

"Jarvis came from an affluent family. All that money made him quite pretentious. To tell you that on the date, he took me to his mansion to show off all his money."

"Jarvis? His parents were definitely setting him up for failure with that name." Wanda laughed and playfully bumped your shoulder. 

When your laughter died down, you were left in silence, facing forward with a hint of a smile remaining on your lips. It wasn't uncomfortable like in your car, but peaceful and reassuring. You stayed in that position until you realized how late it was.

"Let's find Pietro so I can take you home." 

It didn't take long to find Pietro and his date, Crystal. The two were engaged in a competitive game of beer pong. Only two cups were left closest to them, while four remained on the opposing side. From his intoxicated state, you deduced they would soon lose. Pietro's uncoordinated throw needed more momentum, and the ping pong ball landed inches from the red solo cup. It wasn't long before the game ended.

You and Wanda walked in hand towards her brother, only separating as you threw your arm around his shoulder. The other took the alcohol-filled cup from his hands and set it down on the counter. "Okay, buddy, that's enough. Let's go home."

"Oh, come on, guys. It's still early."

"Seriously, Pietro. It's eleven," Wanda scolded with crossed arms. 

Pietro wrapped his arm around Wanda, so you were both on either side of him. "Sistra, aren't you enjoying yourself?"

Wanda shot daggers at Pietro, and you had to stop yourself from laughing. "No," she gravely responded.

"Okay, okay, okay." Pietro squeezed you both. "We can go... after you dance with Y/N." He looked down at you with a grin. "It's a party, and you two haven't done anything fun. Come on." He released you and took Crystal's hand, leading her to dance. 

You and Wanda watched, taken aback. Wanda scoffed, but you felt humored at Pietro's suggestion. Despite the loud music filling the atmosphere the entire night, it was the first time you cared to listen. Suddenly, all you wanted was a dance with Wanda. 

 You turned to Wanda, outstretching your hand. "He's right, you know? Let's have a little fun. Dance with me?"

She glanced at your hand, hesitation clear in her viridescent eyes. Wanda was not much of a dancer; back in California, when Pietro forced her to go to parties, she spent her time in secluded corners with her friends. She regretted not accepting the countless invitations to dance; maybe she wouldn't be destined to embarrass herself in front of everyone. With that thought in mind, she picked up Pietro's discarded drink and gulped it down in one go. A little liquid courage is all she needed, Wanda thought as she dropped her hand into your own and followed you to the dancing group.

You saw the nervousness in her eyes; you won't lie, you felt in yourself. Your coordination only functioned in the field, not on the dance floor, but you didn't care. You wouldn't mind making a fool of yourself for Wanda. You had half a mind to follow her lead with a drink but held back.

You stood still among the dancing teens sticking out like a sore thumb. You were unsure of what to do with your hand. Should you hold Wanda by her hips? Would that be too audacious? Wanda felt the same, uncertain of how to proceed. Wanda found it comical that you continued to be a nervous mess despite your newfound friendship. Although she didn't mind, she enjoyed seeing the all-mighty Y/N and confident Y/N from her childhood shy because of her definite ego boost. It made up for the millions of times she had to hide away in fear of embarrassing herself when you were near. 

Wanda bit her lip, looking up at you from under her lashes, and she swears she could hear how you take a sharp breath. With foreign confidence, Wanda wrapped an arm around your neck and, with the other, took your hand, placing it on her hip.

"Is this okay?" 

You nod stupidly, flushed by the action. Frankly, Wanda's boldness turned you on. It took a few mental reprimands to let loose and get into the rhythm. The music took over your body as you moved in sync, each beat resonating in your chest. Your body came alive with the music and the electrifying touch of the woman holding on to you. Nothing else mattered as you gazed into her hypnotizing eyes.

Your body tingled as she brought you closer, locking her hands around your neck. You could feel the silk-smooth skin of her hips as your hands reached under her shirt or her fresh mint breath on your lips. You felt drunk on the feeling of Wanda. 

Similarly, Wanda felt euphoric like never before, and despite her earlier concerns about dancing, her body moved so naturally. Every cell in her body is reinvigorated by your touch and the way you slightly scratched at her swaying hips. Suddenly, she couldn't remember why she hated parties. Was it because you weren't there? It didn't matter, not when she could feel the tension building and building to a place of no return. She licked at her lips, alternating her gaze from your lips to your half-lidded eyes.

You couldn't hold back any longer as you raised a hand to cup Wanda's cheek, like water slipping through a broken dam, your restraint torn down by need. Wanda leaned into your touch with a sigh, relishing the softness of the action. At any other moment, the brunette would find it unimaginable to act in such a way, but she figured it was the alcohol feeding into her boldness.

The two of you had stopped dancing long ago as you engaged in a battle of who would make the next move. It wasn't that you weren't dying to taste her lips. In truth, the need became nearly paralyzing. Maybe if you had acted sooner, you could have saved the moment. 

As you leaned in to kiss her, a drunken stranger crashed into you, and you staggered back with Wanda in your arms. It seemed as if the universe had a vendetta against you by how it intervened. For a second time, you were deprived of her lips by the consequence of outer forces. 

The blow knocked you out of your daze, and with regained senses, you took in the frantic, inebriated man thrashing around. Wanda turned around in your arms, confused by the commotion. You protectively pulled her closer to your body and stepped back to prevent getting struck by the man as his friends tried to pull him away. The situation only got worse as the drunk man noticed a laughing group.

"That's our cue to leave," you said, ignoring the near kiss, more apprehensive about the unfolding scene.

After collecting Pietro and Crystal, you bid farewells to your other friends and made your way to your car. You and Wanda lead the way in silence, yet not uncomfortable. Though the near kiss rested heavily on your mind, unlike last time, there were no doubts. Of course, you felt disappointed in the interruption, yet some of you acknowledged it wasn't the place or time. You were sure the moment would come soon enough.

Your hand itched to reach for her, but you held back, unsure what Pietro would think. When you got your car, you rushed to open the door for Wanda, sharing a smile as you did so. Behind you, Crystal complained to Pietro about his lack of chivalry and how she needed to be more like you. 

The ride to Crystal's place was short, but the couple in the backseat made the ride feel eternal as they made out. You and Wanda looked at each other disgusted while playfully gagging. You chuckled, poking fun at the couple. After dropping Crystal off, you made your way to the Maximoff residence. The collective exhaustion became visible in the lack of conversation. Pietro's usual talkative self hummed to a song on the radio while Wanda closed her eyes and rested her head on the window.

On the other hand, you used the time pondering on your next move. Should you talk to Pietro first before asking her out?

The twins thanked you for the ride as you stopped outside their place. Wanda kissed your cheek goodbye when Pietro was distracted like the other night and left without another word. Pietro followed, but not before making plans for him to come over the next day. As they walked away, you could only stare, entranced by the brunette. She would be the death of you.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda x reader #wanda x you #targaryenmarvel fics

[stxrvel]

i don't wanna live forever (1)

summary: reader couldn't stop having deaths in her life ever since the Supersoldier serum came into her life. no matter how hard she tried to stay sane, it seemed that life didn't want to give her a break. until, one afternoon, she learned that one of her old friends was alive… (you guys know im bad at summaries, but please give this one a chance)

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

words: +4.5k

warnings: angst, major character deaths, canon deaths¿?, bad words, english is not my first language! thoughts of revenge and death, this is like an introductory chapter, so the buckyxreader interaction is low, but it'll get better, i promise!

note: holy fuck guys. i just spent like five hours writing and editing this and i fucking love it. its been a while since ive been this proud of a work, im actually scare the emotion will disappear, but i really want to rejoice in this one. i wanted to write something a little different from my usuals, maybe a little common in the fanfiction world, but i started and i simply could not stop (or maybe just approach this bucky fic from another perspective). so this is the first part and i'll try with all my heart to keep this going because it was fucking insane, at least for me. i really hope you all like this as much as i do! feel free to leave any comment! thanks always for all the support!! see you next time <3

part 2 ; part 3 ; part 4

When you went into the Supersoldier serum project with Steve, you thought you were going to change the world. Of course, at that time when technology was relatively new any invention felt like the beginning of a new era. That's how it was all sold to you and it was how you expected everything to turn out… Until you realized that it was all really a waste of effort and time.

They were just propaganda for war. Not to stop it, to promote it. To motivate it.

You tried, on several occasions, not to think too much about it. You tried to stay out of it as Steve sometimes asked you to, even though even he didn't want to, as Bucky asked you to when you lay on his shoulder to cry in the little time you had free between trips. It was a great burden of guilt and helplessness.

Until you and Steve, with the almost imposed help of Peggy and Howard, rescued Bucky from the evil hands of Johann Schmidt and his nefarious organization, HYDRA, that, unbeknownst to you, would haunt you for a long time to come. It was only after that, after spending several sleepless days on edge thinking about what might be happening to Bucky, that you and Steve were finally able to go out and contribute something. Destroy HYDRA and the Red Skull's plans.

Of course, you realized that not everything could go right when, the one mission you couldn't attend, Bucky didn't return. And then Steve didn't come back either.

“Do you think this will ever end?” you had asked Bucky the day before his last mission.

“Of course it will,” he had answered without hesitation, moonlight illuminating his clear eyes, squeezing your hand as if it was all he wanted to do for the rest of his life. “And after that we can begin to live as it should be.”

But there was no after that, because you never recovered from losing him. From losing them both.

“Are you okay?” Peggy approached, in the middle of the afternoon when the sun was streaming through the stained glass windows of the church, illuminating the spot where Steve's empty coffin had been, because they didn't even find his body. They didn't even think there was any of it left.

You barely moved your head to acknowledge her presence, moving the prayer slip they had recited throughout the mass between your hands. Your eyes were crystallized, in tears that no longer even made the effort to flow, because you had already spent too many days and nights crying. Peggy had been on the other side of the church, sitting next to Howard while the priest spoke, because you had refused to be near them in those moments. You didn't want to be near them.

“As well as one can be,” you slurred, finding that it had been a long time since you'd last used your voice for anything other than cursing and crying disconsolately.

The people had already left, probably an hour or more ago. The empty coffin had already been brought out, all the flower arrangements had been picked up, and the priest was preparing for the evening mass. You knew you had to leave, you knew Peggy and Howard were there waiting for you, but you felt stuck at that moment. You didn't want to leave, you didn't want to get ahead, you didn't want that life if it had to be this cruel.

You heard Peggy's sigh, before she took a seat next to you, a short distance away, averting her gaze to look at Christ on the cross.

You didn't know if you were selfish to be so closed off to your friends at this moments, because they must be grieving as much as you were, but you didn't know how to deal with the future possibilities. Bucky and Steve, great men and soldiers, one even with enhanced abilities, had not been able to make it through the punishment of war. What if Peggy and Howard were the same? What if they too had the cruel fate of dying at the hands of injustice? Could you deal with that? With everyone gone?

Maybe you could open up to them a little more because if not, who else? Turning away from them was not going to ensure their survival in this hate-filled society. Maybe you could protect them, like you couldn't protect Steve and Bucky. Maybe you could make a difference, because you had the chance to.

“You know,” Peggy spoke again, rearranging herself on the bench and crossing her legs, “Steve always knew this was how it would end.”

Her wistful, mournful, fragile voice sent a shiver through your body. Peggy didn't consider herself someone to show herself vulnerable in front of others no matter how close they were, even in those things that hurt her the most, in those things that affected her personally and made her eyes water instantly, she always tended to shut down. And at that moment you didn't dare interrupt her because you knew it would probably be the only time she would talk about Steve in a long time.

“Sometimes we'd talk, between tour trips, and he would tell me that wasn't what he wanted to do, even when he had to convince you otherwise,” her clasped hands would occasionally squeeze between words, blinking rapidly to fight back the tears. “He didn't know if he'd made the right decision.”

You could almost picture him, backstage at the foot of the stairs with that notebook he carried everywhere and wouldn't let go, Peggy at his side nostalgic, as helpless as the others. It reminded you of the times you'd had similar conversations with Bucky, desperate to find a purpose, a way through so much fog.

“The first time I saw him so sure of himself was when he asked us to help them look for Bucky,” she mumbled his name, as if trying not to scare you away by saying it too loudly. “Ever since then it seemed like he'd found that spark…”

“Until Bucky died,” you whispered, the words cutting through the cold and silence, Peggy shifting on the bench contritely.

“He lost something of himself from that day on, it wasn't hard to tell. The next time I heard him so sure after spending days lost, it was on that call from the plane.”

Peggy paused, raising her hand to cover her mouth as her voice faltered. You turned to look at her, wishing you could rip the pain from her soul and leave it in yours. She was trying to contain her emotions, breathing deeply, and in that moment you wondered what life might be like from now on, with the specter of grief following you around, waiting for the next time the dead knocked on your doors, unexpectedly, without allowing you to say goodbye.

“He had told me he wouldn't die in peace until he could get it all over with. And he took it all with him. And I hated him so much for it…” Peggy sobbed, her labored breathing standing out between words. She kept looking straight ahead at the stained glass windows, the expression on her face hard and scowling despite having tears rolling down her cheeks, as if she were trying to blame something for what had happened. Her reproachful eyes fixed on the Christ.

Her wails echoed through the walls of the church, the father on the dais sending them a look of sorrow. He had offered you water, thirty minutes after everyone at Steve's wake had left, when they kept walking, and you stood there.

Another empty casket.

“Ladies,” Howard's voice reached your ears amidst all the physical and emotional numbness. You could barely notice Peggy wiping under her eyes with the pocket square that was surely part of Howard's suit, as she took breaths to get up. “We should go now.”

You heard him walk, his slow, careful steps stopping just behind you. There, on his feet with his chest tight, he rested a hand on your shoulder and gave it a squeeze in support. He knew it was the most you would allow him at a time like this, deciding not to pass up the opportunity to let you know he was there. You sighed, feeling a heaviness take over your body as you stood up.

“Yeah, let's go.”

The next few months passed in a blur. Maybe too fast, maybe too slow, you weren't sure anymore.

Peggy continued to work at the Strategic Science Reserve for a couple of years, calling you from time to time to help her with some jobs. You kept a low profile, practically a fugitive from the state, while trying to live a halfway normal life in Europe. A lot of it thanks to Howard really.

Life had become a rather monotonous routine when you stopped getting so many calls from Peggy and Howard several years later. You knew they were fine, but not being able to return to the country filled you with anguish every day. And trying to lead a normal life became too complicated when you looked in the mirror and it seemed like not a single day had passed since you were in that capsule of Dr. Erskine's with Steve.

Until Peggy called one day asking you to come back. She told you that it was safe, that there would be no state officials waiting for you at the airport, but even if that had been the situation, you wouldn't have hesitated for a second to buy the first plane ticket and fly to see them again. To Howard and Peggy, to melt into an embrace, longing for the lost years.

You had thought that contributing to the fight in World War II had earned you a ticket to at least be recognized in the military, but all you gained was the government with their mad scientists looking for you to try to recreate the Supersoldier serum. Peggy didn't want to risk you and Howard gave you no choice by giving you a plane ticket to Finland with your bags packed.

You wasted many years not being by their side, unable to keep the promise you had made them in your head to be close by to protect them, to watch over their safety.

But when you left the airport there was only Peggy, and maybe that should've told you everything.

Her hair already looked gray, the effects of gravity and time present on her face. You hated to think that you shouldn't have looked any different from the way she saw you last time when she waved you off at that same airport. Her warm gaze was the same, raising her arms with held back tears to encircle you in a big hug. She tried hard not to sob against your shoulder, you felt the choppy movement of her breath against your chest.

She looked so different and the same at the same time.

You walked to her car a moment later, her trying to carry your suitcase and you telling her you were perfectly fine carrying it on your own. Amidst a smile, she walked into the driver's door and you frowned as you saw the empty passenger seat.

“Where's Howard?” you spoke as you sat down, after stowing the huge suitcase in the trunk of the car. The way you moved to buckle up, you didn't notice the way Peggy froze in place, her hands clenching the steering wheel so tightly that her breath hitched from the effort.

“We're going to see him,” was all she said, but she was very good at hiding that something was wrong. Only for a little while.

During the trip, even though you tried to ask things about them, about what they had been doing during this time, you didn't miss the way her shoulders were tense or her eyes very alert. Something bad had happened and Peggy was trying to hide it from you.

When she pulled up in front of a church, you already knew what had happened without her answering a single one of your questions.

Howard had died.

You two had sat next to Howard's son Tony, his spitting image, in complete silence as the prayers went on. At that moment you didn't know what had happened, hoping it had been a quiet and peaceful death, because you didn't know if you would be able to endure another violent death.

Peggy gave you all the details when the mass was over, after the coffin was taken away, and you hadn't felt such fury in so many years. Not since the deaths of Bucky and Steve had that adrenaline rush of anger returned to run through your body as violently as it did at that moment, when Peggy told you that he had been murdered along with his wife. All to steal some prototypes of Dr. Erskine's serum. The damned serums with which everything had started.

This time there was a body in the coffin, but there was also a culprit. Someone to point the finger at and take it out on for years of anguish and pain.

You were at Peggy's house, staying for a few days, when she told you that wasn't all.

Peggy had a suspicion that HYDRA hadn't disappeared when Steve crashed that plane into the ice. Her suspicions generated panic in you, because Bucky and Steve had died for that, now apparently Howard, only for it all to have been for nothing. The feeling of carnage that ran through your whole head made you nauseous, years of helplessness and pain pent up in such a small body had to find its way out somehow.

“It was a man, according to the information I've been able to gather,” Peggy spoke, taking a seat across from you in the dining room of her living room, after pouring you a glass of lemonade. “He didn't die from the crash. He had a concussion. He was hit in the head. His wife died from asphyxiation.”

“Does Tony know?”

“No,” Peggy shook her head quickly, one hand over her heart as if the mere thought caused her physical pain. “It didn't even occur to me to tell him something like that.”

“And he was looking for the serum,” you recalled, a bitter feeling planted in the back of your throat, the memories of the disastrous times during the war coming back into your head like a blinding flash.

“He took them. We don't know who he is or who he works for, but whoever they are, they must have been following us for a long time to know about them.”

“You mean years,” you arched an eyebrow, your fingers touching the cool exterior of the glass seeking some reassurance.

“Possibly. That project isn't recent,” Peggy nodded, drinking her lemonade with a grimace. You stared at the liquid almost finished from her glass, a wrinkle forming between your brows with each passing second and you kept wondering why.

“But what the fuck was going through that asshole's head?” you spat angrily. Rage at already the amount of lives that serum had taken with it and at Howard's recklessness. Rage at the reaper who seemed to be following in their footsteps for some reason, rage at that damn man and whoever his damn boss was.

“It was the only option, Y/N,” Peggy turned her gaze, meeting your eyes with a strange glint.

“What do you mean?” you were almost afraid to ask, your friend's gaze suddenly turning evasive. You watched her run her fingernails over the glass of the tumbler, lost for a moment in thought. The way her shoulders slumped forward in defeat caused a pressure in your chest that made it hard to breathe. Peggy shouldn't be going through these things at this point in life.

“Howard was working with the Pentagon, as a contractor or something. They had found you. Howard felt cornered and they made him sign an agreement.”

With your incredulous look on her face, Peggy didn't dare look back at you for a few seconds. So much had happened since you had left and it seemed that you had only been told about the things you weren't going to care about so much. But if you had known that you wouldn't have cared much about giving some of the state officials their comeuppance. You would've liked Howard to trust you enough to tell you, not live in as much fear behind his back as the last few years must've been. You didn't like the way Peggy's lips curved downward, as if she, too, would've preferred to make another decision had she known this was how it was going to end.

“Howard assured them that he could recreate the serum, and told them he would as long as they left you alone.”

“Fucking asshole…” you closed your eyes, scrubbing your face with your hands. The rough skin of your hands rubbed against the delicate skin of your face, years of combat and mistreatment foreseeing a harshness that reminded you every day of what you'd had to go through to get to that moment.

“I only found out about it after it happened. I didn't see it for like a whole week,” Peggy shook her head slightly, her eyes glistening in the pain of the memories. You shook your head hard, a more violent reaction than you could have anticipated.

“That stupid… stupid asshole! What the fuck made him think I couldn't defend myself?”

“He was trying to do the right thing,” Peggy finally searched your eyes, meeting the red rims that told her you were holding back too hard breaking in front of her, only using that pain mixed with rage to keep you sane.

“And look how that turned out!”

Peggy stretched her hand across the table, with a pleading look asking you to lower your voice, averting her gaze to the hallway. You followed her gaze, for a second forgetting where you were, forgetting that her family was with you behind the doors where you were plunged into darkness. It was past midnight.

You took a second to calm yourself, trying to drown out the uncontrolled emotions and taking deep breaths to calm your fluttering heart.

“And if what you theorize is true…” you regretted the moment those words left your mouth; you didn't even want to finish the sentence.

“Do you think it is?”

“I don't want to,” you shook your head instantly, closing your eyes, the thought sounding illogical inside your head. Your hands on your chest trying to contain the storm of feelings that was making chaos inside your head. “That would mean that everything we did, everything Bucky, Steve and Howard did and sacrificed, was in vain. It will all have been in vain.”

You spent several weeks with that thought in your head, working hand in hand with Peggy, and the organization you barely knew as SHIELD, to track down the whereabouts of the killer of Tony's parents and the one responsible because the Supersoldier's serums were, surely, in the wrong hands.

And yes, it was many years of fruitless missions and dead ends, with you running every field mission and Peggy calling the shots from the New York facility. Every time you felt close to discovering something, it seemed that the enemy rejoiced in your failures and still couldn't understand how they were always three steps ahead.

However, you had to leave the missions when Peggy became ill.

The silent, lethal Alzheimer's.

During the first months in the hospital, she still recognized you. She also recognized her husband and children. But after the first year, she frowned every time her children walked through the door. After a year and a half, her husband had to remind her that they had been married for about forty years.

After two years, she was still only remembering you, Howard, Steve and Bucky. Her whole life during her time in the army was all you talked about, sometimes you would tell her how much more time had passed than she remembered and always, without fail, she would ask you how much you had done in Europe for so long by yourself.

She cried every time she remembered Howard's death. She cried every time she remembered her children. Out of her mouth came a thousand apologies that no one would accept, because there was nothing anyone could do to prevent what had to happen. You wished she had been a serum test subject instead of you.

For several years, missions to find Tony's parents killer were sporadic because you spent more time around Peggy than at the SHIELD facility. She was the only thing you had left of everything you'd ever had, of when you held the world in your hands. She was the last thing keeping you tethered to that reality, keeping madness from flooding your reason. How could you have so many years ahead of you when that was all you had to live for? A life full of the dead, full of pain and suffering. What kind of karma were you paying for?

You were leaving the SHIELD facility, after another failed mission, when Nick Fury stopped you in front of the exit. You almost rolled your eyes right under his watchful gaze, tired of having to meet him anywhere, and exhausted from his comments about this vengeance project or whatever he wanted you to be a part of.

You still didn't know how, being such an exemplary agent, Coulson had fallen into his nets.

“Miss L/N,” the man stopped you with his words, his hands behind his back and a tense stance that caught your attention.

“Fury,” you nodded in his direction, hoping he'd be quick because you were running late for your weekly visit with Peggy. “Do you need anything?”

“I'd like you to come with me somewhere,” Fury approached tentatively, his one eye fixed on your wary expression, which shifted to boredom the moment you thought you knew what he wanted.

“If this is about that project, I've told you a thousand times-”

“No,” he interrupted you, moving forward and removing his hands from behind his back. “It's not related to that. I really want you to come with me.”

“You look agitated, but I need-”

“I'll take you to see Peggy myself after this.”

You didn't like that he knew your routine, even though you weren't doing enough to hide it from the other agents. But Fury looked nervous, even though he was hiding it very well, trying to keep his cool as he looked for ways to convince you.

You figured it wouldn't be a big deal for you to go off the deep end for once. After all, Peggy never remembered you were going to see her.

You set off in Fury's armored vans, not quite sure where you were going, but sure that it was urgent, because he had taken it upon himself to let his driver know that you had to get there as soon as possible.

You took that time on the trip to come up with a new strategy for the next mission because what you were doing up to that point wasn't working and you felt too close to throwing in the towel, figuratively speaking. You could spend years following a ghost, but you wouldn't give up on finding Howard and Maria's killer.

Before the car pulled up to one of SHIELD's secret sections, they passed the giant, imposing Stark Tower. You never saw Tony again after that time at his parents' funeral, not even during his visits to Peggy because you always made it a point not to cross him. You didn't think you'd be able to look him in the eye while you knew his parents had been killed without being able to tell him. You had promised Peggy in her lucid moments that you wouldn't tell him anything until you could find the culprit. You didn't want to initiate that pain if it had to be kept repressed, as yours once was, and probably still is. You had learned, some time after the funeral, that he was living with Edwin Jarvis, and you were glad to know that he would have good companionship to keep him company in such hard times.

Fury, a handful of agents and you entered the vans through the entrance to what appeared to be the parking lot of an old warehouse. Upon entering, the first thing you noticed was the number of armed agents that seemed to be guarding the place, not at all discreet to how SHIELD used to do things. You weren't sure if Peggy would authorize something like that, but you couldn't question the Director's decisions. It wasn't your place.

“What's going on here?” you frowned, watching as every meter there was another agent and another agent. You got out of the car without waiting for an answer from Fury, moving directly toward the entrance where most of the agents were concentrated. You barely noticed their looks in contradiction, running their eyes over you and then over the man trying to catch up to you, dubious as to whether or not they should move. “Move.”

“Wait,” Fury's voice stopped the command in the agents, who turned back to look at you as you sent Fury a confused look.

“What's all this mystery, Nicholas?” the man startled almost discreetly at your tone of voice, the agents stirring uncomfortably, but kept the serene expression that was getting on your nerves. “What the fuck did you do?”

“We got a call from the Arctic.”

“From the Arctic?”

You tried to ignore the way the hairs on your neck instantly stood up, your body alerting you to something your mind still couldn't comprehend. You felt like a deer face to face with a predator, expecting the worst.

“The Colonel informed us of something that might interest us,” Fury's cryptic voice echoed in your ears, drowning out the flicker of uncertainty vibrating from your head to your toes. “They found a plane.”

You didn't even answer him. Your heart began to pound wildly, cornered, ready to have your head bitten off. The tension in your shoulders intensified, with the involuntary movement of your hands as you broke into a cold sweat. The mere implication of his words caused an emptiness in your stomach, a sense of longing and fear you hadn't felt before.

You looked at Fury, trying to find in his gaze the gleam of a lie, but there was nothing there but assurance. There was nothing but recognition and understanding in his gaze, but that didn't make the emptiness in your stomach and the tight chest go away. It didn't make the feeling of being outside your body go away.

You barely remembered to move in the direction of the door, the agents instantly moving out of your way, pushing it so hard that one of them flew out. You moved your eyes around every corner of the room, the cream-colored walls generating a great repulsion in you. And there, in the midst of all the confusion and the storm, a confused and disgruntled face looked back at you. A face you never thought you would see again.

Steve Rogers was standing a few feet away from you, barely comprehending what was happening around him and instantly recognizing you. Your chest compressed once again, the tears you held back for so many years even in your loneliness making their own way into your eyes, endangering to end that mask you wore everywhere you went.

Steve was actually there, looking back at you with his eyes shining in recognition. You didn't know if he was as surprised as you were to react or you looked so bad that he didn't know if he should approach you or not. You just knew it was him, it really was him right there in front of you. He wasn't dead. Steve wasn't dead. He was alive. Ah, he was so alive.

The broken sob that suddenly left you was loud enough to make your friend shed his stupefaction and stride over to where you were. You barely managed to cover your face, between sobs, wails and disbelief, feeling your knees give out, surrendering to the weight of the pain, when his strong arms grabbed your shoulders before you hit the floor. Preventing your fall, as you had wished so many times before.

You cried against his shoulder, when feeling him against your body you knew there was no doubt it was true. You moved your hands away from your face, wrapping them around his waist as tightly and lovingly as you hadn't hugged anyone in so long. Surely the last time you hugged someone like that was when you saw Peggy on your way back from Europe.

Steve wasn't far behind, his arms around your shoulders just as tightly, his chin against the crown of your head, moving from side to side trying to hold back the loud sobs that shook your body.

You couldn't believe it, but it was true, he was right in front of you.

Steve was alive. He had come back to your side. You didn't even want to ask why.

And there was nothing else you could think about for the rest of your life.

#stxrvel talks #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #bucky x you #bucky fluff #bucky barnes angst #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky #james bucky buchanan barnes #winter soldier #the winter soldier #steve rogers

[2d-reality]

In The Dead of Night

characters: Leviathan, GN!MC content/warnings: Levi drops by in the middle of the night. Fluff. word count: 838 notes: Minimal editing as always lol. Enjoy!

Waking to one of the brothers crawling into bed with you in the middle of the night wasn’t unusual. If you were honest, the rarer occurrence was for you to spend an entire night alone.

The shifting of your blankets woke you. Your mattress dipped as someone settled beside you, and you waited for their next move to tell who it was. 

The longer you lie, pretending to still be asleep, the shorter your list of options becomes. Mammon and Belphie latch onto you before the blankets even settle. Satan prefers to turn you towards him so he can tuck your head under his chin. Asmo almost always wakes you with his goodnight kiss when he drops in, but he’s also pretty good about scheduling sleepovers-- one’s beauty sleep is far less effective when randomly interrupted. Lucifer wouldn’t dare risk one of his brothers catching him in a compromising position (read: Mammon sneaking photos to turn a profit), and typically simply demanded you come to his room, where he could lock and ward the door and have you all to himself. Your bed always creaked under Beel’s weight, even after being reinforced, which you didn’t hear just now. That leaves...

You tire of waiting and shift, stretching languidly to feign having just awoken. The only remaining option amongst your demonic housemates stiffens beside you, and a strangled whine pulls from his throat. 

“Levi?” you say, just above your breath, voice gravelly from your recently disturbed slumber. In the darkness, you can’t see his face clearly, but Levi starts to lift the covers from where they’ve settled over his lap and scramble out of your bed, sputtering quietly as he does so. 

“H-how did you know it was me? Do I-- do I smell? I know I-I spent the weekend binging the new season of My Mental Choices Are Completely Interfering With My School Romantic Comedy, but-- but I showered this morning, I- I promise, I'm sorry to bother you--” his voice rises as he continues, and the sheets get tangled around his calves in his nervous shuffling. You take advantage of his being momentarily trapped and reach out for the closest part of him you could reach. Your fingers curl around his bare elbow, and he sucks in a harsh breath, freezing in place. 

��You smell fine,” you assure, first, and search for the right way to ask why he’s here without triggering further panicked insecurity. “What’s up? Are you okay?”

“I’mfine,” he rushes, and pulls minutely on his arm. “It’snothingreally,I--” 

“Leviathan,” you murmur. “Breathe.” 

He obliges, drawing in a shaky breath, and as you release his arm, the exhale is a little smoother. 

“I don’t mind you being here, Levi. You just don’t usually come over this late. Just want to know you’re okay.”

One of Levi’s hands clutches the t-shirt over his chest. He sounds like he’s trying to say something, but it won’t come out. You reach out to him, coaxing the fist on Ruri-chan’s face to relax. He blinks owlishly for a moment, but releases, and allows you to slide your palm over his, lacing your fingers together. You can feel his palm heating up, and imagine his face is doing the same. 

“Come here,” you beckon softly, not pushing him for an answer. Whatever his reason is for being here, you’ve learned he opens up to you in his own time, once he can get all his thoughts in acceptable order. You hear another shaky breath, and slowly, Levi settles back in. You use your other hand to fix the blankets over his torso, and scooch closer, pulling your joined hands into your chest. For a beat, Levi lies beside you, stiffly. You roll your eyes and reach for his other arm, pulling it over your waist and sliding a knee between his. 

“M-moe,” he whispers. You hum, and feel his fingers tighten around yours as his other hand smooths a wrinkle over your back. 

Sleepily, you snuggle closer to his warmth, and faintly, you can almost feel more than hear his heart racing near your face. “We can talk about it in the morning if you want,” you murmur. “You know I’ll never judge you.” 

Levi’s throat closes partially over his next breath, making it sound more like a wheeze. You press a kiss to his knuckles before resting your chin over your hands and heaving a long, deep breath. Without instruction, he mirrors your action, and his body sinks further into the mattress beside you as he relaxes on the exhale. 

After a long moment, he whispers, “I’m okay now.” 

Sleep is swiftly ushering you back into its embrace with your favorite nerd tucked in so closely, and you hum softly in response. 

“I love you, Leviathan,” you manage to just barely say over your breath. As you fall under the gentle lull of his breath on the crown of your head and the waves of sleep rippling over you in time, you hear him respond. 

“I love you, MC.”

#obey me #levi #leviathan #obey me leviathan #levi x reader #leviathan x reader #levi x mc #leviathan x mc #om! levi #om! leviathan #obey me levi #obey me x reader #obey me x mc

[im-not-corrupted]

A little 2.7k words long Dreamling drabble I wrote for @samsalami66​, using the prompt ‘please, never apologise for wanting to be loved’ from this prompt list

Edit: Now also on Ao3!

----

He found out on their third meeting in as many months.

(Three meetings. In three months. Hob was…well, he was having a bit of a hard time believing that, even if he was present during those meetings. Three meetings in three months, after one hundred and thirty three years of silence and what he thought to be avoidance. Three meetings in three months, when the two of them had only seen each other once a century.

Once a century. Every one hundred years. How had he ever been content with that?)

(He hadn’t. He remembered how it felt, before. The crushing weight of loneliness with every day that came after their centennial meetings, prompted by the knowledge that the only person who truly knew him for what he was, instead of what he was that century, was what prompted him to call his Stranger a friend in the first place.

Still. While he certainly yearned for contact outside of their centennial meetings—he was mostly content. He was alright, to sit and wait. That was what he did.

Now—now, he had monthly meetings. Monthly meetings with his Stranger, who he knows now as Dream. With Dream, his friend. He didn’t know how he’d ever coped with anything less.)

Found out perhaps wasn’t the right word. Hob…didn’t have anything to do with it, really. He didn’t go digging for information. He merely invited his friend inside for a drink, some food if he felt like it, without expectation.

Dream looked tense, the day he brought it up. Shoulders coiled tightly, jaw clenched so much it looked almost painful, eyes somewhat distant. That was enough to worry Hob, who had never seen his friend distant before. At least, not that he could recall.

And in the end, Dream merely turned to him without prompting and told him, voice severe and terribly serious, “I would’ve returned to you. In 1989.”

And—and that made something in Hob ache. He waited so long, the day of their meeting, only to be met with silence and absence. And then he waited another thirty three years, because what else could he do? He was Hob Gadling, with almost seven centuries to his name and therefore far more patience than any typical human. Waiting felt like the only natural response at the time, and, indeed, it paid off, because Dream sat beside him. Because Dream returned to him, walked across the threshold of The New Inn and called Hob a friend.

Such a simple word, that. Enough to change the rest of his day, though. The rest of his century, even—friendship with Dream was a high he knew he’d ride for decades to come.

He’d tilted his head, curious and somewhat terrified. I would’ve returned to you, Dream said. And yet he had not. And yet Hob Gadling spent that day alone, drinking away his sorrows and waiting for a friend who wouldn’t return for three decades later.

”Then why didn’t you?” Hob asked, his heart in his throat. His eyes stung and he scowled, blinking the tears away. Truthfully, he thought he was over that by this point. It had been thirty three years. More than enough time to nurse the wounds of being thoroughly abandoned on the 7th June, 1989. The sting lessened even further when Dream called him friend, when he apologised for his absence.

(It returned on occasion, usually when he least expected it. It liked to…to wait in the wings, until the moment Dream turned his back on Hob to leave. He’ll return, Hob told himself, because he would now. All he saw in his head was the sight of Dream’s back turned away from him in 1889, though, as the rainfall fell around them both but didn’t touch his friend in the slightest.

It came back in those moments, and he often found himself swallowing a question. You’ll come back, right? or Would you stay a little longer? or Might I be selfish and request more of your company tonight?

Dream would not abandon him again. He knew that much. His heart and his stomach seemed to be taking a little longer to get the memo, however, and the dread that accompanied Dream’s leavings was often irrational.)

Ocean deep eyes stared at him. They were shadowed, those eyes, full of ghosts Hob couldn’t hope to understand. He could drown in those depths easily, and even then wouldn’t understand his friend in his entirety. “I was…captured,” he said, after some hesitation. “By a magician named Roderick Burgess.”

There were many things Hob could’ve said in response to that small and ugly revelation, and all of them would’ve been appropriate. All of them no doubt would’ve been various ways of saying What the fuck, are you alright? and Do you want me to kill the bastard? Because I will.

In the end, Hob didn’t say any of that. Instead, he focused on the frustration that hid underneath the layers of forced calm, the rage that lurked beneath the surface of Dream’s voice, and he ached. He ached, because Dream had been captured.

He didn’t need to know anything more than that to pull Dream into a hug.

A light one, because captured echoed inside his head like it was an empty cavern. It was the only thought he found himself capable of thinking. He didn’t know what it entailed, but—captured. God.

They could’ve hurt him. Hob wasn’t sure Dream could be hurt—Endless seemed rather important, even if he didn’t know what it meant properly—but the idea was terrible enough that he had to force himself to keep his arms around Dream loose, had to force himself to concentrate on his friend instead of the anger bubbling in his veins on his friend’s behalf.

In his arms, Dream tensed further. Hob…hadn’t thought that possible, after seeing how tense he was before this. Immediately, guilt struck him like a blow. His friend had been captured, and he didn’t bother to ask if a hug would even be alright.

Before he could pull away, apologies and pleas for forgiveness ready to spill from his tongue, Dream moved faster than Hob thought should’ve been possible. His arms found themselves around Hob’s waist, clinging tight enough it knocked the air right out of his lungs, but that was alright. He didn’t mind, not when Dream clung on so tightly. Not when he seemed like he needed it desperately, like he hadn’t been offered such a thing before.

He ignored that thought, for it made him ache with a desperation he hadn’t felt before, a desire to make sure his friend knew he was loved, and ran a soothing hand down his friend’s back. He pretended he couldn’t count the knobs of his friend’s spine even through his coat. Dream had always been lithe, yes, all elegant limbs and graceful movements—but this. This, he thought, was tangible proof of his friend’s hurt. This was what captured meant.

After—after Dream released him, slowly and carefully like he truly didn’t want to, like he wished to remain in the circle of Hob’s arms for the foreseeable future, which Hob wouldn’t have had a problem with, not at all—this, somehow, became a regular thing.

Dream continued to appear once each month. The day and the week varied, but it was always once a month. Hob didn’t know when to expect him, but that certainly wasn’t a problem—Dream didn’t turn up when he was teaching, and every other second he had to his name was his to take up. He could take up all of Hob’s time, and Hob thought he wouldn’t even care. Not if it was Dream.

And, with each month, Dream would touch him. Hug him. Tentatively, at first, like the motions were unfamiliar. Like gentle brushes of skin against skin and little nudges, touches so casual that they were easily a part of Hob’s every day life, were strange to him. Like he didn’t know what to do with it, with touches that were made for the sake of contact.

Even after a couple more months, the touches were still hesitant. Always, always, there was something holding Dream back, some of that old reserve returning and keeping him from taking what he wanted.

Hob didn’t push.

He wanted to. God, he did. He wanted to lay everything he had—time, the ability to provide contact, conversation and space and every amount of money he had to his name—at Dream’s feet and announce, Yours, it’s yours if you want it. If you want to take it, you can. It’s yours.

That—that would be too much. He refrained. He kept the questions at bay—refused to say the words Is this enough? and Do you want more? and You know I’ll gladly give you everything you ask, you know?—and he continued to tell stories in an attempt to make Dream smile faintly, to perhaps make things…easier to deal with. And, gradually, the hesitance bled away into something a little more like confidence, and Hob was glad for it.

After all of that, Hob somehow found himself sat on his couch a year later, with Dream’s head in his lap as the two of them watched a movie. Lord of the Rings, naturally—Sorry, you haven’t seen it? Hob had said last month, and despite Dream’s protests that usually took the shape of I am the Prince of Stories, I do not need to watch it to know the story, he decided they’d watch it together the next time Dream appeared.

He tried not to think too hard on the way Dream appeared so comfortable. He took up the rest of Hob’s sofa, boots and coats abandoned, loose-limbed as though this was where he belonged. There was no tension in his body, at least that Hob could see, and a part of him ached at that knowledge. He did that. He made his friend comfortable, gave him a safe space to take up room. He was the one who Dream let himself relax with, and wasn’t that a fucking thing? A glorious, wonderful thing. Tangible and real proof of their friendship.

Hob…Hob didn’t know how they got to this point, not really. He didn’t know how he managed to bridge the distance that always felt so terribly large so easily, to the point where Dream felt comfortable enough to use his thigh as a pillow. He didn’t know when the idea of threading his fingers through the strands of his friend’s raven hair became a temptation he had to resist, but he wouldn’t change it for the world.

At some point, Dream ended up sitting up. Hob missed him immediately, the absence of his weight on Hob’s thigh almost a physical pain.

A frown tugged at Dream’s lips slightly, and his eyes narrowed. “You are…thinking. Loudly.”

Hob, who still wasn’t sure Dream couldn’t read his mind—he didn’t ask questions, for all he really wanted was a name—blinked at him and offered a small smile. “Sorry,” he said with a shrug. “It is just. Strange. To see you like this. After we spent so long meeting only once a century.”

This, naturally, had the undesired affect of making Dream tense. All of that loose-limbed ease disappeared as though it was never there in the first place, only for his lips to purse and for Dream to look away from him. “I. Apologise,” he said slowly, carefully, as though he’s committed some terrible offence. “I did not mean to make you. Uncomfortable, in any way, or to take more than you were willing to give.”

He almost laughed at that, but managed to hold it back. His heart was a thing of yearning and daydreams of finding out of Dream would kiss him softly or with fire, if Dream’s fingertips would caress his skin gently or a little rougher, if Dream’s voice would sound just as lovely and velvet-soft uttering the words I love you as it did anything else. ‘More than you were willing to give’ didn’t exist to him, not for Dream. Never for Dream, who owned his heart entirely.

What he did instead was shake his head. He made to take Dream’s hand but thought better of it, letting his own fall onto the sofa between them. An invitation, if Dream felt like taking it. “Dream,” he said gently, and his friend’s eyes flooded with silver tears he didn’t allow to fall. “What are you apologising for? You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I don’t have a problem with any of this, I promise. The opposite, in fact. I would’ve told you, if I did.”

Dream didn’t look at him again. He said, voice low and carefully even, though that wasn’t enough to disguise the pain underneath it, “I have often been deemed. Too much. When it comes to offering affection.”

Affection, Hob thought, I am worthy of Dream’s affection. “You’re not too much.” He never could be.

This time, his gaze did return to Hob’s, ocean eyes cutting like steel. “I am,” he announced, and the heaviness, the certainty, with which he said it made Hob ache anew. “And I. Apologise. For inflicting my own desires upon you.”

”Oh, Christ, love,” Hob said helplessly. He did take Dream’s hand this time, clinging on for dear life, and was thankful when Dream didn’t pull away. He thought about the way Dream seemed so surprised when Hob hugged him the first time, the way he continued to hesitantly continue with small and casual contact over the last year. He thought about the way he seemed comfortable with such things, the way he seemed to need that first hug so much. Did he have nobody else who would offer him a fucking hug?

Surely he did. Surely Hob was not his only friend. As much of an achievement as that would be, he couldn’t cope with that idea. His friend deserved to love and to be able to love without—without worrying about being too much. “Please,” he said softly, and Dream stared at him with an expression he’d call blank if he wasn’t aware of how much sorrow there was in his gaze, “never apologise for wanting to be loved, Dream. This—hugs, you laying on me, whatever the fuck else you’d want—all of that, you can have. I don’t mind. I offer it freely, because I want to. Because you deserve to have that, okay? You’re not too much for wanting to be touched, especially after everything.”

Dream tensed further, somehow. His brow furrowed, as if this baffled him entirely. Christ, and Hob thought he made himself and his feelings towards Dream obvious. “You. Do not mind,” he repeated slowly, like that was a foreign concept.

Hob had half a mind to find whoever made him decide that wanting something as human as contact and ask them a couple of questions. With his fists. And maybe a knife.

For now, he just shook his head. “Not one bit,” he promised. “You can lay on me any time you like. Understood?”

For a couple more moments, Dream simply continued to stare, before he swallowed audibly. Hob thought he didn’t need to do that. He wondered if that small play at humanity was another product of his capture. “I believe,” he said slowly, voice hardly loud enough to be heard over the movie still playing in the background, “that I might be. Beginning. To understand.”

Hob smiled, relieved. This, he thought, wasn’t the end of it. And it didn’t have to be—he would assure Dream that he was never too much time and time again, if he had to. “Good. Good. I’m glad, love.”

And after another momentum’s hesitation, Dream wound his arms around Hob’s shoulders. His movements were stiff, almost awkward, but Hob hardly cared.

Perhaps he’d have to bring it up later. He’d like to. He’d like to bring this up again, to show Dream that Hob could be just as much when it came to his own affections, that he had been exercising every amount of self control he had over this last year. He’d like to show Dream that, for Hob, he—he was it. His closest, oldest friend. His longest love. Dream could take as much as he wanted, and Hob still wouldn’t care. It was all for him anyway.

For now, Dream pressed himself against Hob’s side and sighed softly. He didn’t unwind his arms from around Hob’s neck.

For now, that was enough.

------

Edit: find a part two here :)

#The Sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #the sandman netflix #fic #eris writes things

[lonelywhalien22]

ten seconds to midnight

pairing: jungkook x gn reader

rating/genre: second chance, fluff + sprinkle of angst or angst + sprinkle of fluff idk lol

summary: it's new year’s eve and you see your ex jungkook again for the first time since you broke up with him.

warnings: time and location are abstract af in this fic so don’t try to piece together distances or a timeline from anything in this; I wrote it in a more poetic fashion – it’s just a *vibe* if you will lol

word count: 4.6k

song(s) to listen to while reading: tis the damn season by taylor swift, ruin by shawn mendes, new year’s day by taylor swift

note: cleaned this up to share while I edit my next longfic – this is something sweet with a sprinkle of midnight angst. if you happen to enjoy this fic you’ll probably like what I have coming next so stay tuned. happy new year’s everyone and i’ll see you all next year <3

Two years.

It had been two years since you and Jungkook had seen each other for the first time in that art history class – had studied together, hung out together, and eventually dated.

Six months.

It had been six months since you'd left suddenly. Unexpectedly.

Six months since those words were flung like daggers between the two of you, as if you’d been in a competition to see who could hurt the other more – who could prove they were less attached than the other was. Pretending as if all of those late nights, whispered confessions, soothing touches, and sweet kisses had meant nothing.

As if in some sort of war, the two of you had thrown, burned, abandoned, and trashed every last remnant of your relationship, overcompensating to try and prove that none of the feelings were real, that the vulnerability was all a lie, and that you'd actually been keeping your shields up all along.

It's the reason you moved further away than you'd originally planned after you graduated - why you’d signed on to the extra work at your job, the extra responsibilities…you’d even gotten a new phone number, claiming you wanted a completely fresh start.

It's the reason why your brief visit home during the holidays this year just wasn’t the same. Why Jungkook didn’t stop by with the rest of his family to drop off gifts or send cards. Why you no longer saw him at the store he always used to frequent at a specific time, the two of you in charge of picking up whatever your respective families had forgotten for Christmas dinner.

It seemed like you and Jungkook had finally succeeded in creating an irreparable chasm between the two of you.

So instead, you spent your short visit home for the holidays nervously traversing the town that still held memories of him. You pushed your cart through the local grocery store in a near state of paranoia, drove around town with the windows up, let others in the house open the door when you got the usual holiday greetings from family and friends.

You didn't miss him, you told yourself.

Even as you chose to go to his mom's favorite grocery store, or mindlessly drove by some of your old spots from when you two had been together - eagerly looked out the window of your old childhood bedroom whenever you heard the doorbell ring.

You didn't miss him.

Now it was New Year’s Eve, and you currently found yourself outside on a fire escape in the chilly night air, high above a city you were still getting to know, at a party you didn't want to be at, terrified to go back inside.

How exactly had that happened?

Let’s take a few steps back.

The New Year’s Eve party was one put together by some old friends from college you’d reconnected with in the area.

None of them felt particularly close, but after spending last New Year’s Eve alone in your tiny studio apartment guzzling down an entire bottle of champagne and falling asleep before the ball had even dropped, you figured you’d try getting out and doing something in the city you were trying to call home for once.

As you walked into the crowded party space, you immediately scouted out the food and beverages area - your trusty diversion ever since you’d been to your first party as an underclassman in college, terribly shy and fearful of large crowds. You could still remember the moment you’d spotted Jungkook from afar for the very first time in a cramped living room all those years ago - laughing with his friends in a corner, his eyes on you for the tiniest of milliseconds before he went back to sipping whatever was in his red solo cup. It was his hands you’d noticed first, the handful of tiny tattoos scattered across his knuckles. You’d been so surprised when he’d said hello to you in a class one semester later, even more so when he’d smiled easily as he admitted to remembering you, the mural of tattoos on his right hand having spread, two new ones on his index finger and another near his wrist.

Back in the present, you grabbed a few cookies and some water, slowly sipping on your beverage of choice as you resolved yourself to silently watching the party from a distance. You were here – that was progress enough wasn’t it?

"Y/n?" you heard someone shout your name eagerly.

You were surprised since you didn't think you knew anyone at this party all that well, but the friendliness of the voice made you perk up.

Turning your head in the direction of the voice, you recognized the owner as an old friend from back home.

"Changkyun?" you exclaimed, shocked.

You hadn’t seen him in forever. He was so tall and almost athletic in his build now, that you almost didn��t recognize him.

"Hey! Wow, long time no see!" he smiled and immediately pulled you in for a hug. It nearly squeezed the surprise right out of you.

You two began a conversation and caught up, laughing over old memories and how much you’d each changed since last seeing the other before he interjected quickly.

"Now that I think about it, pretty sure I saw someone else you know around here..." he pondered out loud, scanning the crowd before he spotted who he was looking for.

"Oh yeah, Jungkook is here. Hey JK!"  you heard Changkyun quickly shout across the crowd towards the center of the room.

Before you could even fully register the name of your ex you glanced over to where your friend was calling, instantly spotting the back of a familiar head of hair, though it was longer than you remembered, the ends curling slightly from the length.

“J-Jungkook..." you repeated quietly, eyes widening as your brain registered what was happening.

"You good?" Changkyun asked, noticing the change in your expression. "Oh shit, wait - you two were together at some point weren’t you? Did I -"

The rest of his words evaporated into nothing but muffled noise as you watched the head of your ex swivel around, searching for the source of the voice that had called his name. He was still as mesmerizing as ever - those big brown eyes and soft lips. His hair fell into his eyes as he turned, and it made your view of him both painfully nostalgic and exhilarating all at once.

He was gorgeous. Just like you remembered.

You stood frozen, eyes wide in admiration, until Jungkook’s gaze singled in on you and broke you out of your trance. Quickly his eyebrows furrowed in confusion before they lifted up softly upon recognizing you. You watched as he mouthed your name, as if he was asking himself whether or not it was really you. But it was all muddled within seconds as you realized your vision was beginning to blur. Your throat dried up and your head began to pound, and finally you realized you were about to cry.

For some inexplicable reason, you were upset.

"Damnit," you muttered to yourself, looking down, a tear slipping down your cheek against your will.

"Y/n, are you ok?" you heard Changkyun ask beside you, but you only shook your head quickly.

"I…I gotta go," you barely managed to choke out before turning away and pushing through the crowd as fast as you could. You quickly reached the front door and tumbled out, searching for the elevator before instead opting to take the stairs rather than risk standing around for any longer.

After wandering around aimlessly for a couple floors you came upon a shaky fire escape entrance and yanked open the doors, cool air slapping your face like a tide in a storm. It brought goosebumps to your skin - the chill of the night breeze, the cool steel grates that scraped against your thighs as you sat down, the hard brick of the wall against your back, but still - you found yourself grateful for the getaway.

You shimmied to the side so you couldn’t be seen from the glass door entrance and tried to make yourself comfortable in the space that remained, your legs slipping into a makeshift crisscross position. It was ridiculously cramped, and probably not at all safe, but at least it was quiet. The isolation gave you a chance to work through some of your thoughts without interruptions from annoyingly drunk partygoers.

"Why did I come here," you whispered to yourself, frustrated.

You knew how much you hated parties, and yet you'd gone anyways, only to find yourself in the very situation you’d been fearing since the holidays had come upon you – trapped with him just steps away and nowhere to run or hide.

You were terrified to face all the damage you’d left behind in your breakup with Jungkook - the stuffed closet full of baggage and hastily thrown together lies that you knew would all come tumbling down if you ever saw him again.

If you were being honest, you'd been running from this very scenario ever since you’d broken up with him. Because somehow, after all this time, he still wouldn't leave your head - his smile, the sound of his laugh, the way he could be incredibly cute but could also make you completely flustered at the flip of a switch.

The way he’d felt like a best friend, a confidante, and a lover all at the same time. How he’d made you feel so loved in a way only he could.

You had searched for that same feeling in others, from the occasional coworker to the random blind date, but no matter how hard you tried you couldn't get yourself to fall out of love with him. And deep down, you think you always knew it. You'd be lying if you said there wasn't some part of you that saw a piece of him in everything you did and everywhere you went. You just couldn't lie to yourself anymore – not after seeing how you'd reacted from just seconds of seeing him in person again.

You took a few deep breaths, staring out at the lights and bustle of the city as your finger trailed longingly up and down one of the steel bars that separated you from the open air. Funny how the rest of the world just continued to go on, even when it felt like your little corner of it was being shaken to no end like a snow globe in a child’s hands.

But watching all the cars and pedestrians below carrying on with their lives – it also helped you put your worries into perspective - helped you keep calm.

Suddenly, your thoughts were interrupted by the cracking open of the fire escape door.

Please don't be a couple, please don’t be a couple, you thought to yourself. The last thing you needed were some handsy lovebirds interrupting your ruminations and reminding you of your own failures in the relationship department.

"Y/n?" you heard someone whisper softly. "Y/n, you out there?"

You’d recognize that voice anywhere - warm and soothing when it was singing along to a song on the radio, smooth and sweet like caramel when it was directed towards you, and immediately your body tensed.

The voice continued to call your name again and again, and you could hear his footsteps shuffling around closer and closer to you in the dark. Folding into yourself and squeezing your eyes shut, you prayed he didn’t notice you, or maybe he’d think you were some stranger - turn around and leave you out here all alone like you thought you wanted.

The footsteps continued until you heard the door open one last time, someone mumbling something too far away for you to hear before banging it shut again. You figured he didn't see you, deciding to look elsewhere, and your shoulders relaxed again.

"Didn't think I’d see you here," you suddenly heard loud and clear.

"Fuck," you shouted, too spooked to really think about it before your reflexes kicked in and you jumped, quickly turning towards the voice. "I thought I was alone out h-"

As soon as you looked up you saw that it was your ex. He stood feet away, one hand still lingering on the fire escape entrance.

"Jungkook."

You mumbled his name, aggravated as he raised a brow at your rare curse.

Quickly, you angled yourself back towards the view of the skyline, shaking your head profusely as you attempted to make him go away.

"I don't wanna see you."

"Believe me, this wasn't really how I pictured spending my night either," he retorted, and you couldn’t even lie - the words felt like a cold knife straight to your heart.

He took just one tiny step forward, hand falling from the rusted metal handle of the door.

"I couldn't just let you go off crying though."

"I wasn't crying," you spat out. It was your roughest voice yet, but Jungkook didn’t even flinch.

"You're still shit at lying," he said with a smirk instead. "We may not be together anymore, but I can still recognize the face you make when you're about to cry."

You wished he’d elaborate so you could practice never making that face again, but he just stood still, glancing back through the window. It both annoyed the heck out of you and made your heart flutter, knowing he could still read you like that.

He took another few steps towards you. Like a giant, his stature towered over you as he continued to stand, his feet careful not to step on your fingers.

"Anyways, you left this," he suddenly said, a chunk of metal entering your view. It was your phone.

How that happened, you had no idea. You must have placed it on a nearby table as you ate, distracted by you conversation with Changkyun. You grabbed it swiftly, careful not to touch his hand in any way, but you still couldn’t help but notice the decorative ink that now danced all over his fingers, the way his skin reddened in the cold.

Did he notice you still used the phone case he’d bought you for your birthday?

"Thanks," you told him curtly instead, avoiding his gaze.

You kept quiet, expecting him to finally go away now that he’d returned your phone but instead the silence lingered, Jungkook’s feet shuffling awkwardly.

“Come back inside Y/n,” he said, tone gentle, the edges of his jawline softening.

“Why?”

Jungkook looked down, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Changkyun’s worried about you,” he mumbled eventually. “…and besides, it’s dangerous - sitting out here all alone like that.”

“I’ll be fine. No need to worry about me.”

You could feel his frustration brewing as he looked at you in silent incredulity, a cloudy huff leaving his lips in the night air before you felt him sit right down beside you. His denim-clad knee scraped yours just faintly as he settled into a comfortable position. Together the two of you took up nearly all the space on the tiny ledge.

"You want a drink?" Jungkook offered coolly, a cup of red liquid seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

It was tempting, but you hesitated. After all, you weren’t looking to get inebriated while on a shaky fire escape with your ex nearby to bear witness to some sort of embarrassing, drunken confession of longing. You generally preferred to stay sober anyways.

"It's just cranberry juice,” he told you, as if he could read your mind. “They have a bunch of it to mix with the cocktails."

Fuck.

Not only did he remember how much you hated alcohol, but also that cranberry juice was your favorite?

"You're the only person I've ever met who drinks that stuff," he used to always joke.

Back in the present, you took the cup from his hands, finally looking at him to search his face briefly, but his expression gave nothing away. You took a sip to busy yourself.

A blanket of silence fell between you. It wasn’t awkward or even necessarily tense, but it didn't feel like it was truly quiet either. Instead, it was more like there were a bunch of unsaid words bouncing around between the two of you, trying but failing to break out.

"What're you thinking about?" Jungkook asked innocently, looking down at one of his hands before focusing back on the view of the city skyline.

"Nothing," you shook your head tersely, only to hear the tiniest of hums escape his lips out of disbelief.

"So you're outside all alone, staring at the sky in the freezing cold and nothing's wrong? You sure about that?"

You closed your eyes, more and more memories rushing back to you – like the times Jungkook used to find you alone out on the campus green, just sitting with the palm of your hand pressed against your cheek, pouting as you stared at some point in the clouds. Or how he used to poke you on the nose whenever you laid your head in his lap and stared into space, that same pensive look on your face. His words were always the same every single time.

"What're you thinking about?"

It was beginning to drive you crazy the more you thought about it – how, even after all this time apart, he was still able to pick up on little things like that.

And it made you feel even crazier when you thought about the fact that you still remembered those little things about him too.

Trying to keep yourself from becoming any more affected by his words, you tried a slightly more aggressive approach.

"Well maybe I would be fine if I was actually alone."

But he only turned to face you at that remark, another deep sigh escaping his lips.

"Y/n/n.." he used your nickname this time, and he sounded regretful, like your words had actually stung. "Look, I just wanna make sure you're ok."

"I'm am ok," you said back harshly.

Another bout of silence fell between you at that – this one like a cascade of bricks instead of a gentle blanket.

"Why are you acting like I'm the one who did you wrong?" Jungkook piped up, exasperation inching into his voice.

"Last time I checked, I told you I wanted to be left alone."

"You know that's not what I'm talking about,” he said, undeterred by your attempt to change the subject.

You didn’t respond immediately, not ready to talk about your breakup out in the open.

You weren’t sure you'd ever be ready.

"I told you I wanted to experience other places…" you started after a minute or so, quieter than expected. "You know I never wanted to stay so close to home."

"And I get that, but one week?" Jungkook asked incredulously. "How could you only tell me a week before you left? I thought I meant more to you than that."

You huffed out loud in frustration, unsure how to respond.

It was true - you did tell Jungkook about your big move only seven days before you left. You did it out of fear.

Because you were scared.

You and Jungkook had gotten so close after only two years, and you’d never felt that way about a person before - you’d never felt in love.

It scared you - especially when you thought that maybe you were just getting too attached, too quickly.

If there was one thing you hated, it was dependency. Needing someone else felt like an indefensible weakness, and you were afraid that being with him, needing him, would only hold you back.

All you’d wanted was some space to cool off and clear your head - evaluate how you felt from a distance in solitude, like you always did when you felt overwhelmed by your emotions. When you finally did tell Jungkook about the move, you were hoping you two would just dial things down a little - keep in touch remotely while you took some time to think about your life post-graduation.

But instead, the whole thing had turned into one big shouting match.

Hurtful words had been thrown like weapons on both sides, and by the time the dust had settled, you were driving hundreds of miles away.

You’d ignored his calls, deleted his texts, and even refused to listen to appeals from your mother, who still kept in touch with his family. Distancing yourself away from him had only made your worst fears become a reality, and in turn made it even easier to run away from it all rather than confront your fears head on.

Avoidance was the only way you knew how to approach things that were hard - uncomfortable.

And maybe that's why you were sitting here on this damn fire escape in the first place.

"I just wanted some space," you defended yourself.

"But so suddenly? Was there something I did wrong?" he asked you dejectedly.

You turned to look Jungkook in his eyes, and behind his seemingly calm face you could see real pain. You really had hurt him, and in that moment you wished you could tell him the truth – that he hadn't done anything wrong. He'd done everything right, but you just hadn't known how to deal with the intensity of your feelings.

"Did you really have to change your number? Pretend like I didn't even exist?" Jungkook spoke up again.

"That's not fair," you shook your head. "You really hurt me with your words when I finally did tell you."

"Because you broke my heart," he exclaimed, getting visibly upset. "You told me you never loved me - that all of those memories, all those moments we shared...” he looked down for a moment. “You said none of it mattered. That I’d ‘taken it the wrong way.’"

"I didn't mean any of that," you blurted out loud.

"That's what I told myself," Jungkook started, "but what was I supposed to think when you completely cut me out of your life?"

You sniffled silently, unable to come up with any more excuses.

Simply put, you’d both really hurt each other.

As you focused back on all the lights down below, legs beginning to cramp, you felt a curtain of warmth envelop your shoulders.

Jungkook had draped his denim jacket across your body. You couldn’t help but fixate on how the fabric was soft and worn, and it smelled just like him - that same combo of body wash and cologne that you still couldn’t erase from your memory.

"Are you two dating?" you heard him ask quietly.

"What?" you asked, confused before putting two and two together. "Me and Changkyun? No…"

The question took you aback. What did it matter to him anyways?

"I came alone and ran into him unexpectedly," you explained further. "Why are you here?"

"An old classmate invited me," he told you casually, contemplating his next words for a moment before continuing. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hoping that maybe I'd see you though..."

You felt your heartbeat quicken at the casual admission, but you didn’t have much time to think about what it meant as he smoothly moved on.

"What about you? I thought you hated parties."

You sighed, hesitant to be so honest but feeling a strange sense of courage regardless.

"Well normally I do, but last New Year’s just...wasn’t all that great," you started.

"How so?"

You took a deep breath before continuing, counting off the reasons on your fingers. "Well, I was alone. And it sucked. I didn't even make it to midnight before I just fell asleep. So I decided this year I'd try going out instead."

"And how's it going?" Jungkook asked, the tiniest hint of a twinkle in his eye. “Tonight, I mean.”

Was he flirting with you right now?

"Not sure yet…" you played along, "but I'm still awake so that's a plus."

Again you sat quietly for a few minutes, neither of you making a move, not a single word shared between the two of you. This time the silence was comforting. You became hyper aware of his knee brushing against your own, and your insides felt so warm that suddenly the cold air didn’t faze you at all.

Maybe, just maybe…

Your quiet stalemate was interrupted when the fire escape door slammed open and the sound of drunken giggles grew louder and louder, a shaggy head of hair sticking itself outside to ogle at the two of you.

"Oh, shoot, looks like this one's taken babe," the random guy shouted in a slurred voice.

"Well hurry up and find somewhere else, I can't wait any loooonger," some poor girl whined, just as tipsy.

They disappeared as quickly as they came, the door shutting with a bang, and you and Jungkook couldn't help but burst out into laughter.

"Was their plan to screw each other on the balcony?" you heard him utter your exact thoughts aloud. Not so innocent memories crept into your mind for a split second before you squashed them.

He's still your ex, you reminded yourself.

"Not sure,” you said instead with a chuckle, “but it certainly looks like we’ve reached that point in the evening where I typically remove myself from the situation."

You pulled your phone out to check the time. "It's midnight,” you realized.

You two had been out there together for over half an hour.

"Guess that means it's time to go, huh?" you heard him ask.

"Yeah…"

Neither of you moved to get up though.

You weren’t expecting to still be with Jungkook at this point, and suddenly you were unsure of what to do. How did one say goodbye to an ex?

How did you say goodbye when you didn't want to?

"Y/n?" Jungkook said your name, pulling you out of your thoughts. You looked at him with bated breath, urging him to continue as fireworks began to go off in the distance.

"Um…" he stalled, clearly trying to find the right thing to say next.

Hating the silence, you improvised, taking off his jacket to give back. The warmth that previously enveloped you disappeared immediately, and it left you feeling strangely empty.

"Here, let me give you back your jacket before I forget."

"Oh…yeah, thanks," he said, a hint of sadness in his voice.

As he leaned over to grab it, you quickly kissed his cheek before backing away and looking down, brushing the hair out of your face.

"Sorry if that was weird," you started, "but I just…wanted to apologize. For everything I put you through back then."

To your surprise, Jungkook shifted a little closer to you, lips pulled into a soft smile as he shook his head. "You don't deserve all the blame. We both said things we shouldn't have, and I'm sorry too."

Butterflies burst free in your belly, and the fireworks that lit up the sky seemed to form a faint outline around Jungkook’s head as he stared at you, eyes boring into your own, keeping you frozen in place.

His hand slipped into yours lightly, and you looked at them for a split second, fingers intertwined in warmth as he spoke. Slowly but surely, you felt yourself drawn towards him in a familiar lure, like a moth to a flame.

Like a wanderer finding their way back home.

"Any chance we could just pretend like it's ten seconds to midnight again?" you asked shyly, and he instantly cracked the biggest smile you’d seen from him all night.

Jungkook said nothing, instead leaning in to kiss you gently.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #bts fluff

[urfriendlylocalidiot]

hi hi can i request for lesserafim x 6th member, where they react to u teasing them all the time? thank you!

So, so sorry, this is so late, I’ve been slammed with work like crazy. I hope you enjoy, even though it’s short! (again, if you want it to be longer just lmk in an ask and I’ll go back and edit it)

Teasing w/ LE SSERAFIM

You don’t flirt. You’re just a little extra friendly to someone who is extremely attractive.

Chaewon

“Did you go to bed early last night?” You smirked, knowing that she had spent the night very much awake and in your bed. She blushes and slaps your shoulder, as you say, “From the looks of it, you got your beauty sleep,” causing her to get even redder if that was possible.

This was normal between you two, almost every day, you had some sly comment to make to her and it made her fall even more in love with you every time. Even if it did make her seem like a lovesick girl sometimes in front of the other members.

Sakura

Sakura should have been used to it by now. Every since she met you, you had teased her about some thing. And although it was embarrassing at first, she eventually found herself falling for the little comments you would make throughout the day.

One day, after a good practice, you walk to her and say, “I was wondering you’re an artist because you were so good at drawing me in,” beaming down at her. This, of course, causes her to become bright red as usual.

However, this time was different, because even though she was as red as a tomato, she wanted to make you nervous as well this time. So when she looks up at you she says, “Your lips look lonely, would they like to meet mine?” which basically causes your brain to short circuit and her to smirk.

Yunjin

It was the after party celebration for UNFORGIVEN and you and Yunjin found yourselves, a little, closer than usual.

“Wouldn’t we look good on a wedding cake together?”

“Wedding!?! That’s a little soon, are you drunk?”

“I’m not drunk, I’m just intoxicated by you.”

You were most definitely drunk, however, even if you weren’t, it wasn’t unusual for you to tease Yunjin like this. And as worried as she was, she couldn’t help that her heart beat a little faster when you basically confessed to being attracted to her. Maybe it was the alcohol, but the next thing either of you guys know is that you’re now attached at the lips.

Kazuha

Right before practice you ask Kazuha,“Can I tie your shoes?” to which she nods and sets her feet out. As you tie her second shoe you say, “Cause I don’t want you to fall for someone else” which causes Kazuha to blush and attempt to stutter out a response, that never truly comes out.

Of course, she should have expected that you would never just innocently tie her shoes for her. It always came with a catch, not that she always minded. But it was a little embarrassing how easily she would get red and nervous at those little comments from you.

It all becomes worth it though, when instead of teasing her one day after practice, it’s your turn to be nervous as you ask her out on a date. Which she of course says yes to, and teases you back the entire time.

Eunchae

“If I was an octopus, all my 3 hearts would beat for you”

“Octopi have 3 hearts?”

“Yes, and all of mine beat for you” you say while moving your arms around, attempting to mimic an octopus.

“Aw, that’s actually really sweet y/n” Eunchae says as she comes up to you mirroring your movements before pecking her lips to yours. As much as you would try to make Eunchae nervous, it would never really work, since you guys are just so comfortable around each other to begin with.

#request #le sserafim #le sserafim scenarios #le sserafim fluff #le sserafim reactions #le sserafim x reader #le sserafim fanfic #le sserafim unforgiven #le sserafim imagines #le sserafim ot5 #le sserafim kpop #le sserafim request #le sserafim x you #le sserafim chaewon #le sserafim sakura #le sserafim yunjin #le sserafim kazuha #le sserafim eunchae #chaewon x reader #sakura x reader #yunjin x reader #kazuha x reader #eunchae x reader #kim chaewon #sakura miyawaki #huh yunjin #kazuha nakamura #hong eunchae #chaewon fluff #sakura fluff

[bunnimatsu]

Now what about dom Matsus 😈

im tryna clear out my inbox so, thank you anon for this one!

tag(s): nothing too hardcore but if it’s too much for you, i’m sorry!, lowkey cringe, nsfw, dom matsus, not really edited and its basically just me horny talking and pulling it out of my ass, brat tamer karamatsu (that one’s for you @thebardisabird and @squidzza , I DID IT)

i tried to finish this as fast as i could.

osomatsu, who’s absolutely merciless when it comes to pounding you. he’ll grip your hips and slam himself into you over and over again, never slowing his pace down as wanton cries leave your lips. when you throw your head back in ecstasy, a smirk forms on his lips. he leans down and nearly whispers in your ear: “yeah you like that? tell oso how it feels…~ say it~” and when you can only let out cries and whimpers, his hand comes down on the fat of your ass and thighs while demanding you say who’s making you feel this good.

karamatsu, who’s a brat tamer. he’s the second oldest. he has younger brothers who get on his fucking nerves, you think he has time for YOUR shit, [name]? imagine: you’ve spent a looong time dragging him around the mall and doing things YOU wanted but the one time he wanted to do something, you whined a little and said no. kara had it rough the day prior and he thought shopping with you today would ease his mind but that little stunt made him snap. he grabbed your chin and tilted it up to look at him, his eyes a darker brown than you originally thought. he looked mean… “darling…i’ve spent so long trying to please you today…just like how you deserve..but the one time i ask for something i want…i get a no and a whine.. i’m very tired, cherie…” you’ve never seen him like this before and to be honest, it made you squirm a little. “you’re going into this store and shutting that pretty little mouth…understood?”

and that was the night karamatsu absolutely rocked your shit. hands tied to the bed post and having no mercy on your pretty body.

choromatsu, who no longer gets nervous around you and started to show the strict side of him. at first, he was always careful when it came down to spending a night with him. gentle caresses and slow yet nervous kisses down your body, asking ‘i-is that okay..?’. you loved it, sure, but you wanted more. you knew what choromatsu was capable of, especially when it comes down to being mean. you see it when he’s badgering at his brothers, yelling at them for being lazy pieces of shit and…ordering them around. to be honest, it was kind of sexy. he was a little shocked when you asked him if he can apply that kind of behavior in bed but he didn’t oppose to it. so naturally, you found yourself facing a mirror while you were sat on his lap, bouncing on his cock. his hands made their way up to your chest to tweak your nipples and when you tilt your head back in pleasure, he firmly grabs your cheeks and makes you look into the mirror again. “don’t look away. i told you not to look away.”

ichimatsu, who always has to have you bound. gagged, on a good day. he puts you in positions you didn’t even know existed and it leaves your poor muscles sore the next day. ichi loves to get rough with you, treating you like you’re his prey while he’s the predator. your entire body would always be covered in bruises and bite marks and it makes him always smirk in pride. he always leaves your legs shaking, whether he’s drilling into your sopping wet pussy or driving his tongue deep into you, hoping to get more and more of your sweet essence. more. ichi wants more of you. and he’ll do anything to get it.

jyushimatsu, who pins you against anything and everything. there isn’t a single piece of furniture in your house that’s untouched by you and him. he’ll have sex with you at any chance he gets if you ask him. he’ll hold you up against the wall, his biceps flexing a bit in his compression long sleeve as he pistons his hips into yours. the usual wide-mouthed smile he has on his face is replaced with a look of concentration, focused on your body and how it reacts to his touch. but that also quickly fades back to his smile as he looks at you and laughs almost joyously, “am i making you feel good?”

todomatsu, who loves to tease you. light feather touches as you sit in your chair at the mixer he took you to. you knew what he was doing, and by god, did it make you squirm a bit. it all started because atsushi was sat across from you. you were just being friendly to the guy, chatting like how you normally would. but todomatsu hated that. he didn’t like the way his ‘friend’ looked at you. only he was allowed to look at you like that, why were you letting him? and then you felt it. todomatsu’s hands gently rubbing your thigh. you looked down at his hand then up at him, moving your leg away then going back to talking to atsushi. mistake #1. he didn’t like that, so he took it a bit further. when atsushi started talking to the others at the table, you felt your boyfriend’s hand dip between your thighs, brushing against your heat slightly. you jerked forward and played it off as something else when atsushi asked if you were okay. todomatsu retracted his hand as if nothing happened, giving you a stupid coy smile. that night when you two went home, your legs were immediately spread open while he worked the vibrator against your aching cunt. you cried for forgiveness as you made a mess for what seemed like the hundredth time. he smiled sadistically as he cooed at you. “i don’t think you really are sorry~”

—————————————————————————

and that’s that!

sorry if it’s underwhelming, writing’s still not my strong suit.

anyway, i have to tell you guys agaaiiinnn, my ask box regarding writing is closed so please, don’t send me stuff unless i say otherwise 🥹

other than that, love ya!

- jarvis <3

#jarvis.fics #osomatsu san #mr. osomatsu x reader #osomatsu san imagines #osomatsu san smut #mr. osomatsu smut #osomatsu #karamatsu #choromatsu #ichimatsu #jyushimatsu #todomatsu

[headkiss]

Hi hun hope you’re staying warm! I’m sorry this is a last minute holiday one! I was wondering you could write a Christmas Eddie x reader where the party all do secret Santa and Eddie ends up getting reader? They aren’t dating just crushing and Eddie is freaking out because he wants to get her something really special *cue Dustin’s help* and it ends on a sweet note. Thank you! ❤️

hi love!! i hope this is good <3 it’s my gift to u, merry christmas | 0.7k, fluff, fem!reader

Secret Santa was a great tradition amongst your friends, and when Eddie joined the group, you were all happy to have another name in the hat.

It’s the second Christmas with Eddie around and you can’t deny that the holidays feel better with him. Brighter. You also can’t deny how much you like him.

You’ve grown close, and he’s so much more than what you were expecting. The crush started out as just that, a crush, and grew and grew until it became something huge. A certain four letter word kind of huge.

Though you’re clueless to it, the same goes for Eddie. He’s convinced that he was in love the moment he met you. His world shifted, something clicked into place.

That’s why his stomach drops when he picks your name for secret Santa this year.

He likes you so much—loves you, even—and he knows he has to get something special. He cares more about whether or not you’ll like your gift than he ever has for anyone else and it’s stressful.

Naturally, he goes to Dustin for help.

“Listen, it has to be really good,” he says. “Like really, really good.”

“You’ve said that like ten times,” Dustin replies, his usual sass present as always.

“Because it’s true! Help me.”

“Doesn’t she like to read?”

“Yeah. Loves it.”

“Get her a book. Problem solved.”

“Wow, thank you so much, Henderson. A book. How special,” Eddie deadpans.

“Make it special, Eddie. You know, with your pizzazz.”

Make it special with your pizzazz. What the fuck is he supposed to do with that?

Days later, Eddie finally figures out a special present to do with books. He worries over and over that it’s stupid, that you’ll hate it, but it’s the best thing he’s come up with (thanks to Dustin, after all).

Secret Santa occurs on Christmas Eve, and that’s where you are now.

Eddie greeted you with a hug when he saw you, holding you tight longer than usual, trying not to obviously breathe you in. Your smell, your comfort. When you pulled back, he was almost stunned by how pretty he finds you.

It’s not a new thought. He notices constantly, but sometimes it just hits him. He blames the holidays for it this time. You’re wearing a Christmas sweater vest, a plain long sleeve beneath it, and jeans. It’s perfect on you.

“I like your outfit,” he says, when he really means that you’re the prettiest person in the entire world, he thinks.

“Thanks, I like yours too,” it’s the same as he always wears, but he knows you mean it.

He’s a mess when the gift exchanging starts, his leg bouncing. He wants you to like it so much. He hardly notices when it’s his turn to pass his present, lost in his head.

“Eddie?” You move to catch his gaze.

“Hm?”

“It’s your turn.”

“Oh, sorry.” He grabs the present he spent way too long wrapping, hands it to you slowly, “Merry Christmas.”

When you take it from him, your fingers brush. Even after the contact, they’re left burning with the memory.

You unwrap it gently, like you’re trying to savor it. Eddie watches your face the entire time, eyes searching for any reaction. What he gets is a look, your mouth in the shape of an ‘O’ from surprise.

“You didn’t,” you say.

A chorus of ‘what is it’s sound from your friends. You’d almost forgotten they were there, too.

“It’s a first edition,” Eddie says.

A special book. Your favorite one, first edition, with a card tucked away in its pages for you to find later.

“Eddie, this is perfect.”

“You like it, then?”

“Are you kidding?!”

At his shy smile you can’t hold yourself back from springing up to hug him. He’s still sitting, unprepared, so you lean down and wrap your arms around his shoulders. His come around your back quickly.

You bury your face in his neck, press a kiss that’s so light Eddie’s not sure if he dreamt it, and mumble, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome, babe.”

With his arms around you, Eddie decides that he’s going to ask you out as soon as you’re alone. He can’t keep hiding his feelings when you’re the only person he’s ever felt them for. They practically seep out of him now.

Robin leans over to Steve, “how much you wanna bet they’re dating next time we see them?”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson blurbs #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson request #eddie munson requests #eddie blurbs #eddie stranger things #stranger things eddie #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader