#i am sure that's why i write tony so often | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fatesundress · 1 year ago

Text

⭑ life of the party. tom riddle x reader

summary. when one game is ruined, another begins.

tags. explicitly fem afab reader, smut with as minimal plot as i can physically allow myself, minors SCRAMMM, loosely implied hogwarts university au as always, flirting via mutually assured jealousy, impeccable communication skills, established relationship, the guy the reader is talking to gets annoyed she doesn’t want him but he doesn’t do anything, religious undertones that might have accidentally become overtones, party setting (background drinking & general degeneracy), probably the meanest tom i’ll ever write and i still tried making him nice because lots of heavy jealousy tropes are misogynistic icks fo me, fingering, piv, a little degradation but that's life, fawwwk the weeknd but the song this is based on is so sexy, etc

note. Me writing this: nightguard: ON, religious themes: RIFE, shame: ABOUNDING. i am so embarrassed by this. have i mentioned smut doesn’t come naturally to me? i don’t even know how i got here. i’m on heelys at the proverbial skatepark and everyone else apprenticed under tony hawk. Do you understand? ok.

word count. 4.5k

request. yes!

He is what he is. Stoic, sacred, silent and then verbose. You knew he had his fixations before you knew him at all — no one made top of every class without a shadow of obsession to contrast the glint of their excellence — but you could not anticipate how that obsession might translate when applied to a person. You’re not sure he had either.

He is what he is. The muggle world taught him religion and in it he learned only the tenor of devotion. When his fingers take your jaw, trace slow at the stripes of your thighs, steady your hips from under you and hold tight, there’s reverence in it. His kisses don’t wane with the months gone by; they soften with purpose. They rouse with hunger. His eyes don’t waver. Should a good man gaze upon his altar? Should he smile like sin when he gets on his knees?

He does.

Tom Riddle is what he is and you solemnise in equal part.

You don’t come to these things often, taken aback by the sight of the Slytherin common room in ribbons and banners tattered within the first hour of the night. Bottles glow green in the lake-light on every available surface, scattered about the place and spilled in sticky puddles.

You’re a wallflower tonight, though not for lack of options. You observe from a comfortable distance the drunken antics of new adults, free to carry their liquor in hand rather than hidden away in pockets and pillowcases. There’s something vaguely entertaining about it, intoxicating where someone else might mind their business and actually get intoxicated, but you see no harm done. Whispers fall on your ears before the rumours make their rounds, couples slink away in the darkness where someone in the crowd might not notice, and the night’s first instance of someone hurrying up the stairs in tears comes barrelling right past you. You invent a story for why to keep yourself busy.

It’s all just buzz.

Now, if you don’t come often, he certainly doesn’t.

Tonight, he has, and for reasons explicable but few, you’ve found yourselves on opposite sides of the room.

It began on the green couch by the window with a chess set spilled across the velvet — a bet you made with him upon arrival; you find wizard’s chess trite, Tom finds it feckless, but it makes for a good challenge.

What else could convince a man so perpetually controlled to pour himself a drink? And you imagine, from his perspective: what else could convince a woman so determined to outwit him?

It’s for no nefarious reason — to slight him or see him stumble — but because you love the fractions of relief that colour him, soften him, temper him. It’s because he loves you in every shade, in every pliancy, in each and every fervour. But mostly it’s because you love kindly to best him, and he loves mirthfully to best you.

So you play. The game is slow and teasing, hard to see in the ripples of the lake, and toppled over in the final moves (which you’ll insist you were winning) by the same swaying body that spills its drink down the front of your dress. And so you’re up, brushing your index finger over the corner of Tom’s sudden scowl. You whisper like a joke not to kill anyone but he’s so quick to look like he might that you consider repeating yourself with more conviction.

You poke at the spot where his jaw is tense. “I’ll be right back.”

Drying liquor from lace is a matter of precision even with magic, and this is half-gelatinous like someone raided the kitchen’s supply of jelly and steeped it in something offensively alcoholic. You utilise the clearer light of the Slytherin girl’s lavatory, wetting your dress before evaporating the water from it. There’s the matter then of transforming the stained fabric back to its original colour, and you huff in the mirror at having a game you thought you didn’t care much for ruined so close to its end.

You care about Tom, though. The omphalos of your issue resides there.

(It is fair to say most of your issues reside there.)

With only minutes gone by, the common room crowd looks doubled when you return, and though you wade through you’re pushed back like debris caught in a tide, the bodies more stubborn rubble than you. So you retreat, stand flush at the wall with your arms crossed, and wait for Tom’s eyes to land on yours. To, perhaps, open your mind and let him in, tell him exhaustedly from afar that the game is at rest and you’re ready to leave.

But even he’s hard to find in the bodies unified in breath, flux like a big set of lungs — and nothing about Tom blurs into the background.

So you wait. You wallflower. You pour yourself a drink.

The moment stretches on longer than anticipated, and after many detached observations of the room, someone else finds you instead. He’s tall, blond to Tom's inkwell black, kissed by summer sun even as autumn soothes its blister. Your gaze wavers back to him a few times though his own is uncertain for all its focus. He seems to be waiting for you to stop, perhaps for the silhouette of someone else to slip by and prove you were looking at them instead. When no one else comes, he traverses the crowd with a straightened inch of pride, stepping through new colours until he’s close enough to you that the light settles emerald-black and you can see the great chasm of his beauty up close.

His freckles are carefully dusted, his structure strong, all squarish, rugged lines and shades of August.

The chasm is not a lack of allure, per se, it’s just a lack of him. One man’s August to your adherent’s December, the intention of his warmth, a thing that does not come to him like everything else but that he makes and makes and mends when it lapses because he does not want to see you cold. The singular reward of a rarity like that.

“Hi," you say, glancing over a broad shoulder.

“Evening," he responds. He takes you in with a look of (unappreciated) appreciation. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“No, we haven’t.”

He extends a hand. “Oliver Belby.”

“Pleasure.”

You don't offer much in the way of conversation. He’ll vie for your attention regardless of how much of it you offer. So you lean against the wall where the buzz of sound prickles your hair, let him talk, let his hand come up to rest beside your head, and you find Tom.

He’s right where you left him, a new clearing in the crowd making space for your eyes to meet.

His are ice even at a distance. As if you proselytise — as if you could — kneel for another man or let one kneel before you, all of your trysts together faithless.

They aren’t. He must know they aren’t.

But you put yourself here and standing at the target of his gaze has never been marred by the severity of it.

You decide then; when one game is ruined, another begins.

In truth, you can’t deny the element of theatrics in the way Tom denies everyone but you: his soft, penitent smile, the apologetic cant of his head, how his eyes can find you in any crowd and whoever is clinging onto his every word that night will follow his gaze and deflate when they discover you at the end of it. Sometimes it’s harsh. Final. He lacks the patience of pretence.

Sometimes, the week is dull. Sometimes, the whoever is undeterred. Sometimes you’ve pushed him here.

No — You’ve never done that before. This is new.

So it’s one of those weeks, and one of those whoevers, on an anomaly you may as well have directed the encounter yourself, and Tom is half-indulgent as he forces his eyes away and you force yours to stay.

You watch him from across the room as the woman drapes herself across the arm of his chair. There's a furious blush on her cheeks even in the dark, a pretty disarray to her shoulder-length hair, skirts pleated over knees she faces toward him. She smiles and offers him a glass of something, and you know for certain Tom understands this game because he accepts it, eyes flicking back to you as he swirls the glass in contest.

To that you take an inappreciable sip of your own.

“ — Which is why no one has even attempted to kill one in decades. And capturing one is another thing entirely. My mother works with the Greeks on occasion, and the nearest she came to a den was in the twenties. If she had gone any nearer I wouldn’t be here.”

“Hm?” You look back at the man in front of you. His lips glisten with having licked them between every phrase.

“The manticores,” he says, undeterred.

“Right. Five-X beasts, aren’t they?”

“That’s what I said. I heard from one of my mother’s colleagues that — ”

The woman is whispering something in Tom’s ear, her hair on his cheek. He’s looking at you as if you had said the words. You don't shy away when Oliver leans in to whisper too. It's a strange, fractured language. Too intimate while too detached. Whispers from across the room, desire from another in the place of desire for each other. But the strangeness should not surprise you anymore. This is Tom: beautiful and wicked and the one you chose.

“ — And Nundus are worse. Deadliest creature there is — ”

She’s laughing about something, the woman. Half-reserved, she’s angled toward the party despite her leaning on his shoulder and the dissipating inches of distance.

“ — They stalk in silence. Think of the size of one, right? They’re apex predators… so commanding and still they could be in front of you one instant and gone the next.”

You engage with detached interest. “Really?”

And now Oliver barricades your view, his other hand coming to rest on your other shoulder.

“Do we have any classes together?”

You blink up at him. “No.”

“No, right,” he says, eyes darting to your lips. “I’d remember you.”

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and you wonder if for some men one-sided discussions of class five beasts qualify as foreplay.

You place a hand on his chest, eyebrows raised and half a startled smile curled.

“You’re not going to kiss me," you inform him.

His face falls, but with it, at least, does his hand.

“Did you hear me?"

“It’s loud,” he decides suddenly. “Can we go somewhere else?”

You’re not sure you believe that.

You duck under an arm and search the crowd again. The woman is on the arm of the chair looking thoroughly dismayed, and for good reason —

Tom is gone.

Your breath is caught.

“This isn’t… You’re not going to…?”

You flash Oliver with a glare. “So you did hear me.”

He makes a pathetically sad face, and you think: it’s a wonder he made it this far when his courtship evidently hinges on the subject of his affection not listening to a word out of his mouth.

“Goodnight, Oliver,” you say tersely.

“What was that for, then?” he asks, and it comes out practically whined.

“That was talking.”

“But you’re —”

“Belby.”

He is what he is. It shouldn’t surprise you when he appears beside you all fatal rage on a quiet lead, narrowly fixed to you.

Tom’s cold is his median temperature, yes, but in moments like this it’s as much for you as his handmade warmth. He’d pluck the fingers off a boy like Oliver. The digits would string eaves like icicles.

Oliver is looking between you and Tom like something terrible has dawned on him, hands urged to his pockets to soothe the flames your unveiled ties to a man seemingly singed him with.

“Riddle — Mate, I didn’t… I didn’t know she was…”

Tom’s voice is flat, edged with something that makes his monotony sound merciful. “Pity. If only you knew as much as you talked.”

Oliver’s mouth opens and closes and opens again, but wisely he settles on silence instead of excuses, and wastes no time fleeing slowly into the crowd.

The instant he's stolen by the wave Tom's eyes are on yours and they’re molten. You move to say something but his patience was for show — he’s dragging you by the arm out of the common room and into one of the dungeon's empty classrooms without giving you the chance.

“Tom —" You start to protest, mouth twisted in a scowl. “Tom, you're being —"

He shuts the door behind you and locks it with such delicacy your breath catches at the question of how badly he's holding himself back right now.

“I'm being what?"

“You're…" It's hard to formulate an answer when he's like this. “It was a game. Don’t pretend you weren’t playing too."

Tom inches in, chest rising with angry breaths. “A game, was it? Did he know that?"

“Did she?” you hiss.

“It certainly became apparent when she was discarded so that I might retrieve you.”

“It was as apparent to Belby, judging by the way he was left gawking.”

“And with great restraint I let him. A mercy I didn’t take his eyes so he was left without the ability.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, now I understand; the problem wasn’t the game, it’s that I played it better than you.”

He looks at you for a long time before casting a silencing charm on the room.

Oh.

Oh — your heart barrels off somewhere. You’re without it for a moment, breathless in the wake of the implication of a spell like that.

“Tom," you say politically, “It was hardly a matter of rescuing.”

He nods imperceptibly. “No, it wasn’t.”

“So we’re in agreement.”

He hums a non-answer.

Each step he takes forward, you take back. It's a peculiar way to have a conversation, but part of the game, you suppose.

Interesting he’s still playing.

You still gasp when you inevitably hit the wall, hands going to the carved edge of a windowsill.

“You’re terrible when you win,” he whispers. His lips brush your ear.

You shudder, mouth dry as you press against his shoulder. “You’re worse when you lose.”

His mouth drags down your jaw but he refuses to kiss you, still withholding something, still holding back in some terrible, electrifying way. Instead one of his hands starts to dip down your side. You shiver as he grazes the skin of your breast, exposed by the cut of your dress, and continues down your waist. His mouth traces your bare shoulder as his tongue makes a slow pass, skin beneath leaping at his careful ministrations.

With long, slender fingers he's pulling your dress off button by button, torturously slow, and you feel mocked to have cleaned it earlier. You feel foolish to have left knowing the night would have ended like this regardless.

“Tom,” you say. His name is followed by staggered breaths. Your fingers are clutching the windowsill.

The air is thick as he watches you, flesh exposed by each undone catch. And still he will not kiss you, even as his lips trail along your collarbone and you start to tug instinctively at his belt. He makes the barest sound of disapproval and spins you to face the window, your hands urged on instinct to press against the glass.

“Tom...”

He hikes your dress up your thighs. It clings to your hips, a meagre two buttons left attached to keep it from falling.

Your wand clatters as his fingers work the clasp of your bra and his teeth skim your shoulder, leaving little bites he laves at softly with his tongue. You shudder, arching into him, searching for friction. His touch traverses the shape of you and stops feather-light between your legs.

“Tom —”

“Quiet," he admonishes, a little tut.

Your skin jumps at the caress of his fingers tracing deceptively timid up your thighs, like he hasn’t done this before, like it’s care and not punishment. His favourite oxymoron: the gentlest torture, the cruelest succour.

His index draws upon the lace of your underwear and tugs it aside with a tenderness that makes you gasp. Is there a way to press harder to the glass without breaking it? Is there ever enough to grab onto when he gets like this — so singularly focused on ruining you?

One of your hands latches onto the arm half-disappeared in your skirts instead, clinging steadfast to the white of its sleeve, your body swaying as if at sea. He keeps you steady, but this is his crown achievement: that he is all there is that can do it when you’re so singularly focused on being ruined by him.

The sinews of his forearm work imperceptibly under your fingers as he appreciates the newly unfettered flesh, two digits sliding between your legs, and he makes a satisfied sound against your shoulder at the wetness he finds there.

You’re swallowing air with a moan stuck in your throat; too dry, you realise, and feel like you’re choking when he starts to move, gripping his arm somehow tighter.

As a rule, you know how much he loves this, but it’s tenfold under his jealousy and you think deliriously, probably wrongly, that for how much he enjoys pushing you you enjoy pushing him to get here. You’re his and he’s yours, there’s no doubt in it — but what he can reduce you to — this desperate creature, writhing and panting, trying in vain to satiate herself with a simple finger — this is the translation; the fruition of his fixations put to a person rather than a subject. This is what it is to be his.

Tom’s mouth opens in a smile at your throat, and there it feels more like bared teeth, a smile that is as animal as it is pretty.

And still he whispers with all the affection of a lover, your name peppered between kisses.

His fingers inch inside you and curl. You’re wedged in the perfect balance of his discrepancy; your disciple and your devil. He worships you in white. He ruins you in it too.

Now his name comes out in a babble, wet, half-drooled. A nip pinches the little space beneath your ear and you clutch impossibly harder to his wrist, your free hand squeaking down the window pane as you grind on his palm. He crooks his fingers against a spot that has you seeing stars, thumb pressed to your clit in a subtle motion, and you feel yourself tip off into an unknown he aquaints you with often. In a blurry, flickering moment, the light gleams somewhere beyond the stained hues of the window. And that should be it. The edge is at your heels and you should be falling. But the sinful press of him at your back commands you to lurch against him, and when you moan for more he pulls his fingers free.

You stumble weakly into his chest, startled.

“What… What?”

“Ask me for it,” he says, his voice hoarse, markedly wanton in spite of himself. But there is hunger and there is greed. There’s a sacrificial lamb and there’s a hunted one— there’s religion and there’s Tom. He invents something that demands greater devotion.

And the sound of leather rasping serge and metal clinking metal reels your conscience in. There are no stars. There’s just him. His belt is coming undone.

“Tom.” You swallow. “I told you —”

“And I want you to ask.” He cups your jaw in his hand, thumb tracing your lower lip. “Nicely.”

Your mouth opens for him and you shiver, pressing further back for contact he doesn’t allow. Instead another small tut is whispered at your neck, relinquished to a kiss.

His finger brushes your teeth when you speak. “I want you.”

You feel him shake his head and you all but whine.

“I want you inside, Tom — need you — please.”

“Please?” he echoes mockingly.

“Please,” you say in an uneven voice, and when your tongue grazes his thumb he eases it further into your mouth with an appeased hum.

And so his zipper comes down and you hold your breath with the weight of your dress at your hips.

He pushes inside you with minimal pause, slow still, to relish the way your little pants hitch, stop, and shudder out in a broken moan; the way your breath is guided by his rhythm, how you’re shaped by him, fitted around him. You careen forward and your palms flatten on the window, trembling at the first thrust. Your fingers quiver down the glass.

Tom pulls you into him on the second, patience abandoned. His lips chase your pulse. His grip on your jaw tightens as his thumb pops free with a string of spit. He nudges deeper at a new angle, your body forced as far as it can lean back, gasping heavenward when your head falls helplessly onto his shoulder.

It’s profane. Your ears almost dull to the sound of his hips snapping against yours, the obscenity of your skin on what he offers of his, but you waver between earth and something else, brought back to him by the torturous sight of the edge he stole you from. Always brought back to him.

He’s gripping your jaw in one hand as he pushes deeper, and your fingers are lost for purchase on his forearms, trembling to hold onto something.

When he pulls out of you at your brink again, you practically cry out. But you understand when he spins you around again, hiking you up against the windowsill, your shoulders hitting the cool glass with a gasp you barely register in the fog of your desperation. His eyes are dilated to midnight rings. The weight of his desire is frightening. The insistence to claim you better yet.

He wastes no time before slamming into you again, pausing at the hilt to watch your eyebrows wrench together before resuming his pace. When your mouth falls open, he swallows the noise that tries to come out of it.

It doesn’t feel like a kiss. It feels like the prolusion to a bite.

His fervour is all the reminder of how you got here in the first place; the teeth, the force, the grip on your waist. There’s a rough sound he makes in your mouth that you taste more than you hear. The vibration of him is everywhere. You’re too hot and it only occurs to you because your fingers are clawing at fabric instead of skin that he’s fully dressed and your last button has finally snapped, lace pooled on the classroom floor as he fucks you. The thought is consigned to oblivion as quickly as it came. It doesn't matter.

You're clutching at his shoulders, the nape of his neck — trying to kiss him back, but you feel torn in two by the intensity of his ministrations, a low, immolating pressure building in your abdomen. He’s proving something with you, and his is a relentless, unending appetite. You don't really stand a chance. You think you've known that from the start.

Tom is all-consuming. Tom is a force of nature, a whirlwind that sweeps over you. He leaves you breathless and somehow needing more as he wraps his hand around the small of your back and seizes you in place.

Still you find yourself wanting to be held tighter.

“T-Tom —" you sob through the kiss but he doesn't give you enough air to do it. He pushes harder, a rasp at the back of his throat, some carnal thing. He’s not withholding your release now; he’s spurring you towards it.

When he withdraws his lips from yours, his brows are furrowed in concentration. There’s a fine lustre of sweat on his forehead, stray curls pulled across dark, wicked eyes. The sight of him alone is condemnable, but it isn’t for you.

He likes to watch you like this. When your moans dissolve to the torn syllable of his name, again and again. The veneration. Your choked litanies.

You give them to him.

Sleeves drawn up by your body’s baser instinct for skin, you’ve carved a canvas of praise into his arms, marked up to his elbows where your fingers had jerked upward to rake at his back. This time, when you find the cliffside, nothing stops you from teetering off its edge. Flames dance across your skin in an explosion, your collar damp and bitten, your waist in Tom’s vice-like grip. One hard thrust and you’re falling.

The stars are blinding. You decide then they were made by him.

Your head lulls back as shocks of pleasure course through your body, the coil snapped, the hard shape of him inside you demanding impossibly for more. You stumble through the light, vision blurred, praying and praying and praying. His grip comes to find your jaw again.

You keen, addled through the ecstasy, barely conscious of the way his panted breaths hitch at the sight of you in his hands, soft-eyed and puddy.

He always comes apart soon after you, but it happens rarely that your body is so taut on the wire of rapture that his twitching inside you takes you with him.

This time it does.

You sink against him, thighs numb and wet, one hand slipping dumbly from his figure and swiping across condensation-foggy glass. The second orgasm is an aftershock of the first. It’s slow. It feels like being caught from the last fall. You land in Tom’s arms and they’re holding you through whitened knuckles. His eyelashes flutter, ink-dipped twines of quills, and he steals the shaky sigh from your mouth by pressing it to his.

You kiss lazily and softly. The room feels sheeted in static. The electricity lingers on both of you.

It’s hard not to fall against the window when he slides out of you. You slump on quivering legs into his chest instead, heaving, spend trickling down your legs.

Tom holds you close, adjusting his trousers before sinking down to settle you on his lap. He wipes the sweat from your face and presses his lips to the feverish skin it plastered. Forehead, cheeks, nose, chin, whispers of your name down your jaw like a prayer answered. Your eyelids flutter shut and he kisses you there, too. His lashes tickle.

You love him more than you worship him. You think he likes that more.

He grabs your forsaken dress from the floor and slips it over your bare shoulders, summoning the snapped button back in place before he begins to meticulously clasp the rest together again. His mouth leaves a path at the skin under each one before it closes, and you hum in dizzy gratitude.

“That was,” you say in a very worn voice, “a terrible way to reinforce not making you jealous.”

He glares at you from one of the lowermost buttons and you giggle sleepily, curling a hand into his hair. “Don’t look at me like that. You liked it too.”

He leans back up at that, tipping your chin with his fingers, gaze darting over the wrecked state of you with a pleased gleam in his eyes. “You liked it? What a modest interpretation.”

Now it’s your turn to glare.

He is what he is — pursuit of buttons forgotten as you’re laid down on the moonlit floor to be reminded just how much you liked it.

taglist. @lyis @indimoss @poddzi @esolean @d1anna @maripositanoctruna @mentally-in-northern-italy @ronniemaximoff1234 @moobell55 @jaerang @ramayantika @saltwaterbythesea @acube07 @togenabi @adazito @kitcat334 @blaurghhh @shutupfinn @jaymeeshayden @lilu842 @leaosee @garfunkelworld @definitely-not-captain-america @multiplefandomstan @mangoesareorange [ note: inexplicably, a bunch of my tags aren't working. i tried to fix it but if you didn’t get a notif i’m sorry! ]

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle smut #tom marvolo riddle #voldemort #voldemort x reader #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle oneshot #tom riddle fic #tom riddle fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #wizarding world

715 notes · View notes

buckyalpine · 2 years ago

Text

Present # 2

Bucky x reader

A floofy Christmas drabble because why not, this came together in like 5 mins, so just ignore the fact this might not even make sense, it’s also like 4 AM so idk what this is.

You’d made sure to sneak in everyone’s Christmas presents without getting noticed, wrapping them quietly in the middle of the night. Everyone was getting two this year, the first set of gifts was something they’d want and you had bought them months earlier. The second gift was really more for you but it didn’t matter. You were excited anyway. You’d set them all out before everyone woke up, dashing back to your room so you could spend early Christmas morning cuddling with your husband.

A few hours later

You bit your lip, quietly watching everyone unwrap their presents while you sat on the couch, curled up by Bucky’s side. He squeezed your hand, kissing your cheek while the team inspected the soft yellow wrapping paper, much different from the shiny red one on you had used on other presents.

“Y/n, these are...”

You giggled at Tony’s wide eyes staring back at you while he rummaged through the rest of the box, the pieces slowly clicking together.

“Oh my god”

He grinned holding up the tiny Iron Man onesie while Sam screamed, clutching the falcon plushie that was in his box to his chest. “DOES THIS MEAN WHAT I THINK IT DOES?!”

“Holy fuck...” “Language Cap”

“Shut up I’M GOING TO BE AN UNCLE”

Steve’s box was the largest of all, filled with books, a Captain America teddy bear and a note on top (clearly in Bucky’s writing).

Dear Uncle Steve,

Read these to me when mommy and daddy are out on date night. Which will be often because daddy is romantic and loves mommy very much. So much so that he’s already planning on putting another baby in her soon because he’s impatient.

Love,

Baby Barnes Jr.

PS. Please make a tiny friend for me to play with. Go ask Aunty Nat out on a date already. Punk.

Steve poorly hid his sniffles and tears, pulling Bucky and you into a hug before smiling down at the note again, his cheeks blushing.

“What does the note say” Nat cocked her head while Steve nearly stuffed it in his mouth, shoving it back in the box and holding it tightly in his lap.

“Nothing. Just-just the receipt” He sputtered, while Bucky snorted, his hand coming down to brush your tummy. You were both showered with hugs and tears from everyone, excitement already buzzing over the arrival of your tiny super soldier.

“So what you’re saying is next year we’ll have an extra little stocking joining the rest by the fire place?”

“We’re going to have a tiny terminator running around by next Christmas”

“Tiny White Wolf”

“Tiny Terminator”

“White wolf”

“Terminator”

Bucky shook his head, watching Tony, Sam and the rest of the team go back and forth over nicknames, while you snuggled against him, his heart completely full. He couldn’t have asked for a better present.

Earlier that morning

“I uh, I have another present for you” You blinked at Bucky nervously, hopping out of bed to grab his second gift from the closet. Bucky sat up, watching you curiously as you sat by the edge of the bed, placing it in his lap.

“You didn’t have to get me anything else baby” He carefully tore the wrapping paper, cocking his head at the little bundle you had folded up.

“It’s a little blanket” Bucky chuckled, laying out the small soft baby blue blanket knitted from warm wool.

“Mhm, perfect to wrap something little in?” You fidgeted with your fingers, inching closer to him while he smoothed out the comfy material.

“Little?” He looked up at you, his heart racing at the way you shyly smiled, nodding.

“Well...they’re very very little right now” You whispered, taking his hand and placing it on your belly. “Right now, they’re just a little peanut”

“Doll, you’re....?” He set the blanket aside, pulling you onto his lap, his hands coming down to slide up your shirt, pressed against your tummy. You nodded, cupping his cheek while he held you close to him, showering your face in kisses.

“I love you mama” He pulled you down to cuddle under the blankets for a while, the both of you enjoying a little peace and quiet and kisses before the inevitable chaos waiting downstairs, once everyone opened their second gifts.

“Best. Present. Ever”

Tags: @glxwingrxse @hungryyeyess @sebsgirl71479 @beabutterfly987 @teambarnes72 @witchywhore @jamesbuckybarneswify @slutforsexyseabass @chrisdrysdale @littlemarvelmenfan @buggy14 @whimsyplaty92 @sergntbarnes @inkedaztec @pono-pura-vida @moonlightreader649 @brooklynscherry-z @elle14-blog1 @justsebstan @littlelightnings @psychomanniac-blog @happyt0exist @emmabarnes @bethyruth @matchat3a @cjand10 @getwellsoontana @cherryschaos @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @ashenc-blog @buckybarnessimpp @potatothots @goldylions @high-functioning-lokipath @morganemorganite-blog @kingfleury @peaches1958 @spiderman-stilinski @peaceinourtime82 @gublur @wintersmelodie @geeky-politics-46 @lolawassad @almosttoopizza @a-poor-gryffindork @alternativeprincess @buckycallsmeaslut @kamaria-sweet-writes @charmedbysarge @xnorthstar3x @kryoee7 @alina02 @gh0stgurl @polishprincess999 @jessybarnes @alltheficsiwant @chemtrails-club @eralen @carrotfantasimp

630 notes · View notes

irondad-defensesquad · 6 months ago

Text

What Irondad fics I would like to read!

Since I made my fic rec list, I decided to do the opposite - what concepts I want to read, so you guys can give me your recs, if you have any! Feel free to reblog, for that matter!

More might be added.

These are all very personal choices, of course, lmao.

Alright, these are what I would like to read:

DISCLAIMER: I will already preface that I don't read Avengers Family fics. This is just my preference and I respect everyone who likes them.

Protective Tony. I just live for protectiveness, lmao. Though I personally wouldn't want it to go too far. I know Tony can be an invasive person but sometimes I feel like some fanfictions go way too far - dare I say to the point of making Tony look abusive. I already have a controlling parent so I wouldn't like to read that 😓

Peter (accidentally) calling Tony "Uncle Ben". Him accidentally calling Tony "Dad" is quite common in fanfiction, but I'm surprised that I don't see many stories where Peter refers to him as his deceased uncle. The latter honestly makes a lot more sense to me than Peter calling Tony "Dad" (after all, Peter's dad died when he was very young, and Peter spent more time with Uncle Ben in his childhood). Anyway, that could happen in any scenario - in the heat of the moment (an argument), something casual, or when Peter is dreaming/feverish/hurt. Honestly, just any parallels between Uncle Ben and Tony is fine by me!

Peter dealing with self-harm and/or suicidal thoughts. No, I do not want to read anything graphic. I look forward to the comfort. I would like to see Peter confiding in Tony (and more characters too!). Sadly, I've read fics where Tony is way too harsh on Peter, which is odd to me since Tony would definitely know how it is to hide your feelings from others (Iron Man 2, anyone?). Not that he would perfectly know how to handle that, but y'know. That's just me, though!

Bullying. I suppose there are quite a few fanfics of Peter being bullied, but they don't always work for me. In some of them, Tony picks a fight with Flash, which is... wow. Don't do that, lmao. I can see him getting angry but not to this extent. I just want Tony to be there for Peter, no need for confrontations.

BONUS: Tony's past with bullying. I can understand why this is barely brought up in fanworks, because the MCU itself never quite showed Tony's past to us, only in the tie-in comics (which are mostly Howard treating him like garbage IIRC). In the first comics, however, Tony was bullied by the other kids in boarding school. I feel like he would relate to Peter if he found out about the latter's experience (even if they're not the same, of course).

Anti Steve/Anti Team Cap fics. I think some are way too OOC to me, and while I've read fics where Peter defends Tony from Steve and Team Cap, again, I don't think a confrontation is necessary. Or at least I would like the adult characters to handle that, like Rhodey, Happy or Pepper. It's pretty unfair that a fifteen-year-old is fighting a bunch of grown adults and no one else supports him. With that said, I want something similar to what I look in fics about bullying: like Peter learning about Siberia, not necessarily through Tony. Maybe Rhodey can tell him. Tony would probably not want to bring it up to Peter. Basically, I would like an analysis to how Team Cap/the Avengers treated Tony. I guess something deeper in this sense. I just love character studies.

Jarvis! Can be A.I. Jarvis, but I want more Edwin Jarvis! Sure, we all write about Tony not wanting to be like Howard, but I want Tony to remember Jarvis fondly, and perhaps we find out that he got a lot of parental skills from the butler. Maybe some flashbacks to Tony's past, maybe parallels... I don't often read Biodad fics as you all probably know, but feel free to send those too!

Vision!! I am such a Vision fan, you have no idea. I would've loved to see him interacting with Peter and especially Tony. He was such an intriguing character to me, and I would love to see stories that do him more justice.

Rhodey and Peter!!! I just love Rhodey and I need to read more fics with him. I'm all for Ironhusbands too! Rhodey telling Peter about MIT would be so sweet. Perhaps Peter confiding in him when he can't get to Tony for any reason...

Peter meeting Howard and Maria. Bonus if Peter isn't related to Tony. That's not a concept I see often...

Yinsen! He's also one of my faves, I would love to read an Alive Yinsen AU. And I would love him to meet Peter somehow (whether Tony is his bio dad or not).

Miles Morales! Can be a Spider-Verse crossover or not, but I like MCU Miles fics in particular (since he was sort of confirmed to exist in the MCU thanks to a Homecoming deleted scene). I like seeing Peter mentoring Miles, or even Miles and Tony bonding directly. If it's a crossover, I can imagine Miles being reminded of Peter B. once he meets Tony.

BONUS: Miles and Morgan! Not sure why I love imagining these two interacting, but if there are any stories with them, please send them to me!!

The Guardians of the Galaxy! After reading a comic where Tony joins them, I love seeing them being friends in the MCU. The guardians are my favorite hero team, tbh.

Nebula! I'm sad that her friendship with Tony wasn't given more screentime, they had such a sweet bond. And I would've loved to see her and Peter being friends. Maybe they could bond over wanting to protect Tony from Thanos, something like that.

Asexual Peter. I've always loved this headcanon! Bonus if Tony is also queer (I personally see him as bisexual, which is canon in some of the comics, I believe).

Trans Peter. I'm not trans myself (I'm non-binary though), but I like this headcanon too! My most self-indulgent need is seeing characters getting help for their menstrual cramps (because I sure know how painful they can be). But it doesn't have to be just that, anything with Trans Peter is great!

Post-Homecoming fics that mention Liz. There are a lot of fics where Tony finds out about the warehouse, but very few of them touch on Liz or the fact Toomes is her dad. It kinda sucks that Liz was basically forgotten after Homecoming. I would like to see more of her, even if it's just through mentions.

Touch-starved Peter. Because I am touch-starved. That's it. Give that boy some hugs and cuddles.

Just domestic fluff in general, can include other characters like Pepper, Morgan, Aunt May, Happy, Rhodey, Vision...

Post-NWH but Tony is alive. Ironic considering I never saw No Way Home and I will keep it like that LMAO, but fics where Tony somehow comes back or has been alive all this time... then he has to find Peter to understand what's happening... or maybe he also forgot Peter but he has these sparks in his memories... I even wrote two fics with nearly the same premise, so you can see how much I like this concept, lmao.

Peter giving Tony forehead kisses! That is so rare to find, I don't remember reading this before.

Presumed dead. Mostly Peter being supposedly dead. I'm a sucker for this trope.

... well, I guess this is it for now. Thanks for reading this far if you have! :)

#lotus speaks #irondad #ironfam #suicide mention tw #self-harm mention tw #self harm mention tw #sh mention tw #death mention tw #if this shows up in any other tags...#clowns will be blocked.#anti starker

16 notes · View notes

ancientwastedlores · 7 months ago

Text

Getaway Car [T.Swift-inspired LOKI Fic]

___________________________________________

Ask: I am OBSESSED with your stories <3 <3 <3 could you write a Getaway Car themes fic about Loki and reader when it's them against the Avengers for some reasons, they get away together and reader thinks Loki will betray them so they betray him first? All angst and pain (. )(. ) thx <3 <3 <3

Note: HELLO, I know it's v late and been a while. But I heard Taylor's new album, and the need to write awakened. Thought I'd revisit my old requests for some inspo and found this one I've been wanting to do for a while. Hope you like it! And leave me your TTPD requests as well <3

WORD COUNT: 2756

___________________________________________

Getaway Car

I’m in a getaway car I left you at the motel bar Took the money in the bag and stole the keys That was the last time you ever saw me…

Partners in crime. Brothers in arms. That’s how the Avengers saw you and Loki, forever up to some mischief together. The way you both shared one mind was insane, and while Tony was glad it gave you a battle advantage, that brilliance was too often used for useless pranks around the facility, tiring out Steve Rogers and Bruce Banner the most.

So what? They were harmless. These were ‘morale boosting’ and ‘team building’ activities, as per you. If anything, it brought the team closer together. And your pranks were your way of keeping the Avengers always alert and ready for danger. You had endless justifications.

‘When do the excuses end?’ Tony once asked you. ‘When do Earth’s mighty Avengers stop screaming about grasshoppers in their pancakes? It’s a protein-rich breakfast.’

Meanwhile, Loki never scrambled for a justification. He did things because he wanted to, and the chiding and complaining only encouraged him. Together, you made life hell for villains and heroes alike. You and Loki were the first response to an attack because of the way you could significantly weaken the enemy's psyche, prepping them to be an easy kill for the rest of the Avengers.

You made a good team. A powerful one. And while your pranks kept things light, the Avengers were not unaware that if you decided to turn against them, you would succeed in wiping them out.

___________________________________________

You and Loki weren’t the type for meetings, which made things easy for Tony that evening. In the bi-monthly meetup in his grand tower, he brought up a subject he’d been mulling over for quite some time.

‘Do we have any reason to suspect they are plotting something against us?’ Steve asked.

‘We don’t want to assume the wrong thing and risk actually inspiring them.’ Natasha said.

‘You see, there’s the problem!’ Tony barked, ‘Why are we so afraid of them? They’re supposed to be on our side, dependable and loyal. Instead we’re afraid of pissing them off!?’

‘What are you saying exactly, Tony?’ Bruce asked.

Tony sighed frustratedly and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I don’t know. I just never want to be in a situation where we’re compromised from the inside. They’re too close to each other, and they know things we do not. I don’t like that.’

‘Fine. We’ll give them other tasks to keep them occupied separately,’ Natasha suggested.

‘Like it’s school?’ Bruce said.

‘I truly think Y/N was far more focused before Loki came along.’ Tony said. 'She was responsible. Tame.'

‘We’re starting to sound like parents, ’ Natasha said. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing, but if you’re worried, we’ll occupy her in the lab and him in training facilities.’

Tony thought this was a good idea. ___________________________________________

The next morning, at breakfast, all the Avengers received an agenda sheet. It was placed on their seat at the dining table, and you were taken aback.

‘Since when do we have a timetable?’ you asked.

‘Since I saw things slacking around here,’ Tony declared. ‘We’ve got new trainees, new equipment, and new space stuff to unpack, and we’re doing nothing.’

‘You mean Loki and I are doing nothing.’

‘If the shoe fits,’ Tony said.

The agenda was clearly made for you, and the rest of the team was in on it. You looked through your sheet - which honestly wasn’t that bad. You just didn’t like being taken by surprise. Mornings in the lab testing Tony’s “space stuff.” Afternoons running any one of the Avengers’ many charity initiatives - education, rehab, food drives, what have you. And evenings pulling apart and examining weapons scavenged from aliens kindly brought to you by either Carol Danvers or Gamora.

And then you picked up Loki’s (who was sleeping late as usual). Mornings in the training facility training new recruits. Afternoons doing weapons testing with Tony. And evenings at any of the charity drives.

This was deliberate. You couldn’t fathom why the Avengers would play such games, but you weren’t about to be taken for a ride. ___________________________________________

Later in the morning, when Loki finally woke from his prolonged slumber, you told him about Tony’s passive-aggressive comment and the new agenda sheets. His green eyes flickered with the same spark of rebellion that mirrored your thoughts.

"Why the sudden change, you think?" Loki questioned.

"Control," you muttered, piecing the agenda with the prior night's conversations you had eavesdropped on through the vents—a risky yet fruitful habit. "They fear us, Loki. They're splitting us up, weakening our position."

Loki's smirk was as sly as ever, an idea brewing in the back of his mind. As he leaned closer, the proximity sent a shiver down your spine, and the air between you charged with a dangerous excitement.

"Then perhaps, my dear..." His voice dropped to a seductive whisper, his breath a warm caress against your ear. "...it's time we teach them the folly of their paranoia."

The words, scandalous and provocative, ignited something within you. Your heart thudded violently in your chest, a wild drumbeat echoing in the hollow of your ribs. It was the thrill of the forbidden, the allure of stepping into the shadows with Loki by your side, not just as a partner in crime but as a co-conspirator in a game most perilous.

His eyes locked onto yours, green fires that burned with mischief and an unspoken promise of chaos. It was an unholy proposal, stepping over a line you knew well but had never dared to cross before. And yet, as your heart raced and your thoughts spun, you realized that the decision had already been made in that fleeting heartbeat.

"Yes," you breathed out, the word less a reply and more a surrender to the exhilarating unknown. "Let's make them regret ever doubting us."

With that, your fate was sealed.

___________________________________________

Under the guise of your newly assigned tasks, you and Loki meticulously orchestrated your daring plan. Each task provided unique opportunities to prepare for the heist without arousing suspicion among the other Avengers.

In the mornings, Loki was stationed at the training facility, instructing new recruits in the art of combat and deception. Utilizing his godly charisma and depth of experience, he subtly wove lessons on unpredictability and misdirection into his training, skills that would prove essential in the upcoming heist. While training these recruits, Loki also discreetly surveyed the facility's layout and security details, noting any potential vulnerabilities.

In the afternoons, his task shifted to weapons testing with Tony. These sessions, fraught with the clang of metal and the buzz of new technology, provided Loki with the perfect cover to engage Tony in technical discussions, subtly extracting information about the latest security updates and the locations of key research projects, including the cloaking device. Loki used his wit to keep Tony focused on the tasks at hand, ensuring his own activities went unnoticed.

Evenings saw Loki participating in various charity drives. These engagements offered him a public face of benevolence; all the while, he used these outings to establish alibis and build trust within the community and among his team, masking his true intentions under the guise of philanthropy.

Your mornings were spent in Tony’s lab, ostensibly testing new equipment designated aptly as “space stuff.” This task was critical because it allowed you direct access to some of the most advanced technology within the Avengers’ arsenal. While your official task was to test and report on these devices, you utilized this time to familiarize yourself with the lab’s security systems and to map out a discreet path to the prototype device. Your expertise in technology helped you to handle the equipment convincingly, all while preparing for the eventual theft.

Just like Loki, you used your time at the afternoon charity drives to make connections with community members and the other Avengers, enhancing your image as a dedicated member. This wasn’t a farce - you did care about the community. But right now, you had an underlying feeling of anger and hurt that the Avengers you gave your life to were doubting your intentions. So, you networked and built connections that could be useful for creating diversions or obtaining information indirectly related to the Avengers’ operational security.

The evenings were dedicated to examining and dismantling alien weaponry, and this time was invaluable not only for understanding potential alien tech that could be repurposed to aid in your escape but also for ensuring you were updated on the latest extraterrestrial technologies that might impact your plan. ___________________________________________

Days turned into weeks. You and Loki could only ever meet at night, and though you expected a whole day of events to make you too tired to plan a heist, you were actually excited. These secret meetings were charged with an electric anticipation that both thrilled and unnerved you. What started as a time to go over your respective findings turned into something far more intimate. As you poured over maps and schematics, your discussions often went into other things. Your pasts, your stories, your motives for joining the Avengers… everything you both usually kept hidden under bravado or mischief.

Loki’s usual façade of indifference was replaced by a passionate intensity about your joint mission. It was during one of these evenings, while reviewing security layouts, that he looked up from the papers, his gaze piercing. “You know, in all my years of schemes and conquests,” he confessed, his voice a low rumble, “I’ve never felt quite as... exhilarated as I do now, planning this with you.”

These words struck a chord within you, igniting a warmth that spread through your chest.

Nights passed… you sat close to each other, naturally relaxing into each other. Soon, you moved the meetings from the facility terrace to each other’s bedrooms, comfortably laying in bed and discussing everything and nothing.

“I’m the only kid in my family to get a job’ you once revealed. ‘And now I feel like their lives all depend on me.’

It’s true that you were more focused and serious before Loki came in. But that was because you never allowed yourself to do anything else but meet the expectations of your family. Loki was a breath of fresh air. The child you wished you could be for once.

You didn’t have to explain all that to him. After you spilled your secret, Loki pulled you closer to him and stroked your head softly as you fell asleep. As you drifted off in his safe and warm embrace, you thanked Tony for his harsh comments. Were it not for him, you and Loki might never have bonded this way.

But a day after that fact occurred to you, your mind began to wander. Was this love destined, or was it just something that happened due to an unfavorable circumstance?

Did he realize he was in danger? Were you his escape plan?

With this deepening connection came a vulnerability that was new to both of you. The fear of betrayal, so ingrained in both your natures, loomed large as the day of the heist approached. Could you truly trust Loki with your heart, just as you were trusting him with your life?

___________________________________________

The night before the heist, as you both sat back after hours of meticulous planning, Loki turned to you with a seriousness that was rare for him. “No matter what happens,” he said, his voice steady and sincere, “I want you to know that I... I value this. Us. More than I thought possible.”

His admission was a confession, and in the dim light of your secluded meeting spot, you allowed yourself a moment to truly look at him—not as the God of Mischief or an Avenger, but as a man who had unexpectedly become so much more. The stakes were higher now.

Could this connection you created in the night - in the seclusion of the terrace and the safe confines of your bedroom - last in daylight?

___________________________________________

4 PM.

Your heart hammered as you bypassed the final security protocols and laid your hands on the prototype device, its field of light flickering with the promise of freedom. With the device secured, you slipped away to meet Loki at the designated rendezvous point, ready to disappear. As per today’s schedule, the Avengers were all at a school for at-risk youths, so it would be hours before anybody even realized what had happened.

As you ran, the back of the backpack hitting you with every step, you felt a sense of dread in your stomach. Why didn’t this feel exhilarating? Why didn’t it feel freeing?

You reached the entrance and saw Loki in your getaway car - a dark green sports Jaguar with the top town. The feeling of unease did not rest when you saw his face. The plan had gone too smoothly. Was it all too convenient?

Your own thoughts a traitor to you, your heart sank as you opened those doors and jumped into his car. He put his lips to yours in absolute delight, barely able to stop smiling as he planted kiss after kiss on your face.

"Are you with me, truly?" you found yourself asking, voice edged with a fear you hated to admit.

Loki's expression softened, a hand reaching out to cup your cheek. "Always," he reassured.

The escape was a blur—for a moment, you forgot your reservations and reveled in the thrill of the wind in your hair. It was so romantic. So powerful. As night closed in and you left the sparkling city, the car drove into the darkness, but your heart was never lighter. His hand was on your thigh, and the music in your mind swelled as you imagined a whole new life with him. You were his savior, and he was yours.

But the high soon crashed.

As you reached the motel you decided to spend the night at, you looked over at him, and your heart sank again. The love was only alive in safe spaces. In comfortable places where it was nobody else’s business.

You got out of the car and checked into your room - cash only. The room was nothing grand - it didn’t have to be. It would suffice until your contact made you fake passports, and you could get the hell out of the country.

Loki did suggest simply teleporting the pair of you to Asgard, but that would hardly be a safe place to hide. And besides… why would he make such a ridiculous suggestion? Because he expected it to be shut down? Was your plan - your dream - to run away to somewhere in Asia and live a simple life actually his plot all along? And which god would agree to a simple life? Was it a ploy to make you feel safe before he betrayed you and left with the cloaking device?

Questions upon questions filled your head. You weren’t sure if you were being your own worst enemy, so you decided to sleep on it. Loki asked if you wanted to get a drink at the motel bar, but you just wanted to creep under the covers and sleep the adrenaline off. He didn’t protest - he wanted you to be comfortable.

It only made you more paranoid. Why didn’t he care enough to insist on a celebratory drink? Was he going to take this time to plot his escape?

If betrayal were inevitable, you’d strike first.

As soon as you heard the door click shut, you leaped out of bed and got dressed. You grabbed the bag with the device and the car keys and ran to the door. Then you paused… if you left right now, Loki wouldn’t stop looking for you. And nowhere on earth would be safe from a god.

With a heavy heart, you called the Avengers facility from the motel landline.

___________________________________________

You watched from the shadows as Loki drank his whiskey all alone. Your heart ached as you turned the key in the ignition, and the engine roared to life. Maybe it wasn’t too late… maybe you could grab him from the motel bar, drag him to the car, and keep running.

Those hopes were dashed when you saw the Iron Suit’s unmistakable lights draw closer to the motel. For a moment you looked back at Loki to mouth a silent apology. He managed to lock eyes with you for a split second, confused and hurt, before the roof crashed in on him.

Nothing good starts in a getaway car.

___________________________________________

I hope this is similar to what you wanted <3

Feel free to leave requests here, and you can find my Masterlist here <3

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x you #loki x you #loki x reader #loki fanfic #taylor swift #taylor swift reputation #getaway car #loki marvel #mcu loki #loki laufeyson #tva loki

13 notes · View notes

questionableratatouille00 · 1 year ago

Text

𝓜𝓸𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓞𝓷 3

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: After catching herself being attracted to the redhead, Wanda Maximoff, Y/n can’t help but wonder how Nat would feel if she knew that Y/n began to like other people. Would Nat be upset? Would Nat be angry? Or would she think that Y/n needs to move on?

Warnings (Entire Series): This series deals with mature topics, including, but not limited to: death, mental health issues, physical, emotional, and sexual abuse, grief, trauma, general unwellness, illness (both mental and physical), and a most likely inaccurate portrayal of group therapy (though it’s much better than whatever was going on in TFATWS.) Please mind the warnings below.

Warnings: anxiety, tornado mention, dark thoughts.

🌻Series Masterlist 🌻

————————————————————————

𝐈 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐮𝐫𝐭 The next session was the following Wednesday, at the same location, at the same time. You appreciated the sense of routine it gave you.

You’d tried your best to at least keep your apartment from looking like a tornado had gone through it, and you were impressed at how easily it came to you. Normally it wouldn’t be this easy, and you’d watch yourself spiral, fully aware, and yet, fully helpless.

But now was not the time to think about that. Now was the time to think about where you were going, where you were going to steer your car.

And so you did. You focused on listening to the GPS as you found the therapy office.

Maria greeted you as you came in, smiling as she did so. She was good with faces, you noted.

You sat in the same chair you did last time, and everyone all seemed to have a silent agreement to stay in their ‘assigned’ seats. “Today, we’re gonna play a game. Each of you is going to get a pen and one of these paper strips—“ Dr. Coulson held strips of paper in his right hand, showing them to everybody. “—and write down one thing you’re afraid or anxious about, or a secret you haven’t told many people, or even just a negative thought you often have.” He explained.

“Make sure to not write your names on the paper, this is meant to be anonymous. Once everyone’s finished, we’re gonna mix the papers in this plastic bucket, and then each of you is going to draw one piece of paper and read it aloud.”

He passed out the pens and paper strips, before beginning to write down his own answer on his piece.

You stared down at your hands. Not sure of what to write, you exhaled. You briefly glanced up at everyone else, but you caught no one’s eye. Your gaze shifted back down to stare at your blank piece of paper, and a thought came to you.

I wonder if they regret being with me, you scribbled down on the paper. You kept the pronouns neutral, knowing the activity was meant to be anonymous.

Coulson stuck out the plastic bin, and everyone dropped their folded paper strips into it. He shuffled them around with his hand, before taking one out. He held out the bin again, and everyone grabbed one paper strip.

“Everyone has felt safe enough to be vulnerable, and I would like to keep it that way as I read out the first one. When I finish, we’re gonna talk about it, and then another person will read out their paper.” Dr. Coulson explained. The way he said it wasn’t at all aggressive, hell, it was pretty damn welcoming.

“It should have been me,” He reads. He leaves a moment of silence before he speaks again. “How did it make you all feel, hearing that?”

“I understand it.” Sam states simply.

“It’s very…dark.” Wanda comments, her expression one of sympathy. Not pity, sympathy.

“Who would like to read their paper next?” Dr. Coulson looks around the group.

Wanda glances down at her paper, staying silent.

“I’ll go.” Tony chimes in. “I don’t know why I am the way I am, it doesn’t make sense.”

“I can understand that one.” Steve smiles softly.

“How did it make everyone feel, hearing that?” Coulson directs the conversation.

“Frustrated.” Bucky’s voice is quiet, and deep. Steve gives him a smile.

“Hopeless, almost.” Clint follows up.

A few more people read their papers before it’s Wanda’s turn. She reads out your card, and you freeze. You hope it’s not obvious it’s yours.

But nobody calls you out. The conversation keeps going.

“I don’t mean to push people away.” Thor reads. Nobody says anything for a moment. You look around, noticing Bucky glancing up, though his head is bowed slightly. It’s his, you realize. And nobody’s saying anything. Shit.

“I get that one.” You speak up for the first time. “After..after my girlfriend..passed away, I shut everybody out on accident. So..I get it.” You definitely weren’t the first person to tell a personal anecdote that day, but it still felt vulnerable nonetheless.

You accidentally made eye contact with Bucky, and you could tell that he knew he’d been found out. He looked worried for a moment, before realizing that you were the only one who’d noticed. He gave you a small smile, and you smiled back.

Then, it was your turn to read your piece of paper aloud. “Everyone I care about gets hurt.”

The group discussed the sentence, before everyone put their paper back in the bucket.

“Even though it was anonymous, you’ve all shared something personal to the group. Everybody has been equally vulnerable today. I hope that has created some trust between us.” Dr. Coulson smiled.

“Now, I’d like to direct our focus onto something else. We call these ‘I Can’ statements. It sounds kinda silly, but it’s actually really helpful. Instead of thinking about how you’re struggling or how therapy isn’t working as fast as you thought it would, you should consider the things you can do. For example, instead of ‘no matter what I do, I always fail’ you could combat those thoughts with ‘I can fail, and that’s okay, because I’ll keep trying.’”

As he introduced the topics and directed the discussion, you couldn’t help but glance at Wanda. She was wearing a yellow and white embroidered floral blouse, with high waisted jeans and a brown belt. She wore white sneakers with the outfit, and a gold necklace. She had several thin gold rings on her fingers. She was good at accessorizing, you were sure of that.

Her red hair was pulled back in a half-up half-down style, and it was very beautiful. She was very beautiful.

You mentally cursed yourself out for even thinking that. What would Nat think, if she knew? God, she’d be so hurt. It’s not fair to her to just go fucking around with any redhead you see, you told yourself.

You tried to pay attention to the meeting, but your overwhelming sense of guilt kept catching your attention. You desperately attempted to shove the feelings and thoughts that came with it away, to no avail.

Maybe she’d think you needed to move on, a voice in your head reasoned. Maybe.

——————

Sessions were every Wednesday, every week. You got used to the routine as you became friends with the people in your group. September began to end, October was just on the horizon.

You managed to go out for coffee with Sharon.

It went well, though filled with awkward pauses as you didn’t know what to say. But it had happened, nonetheless. Maybe there was a point to all of it. Just maybe.

#wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff fic #wanda x you #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff #there is not enough tags for her and i consider it offensive #moving on

44 notes · View notes

splatsvilles-fashionista · 2 years ago

Text

The most popular new gear of Splatoon 3 Drizzle Season 2022.

So at the beginning of April I posted a google docs poll with all of the 100+ new gear pieces introduced at the launch of Splatoon 3, intending to follow up on it a week later. Unfortunately, it didn't get much traction, only having 92 responses as of the time of writing. This made me a bit sad, so I just kind of forgot about it. That said, 92 responses are still something to work with, so let's take a look at them!

As a reminder, the poll let you pick multiple answers for each category, which makes the percentages look a bit weird if you just look at them in a vacuum. So when I give numbers now, keep that in mind.

That said, let's start by looking at Headwear! This is by far the spikiest category, meaning this is the category where votes were the most split. That said, eking out the number one spot by just one vote is...

The Cephalo Pods! (29.3%)

And yeah, I get it. A lot of headwear is very large and cover up a lot of your character, and often changes colors in a way you can't control. So why bother with that when you can just put these bad boys on to keep your look clean and simple? Not to mention, you start with these. They're one of your very first gear pieces!

After the Pods we come to a shared second place, as both of these have exactly 28.3% of the votes, and I think they have some things in common with the Pods, too.

The Ocho OctoPhones and the Teddy Band!

Note that neither of these cover up your head. A bit of a trend with the most popular gear in the poll in general. Headphones have always been very popular, and with that bright red, the gold highlights, and that sleek 8-design, these were sure to be a hit. I'm not surprised to see the Teddy Band so high up either, how can you say no to something that adorable? (Also I have to imagine there is some effort justification at play, considering just what you need to do to get them...)

Also, quick shoutout to the third, fourth and fifth place, which are all just one vote apart!

The Howdy Hat (26.1%), Retro BluFocals (25%), and the Bream-Brim Cap! (23.9)

Now, let's move on to Clothes, which looks very different from Headwear in terms of how the votes are spread out. This is also by far the biggest category, so it's natural that the votes would be more evenly spread, but there are still a couple of clear favourites here, and none are more obvious than the number one, which is...

The Orca Bolero! (33.7%)

That's right, a whole third of all votes included the Orca Bolero. I can't say I am that surprised, though, Toni Kensa has been one of the most popular brands ever since their introduction in the second game. Their stark black-and-white aesthetic actually mixes really well with the bright ink colors on display in turf wars, and they pull on a lot of real-life fashion trends I think really resonate with a lot of Splatoon's audience.

In second place, we actually have another shared spot, but it's a pretty steep drop compared to the Orca Bolero, all the way down to 26.1% each.

The Annaki Choker Tee and the Patchwork Bomber!

Outside of the Pearlescent Hoodie, we don't get a lot of accessories in Splatoon, and I think this alone gives the Annaki Choker Tee a lot of appeal. The shirt itself isn't half bad either, with a slick Annaki logo over a really nice dusty red.

That said, I will admit I don't quite get the Patchwork Bomber. It's a real messy piece, mixing colors and materials in a way I can only describe as bold, but I have to imagine that's the point. If you voted for the Patchwork Bomber, please sound off in the comments! I'd love to hear why you like it so much.

Finally, let's take a look at Shoes! This is by far the most even category for the most part, but it has a couple of large standouts, including the single most popular gear piece in the entire season by an enormous margin...

The Punk Pinks! (50%)

That's right, fifty percent. Half of all votes in the shoes category included the Punk Pinks. And I don't blame anyone, honestly. This is a new version of maybe the single most popular shoe model in the entire series, and they're pink! These were a surefire hit, and the results show.

The second place is behind with a whole ten votes, but it still holds a dominant position of its own in the category with a whopping 39.1%:

The Pearl 01STERs!

These aren't my cup of tea, personally, but I absolutely understand why people like these. They're really big and bulky and overdesigned, and if you like that then these are perfect for you.

After that, there is an enormous drop, all the way down to 23.9% with the Red Hammertreads. These are just some cool punk boots, with leather straps all over. I'm honestly surprised we haven't gotten more of these yet, because with a name like "Red Hammertreads" it sure seems like they're setting it up.

And that's it for Drizzle Season 2022! Next up is Chill Season 2022, and we've not thankfully gotten to more manageable numbers of new apparel. So manageable in fact that going forward I can actually fit them into a tumblr poll, so stay tuned for that!

#Splatoon 3 #drizzle season 2022

55 notes · View notes

yes-i-am-happyaspie · 1 year ago

Text

20 Questions for Fic Writers

thank's for the tag @waitingondaisies

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

- 180

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

- 1,701,826 (Holy Crap!)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

- All of my fics are MCU, predominantly Irondad but there are a few Spiceychell fics mixed in there too.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

- A Parent Apparent (528,718 words, 7,349 kudos) A really freaking long slow burn Irondad co-parenting with May fic.

- So Many Things to Say (82,998 words, 3,914 kudos) A electivly mute, foster child Peter fic. This is the first part of an extended series.

- What I Really Need is You (18,520 words, 3,581 kudos) A fluffy 5+1 of Peter needing things from Tony.

- Distracted by a Dime (56,169 words, 2,476 kudos) A homeless Peter AU- Stony AU. This is the first part of a series.

- Suspended (3,607 words, 2,177 kudos) A One-shot about Pter getting suspended and Tony picking him up from school.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try really hard to reply to every comment!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't really do angsty endings... So Maybe this one? Breathe, Kid (You're Not Alone) (4,086 words) Ned Dies and Peter feels responsible. Tony is there to help him pick up the pieces. The ending is hopeful and comforting- but there is no instant fix.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Oh geez. You want me to pick one??? Uh... Let's go with this one because it has some sweet Christmassy vibes. Secret Sugarplum Spiderling (27,923 words) Peter is a ballet dancer and he doesn't want Tony to know- yet. Lots of super sweet fluff.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Sometimes. Usually, it's someone who has decided that my fictional story filled with fictional characters who have fictional superpowers isn't 'realistic enough.'

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I have written exactly ONE smut fic- but it has NEVER been posted. 😘

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

One- by request. It was a mini-fic about Pokemon trainer Peter and Pokemon Professor Tony. Rotom Roundup (979 words)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope. My art, despite emailing them several times, is still up on a 'coloring sheets' website though. Which mostly annoys me because what they nagged was a draft. I would have happily sent them the clean line art.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No. I had someone offer once and gave full permission but I don't htink it ever happened.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! I have co-written a few fics. And I have one in the works with @waitingondaisies

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Most of my fics are platonic relationships. But I often have background relationships in them; usually Stony or Pepperony. Some spideycelle and once, Ned/Peter.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I hope I eventually finish all of them! But there is one I found that I am not even sure where it was going. All I have written is 800 words of Kraven the Hunter confronting Peter.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I am pretty good at dialogue.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I am still learning a lot about POV depth, visceral details, and deep introspection.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I don't use it much, if at all. But it doesn't bother me.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Irondad

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Oh! It's a tie!! So Many Things to Say will always me towards the top of my favorites lit. But my newest fic, The Hoax, is starting to creep into 'favorite fic of all time' territory.

I am going to tag (If they are interested) @spicler-manie @cajun-fangirl @asyouleft @thwip--thwip @justme--emily and @kubabergen

#20 questions for fic writers #tag game #happyaspie writing #20 questions #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom #my writing

18 notes · View notes

datasoong47 · 1 year ago

Text

I am so fucking sick of this customer Tony V. This asshole calls almost every day, usually several times a day. A lot of days it doesn't get to my level, but he does escalate often enough. He's been calling in since fucking MARCH about the same goddamn issue. A payment for $1,412.23 which, no matter how many times you go over his account history (when he actually lets you which is rare) he will not accept was actually posted. There was, granted, some confusion initially cause initially the payment was apparently lost in the mail, so he put a stop payment on it and sent another payment, but then the first one ended up getting to us, being processed and applied to his account, then reversed. Plus there was a missing payment dispute put in for it. But in the end, that payment was credited once to his account

Unfortunately, he refuses to accept that and believes we never did apply it. As a result, he insists his balance should be $0 (cause he did pay off all but that amount at one point). He keeps opening up new payment disputes which results in provisional credits being applied then reversed (since there's no actual missing payment), so his balance bounces back and forth between $0 and $1,412.23. He won't listen to anything you try to tell him and will spend the whole time yelling at you and insulting you. I've had to disconnect the call on many occasions for abusive language. We have that right within certain limits, and I exercise that fully with Tony

At this point I honestly don't know whether he genuinely believes that his account should be $0 or if he's hoping that we'll give up and just write it off. And at this point, I really do wish we would just write it off. Just zero out his balance and close his account. I don't believe we're ever actually gonna get that amount from him, and he's just adding unnecessary call volume and a metric fuckton of stress for everyone. I'm pretty sure he's spoken with everyone in my department by now. Certainly everyone at my level

He claims to be worth $50 million and that he's worked with "the big banks". We're all a bunch of idiots who can't do our jobs as far as he's concerned. And "why does it take you 8 months to solve this issue?". It doesn't, you ass, it was resolved ages ago, you just keep reopening it

At one point his wife (I'm assuming that's who she was) was on the phone and called him out as a fool, pointing out that a previous representative had shown him that the balance was correct, and said that she was sick of hearing that every day (I don't blame her - I feel sorry for her having to live with him)

This guy's like 90% of my work stress I swear to God

8 notes · View notes

bengiyo · 2 years ago

Text

The Warp Effect Ep 8 Stray Thoughts

The Week of Jojo Part 2 begins. Last week, Army agreed to be the sperm donor for Nim, Mollie and Nim had a good moment during the training for the film that totally left Bew jealous, See-ew stepped out on Liu and ended up arrested for making porn, Liu broke up with See-ew in a scene that was fantastic between Sing and Clize, and Captain beat the shit out of Kat for not wanting to be his partner.

I'm glad we're staring with Kat. What happened to her was upsetting, and I wanted to check on her first.

It's interesting how Kat displays a wide array of feelings here, but annoyance, irritation, and offense come through most strongly.

All of Kat's girls came to check on her, but she doesn't want to be a victim. She is totally right to be frustrated that she was attacked after making her boundaries clear.

So now she'll flirt with Jean (who is apparently bi!) as a tease? I need this to become more than teasing!

I like Jean. Just because something bad happened to Kat doesn't mean she's gonna let Alex back in.

Army is lovesick, and also frustrated that Joe won't switch. So glad we're having frank conversation about the relationship dynamics in gay relationships about sex. Army is right that bottoming is tiring, and doing it all the time is exhausting. I'm curious how they'll explore Joe's reticence about the act. Just don't turn this into Cucumber, because I'll never forgive Russel T. Davies for that.

Alex is the straight guy determined to get his gay friend laid. We've come such a long way.

Cutting between Kim and Nim about the pregnancy tests was a neat touch. Kim's is unexpected, and I don't think Nim is pregnant yet.

I kinda like this plot with Bew. Lesbians can have poorly planned pregnancies, too. Bew may be jealous about Mollie, but the callous attitude about the baby is concerning.

Joe needs to do things away from this school more often, and everyone else needs to stop trying to make Joe talk about gay shit in the locker room of the school he works at.

Ah, Joe is a side. I appreciate that he doesn't like anal sex; I don't think it's required. I also don't like the bar and club scene. I just worry about the self-fulfilling nature of Joe's sense that he doesn't belong anywhere. You have to find your people.

I want to see Silvy whip ass in this film they're working on.

So Bew really left. TRASH. How do you look like Dichen Lachman and let me down like this??

"I remember all of it." Mollie, please never say that to your ex if you're trying to maintain a platonic relationship.

Jean stressing repeatedly that Kim's health and safety is more important than the set is exactly how more places should be. I will accept less shows less often if it means the people making it aren't suffering.

I just don't think the doctor should have told Jean that Kim is pregnant though? Seems like that's private information.

Oh, this is an interesting way for this plot to develop. Jean, who I suspect has had an abortion, doesn't foist that choice upon him. Kim admits she's not ready to start a family, and doesn't believe Ice is either. Kim doesn't hide the pregnancy from Ice, and he immediately rallies to become a dad and parent with Kim, much to her chagrin.

Kat is tough in front of others, but I am not surprised she's nervous in parking garages now.

Gosh, almost every scene has a blue hue to it this week. It's like watching Eyewitness again.

Mmm, unsure how I feel about Kat opening herself up to more with Alex immediately after beginning recovery.

Tony stay shooting his shots with Jean.

Alright, I do think it's important for us to talk about men's health and making sure they actually get it from professionals. However! Army knows Alex is not actually trained as a doctor right now, so what are the ethics here??

This and Between Us acknowledging bathroom stalls as their position in gay sexual history. I wonder if I'll have to write about this at the end of this year.

I get why Army stayed friends with Alex. He's very affectionate for a straight man.

Jojo really loves to fuck with the audience. Kat snuggles in with Alex, considering what it might be like to be serious with him, only for Alex to call out for Jean in his sleep.

I really like the exploration of the sensual potential of outercourse with Army and Joe. With how much BL misrepresents the physical considerations of penetrative sex, this feels necessary.

Also, in terms of the narrative, I like that Army's problem is solved by reconciliation with the first boy he really hurt and reaching equilibrium with him.

This fictional scene of Rose and Liu enabling Kat to curb stomp Captain is making me think of I May Destroy You (2022). I'm feeling a deep surge of complex feelings. Of course, her girls are here to support her.

Love that Kat's problem wasn't solved by choosing a guy.

Oh good, we're returning to Rose and Jedi next week. Not showing him in the bar felt intentional.

#the warp effect #thai drama #jojo tichakorn #Ben watches

37 notes · View notes

snarkythewoecrow · 1 year ago

Text

20 Questions for fic Writers!

thanks for the tag @mammameesh @underwater-ninja-13 💙

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

184

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,391,678

3. What fandoms do you write for?

9-1-1 (mostly buddie), MCU, dabbled in Torchwood, Sherlock, HP, and Old Guard, oh and supernatural for a while too, though I don't have a lot of my supernatural and Torchwood moved to ao3, something I've been working on since like 2012 (there aren't that many more to move, I am just amazing at procrastinating)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Overall, these are my highest: Unexpected Finds (MCU, irondad)- 5 206 If I Could Do It All Over, I'd Find You Sooner (MCU, stuckony)- 2 593 emergencies only (MCU, irondad)- 2 154 between wanting and needing (MCU, stuckony)- 2 087 abuse at your hands, broken at your feet (MCU, irondad)- 1 960 But since I'm mostly writing 9-1-1, I'm going to include my top two from there, cuz I can: I choose you, Pikachu (or the ways two idiots finally say you’re mine) - 1 595 sometimes an onion really is just an onion (and that’s all there is to it) - 1 302

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try really hard to respond, but sometimes I get behind, and there are times when I'm low on spoons and I put them off, and that doesn't mean I don't love them all, seriously, people who comment are so generous and sweet, but it does mean that sometimes they will get a random reply from me two years later lol

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

honestly, not super sure, cuz I can't remember them all off the top of my head, but I guess the one I wrote for irondad, where peter was using hard drugs and it didn't end with a promise of things turning out good, hugs didn't fix things in that one

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

no idea? they are mostly all happy to some degree

8. Do you get hate on fics?

eh, not often, but sometimes, more in the mcu than other fandoms

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

yes, and mostly gay, many kinks, from vanilla to wtf are you even writing type things, but i do seem to lean toward bdsm dynamic in smut, daddy kink often, and a/b/o (tho i really love writing non-traditional dynamic, a lot of omega/omega and alpha/alpha)

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

yes, and probably sam wilson/harry potter, honestly, I really still adore that one, it worked, I swearm, harry was older and fucked up with ptsd, and sam was awesome, as usual

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i know of? well, i mean, i've once found them posted on small fan sites serving other countries and tbh, it didn't bother me too much, like it wasn't great, but like, hey, life's too short and they obvs liked them, and they did give me credit, sorta

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yeah, a handful over the years, maybe 5 on ao3? and i know i gave others permisson over the years, but they never linked back so idk

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

yeah, totally, done it a bunch and had fun

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

steve/tony, then stucky is a close second, like they are the true standbys, I'll always love them, but I have a armada of other ships that also serve me well

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

we don't talk about bruno, dude

16. What are your writing strengths?

description maybe, or writing emotional shit? and like with dialogue, I'm either a god of it or a pathetic feral creature that has never spoken aloud

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

depending on the day, the same as what is written in prior answer

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

honestly, i try not to do it anymore, cuz I don't like making it harder for readers in anyway to consume, so unless I can keep it short and clear enough that you can still gather what they are saying without knowing the language, then I leave it out. I will try hard to find other ways, and i'm not super into translations posted after the text, looks clunky, and not super into translations at the end, but yeah, to each their own

19. First fandom you wrote for?

dudes, i dont know when i ate last, no idea, like maybe some MASH or like Highlander in notebook as a kid? probably my first shared was interview with the vampire, resulting in much anxiety as a teen

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

I'm picking from more recent fics, and I kinda love this one atm: sometimes an onion really is just an onion (and that’s all there is to it)

tagging @buckybeardreams @limetimo @painted-doe @psychiccatpanda and anyone else who wants to do it!

Blank copy under cut for you to use 💙

20 Questions for fic Writers!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

16. What are your writing strengths?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

19. First fandom you wrote for?

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

#ask game

8 notes · View notes

val-writesstuff · 2 years ago

Text

Silent song chap 1

Summary: Showing off for Wanda, Sam still trying to figure you out. Tony suggests a party and Bucky shuts him down

Word count: 1.6K

A/N: I am so sorry it took this long, I posted the last one, started writing and immediately caught dear old Rhona. She hit me like an absolute bitch and she's still somehow throwing punches even after she's gone.

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Taglist form

I spent the first two days reading every file I had access to, every news article or blog that seemed informative, and every interview the avengers had done, I needed to know everything. I’ll admit I was nervous to meet these people. Me being one of them? That was never gonna happen. Fury wanted me to be a part of this team but from what I've seen so far, nobody else did. I mean come on, they were a group of trained and enhanced individuals that did everything together, they weren't just gonna open their arms to some random person dropped on their doorstep.

I drop the book I’m struggling to read when my stomach growls loudly. I glance over at the clock on my table, it reads three in the morning. At least I can sneak to the kitchen without seeing anybody else wandering around. At least, that's what I thought.

I freeze in the doorway of the kitchen when I see a silhouette in the light from the open fridge. The broad shoulders, tussled brown hair, and shiny metal arm tells me it's Bucky. I roll my eyes as I try to sneak past him to a nearby cabinet. My single interaction with the man wasn't great, and I didn't feel like doing it again. I cringe when a floorboard creaks under my steps. Why did a multi-million dollar building have a creaky floor? When he doesn't turn around, I'm in the clear. I snatch a silver packet from the cabinet and begin my not-so-sneaky escape.

“You don’t want to take those.” I look over my shoulder to see Bucky leaning against the sink, arms crossed as he watches me. I glance down at the pop-tarts in my hand and then back at him.

“I'm hungry. It’s food. Why wouldn't I want a pop-tart? Are they yours?” I sigh as I shove them back into the cabinet. Guess I'll find something else.

“No. They're Thor’s. He gets pretty upset when somebody else takes them. Here.” He turns briefly to grab something from a bowl and tosses it at me. I barely manage to catch it before it hits me in the chest. I look down at the small purple fruit in my hand. Did he just throw me a plum?

“I haven't had one of these in years. Thanks!” I smile as I lift myself to sit on the counter before I bite into the fruit. “Thor is the lightning guy, right? That's not even that cool.” I scoff and roll my eyes as I ramble, something I, unfortunately, do often when I’m tired. “I mean anybody can mess around with the weather, it's not all that hard. I learned to do that at like ten years old.” I finished the fruit as I stared at Bucky. “Why does he get upset about a fake pastry? They're not even that good.”

I smile as I hear a small chuckle come from his side of the kitchen before he shakes his head. “Sometimes he acts like a child, I'm not sure why. It’s best to avoid him when he starts acting up.” I could see Bucky eye me up and down in the moonlight. “Why are you up so late?”

I shrug. “I can never sleep in a new place. You'd think I’d get used to it since I never had a home but-” I feel the color drain from my face as I realize what I said. Damn me and my stupid rambling. “I just couldn't sleep. What about you? You're up too.” I stare at the ground as I slide off the counter and move to toss the plum pit in the trash.

He ignored my question. “There's a gym if you ever wanna work out, that's pretty exhausting. If you get hungry again, Wanda usually makes breakfast around 8, sometimes dinner too.” I was about to thank him but he shrugged it off and headed down the hall, likely back to bed. What an odd man. Why was he a jerk the other day but so kind now? Had he just been having an off day when we met? Maybe. For now, I was off to bed. In the daylight, I’d have to check out that gym.

I rub my eyes and roll over, pulling the blanket over my head with a groan. It's too early in the morning and the sun is too bright.

I hear a knock on the door and I groan before dragging myself out of bed and over to the door. I try to pat my hair down before I open the door, to see the most cheerful woman I've ever seen. I don't recognize her, she has red hair but not the same one from the other day.

"My name is Wanda." She extended her hand and I shook it. After she let my hand go she grinned. "Bucky told me you might be joining us for breakfast and I just wanted to make sure you knew where to go. It's wonderful to meet you by the way."

A weary smile crossed my face and I nodded. "Yeah I found the kitchen last night, thank you. I can get dressed real fast if you wanna walk together?" I left the door open as I grabbed some clothes from my dresser, then changed into them in the bathroom.

When I came back out, Wanda was sitting on the edge of my bed looking around the room. "You don't seem to have a lot of stuff. Is it just coming later or…?"

"Nope. I uh… I grew up kind of on the run so it was better not to have a lot of stuff. I don't keep a lot of things that can't be replaced." I shrugged and moved closer to the door. I wasn't sure why I was telling her this but I felt almost at peace with her. "So breakfast?"

We began the long walk to the kitchen in mostly silence until my curiosity couldn't be held back any longer. "I'm sorry if this is rude, but what do you do? It's just Sam mentioned there's a whole bunch of different kinds of people in the Avengers and I'm just trying to fit names to titles and stuff."

She giggles and held up her hand, fingertips glowing red. "It's no problem, I’m curious about you too. I'm the Scarlett Witch. Can you do magic or something?"

"Uh… kinda?" I walked over to the glass wall of the hallway. I narrowed my eyes and focused on the sky. Quickly dark clouds rolled in, cracking thunder sounded and then rain poured down in heavy droplets. "I can do that. Does that count as magic?"

"That's awesome! You're just like Thor!" She grinned and stared at the storm out the window.

"Eh. Isn't he a god? I'm nowhere near as powerful. He would totally beat me if we had to battle each other.” Maybe it was a mistake to show her that. It would probably raise even more questions about what I am.

As soon as we entered the kitchen Sam spoke up. “Did yall see that storm that just appeared? Wanda points at me and Sam's eyes widen. ‘Did you do that? That's awesome!” he immediately pulls a miniature notebook from his pocket and scribbles something down.

"uh… Whatcha doing? What's with the notepad?" I slid onto the stool next to Sam at the kitchen island. I tried to peek at what he was writing but he leaned away from me.

"I told you I'm gonna figure out what you are, so I'm writing down all the clues and things I learn about you."

I was surprised he was still on that and even more surprised he was this dedicated to the cause. Before I could comment on it, Tony breezed into the room with a grin on his face. I had a bad feeling about this.

"We're having a party!" Tony announced with a mischievous glint in his eyes while everybody else in the room groaned.

With Sam and Wanda bickering with Tony, I was left with my thoughts. According to the media, the parties that happened in this tower were legendary. There were always A-list celebrities, entertainment, drinks, and generally a good time had by all. The thing that made me chew on my lip was the usual crowd of paparazzi that showed up, even uninvited.

I was terrified of the world seeing me, even more so of people who were looking for me. I sat stone still, panicking for minutes until Bucky’s loud voice broke me out of my daze. “Tony she's been here less than a week, and you wanna throw her a party? Shouldn't we wait to celebrate her until she does something… I don't know, worth celebrating? We haven't seen her do anything, she could be horrible.” Part of me was grateful he was offering a way to stall this party idea. The other part of me was a little upset he doubted my skills.

“Would Fury have forced me to join this team if I was horrible?” I frowned and crossed my arms as I glared at him. Only pulling my gaze away when Tony sighed loudly.

“Fine Tin man. We’ll send her on the next mission and wait to have a party until after that.” There was a pause before a wide Cheshire smile appeared on Tony’s face. “Since you came up with this fantastic idea, you get to be the one that goes with her.”

After Bucky and Tony began arguing loudly, with Sam trying to mediate, I snuck out of my chair and down the hallway in search of the quiet I expected to be waiting for me in the gym.

Remember, likes are nice but reblogs/feedback are golden!

Tags (line through it means tumblr wouldn't let me tag): @james-bucky-barnes-bitch @piperstofu101 @holyhumorliteraturelight @vickcat @wakandabiitch2 @kimtallet @moonlissworld @matchat3a @vicmc624 @hw-shorty

41 notes · View notes

carsonian · 1 year ago

Note

ignore that silly anon omg! ur rec posts were sooo refreshing, especially bc u weren't necessarily rec'ing obvious authors. i love the way you talk <3 everything u write is so funny, your fic notes are their own delight to read & so many of your fics are lowkey underrated. luv the crack fics and how they still have serious elements. "here i am & here you are" is in my all-time favs and i'm so happy ur on tumblr and in this fandom <3333

Thank you so much ❤️ You're the absolute sweetest and I have no words because you've used all the lovely, heartwrenching ones. BUT! Since you mentioned that "Here I Am & Here You Are" is your favourite, I thought I'd share a coda for the fic that never made it into the fic mostly because I only wrote it two hours back. Also, this one goes out to all the SamBucky fans who were sad that the two didn't get much screen time in the fic!

"We Just Keep Going" on AO3 | 1,829 words | Rated M

"Well, well, well," Bucky propped a hand up against the door. "If it isn't my favourite person with my second least favourite person. A pair, when put together, forming a union so utterly average in my favourites list that it doesn't even warrant the work of accurate ranking."

"Did you run lines for that?" Steve asked.

"You're not very good at math." Tony tilted his head.

"Agh." Bucky wrinkled his nose, "I already hate this sequel. Come on in."

"Sequel?" Steve added as he pushed their suitcases through. Tony trailed behind them, running a hand over the flat tile on the door, a colourful piece that bore the words, "BEARS AHEAD! GRR!"

"You two. Back together." Bucky shook his head, "can I have it on the record that I don't endorse this?"

"What record?" Tony asked. "What're you even on about? I thought you lost an arm, not your head."

"Wow." Bucky pointed a finger at Tony. "You know, this is why people call you "difficult"."

"Yeah, yeah," Tony said, "how's the new one handling you?"

"I would say like a dream but I don't want to feed your ego, so I'll say like a," Bucky steepled his fingers, metal and human hand making a compelling image when intertwined. Like some harmonic fusion of AI and humanity. Real cyberpunk shit. Bucky exhaled, deciding on, "like a well-constructed reality."

"Okay." Tony drew out the word, "is Chip here?"

"Who?"

"Sam." Steve clarified.

"Oh, haha, Chip 'n Dale, I get it. You think you're funny. Shut the fuck up." Bucky said, no bite to the words. "Yeah, he's around here."

"What a welcome." Tony crossed his arms. "Okay. I'm gonna change, then lay on the couch, drape an arm over my eyes and nap off the jet lag."

"Sure." Bucky shrugged. "Sam's gone to get burgers. Should I wake you then?"

"Steve can wake me then." Tony shot a glare at Bucky. "Since he knows how to do it without totally violating someone."

"It was one time, we were twenty-two, and the ice had all but melted." Bucky protested, quips easy from an argument too often regurgitated, so well-worked that they slipped out easy even after a decade.

Demonstrating that the passage of time didn't necessarily reflect emotional growth, Tony shot Bucky a middle finger. Then, after pointedly waiting for Bucky to point out the bathroom, he took his clothes from the carrier bag and went over to the bathroom. The snick of the lock rang in a final pointed gesture and in the pointed silence afterward, Steve and Bucky met each other's gaze.

"You gonna give your old man a hug or are you too grown up for that kind of thing?" Steve asked.

"What the fuck are you saying?" Bucky made a disgusted sound, "you ever say that to me again, I'm kicking you out, brother or not."

"Alright, tough guy. Come here." Steve urged, bringing Bucky forward and hugging him, taking care to pat him on the back of the flesh shoulder.

"Y'okay? You all mushy?" Bucky asked into his shoulder, "Tony treating you well?"

"Shuddup." Steve replied good-naturedly, "You run Sam into an early grave yet?"

"He's a slow runner." Bucky seesawed, pulling back to make the gesture.

"Don't I know it." Steve said, "seriously, though. How've you been?"

". . . Better." Bucky admitted, "Not everyday, but, you know. . . a lotta days. It's good. I'm good."

"That's a solid deal." Steve praised, raising his eyebrows to punctuate the point.

"Ain't it?" Bucky gave a flash of a grin, all young fire and old contentment.

"I'm glad to hear it, Buck." Steve said, gripping the man's shoulder for a moment, just a brief press, "I really, really am."

"I know, ya big sap." Bucky shrugged the moment off. "How's Tony been? You fucking each other's brains out?"

"Reckon it would take a while to fuck Tony's brains out." Steve pondered, "since he's a genius and all. Lots of brain. . . cells."

"Okay." Bucky raised his eyes heavenward. "He ain't even that smart. Remember when he thought a carton of milk cost eight bucks?"

"He's a futurist." Steve said in his defense. "Give it a few years, it probably will."

"Christ alive." Bucky shook his head. "Good thing Sam's only drinking soy and whatnot."

"Agh, he's converted you?" Steve wrinkled his nose.

"Ye-up." Bucky turned his thumbs inwards, pointing at himself. "Total believer in the soy cream, right here."

"If your mother could see you now, she wouldn't even recognise you." Steve shook his head faux-solemnly.

"Uh, duh. Why'd you think I grew my hair out?" Bucky scritched a finger against his chin.

"I dunno, to hide your ugly mug?" Steve volleyed.

"Is that what the scruff on your face is for?" Bucky poked him. "'Cause what's that about?"

"I didn't have time to shave while travelling." Steve said, "I'll shave it off when I shower later. Tony likes me clean-shaven, anyway."

"Tony likes me clean-shaven, anyway." Bucky mocked in a jeering tone. "Jeez, the two a you are awful."

Steve paused, set his lips in a straight line and said, "'Cause the stubble can be scratchy when I'm rimming him."

"Eugh. Yuck." Bucky shook his shoulders out. "What the fuck, eugh. Oh god, I'm gonna gag."

"Okay, drama queen." Steve rolled his eyes. He took the pause to push their suitcases up against the wall. Upon turning back, he found Bucky raising an eyebrow at him.

"That's a homophobic remark." Bucky said.

"You're." Steve ran a hand over his face, "I'm too jet-lagged to listen to you right now."

"Good way to say you can't think of a comeback."

"Don't say comeback, it reminds me of—"

"Blah, blah, blah." Bucky stuck his fingers in his ears, "can't hear you, can't be traumatised by you and Tony." His voice rose higher with the second sentence, and it proved the "losing one sense amplifies the other senses" thing wrong because limiting his hearing was obviously causing an amp up in Bucky's lack of common sense and also, his (already debilitated and clearly debilitating further) sense of humour.

Thankfully though, it seemed that the universe was immune from the senses thing because it was with an apt sense for timing that the doorbell chose that moment to ring out.

Steve let Bucky continue his immature performance, going up to open the door in the charmless host's stead.

"Hey!" Sam greeted, takeout bags in both hands, "you're here!"

"Hey Sam," Steve returned, taking the takeout bags from him and moving them to the dining table, "good to see you, man. How've you been?"

"Great, great." Sam said, "How're you? Travel safe?"

"Yeah, perfectly." Steve said, "Tony's just getting changed. You came back quick, eh?"

"Got lucky with the line." Sam said, "how's—man. What are you doing?"

Bucky took his fingers out of his ears and gave Sam a sheepish smile, "well, well, well." He said faux-menacingly, "if it isn't my least favourite person."

"Don't say that about Steve." Sam sidestepped, "and why're you acting like a child?" Without waiting for an answer, Sam entered the kitchen and the sound of running water followed.

"FYI, this is why you're Dale in Tony's "Chip 'n Dale" analogy." Steve said.

"Look at you, bein' such a supportive boyfriend." Bucky said. "Boy oh boy, I best be careful or I'll be out of the running for boyfriend of the year."

The lock of the bathroom door clicked and Tony came out in a grey sweatshirt and trousers. Steve decided to save the fact that they were both Steve's clothing items for later, when Tony was sleepy enough to only notice the reprimand and not how hot Steve got at the sight of it. Tony ran a hand through his hair as he asked, "I heard the door. Sam's here?"

"Kitchen." Steve jutted a thumb out, and Tony headed over to say hi.

As the two began what sounded like an incredibly mature exchange of greetings, Steve and Bucky shared a short look.

"We are not the immature ones in our relationship." Bucky insisted, "we are not the "Dale" of the relationship."

"I think they're brothers, anyway." Steve gave an involuntary rictus, "Tony's always multi-tasking when we watch films. It's a problem. I'm working on it."

"Yeah, okay." Bucky sighed. "Hey, Stevie, off the record?"

"The record that doesn't exist?" Steve asked, "that record?"

"The very same." Bucky cleared his throat. "I'm happy you're back together, you know? Real happy. You average each other out."

"In your favourites ranking or in general?" Steve asked.

"Both, genius." Bucky said. "That's why you two work so well together."

"Thanks, Bucky." Steve said. "You too, you know?"

"I know." Bucky said, giving him a genuine smile. That, more than anything, made Steve feel properly settled. He was out of business in taking other people's opinions on him and Tony getting back together, but Bucky was definitely the closest to being a person he could trust to know enough to be accurate and honest enough to be truthful. So—the fact that he approved, well. It just mattered.

Sam and Tony walked out of the kitchen, still chatting, with table mats in Sam's hands for the food.

"Hey, Tones." Bucky walked forward, "hey, buddy, come here."

Tony made an "oof" sort of sound as Bucky came up and hugged him, matter-of-fact about it. The look Tony sent over to Steve over the shoulder was bamboozled. Befuddled. Somewhat begrudged. A tad bemused.

"Hey." Tony said, "you okay?"

"Yeah." Bucky patted him twice on the back and then stepped back. He pointed at Tony with the metal hand and at Steve with the other, "you two break up again, I'm suing you for psychiatric damage."

Tony's finger met Bucky's in a perversion of the E.T. greeting, pushing him back as he said, "Buckaroo, you couldn't afford me."

"Can we continue this over food?" Sam called out, "'cause I didn't wait twenty minutes for cold fast food."

"Sure thing, babe." Bucky grabbed Sam by the scruff of his neck and pulled him in for a tight hug and a peck on the cheek, "there, there. Didn't mean to make you feel left out."

"I wasn't even—" Sam tried to shrug out the hug for a futile moment before quickly conceding to it, "whatever, okay."

"I don't want to break up," Tony sidled over to Steve, "but I do want to keep up with the psychiatric damage."

"Agree." Steve wrapped an arm around Tony's waist.

"Should we fuck on his bed?" Tony suggested.

"Sam would suffer too, then, and he doesn't deserve it." Steve said, adding with a thoughtful tone, "let's do it on his old bike."

"We do average out." Tony said, and then, at Steve's startled surprise, "see, I can multi-task."

#THANK U ANON!!!! I HOPE U LIKE THIS!!!!#my fics #my writing #stevetony #coda #verse: here i am & here you are

10 notes · View notes